19 May was his birthday. He was born in 1925 as Malcolm Little. He was killed in New York City in 1965 as El-Hajj Malik El-Shabazz, aka Malcolm X. Malcolm would have been 80 years and four days old, today. When he got back to America after his hajj to Mecca, he said
“Human rights are something you were born with. Human rights are your God-given rights. Human rights are the rights that are recognized by all nations of this earth.”Ms Margaret Walker wrote a poem, a sonnet, for Malcolm, and duly called it For Malcolm X. It’s a well crafted piece that has the merit of talking to us about the recent past and dishing out both history and pleasure. Everytime I read the poem I’m struck by the force of the image she uses in verse 10… your sand-papering words against our skins… That’s painful, and sandpaper is always meant to remove something unwanted, perhaps those who [Hate] white devils and black bourgeoisie of verse 6, or the Hating white devils and black bourgeoisie themselves. Who knows? Check out the work for yourself:“In the past, yes, I have made sweeping indictments of all white people. I will never be guilty of that again — as I know now that some white people are truly sincere, that some truly are capable of being brotherly toward a black man. The true Islam has shown me that a blanket indictment of all white people is as wrong as when whites make blanket indictments against blacks.”
“Since I learned the truth in Mecca my dearest friends have come to include all kinds — some Christians, Jews, Buddhists, Hindus, agnostics, and even atheists! I have friends who are called capitalists, socialists, and communists! Some of my friends are moderates, conservatives, extremists — some are even Uncle Toms! My friends today are black, brown, red, yellow, and white!” [http://en.wikipedia.org]
For Malcolm X
All you violated ones with gentle hearts;
You violent dreamers whose cries shout heartbreak;
Whose voices echo clamors of our cool capers,
And whose black faces have hollowed pits for eyes.
All you gambling sons and hooked children and bowery bums
Hating white devils and black bourgeoisie,
Thumbing your noses at your burning red suns,
Gather round this coffin and mourn your dying swan.
Snow-white moslem head-dress around a dead black face!
Beautiful were your sand-papering words against our skins!
Our blood and water pour from your flowing wounds.
You have cut open our breasts and dug scalpels in our brain
When and Where will another come to take your holy place?
Old man mumbling in his dotage, or crying child, unborn?
