Panther Baby by Jamal Joseph Page B

cell door and let in the attorneys, along with Afeni Shakur and Joan Bird from the women’s cell. It was now clear that this wasn’t just a trumped-up “meatball” of a case that was going to be dismissed. Th ey had arrested the entire leadership of the New York Black Panther Party and were trying to put us away for the rest of our lives. I learned how the cops had pointed guns at children and hit Panthers with gun butts during the April 2 raids. Th e content of apartments and homes had been trashed and destroyed during the searches. Wives and children were struggling for food and shelter while their mates and fathers were in jail.
    Members of the Panther 21 provided for their families with jobs ranging from community organizer (Afeni Shakur) and transit authority worker (Kwando Kinshasha) to computer engineer (Sundiata Acoli) and biochemical researcher (Dr. Curtis Powell). In our ranks were a visual artist (Dhoruba Bin Wahad), a poet (Kwesi Balagoon), a writer (Cetewayo Tabor), a film lab technician (Shaba Om), a laborer (Baba Odinga), and a military veteran (Ali Bey Hassan).
    Th e Panthers formed a fearsome military column when they lined up in black berets and leather coats. Beneath the berets were young men and women who had come to realize that their individual problems were connected to all oppressed people. Students, veterans, ex-convicts, young mothers, workers, street people—the composition of the Panther 21 reflected the broad membership of the Black Panther Party. Th ey were the folks that Malcolm X called “the grassroots” and that Frantz Fanon called “the wretched of the earth,” coming together to study, work, and sacrifice in a movement that articulated their frustration, their rage, and their need for positive action to change the conditions around them.
    “What the hell is going on with these trumped-up charges?” the Panthers wondered out loud as we huddled around our attorneys. Th e lawyers still didn’t have a clear picture of District Attorney Hogan’s case against us. Th ey had been frustrated at every turn at their attempts to get information even with the court rules of pretrial discovery. But one thing they had learned was that the New York chapter had been infiltrated.
    “ Th ere are two undercover cops who say they were there for all of the meetings and all of the training,” Gerald Lefcourt said. “ Th ey are part of a special undercover unit known as BOSS—Bureau of Special Services. One of the cops’ name is Gene Roberts.” I knew who Gene was. Brother Gene, as we called him, had been a Black Muslim and Malcolm X’s bodyguard. He was three feet away from Malcolm when he was shot at the Audubon Ballroom in Harlem. Th ere was a photo in Life magazine of Gene Roberts giving Malcolm mouth-to-mouth resuscitation as Malcolm’s body lay on the stage covered in blood.
    “Brother Gene is a pig? I can’t believe it,” one of the Panthers said.
    “ Th e other cop is Ralph White.”
    “Who the hell is Ralph White?” someone asked.
    Gerry read another name from the court papers. “ Th e name he used in the Panthers was Yedwa.”
    Time stopped when I heard Yedwa’s name. Head spinning, heart pounding, brain contracting. Yedwa was a cop? He was my teacher, my mentor, my big brother. Th e father I never had. He came to my house and convinced Noonie to let me come back to the Panther office. How the hell could this be?
    Afeni broke the silence that had numbed the room. “I’m not surprised,” she said. “Yedwa always acted like a reckless agent provocateur. I knew he was a pig.” Afeni was a fiery Panther leader who never held back her opinions or edited her feelings. She and Yedwa had often argued about his brazen comments and reckless behavior. We had considered Yedwa a “crazy nigga”; Afeni considered him dangerous, and in the open forum of a stormy Panther meeting had called him a pig. Lumumba censured Afeni, saying that she was being “overemotional” and that such