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They weren’t just talking. The three Black Panthers were rapping. Laying it down. Telling it like it is, like talking was their weapon.
A name is important. It isn’t something you drop in the litter basket or on the ground. Your name is how people know you. The very mention of your name makes a picture spring to mind, whether it’s a picture of clashing fists or a mighty mountain that can’t be knocked down. Your name is who you are and how you’re known even when you do something great or something dumb.
his mother’s permission to join. He was also
wished I didn’t know that I was marching my sisters into a boiling pot of trouble cooking in Oakland. But it was too late for wishing. I knew full well what I knew.
“We look out for each other. The rally is one way of looking out for all of our sisters. All of our brothers. Unity, Sister Delphine. We have to stand united.”
I was used to busy hands. To doing.
Cecile called out, “I’m not coming down to no police station if you’re out there stealing. Y’all have to spend the night in jail.” That was as good a “Be safe and have a good time” as we were going to get from Cecile.
Information is power,” she told me as if we were having a lesson. “Keeping the people informed keeps the people empowered.”
It was a strange, wonderful feeling. To discover eyes upon you when you expected no one to notice you at all.
