Chapter 2

Zarida arrived at her apartment building on Sedgwick Avenue in the Bronx. She was fortunate to find a parking space only a few feet from her building. She carefully scanned the area as she got out of her black Dodge Avenger. The block was empty and silent with the exception of the faint sounds of cars on the nearby Major Deegan Highway. She dug into her black leather bag for her keys. Finally locating them the sociology professor from Bronx Community college unlocked the front door to the building. Once in the vestibule she opened her mailbox, took out her mail and began to flip through the envelopes while periodically scanning the area. A sweet aroma caught her attention. She knew it was coming from the purple greeting card envelope. The aroma was a familiar one. It was Obsession, the only cologne Marcus wore. He remembered that today was the day they first met. The card, the aroma, and the memories brought a smile to her weary but beautiful face. She pushed back the braids which fell over her face and briefly reminisced back to her last romantic interlude with Marcus before they broke up. She once told him the smell of that cologne turned her on and since that time, he always wore it and put a dab on the romantic Hallmark cards he sent her. As a rush of warmth enveloped her, she snapped herself out of it, looked over her shoulder and opened the second locked door. She walked over to the elevator and pressed the arrow pointing up. Her mind drifted back to when Marcus first approached her about The Black Liberation Organization. They were having a picnic in the Bronx Botanical Gardens. Two months had passed since Zarida’s father was beaten to death by a gang of five whites following a traffic dispute. As Marcus washed down a tuna, lettuce and tomato sandwich with a Pepsi he made his pitch. “Honey, I’ve been doing some serious thinking” “Another business venture?” She interrupted. “No, this is much deeper.” He said, slightly irritated. “Just listen please and let me finish.” “Ok, sorry. Go ahead.” noticing his seriousness. “As I was saying, I’ve been doing some serious thinking. For so many years now, our people have endured an unbelievable wrath of violence, discrimination, police brutality, rape, etc. and despite the fears of white people we’ve done virtually nothing. We commit far more acts of violence against our own then we do to them. Oh yeah, we protest, and we holler and we file civil suits when we don’t get convictions, and there’s nothing wrong with any of that; but once the fire dies down, and the media loses interest, which usually happens in a week or two, sooner or later the same thing happens all over again and still no real justice is served. So, this continuous cycle occurs.” Zarida looked at Marcus with a little more intensity as she hung on to his every word wondering where he was going with this. He continued. “I was reading the newspaper the other day and I read how some Palestinian leaders ordered their people to stop their cross-border attacks against the Israelis. Why? Because every time they attacked Israel, the Israelis retaliated by bombing the hell out of the Palestinian villages killing everybody in sight.” He paused. “Honey if someone slaps you in the face are you going to just stand there and wait for them to slap you again or are you going to slap them back?” Zarida frowned. “So, what’s your point Marcus?” “My point is” He said raising his voice and then checking himself. “My point is that we as black people have been slapped again and again and again, time after time, for hundreds of years and we have not slapped back. As a result, we are the whipping boys of the world, the doormats of society, and no one in the world respects us as a people.” Marcus stopped and pulled a piece of folded paper from his pants pocket containing a poem which had grown to be his favorite. It was Claude McKay’s “If we must die”. He stretched out his hand. “Read this!” Zarida began reading the poem silently. “Out loud!” Marcus insisted. She frowned and stared at him for a moment. The whole conversation had begun to make her feel very uneasy. She began to read:

If we must die, let it not be like hogs, hunted and penned in an inglorious spot, while round us bark the mad and hungry dogs, making their mock at our accursed lot.

If we must die, o let us nobly die, so that our precious blood may not be shed in vain, then even the monsters we defy shall be constrained to honor us though dead.

O kinsmen we must meet the common foe! Though far outnumbered let us show brave and for their thousand blows deal one death blow.

What though before us lies the open grave? Like men we will face the murderous pack pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back!

Zarida swallowed deeply after finishing the poem. Fear captured her light brown eyes. “My God Marcus, what are you going to do?” “Well, I joined a group called The Black Liberation Organization. From now on when they slap us, we’ll slap back. It will be an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a head for a head, and a life for a life. It’s time that white folks understood what we have gone through for hundreds of years. It’s time they understood what suffering is all about.” Zarida was speechless. Was this really Marcus the businessman, the lover, talking about vengeance and terrorism? She thought. “Join us honey, join us.” “This is crazy!” She said. “Crazy?” Marcus responded. “What’s crazy is how we have allowed them to treat us all this time, that’s what’s crazy.” He approached her putting his hand gently on her shoulders. “Zee they killed your father.” His words pierced her heart. Her jaws tightened as she pulled away and began packing the leftover food from the picnic. Dark clouds crept over head as the sun began to hide. “I don’t want to hear anymore.” She said as she continued to pack. “Fine then, you know something, I’d like for you to be in this with me but if you’re not I’m gonna go ahead with it anyway.” There was a tense few moments of silence before Marcus took a deep breath, walked directly in front of her and lifted her bowed head with a finger to the chin. “Zee, think about this. Don’t shut me out. I can give you more details later but at least think about.” After six weeks, some serious thinking, two more police beatings, and more of Marcus’ persuasiveness Zarida joined The Black Liberation Organization.

The shrilling elevator bell brought her back to the present. She entered the elevator and pressed three. As the doors opened, she cautiously peeked out of the elevator holding the door open before proceeding to her apartment. She entered her apartment, and silently switched on the hallway light. She quietly put her put her things down and walked down the narrow hall to her daughter’s bedroom. Janet was cuddled in the fetal position and snoring loudly. Zarida bent over slowly and kissed Janet’s warm cheek. She left the room and tiptoed down the hall to her bedroom where her gray-haired mother was lying down. “That you Rida?” She called out. “Yes Mama.” “What time is it? You want your bed? I can sleep in the living room.” Her mother said as she started to rise. “No Mama you stay put; I’ll sleep in the living room.” “You sure now?” “Yes, I’ll be all right.” As Zarida was about to leave the room her mother called out. “Did you eat?” “Yes Mama.” Zarida patiently replied. “Well, I fixed you a plate anyway. It’s in the fridge with the foil over it.” “Thanks.” She replied with a tired smile. “And thanks again for watching Janet.” “No need to thank me for that, she‘s my child too you know.” Zarida started to walk away again. “How’s Marcus?” Her mother called out. “I don’t know. I didn’t see him.” She answered becoming slightly irritated. “I always liked him you know.” Her mother said. “He’s a fine young man. Much better than this Andy character you’re seeing now.” She continued. “Good night Mama.” Zarida said as she concluded the conversation and headed towards the kitchen. Once in the kitchen she made preparations for some hot tea. As she opened the box of peppermint tea the aroma brought her back again to Marcus and the nights they stayed up talking and drinking tea before bed.

It was 5:30am. Lisa rose from her warm comfortable bed and sat half sleep on the edge of the bed. She removed her long curly black hair from her face slowly getting her thoughts together. She stood up in what seemed like slow motion and stumbled slightly over one of her pink furry slippers. She picked up the black recorder and headed for the bathroom to make the most important recorded message of her life. She threw some cold water on her face several times then sat down on the side of the tub still somewhat sleepy, but ready to record. She questioned why she had to get up so early and why she had to make the recording in the bathroom. She then remembered Marcus’ words. “Lisa the tape should be made early in the morning, when there is the least amount of outside activity to be detected. Also make it in the bathroom. The bathroom is the room furthest from the windows and balcony. Make sure you shut the door. We can’t underestimate the technological capabilities of our adversaries. Do you understand?” Lisa cleared her throat and mind. The night before she memorized the statement and destroyed the notes as instructed. She pressed the red record button and began to speak:

“America, wake up! Wake up to the injustices you have bestowed upon black people in this country since slavery. It is time now for white America to feel how it is to be a victim. It is time for white America to understand the relentless suffering African Americans have been subjected to. No longer will we burn our own communities when injustice occurs. No longer will we rob our own stores to express our rage. No longer will rocks and bottles be thrown at automatic weapons. From now on when injustices occur, they will be met with intelligent, organized, forceful, retaliation. Today, on Black Solidarity Day, the first Monday of November, you will feel the wrath of black power, black rage, and black justice, once and for all. From this point on all of you racist, in your various shapes and forms, will think twice before you commit another injustice. The Black Liberation Organization will be respected politically, socially, culturally, economically, educationally, and militarily. If you do not cease these atrocities against African Americans specifically, and black people in general, your worse fears will indeed come true. All the paranoia you have had about black retaliation will become a reality. If we are not permitted to live in peace and enjoy the things of life that all people enjoy, then no one will live in peace. I leave you with a quote from Frederick Douglass:

The American people have this lesson to learn that where justice is denied, poverty is enforced, where ignorance prevails, and where any one class is made to feel that society is an organized conspiracy to oppress, rob and degrade them, neither persons nor property will be safe.

This is the voice of THE BLACK LIBERATION ORGANIZATION. Wake up! No justice, no peace.”

It seemed like such a contradiction. Lisa’s soft, gentle, seductive voice delivering such a hard and powerful message. In thirty minutes, Marcus would awaken to go jogging. Lisa would give him the recording and while jogging he would pass it on to the head of the communications division, who would at the appropriate time deliver the message to the rest of the world.