Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • I was back east at college taking over campus buildings, hoping that my number would not be drawn by the draft and that I would be shipped off to Nam. It was there I first learned of the Panthers.

    I had seen posters of her in Greenwich Village head shops and was in awe of that huge black halo of a fro she carried with such majestic contempt. I had never seen a woman wear a leather jacket quite as she did and then there was the right hand raised high to the sky, clenched, demanding the power within that grasp. Her grasp.

    Last month, and so many years later, I traveled to Oakland to join the second march on the port. As I arrived to the, then, dis-Occupied Frank Ogawa Plaza, I found myself squarely at the edge of the makeshift stage where she was being introduced. Now with a much fairer and looser aura of hair about her, but with even more power and with years of wisdom, she spoke. And then, there she was, six feet away from me raising her right fist to the heavens. And then we walked.
    • Share

    Connected stories:

About

Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.