While many Californians have seen the name “Black August” appear on social media posts and community events, its origins lie deep within the state’s prison system. The month began as a solemn commemoration of the struggles faced by incarcerated Black people and has grown into a broader call for study, fasting, training, and resistance.
From Watts to Prison Walls
George Ray “Bogard” Thomas first encountered Black August in 1987 while entering the California prison system. Raised in the Imperial Courts housing project in Watts, Thomas grew up in a single‑parent home, cycled through the juvenile system by age 13, and later co‑founded the Eastside Crips. After a 2010 drug conviction that landed him with a 31‑to‑life sentence, Thomas spent decades behind bars, enduring solitary confinement, mold‑filled cells, and alleged sexual abuse.
Thomas says the prison environment contributed to his stage‑4 cancer, which left him unable to speak without an electronic device. Yet, rather than breaking his spirit, the hardships drove him to study law from his cell, filing motions and learning the statutes that had once imprisoned him. “It’s the same book that got me out,” he told reporters, emphasizing that knowledge is a tool for survival.
Black August’s Core Principles
Activists such as Thandisizwe Chimurenga, co‑founder of Black August Los Angeles, stress that the month is not a celebration but a period of remembrance, honoring, and recommitment. The traditional greeting, “Black August,” is answered with “Resistance,” underscoring its serious tone.
Veteran organizer Kalonji Changa expands the tradition beyond a calendar month, describing it as a lifestyle. He leads a study of George Jackson’s “Blood in My Eye” each August, warning that revolutionary ideas can become easy slogans without the sacrifice they demand.
Media Access Remains Restricted
California’s Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation (CDCR) continues to limit journalists’ ability to conduct one‑on‑one interviews with specific inmates. Reporters may write to prisoners, receive calls, or apply for general visits, but the CDCR cannot arrange targeted media interviews, nor can ordinary visits be recorded.
Between 1998 and 2012, nine bills aimed at expanding media access were vetoed by four governors—Pete Wilson, Gray Davis, Arnold Schwarzenegger, and Jerry Brown. In 2024, Governor Gavin Newsom vetoed Senate Bill 254, which would have required the CDCR to permit prearranged interviews, allow documentation of prison conditions, and protect prisoners from retaliation for speaking to the press. Newsom cited cost and safety concerns.
Why It Matters for Californians
For a movement rooted in exposing the harsh realities of incarceration, the ability to share those realities with the public is essential. Without transparent reporting, the conditions that fuel Black August’s call for resistance remain hidden, and the stories of “nameless, faceless” brothers like Khatari Gaulden and Shaka At‑Thinnin risk being lost.
Community leaders argue that greater visibility can draw attention to systemic issues—overcrowding, inadequate medical care, and the denial of basic human dignity. As Black August moves toward its conclusion, the question remains: will the tradition’s meaning endure, and will California’s policies evolve to allow the voices behind bars to be heard?
Original reporting: The Washington Informer — read the source article.
