5/01/00 1:10 p.m.
A Thin Blue Line
Pride and protests at Antioch.

By Thomas Gnau, reporter for The Middletown (Ohio) Journal

YELLOW SPRINGS, OH
he line of protesters, dozens deep and hundreds long, honoring Philadelphia Police Officer Daniel Faulkner was separated from the Antioch College commencement Saturday morning by, appropriately enough, a strip of blue plastic. A thin blue line.

They did not wait to hear the playing of the tape-recorded commencement address by Mumia Abu-Jamal, the man convicted of murdering 25-year-old Faulkner on Dec. 9, 1981. Instead, after the first speech — by author Leslie Feinberg, who waxed long on "transgender" issues — they turned their backs on Antioch's graduating class of 2000 and walked away. Silently, they left.

Antioch's students, families, professors and administrators stayed, however, as did the yellow-shirted "Antioch hosts" who made sure reporters did not speak to them. (Media folks, print and broadcast, were separated from the event most of the time by yellow police tape. When I approached two students sitting on steps near the commencement area, a host was right behind me. He asked me to move along.)

"Who do you admire?" Abu-Jamal asked in his recording.

Students answered his question, and the rest of his five-minute, 48-second message recording, with a lusty, full-throated roar of approval. After all, the graduating class voted last November to invite Abu-Jamal to record the address, as he did last year for graduates of Evergreen State College in Olympia, Wash.

Asked to speak on "how can one person change the world," Abu-Jamal, now on death row in Pennsylvania, talked of Angela Davis, Nelson Mandela, Malcolm X and Paul Robeson. He told students: "You, at this commencement at Antioch, have the somewhat unique opportunity to prove that old axiom, that man is made for more than meat, and life is more than bread."

At Antioch, a small, private, liberal arts college in Southwestern Ohio, man (and woman, and those of the "transgender" persuasion) is made to protest and lean left — far left. Before the ceremony, the paranoia was thick at a campus "teach-in." Rosemari Mealy, public affairs director of New York City's WBAI radio station, told listeners, "The fact that all of us are here today, you can bet there's someone who is spying on us."

Next to Mealy sat Pam Africa, head of International Concerned Family and Friends of Mumia. Africa wore a black beret and held two photos of Mumia smiling. One photo showed him displaying a degree from Goddard College, holding it between long dreadlocks.

Fred Riley seemed worried less about spies and more about moral certitude. A member of Africa's group, he seemed to want nothing less than a videotape of Faulkner's murder — the gunshot in the back followed by the shots in the face — before being convinced of Abu-Jamal's guilt.

"A jury, you know, is simply made up of people. People can make mistakes. Even a jury of 12 people," Riley said.

Those at the teach-in seemed to enjoy mentioning Maureen Faulkner, the fallen officer's widow, as if invoking her name without flinching strengthened them. Perhaps it did.

"She would have to have been at the scene of the crime to know absolutely" who killed her husband, Riley said. "The jury would also."

Riley acknowledged, at least, that there was a crime. "Well, Officer Faulkner was shot. There's no doubt about that," he told me later.

No, there isn't. The first bullet had been fired from about 19 inches behind him, after all. And one of the four witnesses at the scene was close enough to see Faulkner's body jerk when he was shot in the face while lying on the street. So, yes: Officer Faulkner was shot.

"I'm sorry about what happened to her husband," said C. Clark Kissinger, a member of something called "Resist," and someone who didn't sound sorry at all, "but frankly, closure does not take precedence over justice."

Not all Antiochians were proud Saturday. When Senior Kevin Franck, who will graduate this summer, asked for a moment of silence for Faulkner, more than a few students let loose with what were obviously intentional coughs. Listeners did applaud Franck, however; some even stood for him.

Though Maureen Faulkner was on campus Saturday to memorialize her husband, she probably did not hear Franck's remarks. She left with other protesters. But before she did, it was easy to see that she was, as she admitted, "tired."

"It's been an emotional day," she said. "But I'm proud of all the people who have come out to support me."

There were easily 200 of them, 25 of whom made the trek from Philadelphia. (Many of them held signs of protest, including my favorite: "No police; know anarchy.")

Among those from the Keystone State was Officer Faulkner's partner, Garry Bell, now retired. Bell was full of energy. "How quickly they forget," he said through his teeth. "They (the college) just had two of their students murdered in Costa Rica. I want to see if they will invite their murderer here next year."

"I want closure," Maureen Faulkner said. "I'm tired. My life has been — " here she paused for a brief moment before continuing.

"I want justice. For Danny."