I find comfort in the words of Malcolm. Regardless of the outcome,
I find comfort in the unbridled tongue of Brother Malcolm.
Comfort in knowing that somewhere in Harlem there is a brother with a rifle peeking out a window.
He says, “Sleep well—he says sleep well—he says sleep well Af-free-cans. For tonight I am in the watch tower!”
I find comfort; comfort in knowing what I am feeling has been articulated to the letter by a brother who understands better—than I do—what I am going through.
And it shows. A brother who knows why I have been made to feel the way I do, have impulses to steal the way I do, and a whim towards another brother to kill the way I do.
The self-hate; caused by feelings of being second rate.
Malcolm’s greatest crime… was that he loved his black people.
That and maybe the fact he prayed in a temple basement instead of a church steeple.
That and maybe the fact he advocated the use of guns as one legal method of self defense, and wasn’t afraid to drop the hammer.
That and the fact that as a teacher he said some pretty mean things about that turn-the-other-cheek preacher—the one from Georgia who shook up Alabama—which he did eventually apologized for.
I find comfort, comfort in the words of Malcolm.
Regardless of the outcome, I find comfort in the uninhibited words of Brother Malcolm. His pizzazz.
El Hajj Malik El Shabazz
Comfort in the fact that he still had my back, even after the Nation no longer had his… because he said what he did.
See, Malcolm loved the kids.
Those four little kids; those… four little black girls… killed in that church bombing in Birmingham, 18 days after that turn “the other cheek” preacher—the one from Georgia who spent time in an Alabama slammer—co-led the march on Washington D.C.
Malcolm was so provoked by their deaths that against Mr. Mohammed’s wishes Brother Malcolm stopped given the American black man fish… and began teaching him how to fish.
One fist in the air for the black, even though the Nation no longer had his back, Malcolm still had mine.
With index finger tapping the crown of his mind, regardless of the outcome, I find… comfort, in the unrestrained words of Brother Malcolm.
Comfort; not in the pain Brother Malcolm felt in his exile. But in the controlled rage he felt towards the system which provoked his people. The controlled rage he felt towards the atrocities in Af-free-ca.
They killed Bro. Malcolm. Still…
Regardless of the outcome, I find comfort in the uncontrolled words of Brother Malcolm. His rhetoric. His razzmatazz.
“the House Negro vs the Field Negro”
“Extremism in the Face of Injustice is no Vice”
“The Ballot or the Bullet”
“By Any Means Necessary!”
Thank you, El Hajj Malik El Shabazz