RememberingMalcolm X:: “Our Shinning Black Prince”
May 19, 2016marks what might have been brother Malcolm’s 90th birthday. That possibility ended when assassins comprised of misled Black folk and U.S. government intelligence/law enforcement agencies, killed brother Malcolm on February 21, 1965. Malcolm X, El Hajj Malik Shabazz, was born May 19, 1925, as Malcolm Little but denounced his “slave name” when he joined theNation of Islam in 1952. It was his rebirth as a Muslim minister and warrior for justice and human rights that shaped a generation of Black revolutionaries in his image. His words on police brutality, systemic racism and capitalism could have been spoken this year, this month or even this day. The following article, "Our Shining Black Prince," is taken from the Eulogy Delivered by Ossie Davis at the Funeral of Malcolm X, atFaith Temple Church of God, in New York City on February 27, 1965.
Here-at this final hour, in this quiet place—Harlem has come to bid farewell to one of its brightest hopes—extinguished now, and gone from us forever.
For Harlem is where he worked and where he struggled and fought—his home of homes, where his heart was, and where his people are-and it is, therefore, most fitting that we meet once again—in Harlem-to share these last moments with him.
For Harlem has ever been gracious to those who have loved her, have fought for her, and have defended her honor even to the death. It is not the memory of man that this beleaguered, unfortunate but nonetheless proud community has found a braver, more gallant young champion than this Afro—American who lies before us—unconquered still.
I say the word again, as he would want me to: Afro—American—Afro—American Malcolm, who was a master, was most meticulous in his words. Nobody knew better than he, the power better than he, the power words have over the minds of men. Malcolm had stopped being a "Negro" years ago.
It had become too small, too puny, too puny, too weak a word for him. Malcolm was bigger than that. Malcolm had become an Afro—American and he wanted—so desperately—that we, that all of his people, would become Afro—Americans too.
There are those who will consider it their duty, as friends of the Negro people, to tell us to revile him, to flee even from the presence of his memory, to save ourselves by writing him out of the history of our turbulent times.
Many will say turn away—away from this man, for he is not a man but a demon, a monster, a subverter and an enemy of the black man—and we will smile.
They will say that he is of hate—a fanatic, a racist—who can only bring evil to the cause for which you struggle!
And we will answer and say unto them: Did you ever talk to Brother Malcolm? Did you ever touch, or have him smile at you? Did you ever really listen to him? Did he ever do a mean thing? Was he ever himself associated with violence or any public disturbance? For if you did you would know him. And if you knew him you would know why we must honor him: Malcolm was our manhood, our living, black manhood! This was his meaning to his people. And in honoring him we honor the best in ourselves.
Last year, from Africa, he wrote these words to a friend: "My journey," he says, "is almost ended, and I have a much broader scope than when I started out, which I believe will add new life and dimension to our struggle for freedom and honor and dignity in the States. I am writing these things so that you will know for a fact the tremendous sympathy and support we have among the African States for our Human Rights struggle. The main thing is that we keep a United Front wherein our most valuable time and energy will not be wasted fighting each other."
However much we may have differed with him—or with each other about him and his value as a man—let his going from us serve only to bring us together now. Consigning these mortal remains to earth, the common mother of all, secure in the knowledge that what we place in the ground is no more now a man—but a seed-which, after the winter of discontent, will come forth again to meet us. And we will know him then for what he was and is—a Prince—our own black shining Prince!—who didn't hesitate to die, because he loved us so.
Malcolm wrote in a 1964 letter to the Egyptian Gazette less than one year before his death:
“The common goal of 22 million Afro-Americans is respect as human beings, the God-given right to be a human being. Our common goal is to obtain the human rights that America has been denying us. We can never get civil rights in America until our human rights are first restored. We will never be recognized as citizens there until we are first recognized as humans.”
Perhaps the first step to honoring Malcolm should be learning to love ourselves enough that we don’t waste any time waiting on this country to love us back.