Assata: An Autobiography (30 page)

I am convinced that a systematic program for political education, ranging from the simplest to the highest level, is imperative for any successful organization or movement for Black liberation in this country. The Party had some of the most politically conscious sisters and brothers as members, but in some ways it failed to spread that consciousness to the cadre in general. I also thought it was a real shame the BPP didn't teach Panthers organizing and mobilizing techniques. Some members were natural geniuses at organizing people, but they were usually the busiest comrades with the most responsibility. Part of the problem was that the Party had grown so fast that there wasn't a lot of time to come up with step by-step approaches to things. The other part of the problem was that almost from its inception, the BPP was under attack from the u.s. government.

At first i didn't feel the repression too deeply. I knew the Party was under attack, but it felt like it wasn't so near, like it was lingering in the background. What made me maddest was the media treatment of the BPP, which gave the impression that the Party was racist and violent. And it worked. The pigs would burst into a Panther office, shoot first, and ask questions later. The press always reported that the police had "uncovered" a large arsenal of weapons. Later, when the "arsenal" turned out to be a few legally registered rifles and shotguns, the press never printed a word. The same thing goes on today. Nobody gets upset about white people having guns, but let a Black person have a gun and something criminal is going on. The only time white amerika is in favor of Black people having guns is when we are using them to do amerika's dirty work. They've got a lot of Black people so scared they are scared even to think about owning a gun. But the way the tide of racism is rising in this country, Black people better be more scared to not have a gun than to have one. With the Ku Klux Klan and all these other racists running around, Black people have got to be suicidal if they don't own and know how to operate a gun. If you don't own a gun now, you'd better rush out and buy one because in a few years, the way this country is moving, it might be against the law for Blacks to buy guns.

One of the best things about struggling is the people you meet. Before i became involved, i never dreamed such beautiful people existed. Of course, there were some creeps, but i can say without the slightest hesitation that i have been blessed with meeting some of the kindest, most courageous, most principled, most informed and intelligent people on the face of the earth. l owe a great deal to those who have helped me, loved me, taught me, and pulled my coat when i was moving in the wrong direction. If there is such a thing as luck, i've had an abundance of it, and the ones who have brought it to me are my friends and comrades. My wild, big hearted friends, with their pretty ways and pretty thoughts, have given me more happiness that i will ever deserve. There was never a time, no matter what horrible thing i was undergoing, when i felt completely alone. Maybe it's ironic, i don't know, but the one thing i do know is that the Black liberation movement has done more for me than i will ever be able to do for it.

Becoming Zayd's friend was something really important. After i joined the party he would drop by my house every so often. We would listen to music and talk politics. I was forever teasing him about being part of the leadership (he was Minister of Information) since he was the only leader up at the Bronx Ministry, with the exception of Afeni Shakur, i had any respect for. He would laugh at my Robert Bey jokes, but he never once said a disparaging word about any of the other comrades. I also respected him because he refused to become part of the macho cult that was an official body in the BPP. He never voted on issues or took a position just to be one of the boys. When brothers made an unprincipled attack on sisters, Zayd refused to participate. Whenever we hooked up for a meeting at somebody's house, he was the first to volunteer to cook dinner or, if dinner was already cooked, the first to roll up his sleeves and wash the dishes. I knew this had to be especially hard for him because he was small and his masculinity was always being challenged in some way by the more backward, muscle-headed men in the party.

Zayd always treated me and all the other sisters with respect. I enjoyed his friendship because he was one of those rare men completely capable of being friends with a woman without having designs on her. We communicated on such an intense, honest level that afterward i wondered if it had been real. And he was cultured. When you say "cultured," most people think you're talking about the opera and Amy Vanderbilt's etiquette book, but that's not what i'm talking about. He was well versed and well educated about every aspect of Black life. He could not only recite Langston Hughes by heart and give a biographical rundown of Coltrane, Bessie Smith, or James Cleveland, but he could also sit down and have an intelligent conversation about dreambooks or Argo starch eaters.

After a while Zayd asked me to work with him on Party projects. It was mostly dealing with white support groups who were involved in raising bail for the Panther 21 members still in jail. I hated it. At the time, i felt that anything below 110th Street was another country. All my activities were centered in Harlem and i almost never left it. Doing defense committee work was definitely not up my alley. I think that one of the reasons Zayd insisted on bringing me to some of these events is that he knew how much i hated them. I was the perfect angry Panther. I hated standing around while all these white people asked me to explain myself, my existence. I became a master of the one-line answer.

"What made you become a Panther?”

“Oppression."

"What do you think about Huey Newton?”

"He's a right-on Black revolutionary leader.”

"What do you think white people should be doing?"

"Organizing other white people in their communities, supporting Black and Third World liberation struggles, and helping to free the Panther 21."

Once a guy asked if i was really going to off the pigs.

"Not tonight.”

I couldn't get over how personal some of those people tried to get even though i'd never seen them before. One came over to me and asked if Zayd was my Panther husband. When i looked at her as if she was crazy for asking me a question like that, she said, giggling all over herself, "I mean, I mean, is he your cat?" Another woman came over and stuck her hands all in my hair. "Oh, I just had to touch your hair. It's so…kinky.”

Zayd would be steady trying to convince the defense groups to raise more money. He explained how important it was to have the Panther 21 out on the street, organizing and educating people about what was going on in amerika. Zayd was polite and under standing and patient. After he gave his little speech, he would turn to me and ask, "What do you think about that, sister?" Rapping in my best Panther cadence, i would say something like "Black people have been oppressed for four hundred years. We are still being oppressed. The Panther 21 don't need any moral support. They need concrete support. They don't want to hear that you sympathize with them, they want to hear that you are willing and ready to help liberate them." When we were finished, a second donation would be given.

Zayd was usually cool and poised at these functions, except once. We were at a meeting with the Computer People for Peace, a group that was helping to raise the money to bail out Sundiata Acoli. Zayd said Sundiata should be the next Panther to be bailed out because his leadership qualities were sorely needed in the Party. One guy kept interrupting him, implying that Zayd was pushing for Sundiata's release because they were friends, that he was being subjective and dealing from an emotional rather than a scientific, objective analysis. Zayd's face underwent a complete change. I could see that he was trying to control himself to keep from going off on this dude. "What do you mean, I'm being subjective? Don't you ever open your mouth to me to tell me I'm subjective as long as you live. My brother Lumumba, my own flesh and blood, has also been locked up for more than a year, and I haven't asked you for a dime to bail him out." Lumumba Shakur was one of the Panther 21. A complete hush came over the room. The computer people said they would do everything they could to raise money for Sundiata's bail, and that’s what they did. The only thing was that, once the $100,000 cash bail was raised, pig judge Murtagh refused to release him or any of the others. We were furious and helpless.

After a while, everything seemed strange to me. I was catching all these weird vibrations and sensations. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but i could sense a whole lot of stuff going on. I felt like i was standing on top of a river with currents swirling down underneath the surface. All these strange things were starting to happen. I would go to the laundromat and find a Black policeman there who said he wanted to join the Party. Every once in a while i'd turn around and see strange men following me. Even though i had no money to pay my telephone bill and had long stopped paying it, the telephone kept working and, after a while, i stopped receiving any bills.

Politically, i was not at all happy with the direction of the Party. Huey went on a nationwide tour advocating his new theory of intercommunality. The essence of the theory was that imperialism had reached such a degree that sovereign borders were no longer recognized and that oppressed nations no longer existed, only oppressed communities, within and outside the u.s. The problem was that somebody had forgotten to tell these oppressed communities that they were no longer nations. Even worse, almost no one understood Huey's long speeches explaining intercommunalism. Huey Newton was not what you would call a good speaker. In fact, he had a kind of high-pitched monotonous voice and his rambling for three hours about the negation of the negation was sheer disaster. People walked out in droves. Instead of criticizing what was happening, most of the Party members defended it. When i said that Huey needed speaking lessons they jumped down my throat. When Huey changed his title from defense minister to the ridiculous-sounding "Supreme Commander" and then to the even more ridiculous "Supreme Servant," damn near nobody said a word. That was one of the big problems in the Party. Criticism and self-criticism were not encouraged, and the little that was given often was not taken seriously. Constructive criticism and self-criticism are extremely important for any revolutionary organization. Without them, people tend to drown in their mistakes, not learn from them.

Because i was still a college student, i was often called on by the BPP to do student work. I didn't mind working with students to coordinate this or that, but i was deathly afraid of speaking in public. But they insisted i had to learn in order to be effective on campus. I had an old rickety tape recorder that was on its last legs. I decided to use it to practice public speaking. On and on i went, bla, bla, bla, into the microphone. The telephone rang. I put the mike down, turned off the recorder, and rushed to the phone. "Hello, JoAnne? Stop making tapes," the voice said. The phone clicked. I stood there with the receiver in my hand. I had to get out of there. I ran to get my coat. I needed some privacy to think.

Every day at the office, things were getting stranger and stranger. Rumors that the pigs were going to attack the office were rampant. Convinced of the invasion, the leadership decided to "secure" the office. The big storefront window was removed and replaced by a wooden partition. Windows without glass were cut into the wood, covered by little wooden doors. "What are all those little holes for?" i asked. "To shoot out of," they told me. Piles of sandbags were brought into the office. I didn't believe that shit! Everybody was talking about defending the office. "Why do we have to defend the office?" i asked. They told me something about executive mandate number three. It said Panthers were supposed to defend the office against pig attacks. I was all in favor of self-defense, but i couldn't see giving my life up just to defend the office. "It's the principle of the thing," they told me.

I didn't understand what principle they were talking about. One of the basic laws of people's struggle was to retreat when the enemy is strong and to attack when the enemy is weak. As far as i was concerned, defending the office was suicidal. The pigs had manpower, initiative, surprise, and gunpowder. We would just be sitting ducks. I felt that the Party was dealing from an emotional rather than a rational basis. Just because you believe in self-defense doesn't mean you let yourself be sucked into defending yourself on the enemy's terms. One of the Party's major weaknesses, i thought, was the failure to clearly differentiate between aboveground political struggle and underground, clandestine military struggle.

An aboveground political organization can't wage guerrilla war anymore than an underground army can do aboveground political work. Although the two must work together, they must have completely separate structures, and any links between the two must remain secret. Educating the people about the necessity for self-defense and for armed struggle was one thing. But maintaining a policy of defending Party offices against insurmountable odds was another. Of course, if the police just came in and started shooting, defending yourself made sense. But the point is to try and prevent that from happening. One day, in the not too distant future, any Black organization that is not based on bootlicking and tomming will be forced underground. And as fast as this country is moving to the fascist far right, Black revolutionary organizations should start preparing for the inevitability. Fascist governments do not permit revolutionary or progressive opposition groups to exist, no matter how peaceful or nonviolent they are. It doesn't matter whether the fascist government simply outlaws the groups like in Nazi Germany or mounts a counterintelligence campaign to destroy opposition groups, like in the u.s.

It was growing more and more impossible to get work done. Everything seemed to be in a continuous state of chaos. The Party decided at one point to open a Saturday Liberation School for children, and i was assigned to the project. I was really ecstatic about it because i love working with children and i was really tired of adults at the time. Being my usual reserved self, i threw every bit of energy i had into the project. I collected books, materials, paints, photographs, children's Black history stories, children's records, etc. Two other comrades were assigned to the project. Everybody pitched in and after a few weeks we had a whole pile of children attending. Just as we got the program on its feet, i was called aside and taken into confidence. The Party had information that the pigs were going to raid the office in about two weeks. "If the pigs were going to attack the office, why would they bother to tell us?" I asked. "We have our sources, sister," i was told. "Just like the pigs have their sources, we have ours." I was skeptical, but i figured they knew more about it than i did. In preparation for the coming attack i was asked to prepare a child care place, a safe house for Panther children. It sounded kind of wild, but i agreed to do it. In the back of my mind i half thought they were testing me to see how i would respond in a crisis.