Free Panther Baby by Jamal Joseph Page A

time” and sheepishly picked up the pistol and put it away. Th e Panthers lent me the gun because I had received death threats on the phone and in the mail. We’re gonna shoot, lynch, and burn your little Black Panther nigger ass, one note read, and then we’re gonna kill that black bitch grandmother of yours.
    Maybe it was because I was a section leader now, which was the Panthers’ equivalent of being a sergeant. Th e senior Panthers (the ones who were pushing twenty-four) had taken a real liking to me. I had the responsibility of running the youth cadre (the twenty or so other Panthers in high school), and I was now helping to teach some of the political education classes and technical equipment classes, including military drill, basic hand-to-hand combat, and weapon safety. Once or twice a month there was a rally or a big “central” staff meeting where several hundred Panthers from around the city got together, usually in the auditorium of the Long Island University campus in Brooklyn. Now that I had been arrested, I would be asked to stand and speak at the next central staff meeting. I might even get a Panther girlfriend out of this.
    Th e cops led me to the Manhattan DA’s office. When they walked me into the squad room I saw Brother Dhoruba, one of the top leaders of the New York Panthers. I was overjoyed and impressed. He must have gotten Noonie’s call and dashed down to get me out.
    “Right on, brother,” I said as I gave the black-power salute. “You made it down here already.”
    “Very funny,” Dhoruba replied as he gave the cop standing next to him his other hand to fingerprint. It hit me then that Dhoruba was under arrest too.
    Th en I looked around and saw a dozen other key New York Panthers in handcuffs or in holding cells. Lumumba Shakur and his wife, Afeni; Joan Bird (a nineteen-year-old nursing student who had been arrested and severely beaten by cops two months earlier); Bob Collier; Dr. Curtis Powell (who had a PhD in biochemistry); Clark Squire (a computer expert); Baba Odinga; Ali Bey Hassan; and the youngest Panther (next to myself), Katara, a high school senior.
    Th e mood was almost festive with the Panthers shouting greetings to one another and taunts at the police. “ Th is ain’t nothing but pig harassment,” Dhoruba told a detective once we were all placed in a huge holding cell. “Our lawyers are going to have a field day with you.” Everyone seemed confident that this was a giant sweep meant to shake up the New York chapter. “We’ll all be out by the weekend,” said Lumumba. He should know, I thought. He’s already out on bail on three other Panther-related cases.
    From my cell I thought I caught a glimpse of Yedwa and of a quiet Panther named Gene Roberts. Gene was his usual quiet, almost mournful, self. Gene was a navy veteran who was a member of the security section. He taught me about handguns and standing post should I ever be given bodyguard detail. We passed the time doing push-ups and joking about the different ploys the cops used to get into our respective homes. Some of the SWAT teams yelled “Fire.” Others used the same gas leak line that was tried on me.
    Th en we were handcuffed, surrounded by cops, and walked through the dark maze of corridors and barred gates that led to the courthouse. We were placed in another large holding cell, and they started taking the others away one by one. I didn’t see anyone return. I wondered, as our numbers dwindled, if they were taking us out to be shot. Finally they came for me. I was led into a courtroom that was filled with Panthers, supporters, cops, court guards, and lawyers. An older man with long hair walked over to me and shook my hand. “Hi, I’m Bill Kunstler. I’m your lawyer.” Th e cops guided me to the defense table. Bill Kunstler and a young lawyer named Gerald Lefcourt stood on either side of me.
    Th e court clerk began reading from a paper: “ Th e People versus Lumumba Shakur et al. Th e defendant