Loud, proud and black

Published 16 October 2006

The bling generation should learn from images of unity dating back 40 years

Some political acts have an impact because they bring about practical change. Others have an even greater effect on a purely symbolic level. When, on 2 May 1967, a black activist named Bobby Seale led a delegation of 24 men and six women to the steps of the state capitol in Sacramento, it sent shock waves throughout the world. They were dressed in a uniform of black berets, black leather jackets, black trousers, shoes and sunglasses. And they were all openly armed. The Black Panthers embodied Black Power in a way America had never seen. "We were taking a chance," says Seale today, "putting civil rights on the edge. We were saying, 'If you shoot us, we'll shoot back.' We took no crap from the racist-pig power structure."

Four decades on, this image still stirs the hearts of many black people, regardless of where they come from. I was raised in Britain and too young to be aware of the event's significance at the time, but I discovered the Panthers as a politicised teenager in the late Seventies. We'd had riots in Notting Hill and, with the rise of the National Front, anti-fascist clashes in Lewisham and Southall. On television, Alex Haley's Roots - which highlighted the oppression and injustice suffered by enslaved African Americans over generations - had been screened for the first time. But at that time there was little discussion in the media about black achievement. Suddenly, smack between the eyes, here was an image of empowerment and inspiration.

The late Sixties provided more imagery of black people striving to take control of their lives than any other period. There was Huey Newton, sitting in a wicker chair, in Panther uniform, shotgun in one hand and a spear in the other: African warrior past and present, in one picture. Angela Davis, with trademark afro, rallying crowds with her demands for justice. Or Tommie Smith and John Carlos, leather-gloved fists held proudly on high as they collected gold and bronze sprint medals at the 1968 Mexico Olympics. Suddenly, not only could you feel proud to be black - it was cool to be black.

The writing of the time was just as exhilar ating: The Autobiography of Malcolm X, the life story of a man who had been an inspiration to the Panther co-founders; Black Power by Stokely Carmichael; Soul on Ice by Eldridge Cleaver; Sol edad Brother: the prison letters of George Jackson; or (my favourite title) Julius Lester's Look Out, Whitey! Black Power's Gon' Get Your Mama!.

The Black Panthers, published this month, is a visual history of the events and personalities of the times. Through the lens of the Panthers' official photographer, Stephen Shames, we see the rallies, the celebrity backers and the funerals. It's a fascinating collection that captures the anger, the fear, the defiance, and the tragedy of those years.

It also includes pictures of less headline-grabbing aspects of the Panthers' work - the grass-roots projects of which Seale is equally proud. These included the Free Breakfast programme, at first aimed at children in the poorer parts of Oakland but later taken on by the state of California itself, and then by other states across the US. There were also the party's healthcare clinics, which, between 1968 and 1973, tested a million black people for sickle-cell anaemia, a condition that particularly affects those of African origin. This work persuaded hospitals nationally always to check patients for the illness.

Today, however, the image of black men with guns has been turned on its head. Rather than turning against the white racist power structure and its agents, black men today use their weapons against other black men in the ghetto. The uniforms now are gold, diamonds and Rolex watches. Instead of the Black Power salute, we have the hand signals of gang membership; instead of food for the poor, it's Cristal champagne from a pimp-cup.

Somehow, in the United States and here in Britain, the sense of community that was so crucial to black progress appears to have been destroyed. In 1981, as Brixton went up in flames, there was at least a feeling of people coming together to rise up against injustice and inequality. Other inner cities around the country soon followed. The riots may have caused destruction, but they were ultimately an aspirational act. Today, with turf wars over drugs, and with youngsters being fed images of violence and misogyny, can anyone honestly claim this unity still exists? Neither here nor in the US would a modern-day Seale or Newton - or even a Martin Luther King - be able to make such a national impact.

Partly this is a product of the Thatcher/Reagan years and the "me" generation, for which individuality took the place of collective responsi bility. But it is also because the race-relations era channelled so many people who held a sense of grievance into party politics or the public sector bureaucracy. "Today Brent South, tomorrow Soweto," was the rallying cry when Paul Boateng was elected one of the first group of black British MPs in 1987. In reality, the life of an MP has proved to be either one of deals and compromise (for those who sought higher office), or one of back-bench impotence.

One of the most depressing experiences I have had was hearing a speech by Stafford Scott - such an eloquent spokesman for young people on the Broadwater Farm estate at the time of the Tottenham riots in 1985 - in which he spoke at length about "funding streams", "government initiatives" and "diversity action plans". I know time has moved on, but surely we cannot afford to let go of that rage which fuelled so much historic action against injustice.

But maybe I should leave the last word to Bobby Seale, whose chief regret about the Panther era is that he did not seek to link the struggle of black people with that of other minorities and downtrodden groups. If he were to do it again, he says: "I would opt for a coalition cutting across all ethnic and organisational barriers. We need a future of co-operational humanism, where we can have policies made into laws that give people greater empowerment. In the final analysis, all revolutions can't get beyond that."

"The Black Panthers: photographs by Stephen Shames", with a foreword by Bobby Seale, is published by Aperture (£19.50)

Oona King on the legacy of the Black Panthers

The appeal of this book of photographs by Stephen Shames is that his images both confirm and confound the Black Panther stereotype. They remind us that, from the party's foundation in October 1966, the Panthers were not only a revolutionary organisation demanding "land, bread, housing, education, clothing, justice and peace" - they were also (other than the churches) the most effective relief organisation that black America had ever known. At its height, the Panthers' Free Breakfast for Children programme fed 250,000 across America every day before school.

The slogan of the Black Panther Party for Self-Defence (as it was originally known) was "All Power to All the People", which slaps down the notion that it was a purely black nationalist organisation interested only in black power. As Bobby Seale writes in the book's foreword, "advocating for social change is not just about speaking at a podium, but about inspiring party members and other community people" - a lesson for many politicians in Britain today.

In 1968 J Edgar Hoover, as head of the FBI, described the Black Panthers as the greatest threat to the internal security of America. Of the 295 counter-intelligence operations carried out by the FBI on Black Power organisations, 233 targeted the Panthers. Why were they considered such a threat? It was not their numbers (by the end of the 1970s their membership had dwindled to fewer than 50), nor was it merely their aim (the empowerment of black people across America): it was their sheer audacity, and their ability to bring militant and non-militant groups together.

Shames's pictures capture the Panther movement's journey from revolutionary action to electoral politics. Finally, after 16 years, the Panthers, like so many other political organisations, fell apart due to infighting. Its unique mix of black self-help and socialism neither instigated revolution nor won electoral office. But, despite its failings, it revolutionised American culture, changing the mindset of a generation - black and white.

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