We Want Freedom. Mumia Abu-Jamal

among other things, to get the racist power structure of America to right the wrongs which have historically been perpetrated against Black people. All of these efforts have been answered by more repression, deceit, and hypocrisy. As the aggression of the racist American Government escalates in Vietnam, the police agencies of America escalate the repression of Black people throughout the ghettos of America. Vicious police dogs, cattle prods, and increased patrols have become familiar sights in Black communities. City Hall turns a deaf ear to the pleas of Black people for relief from this increasing terror.

      The Black Panther Party for Self-Defense believes that the time has come for Black people to arm themselves against this terror before it is too late. The pending Mulford Act brings the hour of doom one step nearer. A people who have suffered so much for so long at the hands of a racist society must draw the line somewhere. We believe that the Black communities of America must rise up as one man to halt the progression of a trend that leads inevitably to their total destruction.29

      While the Party’s armed Black presence probably contributed to ensuring the passage of the bill, the Party’s message was clearly stated in the startling photos of leather-clad Black men marching through the state’s capitol buildings with arms at parade rest.

      The Sacramento demonstration launched the Party into a national orbit, perhaps long before it was ready. The Party was swarmed with applications from young men and women around the nation who wanted to open branches of the new organization in their local communities.

      The Party, not yet a year old, was growing at a rapid pace.

      Over the next three years, the Party expanded almost exponentially. It first spread to Richmond, then over the bay to San Francisco, and then southward to Los Angeles.

      It sprang out from California to every possible region where a Black community welcomed its youth and energy; north to Seattle; east to Kansas City; to the Black Mecca of Chicago; to Boston; New York’s Harlem, Bronx, and Brooklyn boroughs; Winston-Salem, North Carolina; Baltimore; Nashville, Tennessee; and New Orleans.

      By 1969 over forty chapters and branches existed, with several thousand people sworn to membership in the Party.

      In Philadelphia, the nation’s former capital, a handful of young men would form the core of the Black Panther Party in that city. I was among them—in the spring of 1969, beginning my fifteenth year of life:

      It is difficult to pinpoint the exact moment the Black Panther Party was formed in Philadelphia, because, in fact, there were several such formations: one in South Philadelphia, one in Germantown, and one in North Philadelphia. The North and South Philadelphia formations would merge, and the Germantown group, a mysterious gathering that apparently only sold papers, would wither.

      As in any such political organization, there was intense jockeying for power, divided between younger and older and between north and south sections of the city. The men met each other, quietly, in a Center City bookstore, where The Black Panther and various books were sold. Some days later they met in a tiny ghetto apartment in South Philly, at 14th and Kater Streets, right over a bar. The men were to argue and debate who would lead and who would follow. An aggressive, tall, fast-talking young man named Bill Crawford seemed to have the edge, with his fiery tongue and dark shades covering his strange, amber-colored eyes. His only real adversary was an older, slow-talking, darker-hued man, Terry McCarter, whose clever, patient, southern-cadenced manner had appeal.

      It was decided that a phone call would be made to Black Panther National Headquarters to solve the dispute, but the answer related to us was that Oakland would choose no one. According to one caller, either David or June Hilliard, the BPP Chief of Staff or his assistant, when asked about formally recognizing the Philadelphia branch, replied, “You don’t hafta be a Black Panther to make revolution.”

      His statement, while objectively true, did not discourage those of us who were determined to join the organization that seemed closest to our dreams. The meetings continued, as we pondered National’s seeming indifference. Did they get calls like that all the time? Were they being cautious of folks they didn’t know? Were they seriously trying to limit expansion? Was this a test, to see if we were serious about opening a branch?

      These questions were never sufficiently answered. Or perhaps they were answered by our actions, as we stubbornly resolved to just do the work. Officers were chosen, and daily tasks were assigned. When the oldhead, Terry, was chosen for captain, the young buck, Bill, raged out of the apartment, vowing to catch the next thing smoking to Oakland to resolve this problem. He clearly felt he was the superior candidate and hinted that Oakland would change our choice. In fact, we never heard back from him.

      I was chosen Lieutenant of Information, a heady role for a manchild who had barely reached his fifteenth summer, and assigned to develop propaganda for the Party—even though no office had yet been opened. Leaflets were prepared, drawing largely from the BPP newspaper for style and tone, announcing the existence of a local branch.

      How does one provide contact data on a leaflet in the absence of an office? Not to worry. I simply attached my home number to the bottom of the leaflet, which would not have been remarkable were it not for the fact that “home” was where I lived with my mother. This led to some interesting, if somewhat passionate, exchanges between us. It also led to some remarkable telephone calls.

      Caller: Yello—Is zis uh, Moo-my-uh, of the Black Gorilla Party?

      Answerer: This is Mumia of the Black Panther Party—who the hell is this?

      Caller: Yeah—This is Roy Frankhouser of the United Klan of America, headquartered up ’ere in Reading, PA. We’re havin’ a burn-a-nigger festival this weekend, and we wanna invite cha to come. You interested?

      Answerer: I doubt I’ll be able to make it, but you can bring yho ass down to Philly—we got somethin’ real nice for ya.

      Caller: Well, uh—can I ask ya a question there, Moomyah?

      Answerer: What’s that?

      Caller: Do niggers eat shit?

      Answerer: Do you?

      Caller: Nah, uh—really! I’m curious! Isn’t that where yer brown color comes from?

      Answerer: I can’t believe you that silly, man. Ain’t you got nothin’ better to do?

      Caller: Well, we got the kill-a-nigger festival I told ja about....

      Answerer: Man, I can’t believe a grown man your age ain’t got nothin’ betta to do than play ona damn phone! Are you retarded, man?

      Caller: Naw, I’m curious.

      [The phone is hung up.]

      The call probably wasn’t formally reported to my captain although I’m fairly certain that we discussed it, more like—“Man, you ain’t gonna believe the nutty shit that I’m getting on my phone.…” What is memorable, however, is the distinct accent of the caller. His high-in-the-throat, almost nasal pronunciation sounded more at home in the ethnic enclaves of South or Northeast Philadelphia (pronounced “Fluffia” by them) than distant, rural Reading. Was it really the Klan; were they really so stupid, so childish, that a teenager could so quickly dismiss them as juvenile?

      It may have been, but to the youth on the receiving end of the call, it sounded like a typical Philadelphia cop.

      Terry, because of his low-key, laid-back approach, was incurring more criticism than acceptance in his role of captain. It did not help matters that he seemed more drunk than sober these days. Inevitably, another power struggle developed, and Captain Terry was quietly retired in favor of a younger, more aggressive (and sober!) North Philadelphian—Reggie Schell. Captain Reg would corral the necessary resources to open the first office of the Black Panther Party in Philadelphia in late spring 1969. The site he selected at 1928 West Columbia Avenue was in the very heart of North Philly, the site of a police-sparked revolt (the city’s press would say “riot”) several months before. The office would become a magnet, attracting radical and revolutionary Black youth (and others) from all corners of the city.

      The New York chapter, which had regional