They Huey P. Newton Reader

trial
he morning my trial began, on July 15, 1968, in the Alameda County
TCourt House, 5,000 demonstrators and about 450 Black Panthers
gathered outside to show their support. Busloacls of demonstrators
came from out of town and joined the throng that crowded the streets
and sidewalks outside the courthouse. Across the street from the building
a formation of Black Panthers stood, lined up two deep, and
stretching for a solid block. At the entrance to the building a unit of
sisters from the Party chanted "Free Huey" and "Set OUf Warrior Free."
In front of them, on both sides of the courthouse door, two Party members
held aloft the blue Black Panther banner with FREE HUEY emblazoned
on it. Black Panther security patrols with walkie-talkie radio sets
ringed the courthouse.
The building was uncler heavy guard. At every entrance and
patrolling every floor, armed deputies from the sheriff's office prowled
up and down, and plainclothes men were assigned positions throughout
the building. On that first day nearly fifty helmeted Oakland police
stood inside the main entrance, and on the rooftop more cops with
high-powered rifles stared down into the street. The trial was conducted
in the seventh-floor courtroom, a small depressing room kept
ice cold throughout the trial. Security was so tight that the courtroom
was carefully inspected before every session; everyone, even my parents,
was searched before entering. The spectators' section had only
about sixty seats: two rows were reserved for my family; the press had
twenty-five or so seats; and the rest was for the general public. Every
morning around dawn people began lining up outside for the few
remaining places.
Presiding was Superior Court Judge Monroe Friedman, seventy-two
years old, dour and humorless. Of course, no one admits prej-
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