Free Fire in the Streets by Kekla Magoon

stinking projects where we live.
    â€œNumber five?”
    Patrice and I glance at each other. “Um . . .”
    â€œâ€˜We want education that teaches us our true history and our role in the present-day society.’” We all know this is Emmalee’s favorite. Anything to do with books.
    â€œRight. Number six is: ‘We want all black men to be exempt from military service,’” I recall. It’s easy to remember the ones that would change things the most for me.
    It makes me shiver when I think about the brothers from the block who went to Vietnam. Some of them come back looking like they got ghosts in their eyes. The rest come back in boxes. We have older guys on the block who were in the black regiments in the world war, right on the front lines of everything. One guy in our building is missing a leg, got it blown off in Omaha, which sounds like it might be in Nebraska but is actually a beach in France. I don’t want Raheem to be like that.
    Plus, it’s like Raheem says, we’re fighting a war right here, too. For every foreign war wound I can think of around the neighborhood, there’s at least one guy got beat down or shot up by a cop or jailed for doing nothing. “‘We believe that black people should not be forced to fight in the military service to defend a racist government that does not protect us,’” I whisper.
    â€œNumber seven: ‘We want an immediate end to police brutality and murder of black people,’” Patrice says.
    I go straight into, “Number eight: ‘We want freedom for all black men held in federal, state, county, and city prisons and jails.’”
    â€œI don’t know,” Patrice jokes. “Some brothers need to be locked up.” We laugh, but it’s only kind of funny, because the ones who go to jail aren’t always the ones who deserve it.
    â€œBut . . .” Emmalee nudges us, through her smile.
    â€œâ€˜We believe that all black people should be released from the many jails and prisons because they have not received a fair and impartial trial.’”
    I think about Bucky again, remembering how I took one look at that all-white jury and felt so sure Bucky was a goner, no matter how I testified. We fought for him ’cause it was right, but no one really thought he’d get off. How wrong is that? For the system to be so messed up that we were all sure Bucky was going down even when we knew he didn’t deserve it.
    â€œAlmost there,” Emmalee says. “Finish it out, girls.”
    â€œNumber nine,” Patrice recites. “‘We want all black people when brought to trial to be tried in court by a jury of their peer group or people from their black communities, as defined by the Constitution of the United States.’”
    It’s true. If Bucky had had an all-black jury, I wouldn’t have worried about a thing. Because they would know how it is. White folks, even the nice ones, don’t always want to believe how bad it really gets for us.
    This is why I believe in the Panthers, from my blood and from my soul. Because they know how I feel and they say it out loud.
    â€œNumber ten: ‘We want land, bread, housing, education, clothing, justice, and peace.’” I put my fist in the air, the Panther salute.

CHAPTER 20
    P OLITICAL EDUCATION CLASS IS CROWDED this week. I’m sure Leroy, up at the front, is happy about that. The room is hot as a boiler, so it’s surprising that people are staying.
    After the stifling air, and the crowd, the first thing that gets my attention is Sam. Of course he’s here, he’s always here. He raises a hand to wave at me. I wave back. Patrice grabs my elbow. “Oh, no, no, no,” she says. “Don’t start.”
    â€œDon’t make us read you the list,” Emmalee whispers.
    â€œRead it to me,” I say, because I see empty chairs near where Sam is