Prologue: from the Artistic Director
What is your image of the Black Panthers? Do you remember the Young Lords? How do these groups live in your mind, in our collective memory, in that immense collection of conflicting narratives that we call the annals of history? Do you remember their accomplishments or their failures? The fervent idealism that fueled the beginning of the movement, or the bitter cynicism in the aftermath of its tragic end? After all is said and done, what do you think is the legacy of the Black Panthers and the Young Lords?
These are the central questions and motivating forces behind Party People, a project that took years to research. Led by UNIVERSES, a trio of artists in fierce pursuit of personal and historical truth, countless interviews were conducted with scores of people affiliated with both groups. Being much younger than the people they were interviewing, UNIVERSES found themselves alternately amazed and surprised, elated and depressed. Many old wounds had not healed, some old rivalries remained intact, and memories were frequently fractured and painful. And yet, the breadth of vision was still inspiring, the goals worthy, and the accomplishments real. How to capture all that?
Enlisting the long-term guidance of director Liesl Tommy, they focused on creating a fictional dramatic situation set in the present that evokes scenes from the past. Relying on their unique performance skills that combine spoken word with a variety of musical idioms ranging from blues to jazz to salsa, the result is a singular theatrical experience that transmutes history into art. And the journey of the characters reflects the journey of the artists themselves: a generation trying to mine the experiences of their forebears, trying to understand the past as a way of living more fully in the present.
Party People was first developed and produced by our good friends at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival. We both admired that production and felt the play was ripe for a deeper investigation of both character and story. UNIVERSES were under no obligation to rewrite the play, but they have embraced the task with openness, rigor, and courage. Tonight you will see the results of these formidable efforts. Here in Berkeley, home of the Free Speech Movement and sister city to Oakland, where so much of the history of the Panthers was written. We hope that the play catalyzes your imagination, activates your spirit, and brokers some sense of solidarity as we all make our way into the uncertain future.
Sincerely,
Tony Taccone
What is your image of the Black Panthers? Do you remember the Young Lords? How do these groups live in your mind, in our collective memory, in that immense collection of conflicting narratives that we call the annals of history? Do you remember their accomplishments or their failures? The fervent idealism that fueled the beginning of the movement, or the bitter cynicism in the aftermath of its tragic end? After all is said and done, what do you think is the legacy of the Black Panthers and the Young Lords?
These are the central questions and motivating forces behind Party People, a project that took years to research. Led by UNIVERSES, a trio of artists in fierce pursuit of personal and historical truth, countless interviews were conducted with scores of people affiliated with both groups. Being much younger than the people they were interviewing, UNIVERSES found themselves alternately amazed and surprised, elated and depressed. Many old wounds had not healed, some old rivalries remained intact, and memories were frequently fractured and painful. And yet, the breadth of vision was still inspiring, the goals worthy, and the accomplishments real. How to capture all that?
Enlisting the long-term guidance of director Liesl Tommy, they focused on creating a fictional dramatic situation set in the present that evokes scenes from the past. Relying on their unique performance skills that combine spoken word with a variety of musical idioms ranging from blues to jazz to salsa, the result is a singular theatrical experience that transmutes history into art. And the journey of the characters reflects the journey of the artists themselves: a generation trying to mine the experiences of their forebears, trying to understand the past as a way of living more fully in the present.
Party People was first developed and produced by our good friends at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival. We both admired that production and felt the play was ripe for a deeper investigation of both character and story. UNIVERSES were under no obligation to rewrite the play, but they have embraced the task with openness, rigor, and courage. Tonight you will see the results of these formidable efforts. Here in Berkeley, home of the Free Speech Movement and sister city to Oakland, where so much of the history of the Panthers was written. We hope that the play catalyzes your imagination, activates your spirit, and brokers some sense of solidarity as we all make our way into the uncertain future.
Sincerely,
Tony Taccone
A revolution and its legacy
By Madeleine Oldham
Since the abolition of slavery after the Civil War, race relations in the United States have walked a line between progress and regress. Oppression is woven into the fabric of this country, and attempting to extract it has proven thorny, bloody, and in some cases fatal. In recent history alone, the stories of Michael Brown, Eric Garner, Trayvon Martin, and Oscar Grant, to name only those who caught the national eye, remind us that racial tensions remain volatile and combustible.
2016 will mark the 50th anniversary of the founding of the Black Panthers. Their legacy still resonates loudly today, as many of the issues they sought to address—racial bias in the police force, urban poverty, lack of educational and economic opportunity, among others—still loom large as national problems in need of urgent attention. A look back at the history of this seminal organization helps us to remember that when rage erupts in response to racial injustice, such instances do not exist in a bubble. They are embedded in a very complicated lineage.
The Civil Rights Movement made great strides in dismantling legal discrimination. On paper, the United States could at last live up to its constitutional ideology that all people are created equal. But the actuality of life as a black person in America told a very different story. Though the laws changed, the power structure did not—prejudice continued to thrive and a disparity grew between how things were supposed to be and how things really were.
As the 1960s marched on, young people in particular became restless and frustrated with the nonviolent tactics of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and the Civil Rights Movement. Many held great respect for Dr. King, but the slow rate of change failed to satisfy a hunger for results. In addition, the majority of civil rights activity focused on the South, which left other parts of the country impatient for tangible progress.
In 1966, two friends and activists who met in community college, Huey P. Newton and Bobby Seale, sought to take a radical stand against racial oppression and formalized the Black Panther Party for Self Defense in Oakland, California. Tired of seeing people of color denied opportunity, unfairly targeted by governmental authorities, brutalized and even murdered without cause, they could not sit idly by while injustice prevailed as the status quo.
The Black Panthers, inspired in part by the teachings of Malcolm X, intended to establish a separate nation for black citizens. They declared the U.S. government an imperialist state that had colonized Black America, and demanded freedom. The Panthers saw the police force as a major manifestation of imperialism, and a central tenet of their platform was the strategy of policing the police. They sought to expose racism within the police system, and refused to recognize them as having absolute authority. They formed armed citizen patrols that followed officers in order to curtail any abuse of power that might have been more likely to occur were they unobserved. When they first began challenging the police, the Panthers strove to remain within the confines of the law while constantly testing its limits. (This stance, however, became harder to maintain as the party grew and tensions escalated.)
Policing the police dovetailed with draft resistance. The Panthers saw no reason that black men should have to defend the racist U.S. government. And they correlated how the United States treated black citizens with what was happening in Vietnam, declaring the war just another attempt at colonization. This struck a nerve with the burgeoning anti-war movement, and garnered a groundswell of support from white liberals.
As communities across the United States recognized the impact the party was having, the Black Panther movement snowballed nationally. Central headquarters remained in Oakland, and chapters opened all over the country. While being a member of the party required a willingness to embrace violence if necessary, it also involved a serious commitment to community service. The Panthers launched numerous programs designed to better the lives of people living in urban environments, the most well-known of which was its Free Breakfast for Children Program, which provided daily before-school meals for over 10,000 children nationwide.
However, as the party’s influence increased, its opposition came alive. The government felt so threatened by the party’s anti-establishment platform and the startling amount of support they amassed in only a couple of years that a plan was formulated to squelch the Black Panthers by any means necessary. The FBI led by J. Edgar Hoover authorized its domestic Counter Intelligence Program (COINTELPRO) to target the Panthers, and directed its vast resources at crippling them. COINTELPRO adopted every trick in the book, many of them illegal, and systematically chipped away at the bonds, loyalties, relationships, and lives that comprised the Black Panthers.
The heyday of the Black Panther Party lasted only a few years. By 1969, Hoover’s government informants and agent provocateurs had thoroughly infiltrated. Distrust and suspicion permeated the organization, and party members began to turn on each other. Hairline fractures developed into divisive cracks. Disagreements mushroomed into lifelong rivalries. Rumors of internal assassination orders circulated. The lines between sanctioned and unsanctioned activity began to blur, and the Panthers began to self-destruct.
Despite their checkered demise, the Black Panthers survive in our collective memory. Sometimes viewed as crusaders of justice, other times as disruptive extremists, they drew international attention to the dire situation of many black Americans, and worked tirelessly to improve it. The embedded racism they fought so hard to combat has yet to be eradicated from life in this country. As the struggle continues, their legacy lives on.
By Madeleine Oldham
Since the abolition of slavery after the Civil War, race relations in the United States have walked a line between progress and regress. Oppression is woven into the fabric of this country, and attempting to extract it has proven thorny, bloody, and in some cases fatal. In recent history alone, the stories of Michael Brown, Eric Garner, Trayvon Martin, and Oscar Grant, to name only those who caught the national eye, remind us that racial tensions remain volatile and combustible.
2016 will mark the 50th anniversary of the founding of the Black Panthers. Their legacy still resonates loudly today, as many of the issues they sought to address—racial bias in the police force, urban poverty, lack of educational and economic opportunity, among others—still loom large as national problems in need of urgent attention. A look back at the history of this seminal organization helps us to remember that when rage erupts in response to racial injustice, such instances do not exist in a bubble. They are embedded in a very complicated lineage.
The Civil Rights Movement made great strides in dismantling legal discrimination. On paper, the United States could at last live up to its constitutional ideology that all people are created equal. But the actuality of life as a black person in America told a very different story. Though the laws changed, the power structure did not—prejudice continued to thrive and a disparity grew between how things were supposed to be and how things really were.
As the 1960s marched on, young people in particular became restless and frustrated with the nonviolent tactics of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and the Civil Rights Movement. Many held great respect for Dr. King, but the slow rate of change failed to satisfy a hunger for results. In addition, the majority of civil rights activity focused on the South, which left other parts of the country impatient for tangible progress.
In 1966, two friends and activists who met in community college, Huey P. Newton and Bobby Seale, sought to take a radical stand against racial oppression and formalized the Black Panther Party for Self Defense in Oakland, California. Tired of seeing people of color denied opportunity, unfairly targeted by governmental authorities, brutalized and even murdered without cause, they could not sit idly by while injustice prevailed as the status quo.
The Black Panthers, inspired in part by the teachings of Malcolm X, intended to establish a separate nation for black citizens. They declared the U.S. government an imperialist state that had colonized Black America, and demanded freedom. The Panthers saw the police force as a major manifestation of imperialism, and a central tenet of their platform was the strategy of policing the police. They sought to expose racism within the police system, and refused to recognize them as having absolute authority. They formed armed citizen patrols that followed officers in order to curtail any abuse of power that might have been more likely to occur were they unobserved. When they first began challenging the police, the Panthers strove to remain within the confines of the law while constantly testing its limits. (This stance, however, became harder to maintain as the party grew and tensions escalated.)
Policing the police dovetailed with draft resistance. The Panthers saw no reason that black men should have to defend the racist U.S. government. And they correlated how the United States treated black citizens with what was happening in Vietnam, declaring the war just another attempt at colonization. This struck a nerve with the burgeoning anti-war movement, and garnered a groundswell of support from white liberals.
As communities across the United States recognized the impact the party was having, the Black Panther movement snowballed nationally. Central headquarters remained in Oakland, and chapters opened all over the country. While being a member of the party required a willingness to embrace violence if necessary, it also involved a serious commitment to community service. The Panthers launched numerous programs designed to better the lives of people living in urban environments, the most well-known of which was its Free Breakfast for Children Program, which provided daily before-school meals for over 10,000 children nationwide.
However, as the party’s influence increased, its opposition came alive. The government felt so threatened by the party’s anti-establishment platform and the startling amount of support they amassed in only a couple of years that a plan was formulated to squelch the Black Panthers by any means necessary. The FBI led by J. Edgar Hoover authorized its domestic Counter Intelligence Program (COINTELPRO) to target the Panthers, and directed its vast resources at crippling them. COINTELPRO adopted every trick in the book, many of them illegal, and systematically chipped away at the bonds, loyalties, relationships, and lives that comprised the Black Panthers.
The heyday of the Black Panther Party lasted only a few years. By 1969, Hoover’s government informants and agent provocateurs had thoroughly infiltrated. Distrust and suspicion permeated the organization, and party members began to turn on each other. Hairline fractures developed into divisive cracks. Disagreements mushroomed into lifelong rivalries. Rumors of internal assassination orders circulated. The lines between sanctioned and unsanctioned activity began to blur, and the Panthers began to self-destruct.
Despite their checkered demise, the Black Panthers survive in our collective memory. Sometimes viewed as crusaders of justice, other times as disruptive extremists, they drew international attention to the dire situation of many black Americans, and worked tirelessly to improve it. The embedded racism they fought so hard to combat has yet to be eradicated from life in this country. As the struggle continues, their legacy lives on.
Prologue: from the Managing Director
When, in the middle of the 20th century, nonprofit theatres began to spring up in cities across the country, in places like Milwaukee, Oklahoma City, Houston, and Washington, DC, they were founded by individuals who, while operating out of an individual sense of empowerment, were inspired by a remarkably consistent set of values. Almost all of those founders spoke of shaking off the yoke of New York’s artistic hegemony, of providing dignity of work to local theatre practitioners, and of the urgency to create work that spoke uniquely to their own communities.
The notion that stories might be unique to a community and might be uniquely valued by disparate communities was a genuinely new and thrilling idea and went hand in hand with the recognition that a classic might become new and might speak in a new and distinctive way to a particular community if told through the lens and experience of that locality.
It is in that spirit that we bring you Party People, a story that speaks with a particular resonance to the Bay Area. This is one of our stories and the telling of it is an act of communal remembering. Revisiting that time and place demands that each of us commit some time to considering what that moment, what these people, meant to us. Party People asks that we reconsider, in light of what we know now, what we thought then.
One of the pleasures of this kind of communal remembrance is the opportunity to collaborate with colleagues who share our passion for community. In this case, it is a real joy and privilege to work with our friends at the Oakland Museum of California. While their major exhibition commemorating the Black Panthers had long been scheduled for 2016, they agreed to jump-start some of their own research to work with us on this project.
And while our Berkeley Rep School of Theatre assiduously works to link our programming with their work in the public schools, this play has provided a particularly rich opportunity to link Bay Area children to an important local as well as national movement.
We’re grateful to UNIVERSES and to this dynamic group of artists who are so ardently committed toParty People for allowing us to speak so eloquently to our own Bay Area history.
Warmly,
Susan Medak
When, in the middle of the 20th century, nonprofit theatres began to spring up in cities across the country, in places like Milwaukee, Oklahoma City, Houston, and Washington, DC, they were founded by individuals who, while operating out of an individual sense of empowerment, were inspired by a remarkably consistent set of values. Almost all of those founders spoke of shaking off the yoke of New York’s artistic hegemony, of providing dignity of work to local theatre practitioners, and of the urgency to create work that spoke uniquely to their own communities.
The notion that stories might be unique to a community and might be uniquely valued by disparate communities was a genuinely new and thrilling idea and went hand in hand with the recognition that a classic might become new and might speak in a new and distinctive way to a particular community if told through the lens and experience of that locality.
It is in that spirit that we bring you Party People, a story that speaks with a particular resonance to the Bay Area. This is one of our stories and the telling of it is an act of communal remembering. Revisiting that time and place demands that each of us commit some time to considering what that moment, what these people, meant to us. Party People asks that we reconsider, in light of what we know now, what we thought then.
One of the pleasures of this kind of communal remembrance is the opportunity to collaborate with colleagues who share our passion for community. In this case, it is a real joy and privilege to work with our friends at the Oakland Museum of California. While their major exhibition commemorating the Black Panthers had long been scheduled for 2016, they agreed to jump-start some of their own research to work with us on this project.
And while our Berkeley Rep School of Theatre assiduously works to link our programming with their work in the public schools, this play has provided a particularly rich opportunity to link Bay Area children to an important local as well as national movement.
We’re grateful to UNIVERSES and to this dynamic group of artists who are so ardently committed toParty People for allowing us to speak so eloquently to our own Bay Area history.
Warmly,
Susan Medak
Puerto Rico en mi Corazón: The Young Lords
By Julie McCormick
The moment for the formation of the Young Lords Organization was ripe. The Civil Rights Movement and protests against the Vietnam War raised consciousness, incited action, and connected like-minded activists from different groups like the Black Panthers, Blackstone Rangers, Brown Berets, Young Patriots, and the Red Guard Party. Many believed that the kind of sweeping social change necessary to end systematic discrimination was only possible through violent action. For some, it was an important expression of our Second Amendment right and a necessary catalyst for change. Decisive action sat alongside community programming and a deep sense of Puerto Rican nationalism in the Young Lords, a combination that proved to be electrifying, unsettling, and wholly unique to this moment in history.
The Young Lords got their start in the late 1960s. Originally a Puerto Rican turf gang in the Lincoln Park neighborhood of Chicago, the Young Lords galvanized into a more political force when Mayor Richard Daley launched an urban renewal campaign to “keep Chicago clean.” When the authorities started evicting Latino residents from prime real estate along the lakefront and near the Loop, the Young Lords stepped in to protest. In September of 1968, José “Cha-Cha” Jiménez officially established the Young Lords as a civil rights organization. Under the rallying cry “Puerto Rico en mi Corazón,” they sought Puerto Rican independence, as well as greater self-determination and quality of life for all Latinos and impoverished peoples in the U.S.
Their organizational structure closely followed that of Oakland, California’s Black Panther Party. Like the Panthers, social programming, sit-ins, and demonstrations undergirded the bulk of the Chicago Young Lords activities. Occupying spaces became an important tool for radical groups, both as a way of raising awareness and leveraging demands. In one successful protest organized by the Young Lords, 400 people camped out on land that once housed 35 Puerto Rican families and was slated to become a $1,000-a-year tennis court club. After a week of the occupation, the tennis club removed its bid and the space was turned into a People’s Park.
The Young Lords also staged a takeover of Armitage Avenue United Methodist Church in order to use the space for community programs. The congregation later renamed it “the People’s Church,” and the walls were covered with murals of Latino activists and the Young Lord’s slogan, “Tengo Puerto Rico en mi Corazón.” Here, they established a free breakfast program for children, free community day care, the Emeterio Betances Free Health Clinic, a Puerto Rican cultural center, and a national headquarters office.
The sparks in Chicago erupted into a wildfire that swept the country, with new chapters of the Young Lords springing to life in cities across the United States. In the summer of 1969, Nuyorican poet Felipe Luciano drove to Chicago with a VW full of fellow activists seeking permission to create a New York chapter of the Young Lords, and to observe the revolution in Chicago firsthand. They returned to New York with a new fire in their hearts, and officially signed the New York chapter of the Young Lords into existence.
One of their first acts was to go to East Harlem and ask the residents what changes they wanted to see in their community. Luciano recalls being surprised at the answer: they had expected people to want more affordable housing options, but really, the top priority was dealing with garbage. New York City garbage collectors were infamous for ignoring low-income neighborhoods of color; the uncollected trash would pile up in the streets for weeks at a time. So that summer, the New York Young Lords launched what came to be known as “The Garbage Offensive.” Arming themselves with brooms and bins, the Young Lords cleaned up the streets themselves, and appealed to the city to increase pickups. These pleas, however, went unheard, and in response they piled the trash in the middle of busy streets and lit it on fire. The flames and stopped traffic were impossible to ignore.
Like in Chicago, many of the New York Young Lords’ actions focused on providing access to health care and education. They took over the First Spanish Methodist Church, where they established free day care for working parents, a breakfast program, a clothing drive, and classes about Latino/a history and culture. The organization continued to grow and evolve, and in May 1970, the New York Young Lords peaceably split from the Chicago mother office. They renamed themselves the Young Lords Party (as opposed to the Young Lords Organization), and became the regional headquarters for neighboring chapters on the East Coast. That summer, they commandeered a mobile chest X-ray unit to conduct free tuberculosis screenings in underserved areas. In one neighborhood, they found that a third of the residents showed signs of TB. The Young Lords also went door-to-door testing for lead paint, and occupied Lincoln Hospital for 24 hours to demand more patient services.
Despite their increasing reach and volume, the Young Lords were beset with troubles very early in their history. Key members were constantly harassed by law enforcement, and brought up on charges of variable legitimacy. “Cha-Cha” Jiménez of the Chicago branch was indicted 18 times in a six-week period for charges like assault, battery on police, and mob action. He was jailed multiple times for his political activities, and at one point, Chicago leadership was forced to go underground to continue operations. Organization members all over the country died under mysterious circumstances or were murdered in prison. Many of these deaths were not fully investigated at the time, and remain unsolved to this day. Ideological differences tugged at the bonds between members. Some were resolved, but others were not. Though a certain level of in-fighting is to be expected in a political organization, it was later discovered that much of this was likely incited by police and FBI agents who had infiltrated the Young Lords. Many left-wing and civil rights groups at that time were bedeviled by COINTELPRO, the FBI’s Counter Intelligence Program from 1956–1971. The covert operations launched against these domestic political groups were insidious, damaging, and often illegal.
The Young Lords burned hot and bright for just a few short years. Though the formal organization is no longer active, embers still smolder in the memories of those who participated in the movement or were somehow touched by the Young Lords and their programs.
By Julie McCormick
The moment for the formation of the Young Lords Organization was ripe. The Civil Rights Movement and protests against the Vietnam War raised consciousness, incited action, and connected like-minded activists from different groups like the Black Panthers, Blackstone Rangers, Brown Berets, Young Patriots, and the Red Guard Party. Many believed that the kind of sweeping social change necessary to end systematic discrimination was only possible through violent action. For some, it was an important expression of our Second Amendment right and a necessary catalyst for change. Decisive action sat alongside community programming and a deep sense of Puerto Rican nationalism in the Young Lords, a combination that proved to be electrifying, unsettling, and wholly unique to this moment in history.
The Young Lords got their start in the late 1960s. Originally a Puerto Rican turf gang in the Lincoln Park neighborhood of Chicago, the Young Lords galvanized into a more political force when Mayor Richard Daley launched an urban renewal campaign to “keep Chicago clean.” When the authorities started evicting Latino residents from prime real estate along the lakefront and near the Loop, the Young Lords stepped in to protest. In September of 1968, José “Cha-Cha” Jiménez officially established the Young Lords as a civil rights organization. Under the rallying cry “Puerto Rico en mi Corazón,” they sought Puerto Rican independence, as well as greater self-determination and quality of life for all Latinos and impoverished peoples in the U.S.
Their organizational structure closely followed that of Oakland, California’s Black Panther Party. Like the Panthers, social programming, sit-ins, and demonstrations undergirded the bulk of the Chicago Young Lords activities. Occupying spaces became an important tool for radical groups, both as a way of raising awareness and leveraging demands. In one successful protest organized by the Young Lords, 400 people camped out on land that once housed 35 Puerto Rican families and was slated to become a $1,000-a-year tennis court club. After a week of the occupation, the tennis club removed its bid and the space was turned into a People’s Park.
The Young Lords also staged a takeover of Armitage Avenue United Methodist Church in order to use the space for community programs. The congregation later renamed it “the People’s Church,” and the walls were covered with murals of Latino activists and the Young Lord’s slogan, “Tengo Puerto Rico en mi Corazón.” Here, they established a free breakfast program for children, free community day care, the Emeterio Betances Free Health Clinic, a Puerto Rican cultural center, and a national headquarters office.
The sparks in Chicago erupted into a wildfire that swept the country, with new chapters of the Young Lords springing to life in cities across the United States. In the summer of 1969, Nuyorican poet Felipe Luciano drove to Chicago with a VW full of fellow activists seeking permission to create a New York chapter of the Young Lords, and to observe the revolution in Chicago firsthand. They returned to New York with a new fire in their hearts, and officially signed the New York chapter of the Young Lords into existence.
One of their first acts was to go to East Harlem and ask the residents what changes they wanted to see in their community. Luciano recalls being surprised at the answer: they had expected people to want more affordable housing options, but really, the top priority was dealing with garbage. New York City garbage collectors were infamous for ignoring low-income neighborhoods of color; the uncollected trash would pile up in the streets for weeks at a time. So that summer, the New York Young Lords launched what came to be known as “The Garbage Offensive.” Arming themselves with brooms and bins, the Young Lords cleaned up the streets themselves, and appealed to the city to increase pickups. These pleas, however, went unheard, and in response they piled the trash in the middle of busy streets and lit it on fire. The flames and stopped traffic were impossible to ignore.
Like in Chicago, many of the New York Young Lords’ actions focused on providing access to health care and education. They took over the First Spanish Methodist Church, where they established free day care for working parents, a breakfast program, a clothing drive, and classes about Latino/a history and culture. The organization continued to grow and evolve, and in May 1970, the New York Young Lords peaceably split from the Chicago mother office. They renamed themselves the Young Lords Party (as opposed to the Young Lords Organization), and became the regional headquarters for neighboring chapters on the East Coast. That summer, they commandeered a mobile chest X-ray unit to conduct free tuberculosis screenings in underserved areas. In one neighborhood, they found that a third of the residents showed signs of TB. The Young Lords also went door-to-door testing for lead paint, and occupied Lincoln Hospital for 24 hours to demand more patient services.
Despite their increasing reach and volume, the Young Lords were beset with troubles very early in their history. Key members were constantly harassed by law enforcement, and brought up on charges of variable legitimacy. “Cha-Cha” Jiménez of the Chicago branch was indicted 18 times in a six-week period for charges like assault, battery on police, and mob action. He was jailed multiple times for his political activities, and at one point, Chicago leadership was forced to go underground to continue operations. Organization members all over the country died under mysterious circumstances or were murdered in prison. Many of these deaths were not fully investigated at the time, and remain unsolved to this day. Ideological differences tugged at the bonds between members. Some were resolved, but others were not. Though a certain level of in-fighting is to be expected in a political organization, it was later discovered that much of this was likely incited by police and FBI agents who had infiltrated the Young Lords. Many left-wing and civil rights groups at that time were bedeviled by COINTELPRO, the FBI’s Counter Intelligence Program from 1956–1971. The covert operations launched against these domestic political groups were insidious, damaging, and often illegal.
The Young Lords burned hot and bright for just a few short years. Though the formal organization is no longer active, embers still smolder in the memories of those who participated in the movement or were somehow touched by the Young Lords and their programs.