Brother West

by Cornel West

  “After several long seconds of silence, Du Bois gave me a quick cursory glance. A glance, mind you, not a word. I slowly walked away.”

  As I looked into the eyes of John Hope Franklin, I could see inner tears of deep disappointment. The incident might have occurred a half-century earlier, but Professor Franklin made it feel like it happened yesterday.

  My gut reaction was, if it had been me, I would have rhetorically slapped Du Bois upside the head and said, “You can at least take a second to say hello.” But on further reflection, I recognized that he was who he was—an intellectual freedom fighter and an elitist. I have come to realize that everybody’s who they are, and not somebody else. And I believe that Professor Franklin, though his heart was broken, reached the same conclusion. The happy footnote to this story is that years later Du Bois and Franklin became friends. Did Du Bois ever realize whom he failed to acknowledge that morning in North Carolina? We will never know.

  What does it mean to be an educated person? Academic accolades and doctoral degrees are one measure of education, but life experience and selfless service are another. One of the most moving experiences I have ever had took place at the 2009 commencements at Morehouse and Spelman. Both events took place on the same day at these historical black institutions where education and empowerment are rooted in the unique brotherhood and sisterhood that comes from a tradition of excellence.

  In the morning over 400 young, brilliant black men graduated in pomp and circumstance. At various moments, they placed the academic hoods over each other’s heads. As I reflected on my time spent with precious young black men in prisons, on blocks of the ‘hood, or just in trouble, tears flowed from my eyes. Listening to the valedictorian’s speech and the honoring of those who were graduating was a deeply humbling moment.

  In the evening over 500 young, brilliant black women graduated. Just before I was about to give the commencement address, the Spelman College glee club broke into beautiful song filling our hearts with the powerful Negro spiritual, “I Can’t Tarry”—“I’ve got to keep running, running, running as I ascend to the kingdom.” Tears again flowed from my eyes. I thought of the powerful new wave of national and global leaders distinctively black and female.

  What a blessing to bear witness to these students’ glorious achievements. I am their servant and I can’t tarry.

  Today’s graduates are being launched into an uncharted era. The election of the first African American president and the necessity for the nation and the world to discuss issues of race is a profound teachable moment. That is why we must not confuse the empty media category of “post-racial” with the reality of America becoming less racist. The former is an empty illusion, the latter is a grand achievement. For example, when white brothers and sisters in Iowa chose Obama based on his qualifications and not pigmentation, they were not post-racial but less racist than their forebears. In Gary, Indiana, when black voters chose a white mayor over other black candidates, they were not post-racial but rather citizens choosing qualification over pigmentation.

  When Obama burst on the scene in Boston at the Democratic National Convention in 2004 proclaiming that America is a magical place, I turned to my dear brother Tavis Smiley and said, “This brother is going to have a Christopher Columbus experience. He’s going to discover America!” The greatness of the American democratic experiment has nothing to do with magic but rather the blood, sweat, and tears of ordinary people endeavoring to create a fragile yet noble democracy. And when Obama says his story is only possible in America, he should not forget about the Brazilian president Lula, who dropped out of grade school, or the female heads of state in India, Germany, Chile, and Liberia. By comparison, America lags behind. We need not have Disneyland-like lies about ourselves to acknowledge the grand achievements we have made.

  I have a deep appreciation of Obama’s brilliance, charisma, and his sense of a fresh start for the nation. In my times with him as a presidential candidate, he struck me as a decent person filled with a sense of destiny. Brother Obama’s amiable personality often wants to put a smile on everyone’s face and thereby give the impression that he agrees with everyone. My constant worry is that he can be easily mesmerized by fast-talking establishment figures whose braininess lacks wisdom, vision, and commitment.

  This dangerous strategy moves toward the center for likeability when often the truth lies not in the middle but beneath the mediocrity of the superficial exchange. The deep tension in Obama’s vision and expression of democratic rhetoric and technocratic policies reflects his own divided mind about the crucial role of mobilizing everyday people while satisfying the elite establishment.

  I HAVE COME TO APPRECIATE the power that film has to educate, inspire, and entertain. So when I received a call from Brother Larry Wachowski, the co-director of The Matrix, I was excited. He said, “Dr. West, my brother and I have been deeply influenced by your writings on philosophy, religion, and race. We have written the role of Councilor West for our next two films, and we would love for you to play the part.”

  I replied, “Congratulations on your achievement. I salute your genius. I’d love to play the role, but only if it has grace and dignity.”

  Indeed, it did. The next thing I knew I was on my way to Sydney, Australia. I had never experienced the challenge of being an actor during the filming of a movie. I was deeply encouraged by my neighbor on the set, Laurence Fishburne, as well as fellow actors such as Jada Pinkett Smith, Keanu Reeves, and Anthony Ray Parker.

  During one fascinating moment in the middle of a dramatic scene, I shouted, “Cut!” The actors laughed.

  Brother Larry said, “Brother West, I’m the director. Only I can say ‘Cut!’”

  I replied, “But a giant of film and theater just walked in, and we must pay tribute to his presence.” I then pointed to Roscoe Lee Brown, and we all broke into spontaneous applause.

  Later, even the excitement of filming was eclipsed by the film premieres in Los Angeles and New York. I was honored to escort the beloved mother of Brothers Larry and Andy to the L.A. opening night.

  My Matrix connection did not end with the initial release of the film. I was also asked to be a major spokesperson to the media. Additionally, religious scholar Ken Wilbur and I were invited to provide scene-by-scene commentary for the Matrix Trilogy DVD box set. We spent over two days, buried in the studio with Larry there to encourage us.

  I consider The Matrix to be a cultural monument marking the turn of the century in America. This is due to its moral vision, technological wizardry, and multicultural embrace. For the first time in American film people of color are at the center of the future.

  The teachable moment provided by Tavis Smiley’s documentary classic, Stand, lays bare the rich humanity of black men in a way unprecedented on screen. It was a great honor and joy to be part of Tavis’s visionary and courageous work of art. For the first time in American film, black men were seen praying, crying, holding hands, and hugging, as well as engaging in sophisticated intellectual discussions about politics, religion, culture, and music. Our soul patrol that has existed for years was now made manifest for millions. In this age of Obama, where America is still filled with too many negative stereotypes of black men, the film Stand presents the best of who we are.

  One of the personally moving moments in the film is our trip to Jubilee Hall at Fisk University, where Mom and Dad first met when they were students. I kissed the exact spot Dad first met Mom. I imagined when he first saw her there, she blew his mind, and the rest is West family history.

  At the film’s premier in Los Angeles, and at subsequent screenings in Philadelphia, Memphis—and especially my hometown Sacramento at the Irene B. West Elementary School on my fifty-sixth birthday, fifteen years after my father’s funeral with my whole family and whole community present—I witnessed an incredible overflow of catharsis, tears, and laughter.

  The depths of healing catalyzed by community-sponsored Stand screenings was reflected in ritual handshakes, standing ovati
ons, and never-ending, loving embraces that affirmed black manhood. One brother said to me, “Stand hit me so hard in my heart, I hadn’t been moved like that since my mother’s funeral.” Another brother commented, “This movie changed my life. I’m now dedicated to being a better person.” Participating in Stand with my dear brothers in the film and my dear brothers and sisters at screenings across the country has been a sublime experience.

  “YOU ARE LOVED”

  To My Beloved Clifton and Zeytun West:

  MY PRIMARY AIM IN LIFE is to be of value to you. This means first and foremost to let you know and feel that you are loved no matter what you do or where you are. To be loved is to be and to be fully human is to cultivate the capacity to give and receive love. It is a gift of grace that you have loving mothers and loving relatives who are willing to support your dreams. Yet it is your choice whether or not you will allow our love to direct and guide you to wisdom and maturity.

  The first steps toward wisdom and maturity are to gain self-respect and self-confidence. There can be no quest for wisdom without a healthy regard for one’s self. And there can be no advent of maturity without a strong belief in oneself. The benchmark of wisdom is the courage to examine oneself fearlessly just as the hallmark of maturity is the courage to exercise constant humility in the pursuit of a noble cause greater than oneself. The perennial foes of wisdom and maturity are arrogance toward others, manipulation of others, and seizing undue entitlements for oneself.

  The most essential lesson I can offer from my twentieth-century life for your twenty-first-century lives is to find and sustain joy every day that you breathe by touching the lives of others and inspiring people through your example to reach higher and serve better. There is no doubt I have fallen short of my lofty goals. But my fallible efforts as a blues philosopher to spread paideia, to make deep education a democratic force for good, and to make the struggle for justice a desirable way of life, have brought me great joy.

  I do want you to be happy, but more importantly I want you to seek wisdom. I want you to be so full of self-respect that you cannot but respect others. I want you to be so self-confident that you breed self-confidence in others. I want you to elevate yourselves by uplifting others and to love yourselves by being of service to others. And as a Christian, I beseech you to bear your cross in life with faith, courage, and compassion.

  Despite all the hype about globalization and multicultural exchange in the twenty-first century, your crucial tasks in life remain the same as mine—to make it from womb to tomb with grace and dignity such that your contributions leave the world better than you found it. The true measure of your humanity will always rest upon the depth of your love and the quality of your service to others.

  I have great hope for you and your life’s journeys and I pray you never forget, when we are long gone, the depth of sacrifice made for you, by generations past and those who loved you dearly.

  Love,

  Dad

  GOING AWAY BLUES

  “YOU JUST GOT HERE,” the lady tells the bluesman. “Can’t you stick around?”

  “Blues won’t let me,” the cat says. “Can’t stay in one place. Gotta keep moving.”

  My raw blues—the blues of my life—has to do with voicing the social misery of “the least of these,” those less fortunate than myself. And what bluesman doesn’t face some unexpected lyrics tied up with women and money? Nothing unusual about that. But the way that I sing my blues—in lectures and books, on hip-hop albums and TV shows, in adult-education classes and prisons, in college auditoriums and church pulpits—well, that is unusual.

  The fact that my blues have spread to Africa, Central America, Latin America, Europe, the Middle East, and Asia is an international phenomenon that stirs me up even more. It means I just gotta keep on steppin’. What a blessing it was to deliver the Edward Said Memorial Lecture in Cairo, Egypt, the Nelson Mandela Lecture in Pretoria, South Africa, the UNESCO Lecture in Santiago, Chile, and the Albert Einstein Forum Lecture in Berlin, Germany. Benjamin Barber’s historic interdependence movement has taken me to Casablanca, Mexico City, Brussels, and Istanbul. Steppin’ is my character, my mission, my joy.

  As a bluesman, though, I carry the pain that I have caused others. I say my calling comes before my romantic relationships, and surely it does. But are they mutually exclusive or am I someone unable to simply settle down?

  I like singing my blues. Like many a bluesman before me, I like my spirits. As a lover of Jesus, I could live without my cognac and Captain Black Gold tobacco in my pipe, but I’d hate to be tested.

  I like moving from city to city, country to country, gig to gig, offering up my version of the truth to anyone inclined to listen. I like talking my talk, doing my thing. I like to get paid for my songs, though I sing many for free.

  I like seeing Race Matters translated into Japanese, Italian, and Portuguese. I like seeing The American Evasion of Philosophy translated into Chinese, Spanish, and Italian. I like that there are hundreds of thousands of copies of my book Democracy Matters translated into Spanish. There’s also an edition that’s selling in the French-speaking world. I like the fact that all nineteen of my books are still in print with the exception of the two that won the American Book Award in 1993.

  I like being the first black recipient of the James Madison Medal, the highest award given to a graduate of the Graduate School of Princeton University.

  I like the fact that seven insightful books, both scholarly and mainstream, have been published on my life and work. I hope that this represents the positive impact of my work on the lives of others.

  I like that my only piece of published fiction, “Sing a Song,” has been adapted into a play by Andreas Patterson at Alabama State University.

  I like that the remarkable young hip-hop artist Lupe Fiasco has honored me by naming his Grammy-nominated album The Cool after a lecture I gave in Chicago. Lupe was in the audience when I suggested that we must view intellectual engagement as something cooler than bling bling. My two-hour dialogue with Lupe at Calvin College in Grand Rapids, Michigan forever remains an inspiration to me.

  I like learning that my beloved grand niece, Deja, won the Cornel West Distinguished Award at John F. Kennedy High School in Sacramento, the same school attended by me and my brother Cliff, her grandfather.

  I like performing with those bebop jazz giants, the Heath Brothers, thanks to the grand Renaissance man James Mtume, the son of Jimmy Heath. And who wouldn’t be honored to work on the same stage with Sweet Honey in the Rock, the famous artistic activists with deep gospel roots? I was also honored to collaborate with the renowned dance group of Lula Washington.

  I like that on my most recent CD, Never Forget: A Journey of Revelations, I collaborated with outstanding artists like Talib Kweli, KRS-One, Jill Scott, Andre 3000, and Cliff West.

  I was delighted to be named MTV Artist of the Week and gratified when the album hit the Billboard charts: #1 Spoken Word and #37 R&B/Hip Hop.

  I like the thrill of collaborating with the incomparable musical genius of our time, Prince, who had graciously invited me to his Bel Air mansion. When I walked through the door, I was directly approached by a beautiful Latina, who was overflowing with intellectual passion. She wanted to discuss everyone from Nietzsche to Lou Salome. We talked and danced for hours to the live music of Prince, Stevie Wonder, Herbie Hancock, and John Legend. At evening’s end, I told the sweet lady that it was a delight. Salma Hayek went her way and I went mine.

  I like that I’ve been invited to perform on the albums of many other good people: Gerald Levert, Rhymefest, Raheem DeVaughn, Dead Prez, John Mellencamp, Cornel West Theory—a prophetic Christian hip-hop group that honored me by adopting my name— jazz icon Terrence Blanchard, and the upcoming artist Ohene. I also cherish my relationship with my dear brother Wynton Marsalis, the reigning icon and exemplar of excellence in contemporary jazz.

  I like that these days more people recognize me from my little movie roles than my books. Ironi
cally, I made my film debut in The Matrix Reloaded, the movie that broke all existing box office records. At the kind invitation of the incomparable Wachowski brothers, Larry and Andy, I flew down to Sydney, Australia where both The Matrix Reloaded and The Matrix Revolutions were being shot. When the DVD boxed set trilogy came out I was privileged to do a scene-by-scene commentary, along with religious scholar Ken Wilbur. I’ve performed in films such as Adam Nemett’s The Instrument, Astra Taylor’s Examined Life, Justin Dillon’s Call + Response, The Private Lives of Pippa Lee, directed by Rebecca Miller (daughter of my dear brother, the late great Arthur Miller), and Tavis Smiley’s documentary, Stand.

  I am also pleased to work with Warrington and Reggie Hudlin at the Black Film Foundation—a seminal institution in Hollywood. I was also among the first fellows at the British Film Institute in London, led by my dear brother Colin McCabe.

  I like that, although I’ve been highly critical of dumbed-down TV shows, I’ve also seized opportunities to use the medium, as the classical poet Horace defined entertainment—to instruct and delight. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been on C-SPAN, all due to the support of its visionary founder, my good friend Brian Lamb. I am always delighted to appear on Amy Goodman’s progressive Democracy Now show on a regular basis. When my dear brother Bill Maher calls, as he frequently does, I do my best to hop out to L.A. and work with him on Real Time. I revel in his comic brilliance and progressive politics even as I joyfully wrestle with his agnosticism. Furthermore, I have made numerous appearances on my dear brother Tavis Smiley’s show on PBS—the best talk show in the business. He has also been kind enough to have me serve as a commentator for seven years on his radio show on PRI brilliantly produced by the late Sheryl Flowers.

  I like rereading Alfred North Whitehead on the adventure of ideas, Eric Auerbach on the history of Western literature, Harold Goddard on Shakespeare, Eric Bentley on the life of the drama, Walter Kerr on tragedy and comedy, Ernst Robert Curtius on the Latin middle ages, Eric Voegelin on Plato, M.H. Abrams on romanticism, Harold Bloom on canonical texts, or George Santayana on anything.