Dedication
Dedication
To the ancestors, the nameless ones who were dragged to living hells in shackles: “strangers in a strange land.”
To those young idealistic souls who wore the black and the blue. To those who sold papers in the dead of night, in smoky bars, and in the freezing grips of the wind (especially in the East). To those loving women and sensitive men who rose from their beds at five a.m. to prepare hot breakfasts for schoolchildren from coast to coast.
To Huey, and Eldridge, who are now with the ancestors. To Captain Reggie, to D.C. and B.C., to Pink, to “Stretch” Peterson, to Rene Johnson, to Jintz, to Gladys, to Billy O., to Bullwhip, to Sista Bernice (who became Safiya), to Zayd Malik Shakur, Afeni Shakur, Assata Shakur (the Shakur tribe); to Freddy Nolan, to Frank Jones, to Kathleen, to Geronimo and the Jagas; to the New York 3, to Kiilu Nyasha, to Rita, to Frannie, to Rosemari Mealy, and all the remarkable women who were the luminous glory of the Party. To my former boss, Judi Douglass. To Sista Love. To those known and unknown (like Delbert), who served the Party and their people under arms, and paid the highest price. For those dozens who survived, and remain languishing in the devil’s dens still.
To Frances Goldin, who shopped around ’til she found a perfect fit for this work. To Noelle Hanrahan for sending valuable research materials. To those at South End Press, like Alexander Dwinell, Asha Tall, and the rest of the collective, who welcomed, shaped, and praised this project from its earliest incarnation. To my brave and insightful teachers and the thesis committee at California State University, Dominguez Hills; Drs. Myrna Donahoe, Joyce Johnson, and Frank Stricker, who approved an earlier version of this work for completion of an M.A.
To generations to come, who need to know that such a thing as the Black Panther Party was actually possible, and indeed vibrant.
I hereby dedicate this work.
Thank You.
Mumia Abu-Jamal
Waynesburg, Pennsylvania
Reflections—Introduction to a New, Revised Edition
Reflections
introduction to a new, revised edition
Many years ago, before I wrote my first book (Live from Death Row), I was in a lively discussion with a friend of mine. His name is Terry, Terry Bisson. He’s a well-known writer of sci-fi, a genre that I love, and we were talking about something we both loved: books. He’s actually quite a shy guy (amazingly, many writers are shy. I should know. I’m one of them!), but he confided in me, “This is my third book, and I’m quite proud of it.”
“Which one are you proudest of, Terry?” I asked.
“That’s hard, Mu. It’s kinda like saying who’s your favorite child. How can you do that?”
“I understand, but I wonder how it feels to write a book and let it go into the world. What if it bombs?”
“I look at my books the way a bird looks at her chicks: some soar, some stagger, and some fall to the ground. They’re all yer babies! But you can do the best you can when you write ’em—then, you let go. They soar—or fall.” From that conversation, I learned that every book has its own destiny.
That conversation arose out of the depths of consciousness when I learned that the book you’re holding—We Want Freedom—was being republished. I felt the flush of joy that this work infused with boyish wonder and political toil and terror was being reborn; cast again, upon the winds of fate.
We Want Freedom’s republication comes at a time that can only be considered serendipitous: the era of mass Black (and multi-toned) outrage at the brutality of the State. Ferguson was smoldering. Then Cleveland. Staten Island. The Bronx. Chicago. Baton Rouge. Falcon Heights. I thought of sisters and brothers now gone from us; soldiers of the Black Revolution, like Zayd Malik Shakur; Safiya Bukhari; Geronimo ji-Jaga; Dr. Huey P. Newton; Fred Hampton … and the list goes on. How would they have interpreted—and responded to—this “new” age of protest to attacks on Black life? They would have perhaps started by pointing out how old this legacy of protest and resistance is.
I missed them all—my lost friends and comrades—yet felt uplifted by the young sisters (yes—mostly sisters) emerging as leaders of this new movement. Their cry—that Black Lives Matter has a historic resonance that anyone with ears and memory can’t help but hear.
The drums. The drumbeats of protest; the calls to angry, seething masses to stand up against this profound indignity. It harkened back to the brief window of Occupy, reflected the Spanish indignados, yes. But it’s boldness gave breath to that which so many in power hoped—wished—had become moribund—the Black Panther Party.
We Want Freedom argues, and hopefully demonstrates, that Black rebellion has deep roots in American soil; its seeds have sprouted across the centuries. As we will see the Black Panther Party emerged from this long history of struggle for Black liberation. History repeats itself in wild, wonderful, and unpredictable ways. Black Lives Matter also belongs to this tradition. We can see some parallels between the founding and message of both organizations. For the Black Panther Party the observation and filming of the police was an early tactic and the unjustified killing of a black man by police gave a focal point to the anger born of years of injustice. We Are Michael Brown and We Are Denzil Dowell. From the streets of Oakland the news of the police murder of a black man spread via the first issue of the Black Panther newspaper—the social media of the day—and of course by people getting together and out in the streets. Both movements made the “controversial” statement—this murder is not acceptable and the insistence on the personhood of Black people was grounded in a movement for social change. Both movements were founded and led by young people and you better believe that the politics and strategies of both movements pissed people off … royally. The Black Panther Party located their message in a strong organization, a clear critique of the existing structure, and a demand for change. It is my hope that Black Lives Matter, which has the luxury of looking at the history of the Black Panther Party, will continue to develop their critique and program.
But history, properly understood, is often a cycle where social forces battle for supremacy positing contradiction against contradiction. Sometimes resistance surfaces where it is least expected and popular culture provides a window into a hidden social reality—causing shock, consternation, and delight!
Consider a recent phone call between me and a sista-friend.
“Did you see it? Did you see IT?” she squealed with excitement when picking up the phone.
“See what?” I replied startled.
“Did you see Beyoncé perform at the Super Bowl? She slayed it! She murdered it!?”
“Whachu talkin’ ’bout, girl? What did she do?”
“You didn’t see it?”
“I ain’t see nuthin’— I ain’t