by Paul Beatty
"Me and George Brown is getting married. He bought me a fur coat yesterday. Aint no silver foxes but it bettern you done and it cost $79.99. So you just hang on to your little money and see ifn you can fine nother queen as fine as me.
"Your used to be sugar pie,
"Beulah
"P.S. Here is your induction papers come to your room while you have been gone. I hope the army likes you bettern I does."
That's how I got back to L.A. The man bought me a ticket when he seen the army wanted me. But I warn't the same cat what left tryna dodge the draft. I'se mad now sure 'nough. Done lost my queen, lost my soft slave, an' the man got me. Now why them dirty rotten Japs and Jerries start all this cuttin' an' shootin' in the first place you just tell me. They know they couldn't win. Just like me takin' a punch at Joe Louis. Either I done gone crazy or else I done got tired of livin'. That's what make me so mad.
Warn't but one thing I want'd to do worse'n fightin' them stinkin' enemies; that was fightin' George Brown.
The Lord musta heard my prayer 'cause the man got him less'n two weeks after he got me. An' they put him in the same camp. That's me you see grinnin'. Yes suh! Sure gonna be a happy war.
MALCOLM X
message to the grass roots
1963
When you want a nation, that's called nationalism. When the white man became involved in a revolution in this country against England, what was it for? He wanted this land so he could set up another white nation. That's white nationalism. The American Revolution was white nationalism. The French Revolution was white nationalism. The Russian Revolution too—yes, it was—white nationalism. You don't think so? Why do you think Khrushchev and Mao can't get their heads together? White nationalism. All the revolutions that are going on in Asia and Africa today are based on what?—black nationalism. A revolutionary is a black nationalist. He wants a nation. I was reading some beautiful words by Rev. Cleage, pointing out why he couldn't get together with someone else in the city because all of them were afraid of being identified with black nationalism. If you're afraid of black nationalism, you're afraid of revolution. And if you love revolution, you love black nationalism.
To understand this, you have to go back to what the young brother here referred to as the house Negro and the field Negro back during slavery. There were two kinds of slaves, the house Negro and the field Negro. The house Negroes—they lived in the house with master, they dressed pretty good, they ate good because they ate his food—what he left. They lived in the attic or the basement, but still they lived near the master; and they loved the master more than the master loved himself. They would give their life to save the master's house—quicker than the master would. If the master said, "We got a good house here," the house Negro would say, "Yeah, we got a good house here." Whenever the master said "we," he said "we." That's how you can tell a house Negro.
If the master's house caught on fire, the house Negro would fight harder to put the blaze out than the master would. If the master got sick, the house Negro would say, "What's the matter, boss, we sick?" We sick! He identified himself with his master, more than his master identified with himself. And if you came to the house Negro and said, "Let's run away, let's escape, let's separate," the house Negro would look at you and say, "Man, you crazy. What you mean, separate? Where is there a better house than this? Where can I wear better clothes than this? Where can I eat better food than this?" That was that house Negro. In those days he was called a "house nigger." And that's what we call them today, because we've still got some house niggers running around here.
This modern house Negro loves his master. He wants to live near him. He'll pay three times as much as the house is worth just to live near his master, and then brag about "I'm the only Negro out here." "I'm the only one on my job." "I'm the only one in this school." You're nothing but a house Negro. And if someone comes to you right now and says, "Let's separate," you say the same thing that the house Negro said on the plantation. "What you mean, separate? From America, this good white man? Where you going to get a better job than you get here?" I mean, this is what you say. "I ain't left nothing in Africa," that's what you say. Why, you left your mind in Africa.
On that same plantation, there was the field Negro. The field Negroes—those were the masses. There were always more Negroes in the field than there were Negroes in the house. The Negro in the field caught hell. He ate leftovers. In the house they ate high up on the hog. The Negro in the field didn't get anything but what was left of the insides of the hog. They call it "chitt'lings" nowadays. In those days they called them what they were—guts. That's what you were—gut-eaters. And some of you are still gut-eaters.
The field Negro was beaten from morning to night; he lived in a shack, in a hut; he wore old, castoff clothes. He hated his master. I say he hated his master. He was intelligent. That house Negro loved his master, but that field Negro—remember, they were in the majority, and they hated the master. When the house caught on fire, he didn't try to put it out; that field Negro prayed for a wind, for a breeze. When the master got sick, the field Negro prayed that he'd die. If someone came to the field Negro and said, "Let's separate, let's run," he didn't say "Where we going?" He'd say, "Any place is better than here." You've got field Negroes in America today. I'm a field Negro. The masses are the field Negroes. When they see this man's house on fire, you don't hear the little Negroes talking about "our government is in trouble." They say, "Lite government is in trouble." Imagine a Negro: "Our government"! I even heard one say "our astronauts." They won't even let him near the plant—and "our astronauts"! "Our Navy"—that's a Negro that is out of his mind, a Negro that is out of his mind.
LANGSTON HUGHES
pose-outs
1965
Sit - ins and such, picketings and such, for civil rights has been so common," said Simple, "that they no longer attracts attention. A lot of demonstrations nowadays do not even get in the papers any more. There has been too many, so I thought up something new."
"What?" I asked.
"Pose-ins," said Simple, "or pose-outs."
"What do you mean, 'pose-outs'?"
"Statues is often naked, are they not?" said Simple.
"Yes."
"Well, by pose-outs," said Simple, "I mean Negroes undressing down to their bare skin and posing naked as statues for freedom's sake. Twenty million Negroes taking off every stitch—stepping out of pants, dress, and drawers in public places and posing in the nude until civil rights have come to pass."
"You are demented," I declared.
"No," said Simple. "Nothing would attract as much attention to segregation, integration, desegregation, and ratiocination than if every Negro in this American country would just stand naked until Jim Crow goes."
"Fantastic!" I said. "Mad! Completely absurd!"
"Yes," said Simple, "at a certain time on a certain day let even those Negroes that be in Congress—Dawson, Diggs, Adam Powell—like that first Adam in the Garden—rise naked to answer the roll call. Ordinary people, if at work in factories, foundries, offices, or homes, will establish a nude-in. If on the streets, a nude-out. Black waiters at the Union League Club, a nude-in. Colored boys pushing racks in the streets of the garment district, a nude-out. Black cooks could pose in white kitchens naked. Maids could pose dusting the parlor with nothing on but a dust cap. Pullman porters on trains in the raw. Redcaps at stations bare except for badge numbers. Ralph Bunche at the United Nations, naked as a bird. At home, a nude-in. On the street, a nude-out. Until all Negroes get our rights, we pose. You know that statue 'The Thinker'?"
"By Rodin," I said.
"Setting on a stone with nothing on in God's world—'The Thinker'— with his chin in his hand, just setting lost in thought. Imagine James Farmer demonstrating for CORE at City Hall, posing at high noon naked, making like 'The Thinker,' chin in hand! Also on the same day at the same time Roy Wilkins upholding the NAACP, buck-naked between them two lions on the steps of the New York Public Library, with
nothing on but his nose glasses. At the back of the library, on the terrace facing Bryant Park, Borough President Constance Baker Motley just as she came in this world, whilst at Fiftieth and Broadway where the theatres is, Miss Lena Home, bare as Venus. Down the way a piece, in front of the Metropolitan Opera, Leontyne Price in all her glory on a podium, not a stitch to her name. The traffic tie-up on Broadway would be terrific. We would not need a stall-in. Nude-outs would be enough. In Central Park, Willie Mays, on Sugar Hill, Jackie Robinson. And uptown in Harlem at 125th and Lenox I would place on a pedestal Miss Pearl Bailey."
"Unclothed?"
"Except by nature," said Simple. "With Negroes posing like statues all over town, traffic would jam. On Wall Street tickers would stop running. In Washington at the sight of Adam Powell in his birthday suit, filibusters would cease to be. In Atlanta, Rev. Martin Luther King, with not even a wrist watch on, would preach his Sunday-morning sermon. In N ew York colored subway conductors would report for duty in the all-together. Every waitress in Chock full o' Nuts would look like Eve before the Fall. In Harlem, Black Muslims would turn to Black Nudists. And at the Apollo, Jackie Mabley would break up the show. Oh, if every Negro in America, big and small, great and not so great, would just take his clothes off and keep them off for the sake of civil rights, America would be forced to scrutinize our cause."
"How shocking!" I said.
"Which is what we would mean it to be," declared Simple. "A nude-out to shock America into clothing us in the garments of equality, not the rags of segregation. And when Negroes got dressed again, we could vote in Mississippi."
"That would be when hell freezes over," I said. "Besides, by that time the Legion of Decency would have all of you in jail for indecent exposure."
"Not me," said Simple, "because I would be in Harlem. The colored cops in Harlem would be naked, too, so how would I know, without his uniform, that he were a cop?"
"Considering all the dangers involved, would you be the first to volunteer for a nude-out?" I asked.
"That honor I would leave you," said Simple.
LIGHTNIN ' HOPKINS
cadillac blues
performed 1968
Wooo! excuse me miss, from asking you this, but who may your good man be? Sugar, I know I'm a funny lookin' fella. Wooo, but if I clean up won't you have a little pity on me? That's what I'm talkin' about.
I'm the man that is the Lightnin' Hopkins, tell you what I done. I rode an old T Model Ford until I decided I would buy me a Cadillac. Look'a here, I went a long way in that T Model; I saved pennies by pennies to get to pay a down payment on me a Cadillac. Nobody liked poor Lightnin' when he drive up in that T Model, you know they act? Look at me and look off. I get me my two bits worth of gasoline and I'd drive on. Yeah, I'd drive on.
But you know I don't know how it happened, but one day I got lucky. I got me a Cadillac—black Cadillac with white-walled tires. I'm sittin' up there I'm black, white teeth and white eyed. Yes, I did. I decided I'm goin' drive my Cadillac.
They say, "Who . . . ? Uh-uh, that ain't Lightnin'."
I said, "Toot-toot." I'd hear 'em, but I just blow back at 'em, let 'em know it is me.
Every stop sign I get to I wanted somebody to be standing there to see that I had changed that T Model into a Cadillac. So, last Monday I drove up to an old stop sign and it was a pretty, beautiful little girl standing up there talkin' to one of them slick cats, y'know. He was twirlin' a little chain around his finger. He was telling her something at the time and when she see that pretty Cadillac I squatted down. He looked over and he'd seen that it was . . . you understand what I might say to myself, "That's a fish for her."
He turned his back and went to whistlin'.
She say, "Hey, mister. How far you goin'?"
I say, "Aww, kid, I'm goin' a pretty good piece. Why?"
"Could I ride with you just about, y' know, another block or two? I would like to."
I said, "Aww, get in!" I asked him, "You goin' mister?"
"No, nooo. pardner. Nooo."
I left him standin' there. I'm glad of my Cadillac. I drove up to a coffeehouse. I said, "Now, I want me a cup of coffee."
I pulled over to the side. I said, "Darling, come on in here and let's drink a cup of coffee. And what's next is, where you go—I go."
She said, "Well, wait a minute. It's such a beautiful car and you such a nice person, let me show you something."
She pulled out her driving license. She said, "Now, I got my driving license and I know you not scared to trust me. I just want to make one block. Just about the time you drink that coffee, why I'll be right back."
And you know what? That made me feel good, because it looked like I been knowing her a long time and could trust her, y' know? "That's okay," I say, "Go 'head."
She slide down to the wheel and I got out. So, she made that block and went right back to where that boy was whistlin'. Just as she got there I thought about it when I ordered my coffee. I said, "Uh-unh." I said, "Wait a minute." I said, "Now, when a man trust that much money in a woman and don't know nothin' about her she liable to be feelin' it."
I run down there. I'm goin' make that block, y' understand, and catch her before she leave.
I said, "Now, she could be goin' to pick up that guy."
There she was he gettin' in.
I said, "Hold it!"
Y' know, rubber on wheels is faster than rubber on heels. So, I'm . . . yeah . . . I'm sure is puttin' 'em down. I'm tryin' to catch this guy, y' know, and the girl. But what hurt me so bad is that she done slide over and he get on the wheel. And when I got up to the scene just about close enough I could holler at 'em, I hollered . . .
(song begins)
Whoa, baby,
Please come on back,
For you've got something of mine,
I sure do like and that's black Cadillac this morning,
My black Cadillac this morning,
Yeah, my black Cadillac,
With them white-wall tires,
Y'know, she was sittin' glad that 'cause he could sure drive,
She said, step on it,
Is this as fast as it's running?
He said, I don't know,
I don't want to get no ticket,
She said, step on this thing!
If that's as fast as it go,
I don't want to ride this Cadillac no more,
He said, well I'm gonna let the hammer down,
She said, well, if you see a red light,
Run over it and get a ticket,
He said, no I aint gonna get no ticket,
If I can make a breathe
That thing was wide open man,
My black Cadillac,
They left me and that was somethin' I sure didn't like,
It run alright,
Whoa, baby,
Will you come on back,
Got something that I sure do like,
And that's my black Cadillac,
My black Cadillac this morning,
Yeah, my black Cadillac,
With them white-wall tires,
And hear what she told me,
I know your Cadillac,
Is really black,
I know you got them white-wall tires,
But I got a black man on beside me,
White eyes and white teeth,
Woo, Lightnin'—you can't catch me,
No, Lightnin'—you can't catch me,
Well, it's obvious still now
Wonder where can they be,
I stopped in the parking lot,
They done parked in the busted block,
I caught him,
But what good would it do,
That Cadillac wouldn't run for me,
And it wouldn't run for you.
H. RAP BROWN
from die, nigger, die!
1969
I was born into a family of dark-skinned negroes, but I'm what many A consider a red nigger. My mother, my father, my brother Ed and my sister are a
ll darker than I am. Because I was lighter, it meant that I was supposed to get ahead. So my mother gave me what I would call preferential treatment. Because of this there was a lot of rivalry between my brother Ed and myself. He and I weren't "tight" when we were young. He thought that our mother treated me better than she did him. In negro america the more you look like buttermilk, the prettier you're supposed to be. This is color prejudice. I don't think that my mother was conscious of all this, but it happened a lot of times. So Ed and I used to have a lot of conflicts. I didn't want it that way. Ed was my older brother and I looked up to him. But he didn't want me hanging around him.
Ed and I are very close now and that color thing doesn't come between us anymore. But it's a thing which could really damage the Black community if people don't begin to understand it. There are nationalist groups that won't accept light-complexioned Blacks. What they're doing is helping the white man, because they're creating the potential for a divisive fight inside the Black community. And it's totally unnecessary and damaging. The government is doing enough to try and divide the Black community. We shouldn't be helping them. We must learn that Black is not a color but the way you think.
If we are to succeed in the struggle we must eliminate the significance that we have assigned to color in our community. The range of Black runs from the brother who is Black enough to poot smoke, to the blood who is pale with the rape of Mothers. Among Black people color can have no value, no significance. Commitment will determine the value of individuals. If I had identified with the attitudes of white-minded negroes and then come home to my dark-skinned brother and family, I wouldn't have been able to accept them. But that wasn't a problem for me, because I knew who I wanted to identify with. It was the bloods in my neighborhood, the guys who hung out down on the corner. The Black community, in other words. I always hung out with cats who had made hanging out a profession. I found that it took special skills to hang out 14 hours just laying and playing.