Rhymes & Resistance: King Moosa uses creativity to advance voting rights

“Rhymes & Resistance: King Moosa uses creativity to advance voting rights”

Did you know that individuals with felony convictions in Illinois still retain the right to vote? Rockford-born hip-hop ARTivist Brian Harrington, aka King Moosa, is trying to spread the word. 

Sentenced to 25 years in prison at the age of 14, King Moosa experienced the isolating effects of incarceration firsthand. Through the support of community members and grassroots movements, he was encouraged to draw, write, and perform, bringing awareness to his story. In 2020, after 13 years behind bars, he was granted clemency. Now, he uses his talents to create narrative change surrounding incarceration and its effects in America. 

Through his art, advocacy work, and collaboration with Chicago Votes, he continues to fight for change in the legal system, using community and individual healing as a powerful crime-prevention tactic. 

Produced by Maddie Voelkel and Matthew Warakomski for Reparations Media NFP | In collaboration with King Moosa https://www.kingmoosaartivism.com/about 

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Episode Transcript

SPEAKER_01 (00:01):
God bless you.

UNKNOWN (00:30):
God bless me now, seeing how Michelle be rolling.

SPEAKER_00 (00:34):
That's Brian Harrington, better known as King
Musa, hailing from Rockford,Illinois.
Musa is a self-proclaimedhip-hop artivist, a portrait
artist, spoken word performer,community organizer, and a
loving father and partner.
But before this, he served 13years in the Illinois Department
of Corrections.
I

SPEAKER_01 (00:55):
was still under that impression that here I am a
child, I'm going into thisinterrogation room with these
detectives without my mom, thatoh, this is where I would get
help from legal people.
Like, these people are in a roomto help me.
They're going to walk me throughit.
That's not what happened.

SPEAKER_00 (01:13):
This is an interview with King Musa for Change
Agents, the podcast.
I'm Matthew Warakomsky, and myco-producer is Maddie Volko.
At the age of 14, Lusa wassentenced to 25 years in IDOC
for first-degree murder after agun deal gone wrong.
I

SPEAKER_01 (01:31):
felt unjust because I didn't understand what was
happening to me.
I didn't know none of the legalterms that they were using.
I had successively graduatedeighth grade, so technically I
had an eighth-grade education.
going up against people who wentto law school, them trying me as
an adult felt wrong.
I didn't know why it felt wrong.

(01:52):
I just knew like something's notright about this process.
Like kids in America usually gethelp in these circumstances, you
know?

SPEAKER_00 (01:58):
Tried as an adult, Musa entered adult prison at the
age of 17.

SPEAKER_01 (02:03):
That's your developmental years mentally,
physically, spiritually.
Like them years where you'regoing through your emotions like
you're a teenager.
You go through those teenageemotions where you don't even
have the ability to identifywith your emotions at 14, 15,
16, 17, 18.
Like you're just now discoveringthat.
I went from being this bubbly,outspoken, loving person person

(02:28):
and just like full of life andcreative to all of a sudden not
knowing how to interact withpeople.
I don't recognize myself.
I have no certainty.
I just started dealing withpain.
I just was a person that woke updealing with pain and I just
kept it all in.

SPEAKER_00 (02:46):
Shortly after arriving at Menard, Musa came to
the realization that if he wasgoing to survive his prison
time, he would have to adjusthis thinking.
I'm

SPEAKER_01 (02:56):
like...
Damn, is this feeling that I'mthat I'm feeling about to kill
me?
Shame and guilt and remorse andall of the things that sat on my
chest around that time.
I'm like, nobody make it through25 years of this.
Like, no way you could feelthis.
So I started to out of survival,like write down my thoughts,

(03:16):
like in search of just like, Iguess I don't even go lie.
Like, I don't even know why Idid it, but it proved to be
therapeutic.

SPEAKER_00 (03:24):
And then one night, Musa was encouraged by his
neighbor and cellmate to rap forthem.

SPEAKER_01 (03:28):
After I rapped, I got all of these people, when
they see me again, was like,hey, you cold.
That was the first time I knewthat I can move people with it.
And then performing it gave meinvigoration.
I don't speak on much, but whenI performed it, I felt
exhilarated.
I felt relieved.
It was almost like if I washolding all of this stuff in and

(03:50):
y'all put a punching bag infront of me or something.

SPEAKER_00 (03:54):
Moose's artistic abilities grew beyond the walls
of his cell.
He started getting commissionsfor his work and performed his
music at various events fromprison via phone.
Here is a spoken word piece thathe recorded over the phone from
Miami, Florida's Smoke SignalStudio.
As

SPEAKER_02 (04:12):
a child, the school teacher asked, what do you want
to be when you grow up?
I looked up, and I was overcomeby a feeling of greatness.
Hiding behind dark clouds ormultitude of black oppression
lies a solid mass of purepotential.
An iron whip persistently chipsaway at its surface.

(04:34):
Shreds and chunks fly here andthere.
Some land in fields.
Some land in the sea never to beheard from again.

SPEAKER_00 (04:41):
Some listen

SPEAKER_02 (04:41):
to that voice...

SPEAKER_00 (04:42):
Musa's spoken word gave people access to his story
and allowed him to create anidentity separate from who he
was in prison.

SPEAKER_01 (04:51):
So now I got evidence that I'm not just a
person in a sail no more.
I have wings, I can fly.
This art has given me theability to transcend people that
I'm not in front of.
The ability to move people I'mnot in front of.

SPEAKER_00 (05:08):
With growing support, Musa tried to appeal
his sentence, but initiallyfound little success.
Then, on April 9, 2020, GovernorJ.B.
Pritzker granted him pardon 12years before his intended
release.
In prison, Musa learned thevalue of art as a pathway to
healing.

(05:28):
That knowledge and his talenthave led him to work as a trauma
outreach specialist for the LiveFree Organization's Community
Healing Resource Center inRockford, Illinois.
I

SPEAKER_01 (05:39):
want to be an activist, but I'd rather be
Focusing on juvenile justicewith an overall theme of letting
the world know that healing canbe a crime prevention tactic.
And the thing happened inhealing where you have to
unlearn something.
In my household, I couldn't cry.
I wasn't supposed to cry.

(06:00):
Males not supposed to cry.
But what happens to that toxicsalt that comes out of my eyes
when I don't cry?
That turns into somethinginternally, which turns into
illness.
And if it don't turn intosomething and I don't implode,
then I explode.
And so these are the moments weread about where we like, damn,

(06:21):
why did dude come and shoot upfive people?
Because maybe he didn't know howto grieve properly.
Maybe nobody ever gave him thetools to cope with death.

SPEAKER_00 (06:30):
As a board member of Chicago Votes, Musa is also
helping returning citizens findtheir voice through civic
empowerment.

SPEAKER_01 (06:39):
The role I play with Chicago Votes now is more so a
real ambassador role.
They taught me the importance ofyour voice when it came to
voting.
And I didn't realize that I evencould vote when I came home.
My role with Chicago Votes,though, has been just to bring
awareness to that people withfelonies, you do have the right

(07:01):
to vote.

SPEAKER_00 (07:02):
In the state of Illinois, there are nearly
550,000 residents with felonyconvictions.
King Musa wants them to knowthat there is great power in
exercising their right to vote.

SPEAKER_01 (07:14):
We've been losing to all type of races, like state
representative races by 900votes, automatic races by 60
votes.
If people knew that they canvote that have felonies, that
many people can sway anyelection.

SPEAKER_00 (07:36):
For Musa, healing is an ongoing process.

SPEAKER_01 (07:41):
Prison is always on my mind.
And it's like, I do want to getpast prison.
I don't want prison to be theonly thing that's part of my
story.
I went to therapy for the firsttime last year.
I'm going to unmarked territoryfor me and my family.
That's pride to me.