A Revolutionary Exile
Track 1: “And now I’m like a major threat, Cause I remind you of the things you were made to forget” – 2Pac

Somewhere in the U.S., 1989

The monotonous tone of helicopter blades chopping at the brisk afternoon air snapped her suddenly from intense concentration. Nehanda Abiodun stood before her open closet, carefully investigating its contents as the walls closed in. Knowing full well that her spot on FBI’s Most Wanted list would warrant a parade of her image across all media platforms should she be captured, she took her time deciding on clothes. “Something that won’t get dirty easily, something that won’t wrinkle,” she thought, carefully fingering through hangers. Sirens sounded in the distance.

- Havana, Cuba – 2012

Sitting on the creaky red bench at one of two tables at a state-owned fast food bodega in the cluttered housing section of Havana I began to wonder if she would actually show up. Popping a chicken croqueta in my mouth I saw her approaching from across the street, trading pleasantries with seemingly everyone who walked by.

Pulling herself away from the crowd Abiodun approached, wrapping me in a hug seemingly meant for an old friend. Puzzled looks followed her as she embraced a tank-topped pale American. “Let’s do this,” she said with a crack of one of the Bucanero cans we had bought, a smile crossing her face.

Nehanda Abiodun, previously known as Cherie Dalton, holds a degree from Columbia University and a host of 32 felonies against her in America. She was listed third on the Most Wanted list in the late 70s for her involvement in the Lincoln Detoxification Center, a drug rehabilitation complex with a revolutionary message. Whether they are all warranted is up for debate. What isn’t however is the revolutionary spirit of the movement that she was a part of

- Track 2: “Give the crack to the kids who the hell cares? One less hungry mouth on the welfare.” – 2pac

The phone rang. Carefully picking up the receiver, she said nothing. A voice informed her that police had set up road-blocks around her neighborhood, were handing out photos of her asking for information. Nehanda put the receiver back in the handle.

They were close; moving in.

By the age of 30, Abiodun had had enough with community work. Seeing little positive results, paired with the killing of a young boy by police in her neighborhood, she was compelled to do more
“That’s when I decided to go about a more revolutionary path of bringing about human rights and the ending of ‘badisms’ that exist in the United States,” Abiodun said. “A patient at Lincoln Detox and Acupuncture Clinic had to take political education classes, do community work. Doing community work, you were no longer a parasite on your community.”

New York Comptroller Ed Koch and other members of the government had been keeping an eye on the center’s revolutionary ideals, eventually closing Lincoln with a raid of nearly 100 NYPD officers and SWAT members. The raid occurred at night, with few attendants on duty, none of whom was Abiodun.

Lincoln was overseen by revolutionary leaders like Mutulu Shakur, with loose ties to a string of Brinks' truck heists during which several officers and guards were harmed or killed. The attempted heists resulted in the jailing of several members of the group.

Stemming from the closing of the center, the attempted heists and the liberation of Assata Shakur in 1979, Abiodun was facing several charges.

“They say I and others were involved in expropriations of armored trucks, that we were also engaged in the ‘liberation’ of Assata,” Abiodun said. “Personally they say I was involved in the expropriations and aiding and abetting Assata’s liberation.”

The 32 felonies levied against Abiodun, likely a life sentence if tried, are the most of anyone involved in the 'liberations' and “revolutionary” work

- Track 3: "The war on drugs is a war on you and me, And yet they say this is the Home of The Free." – 2Pac

Eight years since skipping town and living haphazardly across America, it had come to this. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed a pair of dark pants, shirt and grey sweater. As sirens sounded in the distance, she dressed in a hurry; taking a moment, soaking in what could be her last moments of freedom.

As she put the car into gear, reversing to the street, glancing in the rearview mirror and dropping the gear from R to D, the car jumped and turned the corner out of her neighborhood for the last time.

Sitting in a long line of cars, she peeked around, saw officers stopping each vehicle with a document in hand. A car in front and behind, a barricade ahead, Nehanda had nowhere to go; slowly inching toward fate.
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After the breakup of Lincoln and the subsequent backlash that followed the failed attempt on a Brink’s truck, Nehanda skipped town.  With a legitimate ID, a job and a home she was well within the reach of American forces, managing to stay out of their way, for awhile.

She had been called by a Grand Jury to testify against Mutulu, but refused and went into hiding believing the charges against her were bogus.

“At the first trial there was a ledger for all the money that was liberated, robbed, whatever went to do what?” Abiodun said. “To build the clinic, to finance a camp for kids, to help kids with college money. I still have people asking me ‘what happened to the $4.5 million, there must be a stash.’ Well if there is, no one’s told me.”
Speaking to Nehanda about the decades that followed is difficult, highlighted by half sentences and pauses. For obvious reasons, Abiodun is conservative about what she says and does. She owes her freedom to the Cuban government while being pursued by Americans; she's the original Edward Snowden with none of the modern resources.

Track 4: “And even to this day they try to get to her, But she’s free with political asylum in Cuba” – Common

She swallowed hard to clear her throat. A rapping on the window brought her back to the present. She rolled the window down slowly.

“Have you seen this woman?” the officer said from behind dark aviator sunglasses.

She reached out and met the officer’s hand, flipping the photo in her grip.

Nehanda had expected to see the picture, seen it almost everywhere for a decade. Tracing the photo with her eyes she hardly recognized the woman in her hands. She followed the smile on her face. The photo had been snapped a lifetime ago.

“Never seen her” she said, handing the picture back.

He didn’t recognize her.

Feeling herself breathing again she passed by wooden blockades of the stop, under watchful eyes of police, before turning the corner, hitting the highway. It was late 1990. A couple months later she would arrive in Havana, Cuba; leaving the U.S. for good. 

When asked how she got to Cuba she answers, “I didn’t walk on water.” If Abiodun thought she had seen struggle in America, her arrival in 1991 in Havana opened her eyes up more. The year marked the beginning of what Fidel Castro called “the special period” in Cuban history. Following the fall of the Soviet Union, Cubans went through intense economic collapse. It was normal for condoms to be shredded to mask a lack of cheese on pizzas.

“During the special period, people were just so united. If I had something and you needed it there was no questions of sharing it and vice versa,” she said.

She had arrived on the island eager to continue her support from abroad. The Cuban government, however, had other plans. They ordered her to stop, allowing Nehanda the first semblance of peace she had felt in a decade.

“I’m really grateful to them for insisting that I take a rest because I had spent eight years underground and even though I thought I was normal, I wasn’t. It had psychological repercussions.”
Abiodun speaks of the pain she felt leaving her children behind, not being able to see friends, family members and a pesky habit of waking up in the middle of the night.

Cuba has it’s downsides. While appreciative of everything the people and government have done for her, there are times she feels it weighing.

“I feel safe here. I have stress but it’s not the same stress if I was back in New York right now. I don’t worry about being put out of my house, about not eating,” Abiodun said.

Abiodun began working in communities throughout Havana, blending into her community, picking up Spanish. It wasn’t long before her reputation preceded her and she was sought out.

Those looking for Abiodun however weren’t FBI operatives, but young hip-hop acts looking for insight to the turbulent sixties and seventies in America; they wanted to hear about the struggle.

“I’m spoiled,” Abiodun said. “The youth that I see for the most part are very progressive, politically aware, involved in some sort of movement.”

The genre of hip-hop,masqueraded in America with showers of dollar bills and platinum grills has taken on a different role in the land of socialism. It is a political tool of sorts in a country where there are few. Lyrics often work as a commentary on the government, confronting, within bounds, the issues they face.

Before long, Nehanda was tending to groups of Cuban rappers looking to her for inspiration that is evident when speaking to her of listening to Malcolm X live or standing on protest lines at the age of ten.

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Track 5: “In case you don’t know, I ride for Mutulu like I ride for Geronimo” – 2pac

During her time in New York doing community work she came to be friends with a woman named Afeni Shakur, future mother of 2Pac Shakur. For the first thirteen years of his life 2Pac grew up spending time with Nehanda’s children.

“Tupac was a year older than my son, but they played together like most kids that age.”

Abiodun was among those who impressed a revolutionary, socially aware spirit on the young 2Pac Shakur. That politically aware mindset also applies to teachings amongst the Cuban hip-hop youth. Many come to hear about the time spent with the likes of Mutulu and Assata and the DIY mindset of their resistance to perceived biases.

Around the turn of the millennium the Cuban government declared hip-hop “an authentic expression of Cuban Culture,” and Fidel Castro called it “the vanguard of the Revolution.” The art form had jumped American borders and the locals were hungry.

Abiodun obliged, helping bring the annual Black August Hip Hop festival to Havana in 1999. The festival has hosted acts like Common and The Roots, among others.

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Track 6: “It ain’t easy, being me. Will I see the penitentiary or will I stay free” – 2pac

Life in Cuba isn’t perfect and luxuries are seldom. The government is nearing a change as the Castro brothers age every day and it is the Cuban hip-hop groups that have been looked to as the voice of the youth.

Since she was ten years old Nehanda Abiodun has sought to stand up for change she feels is right. Sacrificing her family and her freedom, the only thing she regrets is not having done things smarter. She is at peace with her life but would jump at the chance to return to America without jail time.

Whether she is lending her teachings to the young people of Cuba or fighting for equality in “The Land of the Free,” Abiodun has never stopped pushing for what she believes in as others forced her to adapt.

“When I meet my ancestors I want to be able to look them in the eye and say ‘yes I made a lot of mistakes, but I tried my best. That’s what I really want.”