by Omar Tyree
Malcolm X was expected to die by the hands of fate. For he was truly a great man of history who would die like all great men of history. He would die like all great men who strived for excellence and a better way, like one who is all-deserving to have his story told throughout history. He was not simply a Black American racist, but a man of truth and fire. Let the truth be known to all men that Malcolm’s name should not be torn down, but lifted up. For Malcolm was a total man and a pure example of a warrior in a racist White world. Malik El Hajj Shabazz.
Troy was captivated. Malcolm X was very much like himself. He had lived a life so similar that Troy felt he was reading his own autobiography. He wasn’t wrong for feeling discontent with Whites. He was born to succeed, and therefore he struggled to reach his goals despite oppression.
Malcolm X had rekindled Troy’s fight, instilling newborn confidence. He felt that no man could have influenced him more than Malcolm. He had given hisall to uplift Black people.
The joy was simply overwhelming. Troy had never felt so proud to be Black in his life. Every Black person in the world should readThe Autobiography of Malcolm X , he thought to himself. He wanted to read more about the teachings of the Qur’an and the Nation of Islam as well. His mind had been unsealed.
Troy went on to read about Hannibal, Marcus Garvey, and the Black Panther Party. He read articles on colored peoples in world affairs. He read about every country suffering under White imperialism, and he sympathized with their constant racial strife.
He began to feel positive again that colored people could rise if they only believed in themselves. They could rise if they came together as a group and took complete control of their own destiny.
It’s time for us to find ourselves and our history, Troy told himself. He was refilled with energy and ready to battle.
“Just trim down the sides and block up the top, Troy,” Reggie said while getting his hair cut.
“Yeah, Rej, I haven’t seen you for along time. Where you been at?” Troy asked him while adjusting his equipment.
“I been studying, man. ’Cause I ain’t got no more time to mess around. You know. I’m already behind,” Reggie responded.
Troy nodded, eager to state what he had been doing. “I just got finished writing a paper on Malcolm X,” he mentioned.
“Oh yeah. My Mom loved Malcolm X, man. She used to talk about him all the time,” Reggie told him.
“He was the man, cuz. And we killed him,” Troy said, depressed.
“I know. It’s like Black people are scared to follow a real Black leader. We would rather kiss White people’s ass all the time. I mean, Martin Luther King was cool, but Malcolm X was the stronger man,” Reggie commented.
Troy went on. “Yup, I knew it before I read the book. Black people were scared of Malcolm. But to tell you the truth, his death looks set up, to me. I think the F.B.I. and the C.I.A. had something to do with both of their assassinations. I read that the Secret Service also played a part in that John F. Kennedy and Robert Kennedy shit,” Troy informed him. “They fucked over the Black Panther Party, too.
“I read about some shit called COINTELPRO. I forgot what it means, so I’ll have to look it up again. But it was talkin’ about turning different Black groups against each other.”
“Yeah, where you read that at?” Reggie quizzed.
“I met some old-head brother in the library. The brother had some documents on it. Dude is supposed to be writing a book.”
“Shit, they might try to kill cuz,” Reggie said, half joking and half serious.
Troy chuckled. “Yeah, well then we’ll know it’s true. Like Martin Luther King once said, ‘A man not willing to die for a cause is not fit to live.’ “
Reggie did an about-face, needing eye-to-eye confirmation. “Get outta here! Martin Luther King said that?”
“Yeah, man. I saw a couple of his speeches on video at this seminar last week. It’s this group called the Preservation of Black Male Leaders, and they say that the media is purposely denigrating Martin Luther King to that ‘I have a dream’ shit. And yo, the brother was much deeper than that, man.Much deeper.”
Reggie was impressed. “Damn, Troy, you really be knowing some shit.”
“I don’t know nothin’ yet. I’m just a baby,” Troy responded humbly. “It’s all kinds of information out there that we don’t know nothin’ about. Like they say, knowing is half the battle. So if we don’t even know shit, then we really a long way from home.”
Reggie nodded and smiled. “Yup, cuz, you ain’t never lied.”
Troy smiled back. “I never meant to.”
KNOWLEDGE OF SELF
BLOOMP BLOOMP BLOOMP.
“Yo, come in,” Troy offered. He was stretched out across his bed, Friday night, listening to Public Enemy’s urgent calls for Black revolution.
Peter walked in and immediately turned down the volume on Troy’s recently purchased radio. “Where you been this week?”
Troy turned it back up a notch. “I was at the library, readingThe Autobiography of Malcolm X and doing a term paper.”
“Yeah, well that’s one heavy book, my brother.”
Troy became excited, expecting another conversation on Malcolm. “What, you read it?” he asked.
Peter shook his head. “Naw, I just heard about it.”
“Oh. It figures.”
“What do you mean, ‘It figures’? Are you trying to say that I don’t read? ’Cause I’ve read a whole lot of books; specifically the Bible. The Lord says that the Bible is the only sword I need,” Peter responded with confidence.
Troy grinned and turned the music off. “What do you need a sword for?”
“What do I need a sword for?” Peter repeated. “To protect me and to fight off evil deception.”
“Oh. You mean the White man.”
Peter frowned. “OK, I see you startin’ to talk that Malcolm X stuff.”
“That’s not from Malcolm X. That’s the truth, my brother,” Troy mocked him.
Peter chuckled and shook his head. “You’re wrong, my brother, too wrong. The devil is no man. The devil is an evil spirit, and that’s what I came to tell you about.
“My church is having a seminar for young Black men that I want you to go to this Sunday. We’re having a special guest preacher from Washington, D.C., and I’m hoping that you can find faith in the Lord.”
Troy simply smiled. He then got out of his bed and looked into his desk drawer. He took out an old notebook and flipped through the pages.
“Here it is. ‘January twenty-third, nineteen eighty-eight,’” he read. “ ‘I was weak to the trickery of the devil, and now I have the strength I need to fight him off and not fall into temptation. The devil has a lot of trickery in this world, and you have to see through that before you can know the light of the Lord. I have just begun, but as I learn more about the Lord and his words, I can be better equipped to help my confused brothers.’”
Peter stood there, smiling, and Troy smiled back.
“So you memorized it and wrote it down, hunh, my brother?” Peter queried.
“You damn right!” his friend exclaimed. “That was the heaviest shit I’ve ever heard you say. That’s the night that I couldn’t sleep and ended up praying for guidance. Now I truly see that ‘the Lord works in mysterious ways,’ ’cause I met a brother that put me down with the fact that Jesus was Black, the prophets were Black, and the real Jews were Black. Or should I say, the Hebrews.”
Peter continued smiling while Troy closed his book and put it back in his desk.
“So you been reading the scriptures, my brother?” Peter asked.
“Naw, not yet. But I’m down to go to church with y’all this week.”
“All right, then,” Peter said. “Oh yeah, are you going on that bowling trip tonight?”
“Naw, man. Tonight is my night to relax. I’ve been working hard, and the Lord did give us a sabbath day,” Troy commented with a grin.
Peter laughed. “So what happened t
o your girl? You not gon’ hang out with her tonight?” he asked as he walked toward the door.
“Ay’, brother, didn’t the Ten Commandments say, ‘Thou shall not covet thy neighbor’s wife’?” Troy quizzed sarcastically. Then he smiled. “Naw, man, I’m just jokin’. Me and my girl gon’ have a study session in the library tomorrow.”
Peter nodded. “OK. Well, I’ll see you in church Sunday.” He left and closed the door.
Troy leaped back onto his bed and turned his music on. Feeling sensuous, he began to wish that Karen was with him. He had been seeing her for over a month, and they had not even kissed. She was so aware of the issues and so intriguing that the thought of having sex with her had slipped his mind on several occasions. But suddenly he desired to be more intimate with her. He figured that tomorrow might as well be their day.
“So, did you have a good time at your uncle’s crib last night?” Troy asked his new woman friend. They sat inside the library that Saturday morning.
“No, ’cause he and my father played chess all night. My aunt was sick, and all my cousins had gone out,” Karen responded to him.
Troy pulled a few books out of her bag and spread them out across their small library table. He then sat back in his chair and smiled. Karen smiled back with no comment.
“So, what are you gonna teach me today?” Troy asked her.
She hunched her shoulders. “I’on know. You know a lot already, but my father was tellin’ me about melanin studies a couple of nights ago.”
He nodded. “Yeah, that’s for pigmentation in the skin, eyes, and hair. We learned a little about that in biology.”
“Yeah, but he said it’s even deeper than that, ’cause he was talkin’ about melanin in the brain, making you think faster and have hand-and-eye coordination and rhythm. He also told me that melanin gave Black people a higher spiritual connection.”
“Hmm, that shit is deep. I’m gon’ have to check that out,” Troy responded.
“You know what, Troy? I think you curse too much.”
“Yeah, you right. But what else did your pop say about it?” he said, brushing Karen’s comment aside.
“Umm, he was talkin’ about the Black kids that were killed in Atlanta years ago, and about White scientists doing test studies on melanin from live materials.”
“Live materials? So they can try to inject themselves, or some shit? Oh, I’m sorry,” Troy said, catching his curse word.
Karen gave him a sly stare before continuing. “Yeah, ’cause he was talkin’ about the ozone layer deteriorating and white skin not having protection from the sun.”
“Yeah, that’s deep. White scientists do some crazy stuff, like in all the crazy movies they make. Remember that movieThe Island of Dr. Moreau , and them experiments mixing animal and human genes?” Troy asked.
Karen nodded her head and smiled.
“Yeah, that movie was crazy,” Troy commented. “What White man thought of some crazy stuff like that? I think they’re devils, for real.”
Karen shook her head in disagreement. “White people have done a lot of crazy and evil things, but we have to set our priorities straight. We can’t make our entire movement against White people, so we have to go much further than Black nationalist philosophies.”
“Yeah, well I’m down with the Black Panther Party and Marcus Garvey. They were about action. I mean, even Elijah Muhammad formed a nation. We gon’ have to form some kind of a nation,” Troy pleaded, as if Karen was in authority.
“Well, my father believes in education through an African-centered approach. We have to learn how to think right if we’re going to form a nation,” Karen responded, grinning at Troy. He smiled back, believing that he had influenced her. “The African-centered approach came before Islam, but the Islamic principle of metaphysics is very productive. I will say that,” she added.
“Metaphysics?” Troy responded quizzically. “I know you gon’ break down what that means, right?” He had never heard the term “African-centered education” before either.
“Metaphysics is the study of the nature of things, asking how, when, and why. Basically, it’s the philosophy of critical thought. You ever readThings Fall Apart , by Chinua Achebe?” Karen asked.
“Naw.”
“Well, you need to read that, ’cause that can introduce you to the principles of African deities, folklore, and culture.
“African spirituality is based on the principles of reason and nature. The Creator, who has many names, is manifested in everything,” Karen explained. “White people couldn’t make that link when they went to Africa. Many people still think that holistic nature is based solely in witchcraft, but it’s not. Africans have always believed in one superior being; however, they give importance toall that has been created.
“You also should readThe African Origin of Civilization , by Cheikh Anta Diop;The Destruction of Black Civilization , by Chancellor Williams;Stolen Legacy , by George James;Before the Mayflower , by Lerone Bennett; andThey Came Before Columbus , by Ivan Van Sertima.”
“Shit!I mean, dag! You read all that!” Troy exclaimed, smiling again at the curse word.
“Yeah, we definitely have to work on your mouth,” Karen responded seriously. “We don’t have to express ourselves like that. It makes me sick to hear people using profanity up and down the street. Then parents tell their kids not to, while they’re cussing up a storm.”
“Aw’ight, my fault. But what does your father think about the pope?” Troy asked, moving along. He was excited about the information Karen presented him, and she wasn’t even attending college yet.
“When I was little, my father told my aunt that the pope was going to be the great deceiver. He said that the pope is the Antichrist, because my aunt is Catholic. Or she was Catholic. I don’t know what she believes now. But you also have to study the Coptic Christianity of Ethiopia to understand the many contradictions of Western Christianity,” Karen explained.
“Man, whatever,” Troy replied. It was too much information at one time. “What religion do you believe in?” he thought he’d ask.
“It doesn’t matter. All of the major Western religions have African roots. It’s even a book calledAfrican Roots of the Major “Western Religions,” by Dr. Ben, that discusses the linkage.”
“So what’s this book right here?” Troy asked, picking up a colorful title from the desk.
“That’s this professor at Temple University. You from Philly, and you never heard of him?” Karen quizzed.
“Naw.Afrocentricity , by Molefi K. Asante,” Troy read.
Karen smiled. “My father just got that book for me.”
“So your pop really didn’t want you to go to college until he got you to read all these books, hunh?”
“Yup. He said it’s too much miseducation going on at the college level and down through elementary school. He said it’s like poison to the Black mind.”
“You talk about your father a lot, I notice.”
“ ’Cause,” Karen said, “after my mom died and we moved here from Chicago, I was the only one who listened to him.”
Troy was shocked that she had gotten so personal without any warning.
“You never told me that your mom died. I just figured she didn’t live with y’all or something,” he responded.
“Yeah, ’cause she died when I was four. My father had to raise all six of us by himself.”
“Dag, your pop is a hell of a man. But I still wouldn’t have kept you out of college your first year,” Troy said. “What school do you want to go to anyway?”
“Harriet Tubman. They have the strongest African-centered program, and it’s an independent school.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll see you in the hallways,” Troy responded with a smile.
Karen raised her brows. “What are you talkin’ about?”
“I’m transferring there too, after next semester. My Mom already sent me the application.”
“Dag, I feel good to hear that,” Karen told him.
/> “Yeah, so we’ll be with each other,” Troy assured her. He reached out and softly rubbed her hand, thinking of evening intimacy.
After talking for hours, it was nearly five o’clock before they realized it, and Karen was hungry. She took Troy to a Jamaican restaurant on the northwest side of town. It was a warm and colorful place that served only vegetarian foods and featured Caribbean art and music. Karen then told Troy she ate only one meal a day.
“Dag. How can you do that?” he asked her as he looked over the menu.
“You really only need one meal a day. Everything else is addiction. That’s why I was happy when you told me that you don’t smoke. But we gotta work on that drinking now.”
“It ain’t like I drink every day. As a matter of fact, the last time I even touched a bottle was when I was home with my boys. We were celebrating me going back to college.”
Karen just shook her head as the waitress appeared with an order pad and a pen.
“Can I take your order?”
Troy took a quick peek at her beautifully rounded backside. She watched him as well.
“Yes. I would like to have the vegetarian chili and rice, if you don’t mind,” Karen said with an attitude. The waitress seemed to air her backside to Troy purposely. He tried not to laugh, but he had a smirk on his face.
“It’s your turn to order, Troy,” Karen said. She gave him a clear message to stop looking.
“Oh, aw’ight,” he responded, smiling helplessly. “I’ll have the, umm …” He stopped and looked over the menu, not knowing what most of the food was. “Well, just give me what she got.”