NYMetro
CONCERNED BLACK LAWYERSIn the wake of recent events surrounding the brutal confrontation between Philadelphia police officers several local African American lawyers have formed an organization called CONCERNED BLACK LAWYERS to address police brutality and other alarming issues in Philadelphia's African American Community.Recently, after the firing of four Philadelphia police officers accused of brutality, Philadelphia Mayor, Michael Nutter proclaimed: "I think this represents a new day in the Philadelphia Police Department and how we deal with these kinds of situations." - Philadelphia Daily News May 20, 2008.CONCERNED BLACK LAWYERS will host a panel discussion to address:Is it a new day in Philadelphia police brutality or is it more of the same ol' same ol'?"INVITED PANELISTS INCLUDE:Philadelphia Police Chief CHARLES RAMSEYCivil Rights Attorney ISAAC H. GREENCivil Rights Attorney ADRIAN MOODYCriminal Attorney KEVIN MINCEY – Mincey, Battle & McGahee, LLPFormer Chief Deputy City Sol., Civil Rights Division CARLTON JOHNSONJERRY MONDESIRE – President, Philadelphia Chapter of NAACPKENYATTA JOHNSON – Democratic Nominee for State Representative for the 186th DistrictREVERAND TERRENCE GRIFFITH – First African Baptist ChurchMICHAEL COARD, ESQUIRE – The Law Offices of Michael CoardWILLIAM JOHNSON- Ex. Dir. Police Advisory CommissionFormer candidate for Philadelphia District Attorney, SETH WILLIAMS, EsquireDate and Time: May 22, 2008 – 7p.m. – 9p.m.Location: First African Baptist Church – 16th & Christian Streets, Phila., Pa.Contact: Damon K. Roberts, Esq. – 267-972-2451ADMISSION IS FREE TO THE PUBLICDemetrius J. Parrish, Jr., Esq.www.djpesq.com1616 Walnut Street, Ste. 700Philadelphia, Pa. 19103(215) 735-3377(215) 827-5420 (fax)

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  • DMV
    >THIS IS RIDICULOUS BLACK MEN
    THE SAME CRAP ................ FROM 20 YEARS AGO DURING THE CRACK WARS!
    AND WE CANNOT KEEP BLAMING OTHERS
    BLACK FOLK SHOULD UNDERSTAND THE DYNAMICS OF THIS BS
    AND I DONT KNOW .............
    LETS LOOK AT IT ............................EVERYWHERE BLACK PEOPLE ARE ON THE PLANET
    WE KILL EACH OTHER
    BUT WHEN IT COMES TO OPPRESSOR............"WE AINT GON DO SKAT!?
    CAUSE NIGGAHS ARE SCARED OF REVOLUTION................NIGGAH SHOP NOW!
    WHILE BLACK MEN KILL EACH OTHER
    FRANKLY, I AM SHORT ON RESPECT FOR BROTHAS(IF YOU AINT ONE OF THE BROTHAS THAT KILL EACH OTHER AT NIGHT, OR ARE DOWN LOW OR WOMEN BEATERS, ROBBERS, RAPEST AND/OR THE DOPE MAN)
    THEN I AINT TALKING TO YOU!!!!!!!!


    TO THE BROTHAS WHOM ARE ALREADY ADDRESSING THESE..............I AINT TALKING TO YOU!
    IT JUST TOO MANY NOT HELPING OUT ..........TO MANY WEAK ONES THAT SIT BACK AND WATCH THE COMMUNITY DIE.................IE, "STREETS OF PHILLY, DC, NY, BALT, LIL ROCK, MIAMI, CHARLOTTE, DETROIT, CLEVELAND, NEW ORLEANS, ST LOUIS.............DARFUR, SOMALIA, ETHIOPIA, KINGSTON, ETC..........................THE KILL EACH OTHER BUT WONT UNITE FOR GOOD OF THE KINGDOM
    "WHEN GOOD MEN DO NOTHING; EVIL HAPPENS!

    BLACK POWER
    SISTA AISHA!
    • NYMetro
      "During the Harlem renaissance,"
      "it was James Baldwin who stated that to be black in America is to be in a constant state of rage. I revised that by saying to be black and conscious in America is to be in a constant state of rage. If you know the history of black men, black women and black children in America," he says listing off 246 years of slavery, Jim Crow, racism and discrimination, "you gotta be angry. Otherwise you're insane. I'm not insane."

      Come on sista ,

      As a criminal defense attorney — wait, a black criminal defense attorney — Coard believes it's his job — no, his mission — to defend the young black Davids who find themselves facing what he calls Goliath, the city's criminal justice system of nearly 7,000 police officers and 300 assistant district attorneys. Whenever David and Goliath battle in a courtroom, Coard says, he wants to make sure the playing field is level.

      "The greatest threat to a civilized society is not the rapist, not the drug dealer, not the murderer, not even the serial killer," he says. "The greatest threat to a civilized society is an unchecked government. I'm there first and foremost to keep the government honest."
      • DMV
        let me apologize first for the blunt and hardcore answer:
        NIGGAHS ARE SCARED OF REVOLUTION
        IN ANY FORM!
        I AM 50 YEARS OLD
        AND I HAVE COME TO BELIEVE THE LAST POETS!
        WE DONT HAVE TO BE CRIMINALS
        RAPIST
        DRUG DEALERS
        ETC
        WE DONT HAVE TO BE SLAVE MENTAL EITHER
        BUT...........................
        500 + YEARS AFTER THE MIDDLE PASSAGE
        NIGGAHS SHOP NOW!
        STILL SEARCHING FOR CROSSOVER.......BOBOS ICE IS COLDER AND OUR CHILDREN DIE!
        NIGGAH COME OUT OF MAYBACH DOORS NOW
        THE LAST POETS WHERE RIGHT
      • NYMetro
        go here for more positive struggle and self determination, http://avengingtheancestors.com/index.htm
        • NYMetro
          Defending Your Life

          It's Michael Coard's mission to save an accused cop killer. Tough job, but someone has to do it.

          Three days after police officer Charles Cassidy was shot and killed, 21-year-old John Lewis stood in his mother's kitchen with his mother and two sisters wailing, and allegedly said, "I did something bad."

          Lewis was the chubby guy with the tattoo who on Halloween, around 10:30 in the morning, allegedly walked into a Dunkin' Donuts at 66th and Broad, waved his 9 mm gun and told those working behind the counter to put the fuckin' money in the bag.

          Soon after, the bell that signaled someone was walking through the store's front door rang, and there was Officer Cassidy, a 54-year-old married father of three, and a 25-year police veteran. He was on a routine security check, known in the store as "four sugars and cream."

          Lewis turned and shot. The bullet pierced Cassidy's head, and blood splattered against the window as the officer fell.

          Lewis leaned over him, took his gun and ran away.

          Cassidy died the next day. And somewhere along Lewis' spiral from suspected killer to fugitive, someone in his family called Michael Coard to save his life.

          "I can understand the public being outraged," Coard says of Cassidy's murder. "That's justifiable indignation by the public. But should we take John Lewis out back for a lynching, or should we take John Lewis to court for a trial?"

          It's a question Coard, a criminal defense attorney for 15 years, will pose frequently in the weeks leading up to Lewis' preliminary hearing.

          "To me, it was no doubt that I would represent him," he continues. "And the reason was the system's gotta work right."

          Two days before Lewis' preliminary hearing Michael Coard, 42, is sitting in his modest office in Center City, awaiting Lewis' lineup, which is scheduled for that afternoon.

          He's impeccably dressed, as always, today in a gray suit. His pink shirt is French-cuffed and monogrammed. He pulls the look together with a gray-and-pink-checkered tie and clock-style cufflinks.

          His chin-length dreadlocks are tightly wound, and his beard is neatly trimmed. There's a gold stud in his ear, and he's wearing black Rocawear glasses, reminiscent of old-school Cazals in possible tribute to the hip-hop he loves.

          His Louis Vuitton briefcase is off to the side.

          Coard could be headed to a GQ photo shoot.

          He typically works 12-hour days. He has no children — now or ever, he says — and he's not married because Serena Williams won't return his phone calls.

          His office is sparse except for his diplomas from Cheyney University, a law diploma from Ohio State and a large portrait of Malcolm X, an inspiration for the self-described angriest black man in America.

          "During the Harlem renaissance," Coard explains, "it was James Baldwin who stated that to be black in America is to be in a constant state of rage. I revised that by saying to be black and conscious in America is to be in a constant state of rage. If you know the history of black men, black women and black children in America," he says listing off 246 years of slavery, Jim Crow, racism and discrimination, "you gotta be angry. Otherwise you're insane. I'm not insane."
          pw013008bJust us: Cassidy's widow (right) and daughter wait outside the CJC.

          Neither is he a fist-in-the-air, red-black-and-green militant (although in college he had an Afro/dashiki period, and he describes his politics as "pan-African socialist"). Any rhetoric ("I'm not a lawyer who happens to be a black man; I'm a black man who happens to be a lawyer") is rooted in passion, his knowledge of the world and of course anger.

          The angriest black man is the founder of Avenging the Ancestors Coalition, which successfully fought to build a slavery memorial at the historic President's House. He's also founder of Judging the Judges; president of Philadelphia's Millions More Movement; host of Radio Courtroom, a talk show he markets as "uncompromising, unmistakable, unmitigated and unrepentant pro-black commentary"; and a hip-hop 101 professor at Temple University.

          As a criminal defense attorney — wait, a black criminal defense attorney — Coard believes it's his job — no, his mission — to defend the young black Davids who find themselves facing what he calls Goliath, the city's criminal justice system of nearly 7,000 police officers and 300 assistant district attorneys. Whenever David and Goliath battle in a courtroom, Coard says, he wants to make sure the playing field is level.

          "The greatest threat to a civilized society is not the rapist, not the drug dealer, not the murderer, not even the serial killer," he says. "The greatest threat to a civilized society is an unchecked government. I'm there first and foremost to keep the government honest."

          Until now, perhaps Coard's most famous case was his defense of Donta Dawson, a 19-year-old unarmed black male who was shot and killed by a white police officer in October 1998. Coard made history by using an obscure private criminal complaint law to get a judge to order the district attorney's office to prosecute the officer for third-degree murder. (The complaint was later dismissed on appeal).

          But most of his clients are young black men accused of violent crime. Coard reconciles the reality of unleashing the unrepentant ones back into society, where they'll likely victimize other young black men, with an analogy. When a fireman puts out a fire, he says, he doesn't ask if the house is going to burn again next week. He also points out the obvious — that every defendant is legally entitled to a defense.

          Even John Lewis, who when captured in a Miami homeless shelter nine days after the shooting, confessed to cops and reporters on national television.

          "Confessed to what?" Coard cross-examines.

          He then presents the five degrees of murder, from first degree, which carries a penalty of life in prison or the death penalty, to involuntary manslaughter, which carries a stint of two and a half to five.

          "Let's say hypothetically he did it," he says about Lewis. "Let's say hypothetically that many of the young black men — too many — in and around Philadelphia are committing similar crimes. There are two explanations as to why young black men commit a disproportionate number of crimes. One is the lack of opportunity due to the legacy of slavery and current racism and discrimination, or that young black men are genetically predisposed to crime. Clearly they're not genetically predisposed to crime. So what if a John Lewis or anybody like him was able to graduate from high school like many white boys and get a decent job like many white boys? If John Lewis or people like him got the same opportunities that middle-class white boys got in America, you wouldn't see people like him committing crimes like this."

          But in the same breath Coard argues that he doesn't buy into "those bullshit, weak-kneed excuses that the white man is keeping us down."

          "Yeah the white man is doing his thing," he says, "but he's not powerful enough to keep us down. Quite the contrary, we're too powerful — if we knew we were — to be kept down.

          "Despite the fact that there's racism," he says. "Despite the fact that black people have obstacles they should overcome, when I look at people like John Lewis, I ask myself, what if this kid had a better opportunity in life?"

          When Lewis was captured in Miami, he apologized to Cassidy's family, and said: "I never meant anything to happen like this."

          It's the crux of Coard's argument to save his life.

          When Coard was a junior in high school, one of his friends came down the block with his eyes blackened and nose bloodied. Some neighborhood boys had jumped him.

          Coard went into his house, grabbed a knife from the kitchen drawer and put it in his shirt pocket, just in case.

          "I could've stabbed one of the guys I was gonna fight with," he says, "and I'd be sitting exactly where my clients are. Now you're not talking to Michael Coard the lawyer anymore. You're talking to Michael Coard the ex-con.

          "I don't believe these guys are inherently evil, inherently wicked," he continues. "When I look at these young black men charged with a serious crime, I often say" — and he does — "'there but for the grace of God go I.'"

          Coard grew up in a blighted and neglected community in North Philly. His mother was a circuit board assembler at Philco-Ford. Although she had only a high school diploma, she stressed the importance of education, to better yourself and your community.

          Asked about his father, Coard says: "I guess he did what he was supposed to do in terms of child support and that kind of thing, birthdays and holidays. But in terms of remembering him coming to baseball games and taking me to the park, nah, none of that kind of stuff."
          pw013008c
          Michael Coard: The "angriest black man" says he goes to court to keep the government honest.

          Coard's father, a disabled veteran, died when Coard was in college. Asked about his male role models, Coard says he didn't have any.

          "If anything, I looked up to my mom for that strength of, 'Hey, I wanna be somebody who's responsible, somebody who's dependable, somebody who I know is always going to have food on the table and always going to have the bills paid.'"

          One afternoon a 15-year-old Coard and his friends were playing basketball with a milk crate they'd nailed to a utility pole when Hammer of the Norris Street gang came down the street, arguing with two guys from a rival gang.

          "We're not gang warring anymore," Hammer kept saying, referring to an apparent truce.

          A third guy walked up with a long butcher knife in his hand.

          Hammer kept pleading.

          "Oh, we're not?' the guy said, and plunged the knife in Hammer's chest.

          Coard and his friends stood there frozen, mouths agape. Hammer grabbed his chest and stumbled back. The guys ran. Hammer fell against the wall, then to the ground, dying.

          Coard had seen gang fights and shootouts before, but never murder.

          "I guess I just understood that happened," he says thoughtfully. "I lived in North Philadelphia. I lived in a poor neighborhood. I lived around gang members. I saw violence constantly, so I wasn't traumatized by it. You're kinda used to that kind of thing."

          Coard escaped with baseball. His Little League team dominated city and regional championships, one year winning the MVP.

          In his first year of college he was convinced he'd become a star center fielder for the home team. Then at tryout camps, reality hit him in the face like a fastball.

          "It's one thing to be the best player on your block," he says, "but once you get outside of that, you see these kids who are 6-foot-2 and 175 pounds. They've got the best equipment, and they've been playing for 10, 15 years. You literally saw the difference between men and boys."

          After about the fourth or fifth tryout camp, Coard realized he'd better think about doing something else with his life.

          He decided to become an English teacher, he says, to help poor blacks learn to read and write.

          "I figured once we got an education, we could do anything."

          Ironically, it was an ex-con who convinced Coard to become a lawyer.

          In his second year at Cheyney, then a teachers' college, Coard got a summer job at the Prisoners' Rights Council (PRC), located in a storefront office in Center City. The PRC primarily helped young black men make the transition from jail to freedom, teaching them how to read and write, fill out job applications and get job training.

          "But the guys who were running the program were barely literate themselves," remembers Coard.

          Coard, whose duties included filling out grant proposals and applications, hated the job. He didn't want to work with "violent thugs."

          That was until he met Al Lawson, an ex-con who'd spent time upstate, who worked tirelessly at the office.

          "I began to appreciate that black men could make mistakes," Coard says, "that black men could come out of prison and use those mistakes to help other people."

          Then he met another ex-con, Nasir Shabazz, who told him he should become a lawyer to ensure that fewer guys had their lives ruined by criminal records.

          That fall Coard added pre-law as a major.

          With his own law firm, he admits he's grown weary of the revolving door of young black males caught in the criminal justice system. But every now and then, he says, a client suddenly gets it. "The thug mentality gives way to a scared little boy who now realizes, 'I'm 19 years old, and I'm gonna be in jail forever.'"

          A few of them, Coard says, decide to make the best of their life. They learn how to read and write. They get their GED or associate's degree. Some find religion. They want to become responsible black men.

          "The best example I can give people is Malcolm X," says Coard. "Malcolm X was a thug, he was a pimp, he was a drug dealer, he was a hustler. And I'm sure during one of his burglaries if the owner had been home and Malcolm had a gun or a knife, he would've been a murderer. So the question is: Do we turn our backs on the potential Malcolm Xs of the world? The answer is: Of course we don't."

          The morning of Jan. 10, courtroom 306 of the Criminal Justice Center is standing-room only. In this room Lewis is being accused of five armed robberies, aggravated assault and murder.

          Police officers fill the back of the room, line the walls and stand stoically in the aisle. Cassidy's high school sweetheart, now widow, Judy sits with their children — their daughters Katie and Colby, blond with tear-stained eyes, and their son John — along with family and friends.
          pw013008d
          Officer down: Charles Cassidy is laid to rest.

          Lewis' mother and family sit on the other side.

          Lewis, next to Coard, is dressed in a light gray sweatshirt, black sweatpants and black sneakers with bright white soles. His once-cornrowed head is now shaved. He's looks slimmer than his reported 270 pounds. He has a round boyish face and easy eyes, which stay fixed on Coard during much of the trial. He sits with his hands folded, showing that infamous tattoo on his right hand. He looks unassuming, gentle even, nothing like the killer he allegedly is.

          The first row of Lewis' supporters is all women, who occasionally rock like old ladies in church pews. Absent from them is any father figure.

          John-John, as Lewis' family calls him, is a high school dropout with a record of drug offenses and apparently easy access to an illegal gun.

          Coard describes him as articulate and bright, but says he doesn't read or write well. He's a single father to a 6-month-old girl. He had a string of minimum-wage jobs that didn't last. He was constantly looking for jobs, without success. Reportedly, days before the shooting, Lewis' grandmother took him to a clothing store to fill out a job application.

          Facing eviction, Lewis went to Dunkin' Donuts that Halloween morning because, sources say, he needed $400 for rent.

          For some people, there's empathy for Lewis' struggle as a young black man. At a recent community meeting, an antiviolence activist suggested that if only Lewis had more opportunities in life, that somehow Lewis is a victim of society.

          But listening to the testimony, you realize that Lewis, if he's guilty of these crimes, isn't a gentle giant. He brazenly terrorized his victims, some of whom had worked in their crappy low-paying jobs for months — some for years — who struggled to feed their families and pay their bills.

          You hear how the level of violence escalated from robbery to robbery — from robbing only the register, to robbing the witnesses, to hitting a cook upside his head, to firing a gun into the floor.

          "Ain't nobody gonna die here," Lewis allegedly said that Octobernight at Feltonville Pizza, after firing the shot.

          To that, Cassidy's widow shakes her head and sobs. The shell casing from the floor at Feltonville Pizza will eventually match the bullet that was lodged in her husband's brain.

          From the testimony, you see how, if the witnesses are to be believed, Lewis virtually stalked Cassidy until he eventually killed him.

          When Lewis allegedly robbed that Dunkin' Donuts back in September, Cassidy was the officer called to the scene.

          A couple weeks later Lewis returned, a witness who works there testifies. He ordered a sausage, egg and cheese sandwich and a medium coffee, paid for it and left.

          In more cold irony, the Inquirer reported that a witness identified Lewis as the gunman from the Feltonville Pizza robbery 11 days before Cassidy was shot, but no arrest warrant was issued.

          Shortly after the Cassidy shooting, Lewis' mother reportedly called police and said she thought her son was the gunman. Police questioned Lewis but released him. They were focused on another suspect.

          Two days after the shooting, Lewis walked into the Criminal Justice Center for a hearing on a prior drug-possession arrest. He was ordered to reappear in January.

          During the two-day preliminary hearing, the prosecution will showcase 16 witnesses from five robberies: Sept. 18, 2007, Dunkin Donuts' at 66th and Broad; Sept. 21, 2007, Dunkin' Donuts at Erie and Torresdale; Oct. 13, 2007, Dunkin' Donuts at 7500 Frankford Ave.; Oct. 20, 2007, Oasis Pizza on Fifth Street; Oct. 25, 2007, Feltonville Pizza at 4812 N. Rising Sun Ave.; and from the attempted robbery where Cassidy was killed.

          During a break, a slicked-hair spectator, possibly a lawyer, dressed in a suit and tie, jokes with another: "Good thing it wasn't Starbucks."

          The testimonies are almost identical. A guy in a hoodie comes into the store, pulls out a gun and yells, "Give me the fuckin' money!" He waves the gun, tells his victims to hurry up, takes the money, then walks out.

          "Do you see the man who came into the store to rob you?" the assistant district attorneys ask witness after witness.

          They all point to Lewis, and say he's the same man whose face flashed across the news in connection with Cassidy's murder.

          There's also the hoodie that Lewis allegedly tossed after he shot Cassidy that bears his DNA.

          There's his cousin Hakim Glover, in jail for buying Lewis a bus ticket to Miami after Cassidy's murder. Glover testifies that Lewis confessed at Lewis' mother's house. So does one of her co-workers. And they both say Lewis threatened more cops, once remarking, "If the police come get me, it's gonna be a mess."

          At some point Glover showed police where Lewis allegedly hid the guns, in the drop ceiling of a relative's house.

          According to the testimony of a ballistics expert, one of the guns is Cassidy's; the other is the murder weapon.

          During the two-day hearing, Lewis never looks his accusers in the eye. He just sits there, vacant.

          On cross-examination Coard asks: How much of the person's face was the hoodie covering? Did you see the defendant on TV before you gave your statement? Did the person fire any shots? Were you injured? Was anything taken from you personally?

          He also argues: You said the guy weighed more, that he was taller, and your statement doesn't mention tattoos, or that the guy had a gun.

          During testimony on the Frankford Avenue robbery, Coard borders on badgering.

          The witness snaps.

          "Did you look at this picture and see he's got a gun in his hand?" she says, holding up a still image from the surveillance video. "'Cause that's me at the counter."

          Coard, unflustered, reminds her that he's referring only to the written statement she gave to police.

          Does your statement say that the guy had a gun?

          "I guess not," she quips, rolling her eyes.

          "You guess right," Coard deadpans.

          He's also arguing that whoever shot and killed Cassidy did not commit first-degree murder, which has a legal definition of willful, deliberate and premeditated.

          A prosecution witness testifies that Lewis turned "suddenly" and fired the shot. Sudden and spontaneous means second-degree murder or life in prison.

          In the best case, Coard could argue third-degree murder, which carries a penalty of 20 to 40 years in prison. But he'd have to prove that the robbery and the murder were two separate incidents.

          Ultimately, perhaps the best he can do is save Lewis' life.

          At the end of the preliminary hearing the judge charges Lewis with an array of offenses including illegal gun possession, several counts of simple assault, several counts of robbery, and felony one murder.

          As Lewis is led out of the courtroom, headed back to prison, he ironically gives his family the sign of heavy metal devil horns.

          "We love you, John," they yell.

          Lewis will be arraigned Thursday. He won't appear in court. The commonwealth assumes that he, like most criminal defendants, will plead not guilty.

          Coard still doesn't know if he's dealing with a death penalty case. And with pretrial conferences, the trial won't take place for several months.

          Asked about Lewis' reaction to the hearing, Coard describes him as "despondent and depressed."

          Asked if Lewis' life is over, Coard says, "I look at him as a young man who if what's alleged is true, made a mistake. I want to make sure that whatever mistake he made, the punishment fits the crime. And even if he goes to jail or doesn't go to jail, he learns how to read, he learns how to write, he learns how to become a parent, he gets a job and does the right thing. For me that's critically important. It's not just about them as clients. It's about them as, many of them, young lost black men."

  • DMV
    black men need to police themselves!
  • NYMetro
    Black officers praise Ramsey for swift discipline
    By Sam Wood

    INQUIRER STAFF WRITER

    An organization of black Philadelphia officers this morning commended the "swift" disciplinary actions taken by Commissioner Charles Ramsey against police involved in the May 5 videotaped beating of three shooting suspects.
    "As Philadelphia police officers, we must be held to a higher standard," said Rochelle Bilal, president of the Guardian Civic League. "Our professionalism when interacting with the public must be maintained through the toughest times."

    Surrounded by several active and retired police officers and African-American civic leaders, Bilal praised Ramsey's decision to fire four police officers, suspend three more, and demote another.

    "Our organization supports his efforts to bring a swift conclusion to this act of police misconduct," Bilal said.

    A Fox29 helicopter crew was flying overhead May 5 as 19 officers took three suspected gunmen into custody.

    The video shows the officers pulling the suspects from a Mercury Grand Marquis on the 3700 block of North Second Street and forcing them to the ground.

    Police said the three men - Brian Hall, 23, Dwayne Dyches, 24, and Pete Hopkins, 19 - had been involved in an earlier shooting at 4th and Annsbury Streets.

    Several officers were taped kicking and pummelling the three men during an 11-minute melee.

    The video was broadcast nationally and cast the department in an embarrassing light.

    Bilal rejected the FOP's assertion that Ramsey had acted prematurely in dispensing discipline to the eight officers.

    "The Commissioner has a right to make that decision," Bilal said.

    She said the local Fraternal Organization of Police, in protesting the disciplinary action, was just doing its job.

    "The FOP is the bargaining agent for all police officers," Bilal said. "The FOP believes the Commissioner rushed to judgement. But we viewed that tape - the beating was excessive."

    One community activist who stood with Bilal at the press conference said he believed the Commissioner didn't go far enough.

    "They all should have been fired," said Sultan Ashley-Shah, president of the Philadelphia chapter of the National Action Network.

    "We will continue to push for the dismissal of all the officers seen on the tape doing bodily harm to these young men," said Ashley-Shah.

    All three suspects continue to recover from serious injuries received in the beating, he added.

    Ashley-Shah said the helicopter that filmed the beating wouldn't have been there if police believed they were only investigating a random shooting.

    On the day of the beating, police were scouring the city for Eric Floyd, wanted in the May 3 slaying of Sgt. Stephen Liczbinski.

    "They were tipped off. The Fox29 Skycam wasn't there for a shooting. There are shootings all over the city and they don't send a helicopter for those.

    "They got a tip that Eric Floyd was in the area," Ashley-Shah said. "If you take Mr. Dyches photograph and compare it to Floyd's photo, they're almost identical twins. [The police] thought they had Floyd."

    Officer Dana Gibson, who was working in the 35th District the night of the beating, said morale in the department had suffered after the blows of Liczbinski's death, the taped beating, and the subsequent discipline.

    "We're still grieving over Sgt. Liczbinski," she said, her eyes welling with tears.

    Gibson, who also attended the press conference, said she routinely worked with the disciplined officers.

    "They're good men," she said. "I feel badly for them. It was an unfortunate event."

    She hopes the rift between the department and the community will be healed.

    "The erosion of morale has not only stricken the department," she said. "It has also spread like a cancer to those we are sworn to protect."

    Ashley-Shah said disciplining the eight officers was a good first step to healing the divide.

    "You have to begin somewhere," he said. "But we're going to have to rebuild the trust between police and the citizens if we're going to turn this around."
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