I was on the run from the police. Apparently, they were looking for me because of the recent hostage situation. It was August 7, 1970 and Jonathan Jackson had taken control over a courtroom in California. The room was thrown into total chaos as this man, gun in hand, and came in with demands. There were bullet holes and blood all throughout the room. Sirens were coming from all directions due to the nearby cop cars. The place was totally surrounded. Jonathan was serious and he was looking to negotiate specific topics.

As the T.V crew and reporters surrounded the building, staying at a safe distance, Jonathan spoke, knowing the world was his audience.
“Okay people, all I ask for is the freedom of my brother George and the Soledad brothers. If you say no, I have already taken captive Superior Court Judge Harold Haley and three women as well.”

A man hiding in the room popped up and yelled:

“ Don’t be such a spaz man, chill ! Calm down and put away the weapons. What did we do to deserve this from you? W-“

Right then and there that man was shot on the spot. Jonathan clearly didn’t care for others. This man was killing others for no reason at all. His thoughts and actions were indecipherable. He needed to be stopped.

At that moment the police chief came in weilding a loudspeaker and a gun. He wasn’t much of a virtuoso, but he could get the job done. Things looked like they were going to get serious in the courtroom. There were already enough dead people strewn about the place due to Jonathan and his wild shooting.. If this man didn’t choose his words correctly, it could have become another all out gunfight. But the man came in looking to negotiate with Jonathan. Apparently, the Chief had a plan.

“Hold on sir! You don’t have to do this. Maybe we can come to a resolution on better terms without lifting the sentence on the Soledad brothers.”

Clearly this was no simple matter. Firstly, the demands issued by this man were too severe. The Soledad brothers were three African-American inmates charged with the murder of white prison guard John V. Mills at California's Soledad Prison nearly eight months prior. Why should they be set free? These men were notorious killers and people around the world thought they should be executed to keep the country safe. It would be like terrorists lose. They would kill many more people and the world would become unsafe. That’s why this man needed to be stopped.

“I’ll give you three days to respond to my request. In those three days, it will be a living hell for the hostages. And on the third day, they will be killed. If you want to see these people alive again, you will heed my demands. I will take my leave now.”

With that, Jonathan left the building along with the hostages. As he drove out, no one inside moved and when he made it out, the guarding officers stood motionless until the car was around the corner. The police quickly ran to the corner and aimed. The people in the area then heard multiple sounds of gunshots and the sound of a car swerving. When the police made it to the scene, the judge, one of the jurors, the prosecutor, and the three black men were killed in the melee. When the detectives were on the case, they found that the guns were not bought by Jonathan Jackson, but by another person, behind the scenes. Now that you know the story, you pretty much understand the situation I’m in. Luckily, I have a place to stay for the time being.

It was a regular California style house, not too big, not too small, but just right. It had wooden steps in the front that squeaked and moaned when you would step on them. The driveway was all bumpy and cracked up and the fences were broken and decrepit. The grass wasn’t even something I should be talking about; it was like a jungle in there. Inside the house it was just like any other house, a T.V, a few rooms, a small refrigerator, a radio and other household necessities. It was so plain no one would ever notice it. At this time, I was reluctantly living with my crony from college, Amy (by the way it was her house). Amy was tall and was naturally beatific but was a little halting too. Like all people, she had some flaws. She was always getting herself into trouble and she tended to over react a lot. She knew the risks of letting me stay, but she didn’t care about the punishments she would be submitted to for helping me. Amy let me stay in a secret room above the attic that only she and I knew about. She had put a television and radio in the room along with a bed and a light.

“ By the way Amy thanks for letting me stay in your crib and all.”

“ No problem sister, this secret room is preeety far out right.”

“Yeah, I guess, but are you sure about letting me stay you’ll also be dragged with me ya’know.”

I began to watch some television to kill the time and then I saw this:
“Breaking news, the judge on the Angela Davis trail has some new information about that happened. Apparently a detective had found a recite proving Angela purchased the firearms used in the attack, including the shotgun used to kill Haley, which had been purchased two days prior and sawed off. She had also written numerous letters found in the prison cell of one of the murderers. Since California considers “all persons concerned in the commission of a crime, whether they directly commit the act constituting the offense... principals in any crime so committed,” San Marin County Superior Judge Peter Allen Smith charges Davis with “aggravated kidnapping and first degree murder in the death of Judge Harold Haley” and inaugurating a warrant for her arrest. This is has been ABC news with the latest report.”
I know the story, the true story. First things first, those guns were not actually given to Jonathan Jackson; they were taken. He actually stole them from me last year with a few of his college friends broke into my house and looted it, and have course, along with the guns. And the only reason I had purchased the guns in the first place was for my own protection. But if I told anyone this story, they’d think I’m crazy. Why would a college student need guns? And if I was caught, why would people allow me to prove my innocence as black woman. In this time period, people like me were treated like trash.
“ Angela! Are you seeing this?” cried Amy from the kitchen. Apparently she too was watching the news too. The tone of her voice conveyed her feelings almost instantly. This was bad, real bad. She might report me to the police or even aid them in hunting me down. I can trust no one at this point.

“Amy, get over here right now!” I hollered. She clambered up the stairs and bolted through the attic doors. She was flabbergasted. Her eyes were wide with fear, and she appeared to be breaking under the pressure.

“Yes. Angela. I just heard about what they’re doing. I also know about you too…” She casted her eyes away form my face. “ I thought you were a better person. I didn’t know you did theses kinds of things.”

The tension was so thick; you could cut it with a knife. I needed to find some way to comfort her or she may become subversive and give my position away to the boys in blue . I decided I would tell her everything.

“Tell me what you saw.” I mutter.

Of course, I held up my end of the bargain and told her my side of the story. The truth. After that she began to spill all the information she had just heard about me. The moment she began to relay the information, terror struck my face. This was horrible. Apparently, the judge issued a warrant on a massive attempt to find and arrest me. Not nay that, but, the FBI director J. Edgar Hoover made me the third woman and the 309th person to appear on the List. Because of this, I was putting, not myself, but Amy and all my other friends in danger for housing a criminal.

Now the whole world knows about what’s going on and of course, I’m in a lot more trouble than before. People all over the world will be looking for me. I had to leave and I had to leave now. I can’t trust anyone anymore now that that judge let the cat out of the bag. I guess I should move to New York at night so Amy won’t know. At least this way I can keep her and everyone else out of harm. On my way out the door I ran into her. Apparently, she had been waiting.
“So… you’re leavin’ huh.”
“Yeah, I can’t let you take this fall with me.”
“But-“
“No! I need to leave, and maybe prove my innocence. I can do this a lot faster without you and I’m definitely not taken you down with me!”
“Okay, I understand. I just want you to know that I care for you, that’s all...”
“Thanks, but, I’m sill goin’.”
“ Oh. Well may the force be with you during your travel.” She snickered, looking at the ground
“Yeah, catch you on the flip side ,” I giggle. I head out the door and into the open and I run into the silent night.
A man can get lost in New York and that’s what I was hopping for. I needed to live on the go and stay connected to no one. Life was hard. I was living in the Howard Johnson Motor Lodge. The place was worse than Amy’s. It was so small and rundown. There was a strange odor emanating from the room down the hall that filled the air around me each tome I walked into the hall. This place had no television and if you wanted the paper, you needed to go down the street to a corner store. My room consisted of one small bed with strange stains on the strange tan colored celling. The bathroom was shared between my neighbor and I and it was horrible. There were bugs flying about the lobby and there was barley anyone working the front counter. This place was so out of place that no one could find me and as long as I wasn’t found, to me, this was a pristine living condition. I decided I would stay here for a while. I would stay in my room all day fro the most part. , But, today was different. I decided to venture out of the room when I ran into the owner, Christopher Meyers. He was very childish and loved to pick on me of all people. He also tended to be a bit boisterous at times. It was October 13, 1970 and I hadn’t paid the nightly rent for a week. This run-in will not go well.

“So, Miss Johnson finally decided to come out of her little cave. Face! ”
I’d given him a fake name just to psyche him and all the other people around out. This way I could lie low.
“Finally going to give me my money I presume? Or do I have to phone the police?”
“I told you I’d have it tomorrow Chris. Quit nagging me.”
“Tomorrow aunt good enough! I need the money now! You hear me? I have a family that needs to be fed, you know .”
“Okay, okay Mr. Meyers. I’ll have the money by six.

“That’s right bunny .” And with that, he trotted out of the building.

After the argument, I when out to see what happened in the world. I had been cooped up in the motel for too long and I wanted to see the world once again. I went to the Silvia’s in Harlem for some real breakfast because I’d been eating the pittance of expired foods from the motel “buffet” and I felt like traipsing around to see the world after being cooped up in my room all day long. When I arrived, I ordered some Buckwheat’s and pancakes. I savored every little bite knowing this may be the last decent breakfast I ever have. As I finished up my meal and began to walk out when I happened to hear the news:

“This just in. We have successfully located Angel – “
The reporter was cut off when the door closed and I was so happy to be out of the Howard Johnson Motor Lodge at the time that I didn’t pay any mind to it.

When I turned the corner to the motel I noticed blue and red lights violently reflecting off the window next to it. I thought it was a regular thing that didn’t concern me, being that I was currently living on the bad side of New York. It wasn’t until I reached the motel that I began to piece the puzzle together, the reporter almost saying my name and the blue and red lights constantly flashing around the building. At that moment, I looked up to see the motel surrounded by police. I was caught, and there was no way out of it. I turned around and began to run when I came face-to-face with two police officers that, almost instantly, grabbed me by the hands and pulled me into the nearest police car. I was in such a shock that I fainted. The last words I remember hearing were
“You have the right to remain silent…”

When I came to, I was in a jail cell alone. It was all grey. The people, the room, even the sky. It was extremely cramped and the windows don't open. There are bunk beds with very small space. The door is thick. There is a toilet and a sink, no privacy of course. I was raucously mistreated, tormented and abused here by the other entire criminal. It was a living hell and I commiserated every last person here, even the nut-jobs. For the next several months, I lived here, dawdling around, barley passing by each day. The warden and the other men constantly monitored everything I did and women were always sneaking glances at me when they thought I couldn’t see. My life was a lie. I knew it. Even the activities we did during our break were circumscribed. It would get worse and worse everyday until January 5, 1971. That day the Jail Warden called me to the front. I girded myself for another checkup or intense berating as to why I bought the guns, but, it invigorated me none-the-less. But this time it was different. There were more people in the rom than usual. He said I would be going out for a bit. I didn’t know what that meant but at least I could leave this crappy place.

From the jail, I was taken to the Marin County Superior Court. Back to the place where it all when down. Where Jonathan died and took many lives with him. But I didn’t let that get to me. This was my chance to prove to the world that I was innocent. When the judge called me to the stand, I declared my innocence saying:

"I now declare publicly before the court, before the people of this country that I am innocent of all charges which have been leveled against me by the state of California."

When we left the courthouse I thought it was over for me. That no one believed my story. That night back in my lonely jail cell, I over heard the radio across the hall. It said:

“Across the nation, thousands of people who agreed with her declaration began organizing a liberation movement. In New York City, black writers formed a committee called the Black People in Defense of Angela Davis.”

A few months went by and it was February 1971. More than 200 local committees in the United States, and 67 in foreign countries worked to liberate me of all people from prison. Thanks, in part, to this support, in 1972 the state released her from county jail. After spending 18 months behind bars, Davis was acquitted of all charges by an all-white jury. This was rare. A black woman overcoming an all white jury was a first for many. On February 23, 1972, Rodger McAfee, a dairy farmer from Caruthers, California, paid my $100,000 bail with the help of Steve Separation, a wealthy business owner. The fact that I owned the guns used in the crime was judged not sufficient to establish my responsibility for the plot. My experience as a prisoner in the US played a key role in persuading her to fight against the prison-industrial complex in the United States. I was extoled for my ingenuity and volition to keep fighting when backed into a corner with no way out.
Later in years, I became a professor in the History of Consciousness and the Feminist Studies Departments at the University of California, Santa Cruz. I also spoke and had great speeches at other colleges and was known throughout the world as a great public speaker. I even received the Blue Planet award, only given for contributions to humanity and the planet. I now live out my life as a legend and role model to many people in the world.