Stealth Candidacy

The father -- one of the first African Americans on the Atlanta police force -- is interwoven in the daughter's trajectory. He nudged her into politics, and for four years they were the first father and daughter to serve simultaneously in the Georgia House of Representatives.

She was elected to Congress in 1992. Maureen Dowd of the New York Times called her "the startling new face of Congress" and noted her "uncommon poise."

But her promise was later undermined by complaints that she focused too much on unearthing conspiracies and not enough on her district. She unsuccessfully sought to impeach President George W. Bush, and to force the government to release documents related to the killings of King and Shakur, whose mother lives in her district.

"I don't think she deliberately set out to sabotage her career, but if you give them fodder, they'll use it," says the Rev. Kenneth Samuel, a longtime supporter and admirer who leads a church in Stone Mountain, Ga. "People expect their representatives to bring home the bacon. There are those, honestly, who questioned whether Cynthia was suited to do that."

She first lost her congressional seat in 2002 -- after a decade in office -- following her Sept. 11 remarks. Her father, speaking on a radio program, blamed McKinney's campaign troubles on "J-E-W-S," unhappy about her support of Palestinian causes. After regaining her seat in 2004, she lost again in 2006 amid fallout over punching a Capitol Hill police officer who stopped her from entering a congressional office building without going through a metal detector, a privilege granted members of Congress. She had changed her hairstyle and the officer said he did not recognize her.

"She has been an embarrassment," Len Walker, a Republican Georgia state legislator, says in a telephone interview. "Her political life is very much over here. She's pretty much done."

But, for a brief instant, surrounded by the Black Panthers, she's a local girl made good.

"We were glad to see her punch the heck out of whoever put his hands on her," Mukasa Dada, a Pan-African liberationist, says during a break at the Panther event.

As for her future, McKinney hints to the audience that she has a "plan," but needs financing.

No details.

More mystery.

What could it be?

"I certainly won't tell you," she says after stepping down from the stage. "It's not for public consumption."

Asked whether she has any regrets, McKinney responds: "It's been a wonderful journey. That's the way you can title the story."