By Vincent L. Hall
No Justice, no peace. No Justice, no peace. You redneck white folks and your Uncle Tom Negroes. In the land of the beast… No Justice, no peace. –The Warriors featuring Lorenzo Gray!
“Call and response” is an African and African American liturgical tradition prevalent in the Black Church. The Warriors, led by the Protester-In-Chief, John Wiley Price, arrested their enemies, friends, and admirers by using it to degrade, deride and diffuse its foe. One institution at a time.
Wikipedia says that “In Sub-Saharan African cultures, call and response is a pervasive pattern of democratic participation—in public gatherings in the discussion of civic affairs, in religious rituals, as well as in vocal and instrumental musical expression.
Our call was for liberation, and we were loud and proud. The other day, we lost our megaphoned messenger. Lorenzo Gray was our “Chief caller.” He led the verbal charge that drove White folks crazy. We spent some wild days on that picket line.
Lorenzo, a smooth, dark- skinned brother in his trademark cap and dark shades, was hell on a bullhorn. At times, he was more rhythmic than revolutionary, but his preachments would always go “next level” when the Warriors felt the sting of an attack. Lorenzo could go from public policy to personalized punishments. He could switch gears and go from comical to caustic.
The Warriors were forced to keep a trained eye on their surroundings while keeping with the beat. Lorenzo did some freestyling, but he always kept the mandates of call and response. He was like a metronome with spikes. He would cut you in time and rhythm.
His voice would never quiver, and his volume never failed. He was a cascade of words and well-placed inflections that punctuated his purpose. If a Black Baptist preacher can use it to summon a man’s salvation, Lorenzo could lead us in freedom songs as we walked to-and-fro in the crosswalks.
The cadence, the syncopation, and the ability to create a drumbeat where there were no drums was unbelievable. He made time move swifter and eased the tensions of every Warrior in earshot.
But there were some days when raw emotions, rank adrenaline, and conflict escalation were inevitable. If you caught John Wiley or any of the Warriors on the wrong day, it was going to get ugly! One smart-assed cop and it was “going down like four flat tires on a Cadillac.” Fatigue: physical, mental, or both, could trigger an event.
Our protests produced chaotic moments and near misses with calamity over our 10-year-plus stand against racism and privilege in Dallas. But when it got hot, Lorenzo rose to the occasion, and it got hot regularly.
We picketed Dallas Police and Fire, Channels 4, 5, 8, and 11, the Dallas Independent School District, Red Bird Mall, Parkland Hospital, and mayoral residences.
Hundreds of “non-members” successfully threatened institutions that the Warriors were en route. We were ruthless in our pursuit of equality and rightly so.
My daddy says you ain’t gotta whip everybody; just grab hold to the biggest one. In late 1992 the City of Dallas pissed us off so badly that we showed up at the gate of the Cotton Bowl. As my mama would say, “It was white folks a-la-carte!
Our New Year’s Day protest at the 1993 Cotton Bowl game was a “David and Goliath” moment. Lorenzo Gray led the seminal chant, “Welcome to Dallas.
Have you heard; Dallas is just like Johannesburg.”
On this day, Lorenzo shined. He never sounded better. The bigger the audience, the better he led! Lorenzo was not a lawyer, but he bailed out us spiritually every time he took the megaphone. Even after our glory days and televised frontal attacks, the nucleus of us Warriors stayed committed to “causes” in their personal lives.
Lorenzo developed his own following and his own podcast. His Facebook bio says digital creator, but he was so much more. He was unapologetically Black and could fuse generations of Black men looking for answers in these “Yet to be United States.”
Lorenzo was a Pan-Africanist, a griot, and a sure source of wisdom and strength. I pray that in this new place he calls home, he will accept this verbal libation for all he did for liberation! Lorenzo Gray called, and this community responded. Hotep!
(This is an excerpt from a forthcoming book from my pen; “A Warrior on My Side; My ride with Dallas County Commissioner John Wiley Price”)
Vincent L. Hall is an author, activist, and an award-winning columnist.
