(Deborah Johnson)

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1969. A Member of the Black Panthers and Fred Hampton's fiance, Akua Njeri was with him at 4:30 a.m., when Chicago police raided his apartment, ostensibly to serve a search warrant. Armed with a map of the flat supplied by an FBI informant, they burst through the doors with a hail of gun fire.
I looked up and saw bullets coming from what seemed like the front of the apartment and the kitchen area in the back. Bullets were going into the mattress. The sparks of light, the bed vibrating - I just knew with all this going on, it was all over. At some point the shooting stopped. Fred didn't move anymore. I came out with my hands up. There were two lines of police I had to walk though. One of them grabbed my robe and pulled it open. I was eight and a half months pregnant then. "Well, what do you know. We have a pregnant broad." Another policeman grabbed me by the hair and slung me into the kitchen area. I looked around and saw Ron Satchel on the dining room floor. He had blood all over him. Verlina Brewer was in the kitchen, bleeding. She started to fall. They grabbed her and threw her against the refrigerator. Then more shooting. I heard a voice that wasn't familiar to me say, "He's barely alive. He'll barely make it." I assumed they were talking about Fred. The shooting started again, just for a brief period. It stopped. Then another unfamiliar voice said, "He's good and dead now."