Members of the Black Panthers hide behind copies of the Black Panther newspaper while in court for their roles in the Texas Court takeover. Embroidery by Amy Nigh for MLK50

This is part 10 of a 10-part series on the first tenant movement in Memphis. Read part 9 here.

“Arrests, raids, and jail — this is how the city has chosen to deal with the real problems that poor people face in Memphis,” the Black Panthers wrote as they faced prosecution for their “live in.” The trial was long and drawn out and full of dramatic acts. During its second day, for instance, there were reports that the Panthers chanted “death to the fascist pigs” as they entered the courtroom. A photo shows their faces obscured by copies of that week’s Black Panther newspaper. Once news of the proceedings reached the national Black Panther Party, they began referring to the group as the “Memphis 16.” 

Early on, the Panthers’ lawyers fought for a change of venue for 14 defendants, arguing they couldn’t receive a fair trial in Shelby County. As winter turned to spring and summer, they argued the Panthers’ peace bonds were unconstitutional. The Party told their story in an August issue of their  newspaper, pleading for eyes on the trial: “if the Memphis 16 are put in prison,” they wrote, “then anyone who stands up for social justice can expect the same treatment.”

These legal challenges were unsuccessful, but none of the “Memphis 16” seem to have gotten long jail sentences. A year after their arrests, a judge dismissed the peace warrants for everyone except Jerry Greer Wyatt, citing good behavior. Once again, the city’s Black radicals faced a crossroads, unsure of where to go next. 

A photograph from a 1971 edition of the Memphis Press-Scimitar. There were both men and women in the “Memphis 16.”

Throughout the “live-in,” standoff and court case, the Memphis Panthers tried to keep the focus on Memphis Housing Authority’s massive waitlist and the number of poor Memphians facing eviction and displacement. 

William Miles, MHA assistant director, traced the Panthers’ concerns to a question posed by Minister Suhkara Yahweh and the Black United Front years earlier: Where should new public housing go — and does it balance out the human cost of urban renewal? 

“We have been stymied for the past three years by the community in our attempts to build more public housing,” Miles told reporters. “We could have built twice as much as we have if we could get sites approved.” 

Memphis’ first
tenant movement

If you never knew there was a militant response from Black folks fighting for their lives in Memphis slums and projects, think again. Read the whole series here.

Ultimately, this question wouldn’t be resolved anytime soon. In 1973, the Memphis NAACP and a group of tenants sued MHA and the federal Department of Housing and Urban Development, claiming that MHA disproportionately placed new projects in majority-Black neighborhoods. The lawsuit went on for more than a decade before they reached a settlement. 

Why didn’t Memphis’ Black Panther Party stick in our collective memory? In many cases, the aftermath of the Sanitation Workers Strike has disappeared into the legacy of the strike itself — along with the many different groups vying to transform the city at that time. 

The same is true of the city’s first tenant movement, where Black radicals played a vital part — even after the face of Black power in Memphis was no longer active. 

Minister Suhkara Yahweh helped to organize at College Park apartments (in 2021 on left) and would attend community events (in 2022 on the right) into his final years before passing away in 2023.

Still, the echoes of that work continue in Memphis now. It’s in places like Memphis Towers, where tenants have organized for years to demand safe, healthy and affordable living conditions. 

It’s in neighborhoods like Whitehaven and Boxtown, where residents have fought against the steady approach of gentrification and pollution

Across the city, the steady organizing and activism of our Black working class are picking up the mantle of housing justice, pushing for a new world, hoping it might start at home.

Justin A. Davis is a freelance journalist, music critic and former grassroots organizer. He’s covered politics, pop culture and history for outlets like Scalawag magazine, Waging Nonviolence, Post-Trash and Science for the People. He lives in Memphis. 


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