spark

, v.

, v.the fire within Kwame Ture

Stokely Carmichael

Roger & Co. San Francisco Toronto Sydney Singapore

“Friends, no matter what lies they tell you, the private greeds of cartels of self-interested individuals

can never result in a humane, rational, functional,

just, decent, and civilized society.

To those who knew him best.

SparkStokely Carmichael

Roger & Co.595 John Muir DriveSan Francisco, CA 94132

Your Printer

Copyright @ 2011 by Stokely Carmichael

All Rights Reserved

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

Natalie Rogers, Editor and Designer

Fonts used Adobe Garamond, Gill Sans12/14, 10/12, 8/10Cougar 60 Pound Paper

ISBN 0-8109-3527-9

Contents

inspire 99Prepare 10

Establish 18

Endure 38

provoke 55Non-Violence 58

Revolution 76

inspirit 89Identity 92

Pan Africanism 102

Spark

inspire, v.

“Don’t ever lie, always speak

the truth. Remember the less

fortunate. Waste

not, want not.

� ink of others always.

Never waste food. Never waste anything that

someone else might need.”

� e Indians made a

profound impression on me.

At this time, being the more recent

arrivals, they frequently wore

their national dress,

spoke their national

languages, and

maintained their religous faith and practice.

My mother was, and remains, voluble,

passionate, impulsive,

and excitable. She was an excellent

seamstress. So that in any

� nancial crisis, we could usually

depend on May Charles

to produce it from somewhere.

� at barbershop became for

me a necessary corrective,

an early window into an African-Ameri-

can worldview and

sensibility, a crucially important

counterpoint of reference for those.

“Boy, you hear me,

those black men

marched right out of prison and into

power,” my father exulted.

Marxism o� ered me an approach,

a coherent point of view

from which to under-stand and engage

society, in terms of the

“forces of history.” � ese people impressed

on me that to bring about

social change you had to study and

clearly understand

the forces of society.

Clearly this man

was a radical activist, an intellectual

and a strategist who apparently commended

the respect of the room. I sat up.

“Who the hell is that?” I asked Gene.

“Why,” he said, “that’s Bayard Rustin, the socialist.”

A lot of youth

would gather in the evenings and

we’d all just dig the music and

show o� the latest

dance moves. � at was when I recieved

my � rst groundation in our

culture in America. It came from

that music.

Mah people,

Mah people,If you only knew who

you were,

You could not live the way

you do.

One day I asked

Mr. Michaux about Padmore.

He showed me a copy of Padmore’s

Pan Africanism or

Communism. I was fascinated.

You know Stokely

says he wants to go into

medicine, but, you know, I think

his real calling will be

politics.

“� at’s the Nonviolent

Action Group from Howard

University. Why’nt you join us?

I studied

those striking masks and artifacts

trying to imagine the stories

they contained and to visualize

the people

who had made them and the cultures

that had produced these artists.

While I was sifting

through all these new political

and cultural experiences and impressions, trying

to come toclear terms with

my people’s

identity and cultural reality, � guring

out my own relationship to it all and what it all

meant, Sterling Brown

reached out to us.

� us in about nine

months, thanks to Mrs. Baker,

an isolated and impulsive act of de� ance,

a tentaive gesture

coming out of a dormitory-room bull

session, had evolved into an

organization.

It is no wonder then that

our sisters

proved such dependable and admi-

rable partners in

struggle.

We were where we were

only because of our willingness

to a� rm our

beliefs even at the risk of

physical injury. So it was never dull on

death row.

But what Malcom

demonstrated that night in Crampton

Auditorium on the Howard campus

was the raw power,

the visceral potency, of the grip

our unarticulated collective

blackness held over us.

If you will promise

me, your elder brother,

that you will never, ever accept any of the

many derogratory, degrading,

and reductive de� nitions that this

society has ready for you, then I,

Jimmy Baldwin, promise you I shall never

betray you.

When I met thefamily, I discovered that

her mom, Mrs. Lulabelle

Johnson, took care of the twelve children of the family.

Yet there was always a bed

and something to eat for me in that

house.

But I never really began to feel

it until I looked into the eyes and lined

faces of men like

Amzie Moore, Mr. Dewey Greene,

Mr. Hartman Turnbow, Mr. E.W. Steptoe, or

Mr. C.C. Bryant and listened to their voic-

es telling their stories.

� en our history became real to me.

Mrs. Hamer replied,

“� at’s just what I’m trying to git

out of. � ings be like they always

was? I want change.”

Yet the loyalty, respect, and a� ection

with which the local

people, atleast those active in the

struggle, regarded their leader was

unmistakable.

� e entire Boynton family

were warriors. � e plainti� in the Supreme Court case

Boyton vs.

Virginia, which integrated bus travel, was

her son. Her husband also had

been a highly respected

leader, who managed to continue the

� ght literally from his grave.

� e recruiting of people

and the setting up of a grassroots

organizational structure went quickly. Mr. Hulett,

our lone registered voter, was key.

Jon’s murder

grieved us. However, from then on, a little too late,

the project sta� took the strong

position, nonnegotiatable, that to

allow whites in would be

tantamount to inviting their deaths.

But when Huey P. Newton

said anything, you could see that it was something that had been

carefully though out.

When I � rst met them, he was

the one that

impressed me.

“Well, no, Stokely.

I wasn’t saying that at all.

But y’know, that isn’t such a bad idea.

� e Good Lord knows you going need all the

help you can get.

Besides, I’ll be preaching.”“In that case,

Dr. King, you know I’m goin’ be

there.”

He was like a younger

brother to me. I knew Cleve

and would trust him with my

life.

Now an editor with a big publisher,

she wondered whether it wouldn’t be

valuable to expand the

Black Power paper into a

full-length book.

You couldn’t help noticing

him. Something about

Michael X set him apart from the

other students.

Dr. Castro was just on top of

everything, Jack.

Every aspect a� ecting the revolution.

He obviously had a clear, complete

vision of the new and humane society

he wished to bring about.

� en Mrs. Du Bois

said, “Do you know Nkrumah?”

I said, “Of course, who doesn’t know Nkrumah?

I’ve read all—”

“I meant have you met him?

Would you like to?”

Ho Chi Minh was a great man.

He clari� ed

many things for me. He had a real appreciation

for our struggle in America.

Of all the

incredible things that had been

happening during this trip,

this had to be, hands down,

the most unbelievable.

I mean, to meet this beautiful,

entirely remarkable woman again.

What had most impressed

me was the sensitive and principled

way Sékou Touré,

his government, and his party did it,

in the true spirit of

Pan-Africanism and the highest values

of our tradional cultures.

Since that day my name has

been Kwame Ture.

I hope I’ve tried to liveup to

the responsibility it carries.

In Tanzania the Sebakos

impressed me greatly. Africa needs

more leaders like

these, I thought.

First Lamin was

heartbroken, then outraged.

He decided to gradutate, then to make

his way to Guinea to

work for the Osageyfo.

Leiutenant Kouyate was

passionatley committed to the

liberation of the continent and in

constant touch with all the

groups. So I could

learn a lot from

him.

Damn the money. I will die

before I sell out for the white man’s

money.”

Well, let me tell you

one thing. If you

leave Guinea now

you will be making a very great

mistake.Spark

Prepare

“Don’t ever lie, always speak

the truth. Remember the less

fortunate. Waste

not, want not.

Think of others always.

Never waste food. Never waste anything that

someone else might need.”

“Don’t ever lie, always speak

the truth. Remember the less

fortunate. Waste

not, want not.

� ink of others always.

Never waste food. Never waste anything that

someone else might need.”

� e Indians made a

profound impression on me.

At this time, being the more recent

arrivals, they frequently wore

their national dress,

spoke their national

languages, and

maintained their religous faith and practice.

My mother was, and remains, voluble,

passionate, impulsive,

and excitable. She was an excellent

seamstress. So that in any

� nancial crisis, we could usually

depend on May Charles

to produce it from somewhere.

� at barbershop became for

me a necessary corrective,

an early window into an African-Ameri-

can worldview and

sensibility, a crucially important

counterpoint of reference for those.

“Boy, you hear me,

those black men

marched right out of prison and into

power,” my father exulted.

Marxism o� ered me an approach,

a coherent point of view

from which to under-stand and engage

society, in terms of the

“forces of history.” � ese people impressed

on me that to bring about

social change you had to study and

clearly understand

the forces of society.

Clearly this man

was a radical activist, an intellectual

and a strategist who apparently commended

the respect of the room. I sat up.

“Who the hell is that?” I asked Gene.

“Why,” he said, “that’s Bayard Rustin, the socialist.”

A lot of youth

would gather in the evenings and

we’d all just dig the music and

show o� the latest

dance moves. � at was when I recieved

my � rst groundation in our

culture in America. It came from

that music.

Mah people,

Mah people,If you only knew who

you were,

You could not live the way

you do.

One day I asked

Mr. Michaux about Padmore.

He showed me a copy of Padmore’s

Pan Africanism or

Communism. I was fascinated.

You know Stokely

says he wants to go into

medicine, but, you know, I think

his real calling will be

politics.

“� at’s the Nonviolent

Action Group from Howard

University. Why’nt you join us?

I studied

those striking masks and artifacts

trying to imagine the stories

they contained and to visualize

the people

who had made them and the cultures

that had produced these artists.

While I was sifting

through all these new political

and cultural experiences and impressions, trying

to come toclear terms with

my people’s

identity and cultural reality, � guring

out my own relationship to it all and what it all

meant, Sterling Brown

reached out to us.

� us in about nine

months, thanks to Mrs. Baker,

an isolated and impulsive act of de� ance,

a tentaive gesture

coming out of a dormitory-room bull

session, had evolved into an

organization.

It is no wonder then that

our sisters

proved such dependable and admi-

rable partners in

struggle.

We were where we were

only because of our willingness

to a� rm our

beliefs even at the risk of

physical injury. So it was never dull on

death row.

But what Malcom

demonstrated that night in Crampton

Auditorium on the Howard campus

was the raw power,

the visceral potency, of the grip

our unarticulated collective

blackness held over us.

If you will promise

me, your elder brother,

that you will never, ever accept any of the

many derogratory, degrading,

and reductive de� nitions that this

society has ready for you, then I,

Jimmy Baldwin, promise you I shall never

betray you.

When I met thefamily, I discovered that

her mom, Mrs. Lulabelle

Johnson, took care of the twelve children of the family.

Yet there was always a bed

and something to eat for me in that

house.

But I never really began to feel

it until I looked into the eyes and lined

faces of men like

Amzie Moore, Mr. Dewey Greene,

Mr. Hartman Turnbow, Mr. E.W. Steptoe, or

Mr. C.C. Bryant and listened to their voic-

es telling their stories.

� en our history became real to me.

Mrs. Hamer replied,

“� at’s just what I’m trying to git

out of. � ings be like they always

was? I want change.”

Yet the loyalty, respect, and a� ection

with which the local

people, atleast those active in the

struggle, regarded their leader was

unmistakable.

� e entire Boynton family

were warriors. � e plainti� in the Supreme Court case

Boyton vs.

Virginia, which integrated bus travel, was

her son. Her husband also had

been a highly respected

leader, who managed to continue the

� ght literally from his grave.

� e recruiting of people

and the setting up of a grassroots

organizational structure went quickly. Mr. Hulett,

our lone registered voter, was key.

Jon’s murder

grieved us. However, from then on, a little too late,

the project sta� took the strong

position, nonnegotiatable, that to

allow whites in would be

tantamount to inviting their deaths.

But when Huey P. Newton

said anything, you could see that it was something that had been

carefully though out.

When I � rst met them, he was

the one that

impressed me.

“Well, no, Stokely.

I wasn’t saying that at all.

But y’know, that isn’t such a bad idea.

� e Good Lord knows you going need all the

help you can get.

Besides, I’ll be preaching.”“In that case,

Dr. King, you know I’m goin’ be

there.”

He was like a younger

brother to me. I knew Cleve

and would trust him with my

life.

Now an editor with a big publisher,

she wondered whether it wouldn’t be

valuable to expand the

Black Power paper into a

full-length book.

You couldn’t help noticing

him. Something about

Michael X set him apart from the

other students.

Dr. Castro was just on top of

everything, Jack.

Every aspect a� ecting the revolution.

He obviously had a clear, complete

vision of the new and humane society

he wished to bring about.

� en Mrs. Du Bois

said, “Do you know Nkrumah?”

I said, “Of course, who doesn’t know Nkrumah?

I’ve read all—”

“I meant have you met him?

Would you like to?”

Ho Chi Minh was a great man.

He clari� ed

many things for me. He had a real appreciation

for our struggle in America.

Of all the

incredible things that had been

happening during this trip,

this had to be, hands down,

the most unbelievable.

I mean, to meet this beautiful,

entirely remarkable woman again.

What had most impressed

me was the sensitive and principled

way Sékou Touré,

his government, and his party did it,

in the true spirit of

Pan-Africanism and the highest values

of our tradional cultures.

Since that day my name has

been Kwame Ture.

I hope I’ve tried to liveup to

the responsibility it carries.

In Tanzania the Sebakos

impressed me greatly. Africa needs

more leaders like

these, I thought.

First Lamin was

heartbroken, then outraged.

He decided to gradutate, then to make

his way to Guinea to

work for the Osageyfo.

Leiutenant Kouyate was

passionatley committed to the

liberation of the continent and in

constant touch with all the

groups. So I could

learn a lot from

him.

Damn the money. I will die

before I sell out for the white man’s

money.”

Well, let me tell you

one thing. If you

leave Guinea now

you will be making a very great

mistake.Inspire 11

Adinkra symbol meaning interdependence, cooperation t

The Indians made a profound impression on me.

At this time, being the more recent

arrivals, they frequently wore

their national dress,

spoke their national

languages, and

maintained their religious faith and practice.

“Don’t ever lie, always speak

the truth. Remember the less

fortunate. Waste

not, want not.

� ink of others always.

Never waste food. Never waste anything that

someone else might need.”

� e Indians made a

profound impression on me.

At this time, being the more recent

arrivals, they frequently wore

their national dress,

spoke their national

languages, and

maintained their religous faith and practice.

My mother was, and remains, voluble,

passionate, impulsive,

and excitable. She was an excellent

seamstress. So that in any

� nancial crisis, we could usually

depend on May Charles

to produce it from somewhere.

� at barbershop became for

me a necessary corrective,

an early window into an African-Ameri-

can worldview and

sensibility, a crucially important

counterpoint of reference for those.

“Boy, you hear me,

those black men

marched right out of prison and into

power,” my father exulted.

Marxism o� ered me an approach,

a coherent point of view

from which to under-stand and engage

society, in terms of the

“forces of history.” � ese people impressed

on me that to bring about

social change you had to study and

clearly understand

the forces of society.

Clearly this man

was a radical activist, an intellectual

and a strategist who apparently commended

the respect of the room. I sat up.

“Who the hell is that?” I asked Gene.

“Why,” he said, “that’s Bayard Rustin, the socialist.”

A lot of youth

would gather in the evenings and

we’d all just dig the music and

show o� the latest

dance moves. � at was when I recieved

my � rst groundation in our

culture in America. It came from

that music.

Mah people,

Mah people,If you only knew who

you were,

You could not live the way

you do.

One day I asked

Mr. Michaux about Padmore.

He showed me a copy of Padmore’s

Pan Africanism or

Communism. I was fascinated.

You know Stokely

says he wants to go into

medicine, but, you know, I think

his real calling will be

politics.

“� at’s the Nonviolent

Action Group from Howard

University. Why’nt you join us?

I studied

those striking masks and artifacts

trying to imagine the stories

they contained and to visualize

the people

who had made them and the cultures

that had produced these artists.

While I was sifting

through all these new political

and cultural experiences and impressions, trying

to come toclear terms with

my people’s

identity and cultural reality, � guring

out my own relationship to it all and what it all

meant, Sterling Brown

reached out to us.

� us in about nine

months, thanks to Mrs. Baker,

an isolated and impulsive act of de� ance,

a tentaive gesture

coming out of a dormitory-room bull

session, had evolved into an

organization.

It is no wonder then that

our sisters

proved such dependable and admi-

rable partners in

struggle.

We were where we were

only because of our willingness

to a� rm our

beliefs even at the risk of

physical injury. So it was never dull on

death row.

But what Malcom

demonstrated that night in Crampton

Auditorium on the Howard campus

was the raw power,

the visceral potency, of the grip

our unarticulated collective

blackness held over us.

If you will promise

me, your elder brother,

that you will never, ever accept any of the

many derogratory, degrading,

and reductive de� nitions that this

society has ready for you, then I,

Jimmy Baldwin, promise you I shall never

betray you.

When I met thefamily, I discovered that

her mom, Mrs. Lulabelle

Johnson, took care of the twelve children of the family.

Yet there was always a bed

and something to eat for me in that

house.

But I never really began to feel

it until I looked into the eyes and lined

faces of men like

Amzie Moore, Mr. Dewey Greene,

Mr. Hartman Turnbow, Mr. E.W. Steptoe, or

Mr. C.C. Bryant and listened to their voic-

es telling their stories.

� en our history became real to me.

Mrs. Hamer replied,

“� at’s just what I’m trying to git

out of. � ings be like they always

was? I want change.”

Yet the loyalty, respect, and a� ection

with which the local

people, atleast those active in the

struggle, regarded their leader was

unmistakable.

� e entire Boynton family

were warriors. � e plainti� in the Supreme Court case

Boyton vs.

Virginia, which integrated bus travel, was

her son. Her husband also had

been a highly respected

leader, who managed to continue the

� ght literally from his grave.

� e recruiting of people

and the setting up of a grassroots

organizational structure went quickly. Mr. Hulett,

our lone registered voter, was key.

Jon’s murder

grieved us. However, from then on, a little too late,

the project sta� took the strong

position, nonnegotiatable, that to

allow whites in would be

tantamount to inviting their deaths.

But when Huey P. Newton

said anything, you could see that it was something that had been

carefully though out.

When I � rst met them, he was

the one that

impressed me.

“Well, no, Stokely.

I wasn’t saying that at all.

But y’know, that isn’t such a bad idea.

� e Good Lord knows you going need all the

help you can get.

Besides, I’ll be preaching.”“In that case,

Dr. King, you know I’m goin’ be

there.”

He was like a younger

brother to me. I knew Cleve

and would trust him with my

life.

Now an editor with a big publisher,

she wondered whether it wouldn’t be

valuable to expand the

Black Power paper into a

full-length book.

You couldn’t help noticing

him. Something about

Michael X set him apart from the

other students.

Dr. Castro was just on top of

everything, Jack.

Every aspect a� ecting the revolution.

He obviously had a clear, complete

vision of the new and humane society

he wished to bring about.

� en Mrs. Du Bois

said, “Do you know Nkrumah?”

I said, “Of course, who doesn’t know Nkrumah?

I’ve read all—”

“I meant have you met him?

Would you like to?”

Ho Chi Minh was a great man.

He clari� ed

many things for me. He had a real appreciation

for our struggle in America.

Of all the

incredible things that had been

happening during this trip,

this had to be, hands down,

the most unbelievable.

I mean, to meet this beautiful,

entirely remarkable woman again.

What had most impressed

me was the sensitive and principled

way Sékou Touré,

his government, and his party did it,

in the true spirit of

Pan-Africanism and the highest values

of our tradional cultures.

Since that day my name has

been Kwame Ture.

I hope I’ve tried to liveup to

the responsibility it carries.

In Tanzania the Sebakos

impressed me greatly. Africa needs

more leaders like

these, I thought.

First Lamin was

heartbroken, then outraged.

He decided to gradutate, then to make

his way to Guinea to

work for the Osageyfo.

Leiutenant Kouyate was

passionatley committed to the

liberation of the continent and in

constant touch with all the

groups. So I could

learn a lot from

him.

Damn the money. I will die

before I sell out for the white man’s

money.”

Well, let me tell you

one thing. If you

leave Guinea now

you will be making a very great

mistake.Spark

My mother was, and remains, voluble,

passionate, impulsive,

and excitable. She was an excellent

seamstress. So that in any

financial crisis, we could usually

depend on May Charles

to produce it from somewhere.

“Don’t ever lie, always speak

the truth. Remember the less

fortunate. Waste

not, want not.

� ink of others always.

Never waste food. Never waste anything that

someone else might need.”

� e Indians made a

profound impression on me.

At this time, being the more recent

arrivals, they frequently wore

their national dress,

spoke their national

languages, and

maintained their religous faith and practice.

My mother was, and remains, voluble,

passionate, impulsive,

and excitable. She was an excellent

seamstress. So that in any

� nancial crisis, we could usually

depend on May Charles

to produce it from somewhere.

� at barbershop became for

me a necessary corrective,

an early window into an African-Ameri-

can worldview and

sensibility, a crucially important

counterpoint of reference for those.

“Boy, you hear me,

those black men

marched right out of prison and into

power,” my father exulted.

Marxism o� ered me an approach,

a coherent point of view

from which to under-stand and engage

society, in terms of the

“forces of history.” � ese people impressed

on me that to bring about

social change you had to study and

clearly understand

the forces of society.

Clearly this man

was a radical activist, an intellectual

and a strategist who apparently commended

the respect of the room. I sat up.

“Who the hell is that?” I asked Gene.

“Why,” he said, “that’s Bayard Rustin, the socialist.”

A lot of youth

would gather in the evenings and

we’d all just dig the music and

show o� the latest

dance moves. � at was when I recieved

my � rst groundation in our

culture in America. It came from

that music.

Mah people,

Mah people,If you only knew who

you were,

You could not live the way

you do.

One day I asked

Mr. Michaux about Padmore.

He showed me a copy of Padmore’s

Pan Africanism or

Communism. I was fascinated.

You know Stokely

says he wants to go into

medicine, but, you know, I think

his real calling will be

politics.

“� at’s the Nonviolent

Action Group from Howard

University. Why’nt you join us?

I studied

those striking masks and artifacts

trying to imagine the stories

they contained and to visualize

the people

who had made them and the cultures

that had produced these artists.

While I was sifting

through all these new political

and cultural experiences and impressions, trying

to come toclear terms with

my people’s

identity and cultural reality, � guring

out my own relationship to it all and what it all

meant, Sterling Brown

reached out to us.

� us in about nine

months, thanks to Mrs. Baker,

an isolated and impulsive act of de� ance,

a tentaive gesture

coming out of a dormitory-room bull

session, had evolved into an

organization.

It is no wonder then that

our sisters

proved such dependable and admi-

rable partners in

struggle.

We were where we were

only because of our willingness

to a� rm our

beliefs even at the risk of

physical injury. So it was never dull on

death row.

But what Malcom

demonstrated that night in Crampton

Auditorium on the Howard campus

was the raw power,

the visceral potency, of the grip

our unarticulated collective

blackness held over us.

If you will promise

me, your elder brother,

that you will never, ever accept any of the

many derogratory, degrading,

and reductive de� nitions that this

society has ready for you, then I,

Jimmy Baldwin, promise you I shall never

betray you.

When I met thefamily, I discovered that

her mom, Mrs. Lulabelle

Johnson, took care of the twelve children of the family.

Yet there was always a bed

and something to eat for me in that

house.

But I never really began to feel

it until I looked into the eyes and lined

faces of men like

Amzie Moore, Mr. Dewey Greene,

Mr. Hartman Turnbow, Mr. E.W. Steptoe, or

Mr. C.C. Bryant and listened to their voic-

es telling their stories.

� en our history became real to me.

Mrs. Hamer replied,

“� at’s just what I’m trying to git

out of. � ings be like they always

was? I want change.”

Yet the loyalty, respect, and a� ection

with which the local

people, atleast those active in the

struggle, regarded their leader was

unmistakable.

� e entire Boynton family

were warriors. � e plainti� in the Supreme Court case

Boyton vs.

Virginia, which integrated bus travel, was

her son. Her husband also had

been a highly respected

leader, who managed to continue the

� ght literally from his grave.

� e recruiting of people

and the setting up of a grassroots

organizational structure went quickly. Mr. Hulett,

our lone registered voter, was key.

Jon’s murder

grieved us. However, from then on, a little too late,

the project sta� took the strong

position, nonnegotiatable, that to

allow whites in would be

tantamount to inviting their deaths.

But when Huey P. Newton

said anything, you could see that it was something that had been

carefully though out.

When I � rst met them, he was

the one that

impressed me.

“Well, no, Stokely.

I wasn’t saying that at all.

But y’know, that isn’t such a bad idea.

� e Good Lord knows you going need all the

help you can get.

Besides, I’ll be preaching.”“In that case,

Dr. King, you know I’m goin’ be

there.”

He was like a younger

brother to me. I knew Cleve

and would trust him with my

life.

Now an editor with a big publisher,

she wondered whether it wouldn’t be

valuable to expand the

Black Power paper into a

full-length book.

You couldn’t help noticing

him. Something about

Michael X set him apart from the

other students.

Dr. Castro was just on top of

everything, Jack.

Every aspect a� ecting the revolution.

He obviously had a clear, complete

vision of the new and humane society

he wished to bring about.

� en Mrs. Du Bois

said, “Do you know Nkrumah?”

I said, “Of course, who doesn’t know Nkrumah?

I’ve read all—”

“I meant have you met him?

Would you like to?”

Ho Chi Minh was a great man.

He clari� ed

many things for me. He had a real appreciation

for our struggle in America.

Of all the

incredible things that had been

happening during this trip,

this had to be, hands down,

the most unbelievable.

I mean, to meet this beautiful,

entirely remarkable woman again.

What had most impressed

me was the sensitive and principled

way Sékou Touré,

his government, and his party did it,

in the true spirit of

Pan-Africanism and the highest values

of our tradional cultures.

Since that day my name has

been Kwame Ture.

I hope I’ve tried to liveup to

the responsibility it carries.

In Tanzania the Sebakos

impressed me greatly. Africa needs

more leaders like

these, I thought.

First Lamin was

heartbroken, then outraged.

He decided to gradutate, then to make

his way to Guinea to

work for the Osageyfo.

Leiutenant Kouyate was

passionatley committed to the

liberation of the continent and in

constant touch with all the

groups. So I could

learn a lot from

him.

Damn the money. I will die

before I sell out for the white man’s

money.”

Well, let me tell you

one thing. If you

leave Guinea now

you will be making a very great

mistake.Inspire 13

That barbershop became for

me a necessary corrective,

an early window into an African-American

world view and

sensibility, a crucially important

counterpoint of reference for those.

“Don’t ever lie, always speak

the truth. Remember the less

fortunate. Waste

not, want not.

� ink of others always.

Never waste food. Never waste anything that

someone else might need.”

� e Indians made a

profound impression on me.

At this time, being the more recent

arrivals, they frequently wore

their national dress,

spoke their national

languages, and

maintained their religous faith and practice.

My mother was, and remains, voluble,

passionate, impulsive,

and excitable. She was an excellent

seamstress. So that in any

� nancial crisis, we could usually

depend on May Charles

to produce it from somewhere.

� at barbershop became for

me a necessary corrective,

an early window into an African-Ameri-

can worldview and

sensibility, a crucially important

counterpoint of reference for those.

“Boy, you hear me,

those black men

marched right out of prison and into

power,” my father exulted.

Marxism o� ered me an approach,

a coherent point of view

from which to under-stand and engage

society, in terms of the

“forces of history.” � ese people impressed

on me that to bring about

social change you had to study and

clearly understand

the forces of society.

Clearly this man

was a radical activist, an intellectual

and a strategist who apparently commended

the respect of the room. I sat up.

“Who the hell is that?” I asked Gene.

“Why,” he said, “that’s Bayard Rustin, the socialist.”

A lot of youth

would gather in the evenings and

we’d all just dig the music and

show o� the latest

dance moves. � at was when I recieved

my � rst groundation in our

culture in America. It came from

that music.

Mah people,

Mah people,If you only knew who

you were,

You could not live the way

you do.

One day I asked

Mr. Michaux about Padmore.

He showed me a copy of Padmore’s

Pan Africanism or

Communism. I was fascinated.

You know Stokely

says he wants to go into

medicine, but, you know, I think

his real calling will be

politics.

“� at’s the Nonviolent

Action Group from Howard

University. Why’nt you join us?

I studied

those striking masks and artifacts

trying to imagine the stories

they contained and to visualize

the people

who had made them and the cultures

that had produced these artists.

While I was sifting

through all these new political

and cultural experiences and impressions, trying

to come toclear terms with

my people’s

identity and cultural reality, � guring

out my own relationship to it all and what it all

meant, Sterling Brown

reached out to us.

� us in about nine

months, thanks to Mrs. Baker,

an isolated and impulsive act of de� ance,

a tentaive gesture

coming out of a dormitory-room bull

session, had evolved into an

organization.

It is no wonder then that

our sisters

proved such dependable and admi-

rable partners in

struggle.

We were where we were

only because of our willingness

to a� rm our

beliefs even at the risk of

physical injury. So it was never dull on

death row.

But what Malcom

demonstrated that night in Crampton

Auditorium on the Howard campus

was the raw power,

the visceral potency, of the grip

our unarticulated collective

blackness held over us.

If you will promise

me, your elder brother,

that you will never, ever accept any of the

many derogratory, degrading,

and reductive de� nitions that this

society has ready for you, then I,

Jimmy Baldwin, promise you I shall never

betray you.

When I met thefamily, I discovered that

her mom, Mrs. Lulabelle

Johnson, took care of the twelve children of the family.

Yet there was always a bed

and something to eat for me in that

house.

But I never really began to feel

it until I looked into the eyes and lined

faces of men like

Amzie Moore, Mr. Dewey Greene,

Mr. Hartman Turnbow, Mr. E.W. Steptoe, or

Mr. C.C. Bryant and listened to their voic-

es telling their stories.

� en our history became real to me.

Mrs. Hamer replied,

“� at’s just what I’m trying to git

out of. � ings be like they always

was? I want change.”

Yet the loyalty, respect, and a� ection

with which the local

people, atleast those active in the

struggle, regarded their leader was

unmistakable.

� e entire Boynton family

were warriors. � e plainti� in the Supreme Court case

Boyton vs.

Virginia, which integrated bus travel, was

her son. Her husband also had

been a highly respected

leader, who managed to continue the

� ght literally from his grave.

� e recruiting of people

and the setting up of a grassroots

organizational structure went quickly. Mr. Hulett,

our lone registered voter, was key.

Jon’s murder

grieved us. However, from then on, a little too late,

the project sta� took the strong

position, nonnegotiatable, that to

allow whites in would be

tantamount to inviting their deaths.

But when Huey P. Newton

said anything, you could see that it was something that had been

carefully though out.

When I � rst met them, he was

the one that

impressed me.

“Well, no, Stokely.

I wasn’t saying that at all.

But y’know, that isn’t such a bad idea.

� e Good Lord knows you going need all the

help you can get.

Besides, I’ll be preaching.”“In that case,

Dr. King, you know I’m goin’ be

there.”

He was like a younger

brother to me. I knew Cleve

and would trust him with my

life.

Now an editor with a big publisher,

she wondered whether it wouldn’t be

valuable to expand the

Black Power paper into a

full-length book.

You couldn’t help noticing

him. Something about

Michael X set him apart from the

other students.

Dr. Castro was just on top of

everything, Jack.

Every aspect a� ecting the revolution.

He obviously had a clear, complete

vision of the new and humane society

he wished to bring about.

� en Mrs. Du Bois

said, “Do you know Nkrumah?”

I said, “Of course, who doesn’t know Nkrumah?

I’ve read all—”

“I meant have you met him?

Would you like to?”

Ho Chi Minh was a great man.

He clari� ed

many things for me. He had a real appreciation

for our struggle in America.

Of all the

incredible things that had been

happening during this trip,

this had to be, hands down,

the most unbelievable.

I mean, to meet this beautiful,

entirely remarkable woman again.

What had most impressed

me was the sensitive and principled

way Sékou Touré,

his government, and his party did it,

in the true spirit of

Pan-Africanism and the highest values

of our tradional cultures.

Since that day my name has

been Kwame Ture.

I hope I’ve tried to liveup to

the responsibility it carries.

In Tanzania the Sebakos

impressed me greatly. Africa needs

more leaders like

these, I thought.

First Lamin was

heartbroken, then outraged.

He decided to gradutate, then to make

his way to Guinea to

work for the Osageyfo.

Leiutenant Kouyate was

passionatley committed to the

liberation of the continent and in

constant touch with all the

groups. So I could

learn a lot from

him.

Damn the money. I will die

before I sell out for the white man’s

money.”

Well, let me tell you

one thing. If you

leave Guinea now

you will be making a very great

mistake.Spark

“Boy, you hear me,

those black men

marched right out of prison and into

power,” my father exulted.

“Don’t ever lie, always speak

the truth. Remember the less

fortunate. Waste

not, want not.

� ink of others always.

Never waste food. Never waste anything that

someone else might need.”

� e Indians made a

profound impression on me.

At this time, being the more recent

arrivals, they frequently wore

their national dress,

spoke their national

languages, and

maintained their religous faith and practice.

My mother was, and remains, voluble,

passionate, impulsive,

and excitable. She was an excellent

seamstress. So that in any

� nancial crisis, we could usually

depend on May Charles

to produce it from somewhere.

� at barbershop became for

me a necessary corrective,

an early window into an African-Ameri-

can worldview and

sensibility, a crucially important

counterpoint of reference for those.

“Boy, you hear me,

those black men

marched right out of prison and into

power,” my father exulted.

Marxism o� ered me an approach,

a coherent point of view

from which to under-stand and engage

society, in terms of the

“forces of history.” � ese people impressed

on me that to bring about

social change you had to study and

clearly understand

the forces of society.

Clearly this man

was a radical activist, an intellectual

and a strategist who apparently commended

the respect of the room. I sat up.

“Who the hell is that?” I asked Gene.

“Why,” he said, “that’s Bayard Rustin, the socialist.”

A lot of youth

would gather in the evenings and

we’d all just dig the music and

show o� the latest

dance moves. � at was when I recieved

my � rst groundation in our

culture in America. It came from

that music.

Mah people,

Mah people,If you only knew who

you were,

You could not live the way

you do.

One day I asked

Mr. Michaux about Padmore.

He showed me a copy of Padmore’s

Pan Africanism or

Communism. I was fascinated.

You know Stokely

says he wants to go into

medicine, but, you know, I think

his real calling will be

politics.

“� at’s the Nonviolent

Action Group from Howard

University. Why’nt you join us?

I studied

those striking masks and artifacts

trying to imagine the stories

they contained and to visualize

the people

who had made them and the cultures

that had produced these artists.

While I was sifting

through all these new political

and cultural experiences and impressions, trying

to come toclear terms with

my people’s

identity and cultural reality, � guring

out my own relationship to it all and what it all

meant, Sterling Brown

reached out to us.

� us in about nine

months, thanks to Mrs. Baker,

an isolated and impulsive act of de� ance,

a tentaive gesture

coming out of a dormitory-room bull

session, had evolved into an

organization.

It is no wonder then that

our sisters

proved such dependable and admi-

rable partners in

struggle.

We were where we were

only because of our willingness

to a� rm our

beliefs even at the risk of

physical injury. So it was never dull on

death row.

But what Malcom

demonstrated that night in Crampton

Auditorium on the Howard campus

was the raw power,

the visceral potency, of the grip

our unarticulated collective

blackness held over us.

If you will promise

me, your elder brother,

that you will never, ever accept any of the

many derogratory, degrading,

and reductive de� nitions that this

society has ready for you, then I,

Jimmy Baldwin, promise you I shall never

betray you.

When I met thefamily, I discovered that

her mom, Mrs. Lulabelle

Johnson, took care of the twelve children of the family.

Yet there was always a bed

and something to eat for me in that

house.

But I never really began to feel

it until I looked into the eyes and lined

faces of men like

Amzie Moore, Mr. Dewey Greene,

Mr. Hartman Turnbow, Mr. E.W. Steptoe, or

Mr. C.C. Bryant and listened to their voic-

es telling their stories.

� en our history became real to me.

Mrs. Hamer replied,

“� at’s just what I’m trying to git

out of. � ings be like they always

was? I want change.”

Yet the loyalty, respect, and a� ection

with which the local

people, atleast those active in the

struggle, regarded their leader was

unmistakable.

� e entire Boynton family

were warriors. � e plainti� in the Supreme Court case

Boyton vs.

Virginia, which integrated bus travel, was

her son. Her husband also had

been a highly respected

leader, who managed to continue the

� ght literally from his grave.

� e recruiting of people

and the setting up of a grassroots

organizational structure went quickly. Mr. Hulett,

our lone registered voter, was key.

Jon’s murder

grieved us. However, from then on, a little too late,

the project sta� took the strong

position, nonnegotiatable, that to

allow whites in would be

tantamount to inviting their deaths.

But when Huey P. Newton

said anything, you could see that it was something that had been

carefully though out.

When I � rst met them, he was

the one that

impressed me.

“Well, no, Stokely.

I wasn’t saying that at all.

But y’know, that isn’t such a bad idea.

� e Good Lord knows you going need all the

help you can get.

Besides, I’ll be preaching.”“In that case,

Dr. King, you know I’m goin’ be

there.”

He was like a younger

brother to me. I knew Cleve

and would trust him with my

life.

Now an editor with a big publisher,

she wondered whether it wouldn’t be

valuable to expand the

Black Power paper into a

full-length book.

You couldn’t help noticing

him. Something about

Michael X set him apart from the

other students.

Dr. Castro was just on top of

everything, Jack.

Every aspect a� ecting the revolution.

He obviously had a clear, complete

vision of the new and humane society

he wished to bring about.

� en Mrs. Du Bois

said, “Do you know Nkrumah?”

I said, “Of course, who doesn’t know Nkrumah?

I’ve read all—”

“I meant have you met him?

Would you like to?”

Ho Chi Minh was a great man.

He clari� ed

many things for me. He had a real appreciation

for our struggle in America.

Of all the

incredible things that had been

happening during this trip,

this had to be, hands down,

the most unbelievable.

I mean, to meet this beautiful,

entirely remarkable woman again.

What had most impressed

me was the sensitive and principled

way Sékou Touré,

his government, and his party did it,

in the true spirit of

Pan-Africanism and the highest values

of our tradional cultures.

Since that day my name has

been Kwame Ture.

I hope I’ve tried to liveup to

the responsibility it carries.

In Tanzania the Sebakos

impressed me greatly. Africa needs

more leaders like

these, I thought.

First Lamin was

heartbroken, then outraged.

He decided to gradutate, then to make

his way to Guinea to

work for the Osageyfo.

Leiutenant Kouyate was

passionatley committed to the

liberation of the continent and in

constant touch with all the

groups. So I could

learn a lot from

him.

Damn the money. I will die

before I sell out for the white man’s

money.”

Well, let me tell you

one thing. If you

leave Guinea now

you will be making a very great

mistake.Inspire 15

Marxism offered me an approach,

a coherent point of view

from which to understand and engage

society, in terms of the

“forces of history.” These people impressed

on me that to bring about social change

you had to study and clearly

understand the forces of society.

“Don’t ever lie, always speak

the truth. Remember the less

fortunate. Waste

not, want not.

� ink of others always.

Never waste food. Never waste anything that

someone else might need.”

� e Indians made a

profound impression on me.

At this time, being the more recent

arrivals, they frequently wore

their national dress,

spoke their national

languages, and

maintained their religous faith and practice.

My mother was, and remains, voluble,

passionate, impulsive,

and excitable. She was an excellent

seamstress. So that in any

� nancial crisis, we could usually

depend on May Charles

to produce it from somewhere.

� at barbershop became for

me a necessary corrective,

an early window into an African-Ameri-

can worldview and

sensibility, a crucially important

counterpoint of reference for those.

“Boy, you hear me,

those black men

marched right out of prison and into

power,” my father exulted.

Marxism o� ered me an approach,

a coherent point of view

from which to under-stand and engage

society, in terms of the

“forces of history.” � ese people impressed

on me that to bring about

social change you had to study and

clearly understand

the forces of society.

Clearly this man

was a radical activist, an intellectual

and a strategist who apparently commended

the respect of the room. I sat up.

“Who the hell is that?” I asked Gene.

“Why,” he said, “that’s Bayard Rustin, the socialist.”

A lot of youth

would gather in the evenings and

we’d all just dig the music and

show o� the latest

dance moves. � at was when I recieved

my � rst groundation in our

culture in America. It came from

that music.

Mah people,

Mah people,If you only knew who

you were,

You could not live the way

you do.

One day I asked

Mr. Michaux about Padmore.

He showed me a copy of Padmore’s

Pan Africanism or

Communism. I was fascinated.

You know Stokely

says he wants to go into

medicine, but, you know, I think

his real calling will be

politics.

“� at’s the Nonviolent

Action Group from Howard

University. Why’nt you join us?

I studied

those striking masks and artifacts

trying to imagine the stories

they contained and to visualize

the people

who had made them and the cultures

that had produced these artists.

While I was sifting

through all these new political

and cultural experiences and impressions, trying

to come toclear terms with

my people’s

identity and cultural reality, � guring

out my own relationship to it all and what it all

meant, Sterling Brown

reached out to us.

� us in about nine

months, thanks to Mrs. Baker,

an isolated and impulsive act of de� ance,

a tentaive gesture

coming out of a dormitory-room bull

session, had evolved into an

organization.

It is no wonder then that

our sisters

proved such dependable and admi-

rable partners in

struggle.

We were where we were

only because of our willingness

to a� rm our

beliefs even at the risk of

physical injury. So it was never dull on

death row.

But what Malcom

demonstrated that night in Crampton

Auditorium on the Howard campus

was the raw power,

the visceral potency, of the grip

our unarticulated collective

blackness held over us.

If you will promise

me, your elder brother,

that you will never, ever accept any of the

many derogratory, degrading,

and reductive de� nitions that this

society has ready for you, then I,

Jimmy Baldwin, promise you I shall never

betray you.

When I met thefamily, I discovered that

her mom, Mrs. Lulabelle

Johnson, took care of the twelve children of the family.

Yet there was always a bed

and something to eat for me in that

house.

But I never really began to feel

it until I looked into the eyes and lined

faces of men like

Amzie Moore, Mr. Dewey Greene,

Mr. Hartman Turnbow, Mr. E.W. Steptoe, or

Mr. C.C. Bryant and listened to their voic-

es telling their stories.

� en our history became real to me.

Mrs. Hamer replied,

“� at’s just what I’m trying to git

out of. � ings be like they always

was? I want change.”

Yet the loyalty, respect, and a� ection

with which the local

people, atleast those active in the

struggle, regarded their leader was

unmistakable.

� e entire Boynton family

were warriors. � e plainti� in the Supreme Court case

Boyton vs.

Virginia, which integrated bus travel, was

her son. Her husband also had

been a highly respected

leader, who managed to continue the

� ght literally from his grave.

� e recruiting of people

and the setting up of a grassroots

organizational structure went quickly. Mr. Hulett,

our lone registered voter, was key.

Jon’s murder

grieved us. However, from then on, a little too late,

the project sta� took the strong

position, nonnegotiatable, that to

allow whites in would be

tantamount to inviting their deaths.

But when Huey P. Newton

said anything, you could see that it was something that had been

carefully though out.

When I � rst met them, he was

the one that

impressed me.

“Well, no, Stokely.

I wasn’t saying that at all.

But y’know, that isn’t such a bad idea.

� e Good Lord knows you going need all the

help you can get.

Besides, I’ll be preaching.”“In that case,

Dr. King, you know I’m goin’ be

there.”

He was like a younger

brother to me. I knew Cleve

and would trust him with my

life.

Now an editor with a big publisher,

she wondered whether it wouldn’t be

valuable to expand the

Black Power paper into a

full-length book.

You couldn’t help noticing

him. Something about

Michael X set him apart from the

other students.

Dr. Castro was just on top of

everything, Jack.

Every aspect a� ecting the revolution.

He obviously had a clear, complete

vision of the new and humane society

he wished to bring about.

� en Mrs. Du Bois

said, “Do you know Nkrumah?”

I said, “Of course, who doesn’t know Nkrumah?

I’ve read all—”

“I meant have you met him?

Would you like to?”

Ho Chi Minh was a great man.

He clari� ed

many things for me. He had a real appreciation

for our struggle in America.

Of all the

incredible things that had been

happening during this trip,

this had to be, hands down,

the most unbelievable.

I mean, to meet this beautiful,

entirely remarkable woman again.

What had most impressed

me was the sensitive and principled

way Sékou Touré,

his government, and his party did it,

in the true spirit of

Pan-Africanism and the highest values

of our tradional cultures.

Since that day my name has

been Kwame Ture.

I hope I’ve tried to liveup to

the responsibility it carries.

In Tanzania the Sebakos

impressed me greatly. Africa needs

more leaders like

these, I thought.

First Lamin was

heartbroken, then outraged.

He decided to gradutate, then to make

his way to Guinea to

work for the Osageyfo.

Leiutenant Kouyate was

passionatley committed to the

liberation of the continent and in

constant touch with all the

groups. So I could

learn a lot from

him.

Damn the money. I will die

before I sell out for the white man’s

money.”

Well, let me tell you

one thing. If you

leave Guinea now

you will be making a very great

mistake.Spark

Clearly this man

was a radical activist, an intellectual

and a strategist who apparently commended

the respect of the room. I sat up.

“Who the hell is that?” I asked Gene.

“Why,” he said, “that’s Bayard Rustin, the socialist.”

“Don’t ever lie, always speak

the truth. Remember the less

fortunate. Waste

not, want not.

� ink of others always.

Never waste food. Never waste anything that

someone else might need.”

� e Indians made a

profound impression on me.

At this time, being the more recent

arrivals, they frequently wore

their national dress,

spoke their national

languages, and

maintained their religous faith and practice.

My mother was, and remains, voluble,

passionate, impulsive,

and excitable. She was an excellent

seamstress. So that in any

� nancial crisis, we could usually

depend on May Charles

to produce it from somewhere.

� at barbershop became for

me a necessary corrective,

an early window into an African-Ameri-

can worldview and

sensibility, a crucially important

counterpoint of reference for those.

“Boy, you hear me,

those black men

marched right out of prison and into

power,” my father exulted.

Marxism o� ered me an approach,

a coherent point of view

from which to under-stand and engage

society, in terms of the

“forces of history.” � ese people impressed

on me that to bring about

social change you had to study and

clearly understand

the forces of society.

Clearly this man

was a radical activist, an intellectual

and a strategist who apparently commended

the respect of the room. I sat up.

“Who the hell is that?” I asked Gene.

“Why,” he said, “that’s Bayard Rustin, the socialist.”

A lot of youth

would gather in the evenings and

we’d all just dig the music and

show o� the latest

dance moves. � at was when I recieved

my � rst groundation in our

culture in America. It came from

that music.

Mah people,

Mah people,If you only knew who

you were,

You could not live the way

you do.

One day I asked

Mr. Michaux about Padmore.

He showed me a copy of Padmore’s

Pan Africanism or

Communism. I was fascinated.

You know Stokely

says he wants to go into

medicine, but, you know, I think

his real calling will be

politics.

“� at’s the Nonviolent

Action Group from Howard

University. Why’nt you join us?

I studied

those striking masks and artifacts

trying to imagine the stories

they contained and to visualize

the people

who had made them and the cultures

that had produced these artists.

While I was sifting

through all these new political

and cultural experiences and impressions, trying

to come toclear terms with

my people’s

identity and cultural reality, � guring

out my own relationship to it all and what it all

meant, Sterling Brown

reached out to us.

� us in about nine

months, thanks to Mrs. Baker,

an isolated and impulsive act of de� ance,

a tentaive gesture

coming out of a dormitory-room bull

session, had evolved into an

organization.

It is no wonder then that

our sisters

proved such dependable and admi-

rable partners in

struggle.

We were where we were

only because of our willingness

to a� rm our

beliefs even at the risk of

physical injury. So it was never dull on

death row.

But what Malcom

demonstrated that night in Crampton

Auditorium on the Howard campus

was the raw power,

the visceral potency, of the grip

our unarticulated collective

blackness held over us.

If you will promise

me, your elder brother,

that you will never, ever accept any of the

many derogratory, degrading,

and reductive de� nitions that this

society has ready for you, then I,

Jimmy Baldwin, promise you I shall never

betray you.

When I met thefamily, I discovered that

her mom, Mrs. Lulabelle

Johnson, took care of the twelve children of the family.

Yet there was always a bed

and something to eat for me in that

house.

But I never really began to feel

it until I looked into the eyes and lined

faces of men like

Amzie Moore, Mr. Dewey Greene,

Mr. Hartman Turnbow, Mr. E.W. Steptoe, or

Mr. C.C. Bryant and listened to their voic-

es telling their stories.

� en our history became real to me.

Mrs. Hamer replied,

“� at’s just what I’m trying to git

out of. � ings be like they always

was? I want change.”

Yet the loyalty, respect, and a� ection

with which the local

people, atleast those active in the

struggle, regarded their leader was

unmistakable.

� e entire Boynton family

were warriors. � e plainti� in the Supreme Court case

Boyton vs.

Virginia, which integrated bus travel, was

her son. Her husband also had

been a highly respected

leader, who managed to continue the

� ght literally from his grave.

� e recruiting of people

and the setting up of a grassroots

organizational structure went quickly. Mr. Hulett,

our lone registered voter, was key.

Jon’s murder

grieved us. However, from then on, a little too late,

the project sta� took the strong

position, nonnegotiatable, that to

allow whites in would be

tantamount to inviting their deaths.

But when Huey P. Newton

said anything, you could see that it was something that had been

carefully though out.

When I � rst met them, he was

the one that

impressed me.

“Well, no, Stokely.

I wasn’t saying that at all.

But y’know, that isn’t such a bad idea.

� e Good Lord knows you going need all the

help you can get.

Besides, I’ll be preaching.”“In that case,

Dr. King, you know I’m goin’ be

there.”

He was like a younger

brother to me. I knew Cleve

and would trust him with my

life.

Now an editor with a big publisher,

she wondered whether it wouldn’t be

valuable to expand the

Black Power paper into a

full-length book.

You couldn’t help noticing

him. Something about

Michael X set him apart from the

other students.

Dr. Castro was just on top of

everything, Jack.

Every aspect a� ecting the revolution.

He obviously had a clear, complete

vision of the new and humane society

he wished to bring about.

� en Mrs. Du Bois

said, “Do you know Nkrumah?”

I said, “Of course, who doesn’t know Nkrumah?

I’ve read all—”

“I meant have you met him?

Would you like to?”

Ho Chi Minh was a great man.

He clari� ed

many things for me. He had a real appreciation

for our struggle in America.

Of all the

incredible things that had been

happening during this trip,

this had to be, hands down,

the most unbelievable.

I mean, to meet this beautiful,

entirely remarkable woman again.

What had most impressed

me was the sensitive and principled

way Sékou Touré,

his government, and his party did it,

in the true spirit of

Pan-Africanism and the highest values

of our tradional cultures.

Since that day my name has

been Kwame Ture.

I hope I’ve tried to liveup to

the responsibility it carries.

In Tanzania the Sebakos

impressed me greatly. Africa needs

more leaders like

these, I thought.

First Lamin was

heartbroken, then outraged.

He decided to gradutate, then to make

his way to Guinea to

work for the Osageyfo.

Leiutenant Kouyate was

passionatley committed to the

liberation of the continent and in

constant touch with all the

groups. So I could

learn a lot from

him.

Damn the money. I will die

before I sell out for the white man’s

money.”

Well, let me tell you

one thing. If you

leave Guinea now

you will be making a very great

mistake.Inspire 17

A lot of youth

would gather in the evenings and

we’d all just dig the music and

show off the latest

dance moves. That was when I received

my first groundation in our

culture in America. It came from

that music.

“Don’t ever lie, always speak

the truth. Remember the less

fortunate. Waste

not, want not.

� ink of others always.

Never waste food. Never waste anything that

someone else might need.”

� e Indians made a

profound impression on me.

At this time, being the more recent

arrivals, they frequently wore

their national dress,

spoke their national

languages, and

maintained their religous faith and practice.

My mother was, and remains, voluble,

passionate, impulsive,

and excitable. She was an excellent

seamstress. So that in any

� nancial crisis, we could usually

depend on May Charles

to produce it from somewhere.

� at barbershop became for

me a necessary corrective,

an early window into an African-Ameri-

can worldview and

sensibility, a crucially important

counterpoint of reference for those.

“Boy, you hear me,

those black men

marched right out of prison and into

power,” my father exulted.

Marxism o� ered me an approach,

a coherent point of view

from which to under-stand and engage

society, in terms of the

“forces of history.” � ese people impressed

on me that to bring about

social change you had to study and

clearly understand

the forces of society.

Clearly this man

was a radical activist, an intellectual

and a strategist who apparently commended

the respect of the room. I sat up.

“Who the hell is that?” I asked Gene.

“Why,” he said, “that’s Bayard Rustin, the socialist.”

A lot of youth

would gather in the evenings and

we’d all just dig the music and

show o� the latest

dance moves. � at was when I recieved

my � rst groundation in our

culture in America. It came from

that music.

Mah people,

Mah people,If you only knew who

you were,

You could not live the way

you do.

One day I asked

Mr. Michaux about Padmore.

He showed me a copy of Padmore’s

Pan Africanism or

Communism. I was fascinated.

You know Stokely

says he wants to go into

medicine, but, you know, I think

his real calling will be

politics.

“� at’s the Nonviolent

Action Group from Howard

University. Why’nt you join us?

I studied

those striking masks and artifacts

trying to imagine the stories

they contained and to visualize

the people

who had made them and the cultures

that had produced these artists.

While I was sifting

through all these new political

and cultural experiences and impressions, trying

to come toclear terms with

my people’s

identity and cultural reality, � guring

out my own relationship to it all and what it all

meant, Sterling Brown

reached out to us.

� us in about nine

months, thanks to Mrs. Baker,

an isolated and impulsive act of de� ance,

a tentaive gesture

coming out of a dormitory-room bull

session, had evolved into an

organization.

It is no wonder then that

our sisters

proved such dependable and admi-

rable partners in

struggle.

We were where we were

only because of our willingness

to a� rm our

beliefs even at the risk of

physical injury. So it was never dull on

death row.

But what Malcom

demonstrated that night in Crampton

Auditorium on the Howard campus

was the raw power,

the visceral potency, of the grip

our unarticulated collective

blackness held over us.

If you will promise

me, your elder brother,

that you will never, ever accept any of the

many derogratory, degrading,

and reductive de� nitions that this

society has ready for you, then I,

Jimmy Baldwin, promise you I shall never

betray you.

When I met thefamily, I discovered that

her mom, Mrs. Lulabelle

Johnson, took care of the twelve children of the family.

Yet there was always a bed

and something to eat for me in that

house.

But I never really began to feel

it until I looked into the eyes and lined

faces of men like

Amzie Moore, Mr. Dewey Greene,

Mr. Hartman Turnbow, Mr. E.W. Steptoe, or

Mr. C.C. Bryant and listened to their voic-

es telling their stories.

� en our history became real to me.

Mrs. Hamer replied,

“� at’s just what I’m trying to git

out of. � ings be like they always

was? I want change.”

Yet the loyalty, respect, and a� ection

with which the local

people, atleast those active in the

struggle, regarded their leader was

unmistakable.

� e entire Boynton family

were warriors. � e plainti� in the Supreme Court case

Boyton vs.

Virginia, which integrated bus travel, was

her son. Her husband also had

been a highly respected

leader, who managed to continue the

� ght literally from his grave.

� e recruiting of people

and the setting up of a grassroots

organizational structure went quickly. Mr. Hulett,

our lone registered voter, was key.

Jon’s murder

grieved us. However, from then on, a little too late,

the project sta� took the strong

position, nonnegotiatable, that to

allow whites in would be

tantamount to inviting their deaths.

But when Huey P. Newton

said anything, you could see that it was something that had been

carefully though out.

When I � rst met them, he was

the one that

impressed me.

“Well, no, Stokely.

I wasn’t saying that at all.

But y’know, that isn’t such a bad idea.

� e Good Lord knows you going need all the

help you can get.

Besides, I’ll be preaching.”“In that case,

Dr. King, you know I’m goin’ be

there.”

He was like a younger

brother to me. I knew Cleve

and would trust him with my

life.

Now an editor with a big publisher,

she wondered whether it wouldn’t be

valuable to expand the

Black Power paper into a

full-length book.

You couldn’t help noticing

him. Something about

Michael X set him apart from the

other students.

Dr. Castro was just on top of

everything, Jack.

Every aspect a� ecting the revolution.

He obviously had a clear, complete

vision of the new and humane society

he wished to bring about.

� en Mrs. Du Bois

said, “Do you know Nkrumah?”

I said, “Of course, who doesn’t know Nkrumah?

I’ve read all—”

“I meant have you met him?

Would you like to?”

Ho Chi Minh was a great man.

He clari� ed

many things for me. He had a real appreciation

for our struggle in America.

Of all the

incredible things that had been

happening during this trip,

this had to be, hands down,

the most unbelievable.

I mean, to meet this beautiful,

entirely remarkable woman again.

What had most impressed

me was the sensitive and principled

way Sékou Touré,

his government, and his party did it,

in the true spirit of

Pan-Africanism and the highest values

of our tradional cultures.

Since that day my name has

been Kwame Ture.

I hope I’ve tried to liveup to

the responsibility it carries.

In Tanzania the Sebakos

impressed me greatly. Africa needs

more leaders like

these, I thought.

First Lamin was

heartbroken, then outraged.

He decided to gradutate, then to make

his way to Guinea to

work for the Osageyfo.

Leiutenant Kouyate was

passionatley committed to the

liberation of the continent and in

constant touch with all the

groups. So I could

learn a lot from

him.

Damn the money. I will die

before I sell out for the white man’s

money.”

Well, let me tell you

one thing. If you

leave Guinea now

you will be making a very great

mistake.Spark

“Mah people,

Mah people,If you only knew who

you were,

You could not live the way

you do.”

Establish

“Don’t ever lie, always speak

the truth. Remember the less

fortunate. Waste

not, want not.

� ink of others always.

Never waste food. Never waste anything that

someone else might need.”

� e Indians made a

profound impression on me.

At this time, being the more recent

arrivals, they frequently wore

their national dress,

spoke their national

languages, and

maintained their religous faith and practice.

My mother was, and remains, voluble,

passionate, impulsive,

and excitable. She was an excellent

seamstress. So that in any

� nancial crisis, we could usually

depend on May Charles

to produce it from somewhere.

� at barbershop became for

me a necessary corrective,

an early window into an African-Ameri-

can worldview and

sensibility, a crucially important

counterpoint of reference for those.

“Boy, you hear me,

those black men

marched right out of prison and into

power,” my father exulted.

Marxism o� ered me an approach,

a coherent point of view

from which to under-stand and engage

society, in terms of the

“forces of history.” � ese people impressed

on me that to bring about

social change you had to study and

clearly understand

the forces of society.

Clearly this man

was a radical activist, an intellectual

and a strategist who apparently commended

the respect of the room. I sat up.

“Who the hell is that?” I asked Gene.

“Why,” he said, “that’s Bayard Rustin, the socialist.”

A lot of youth

would gather in the evenings and

we’d all just dig the music and

show o� the latest

dance moves. � at was when I recieved

my � rst groundation in our

culture in America. It came from

that music.

Mah people,

Mah people,If you only knew who

you were,

You could not live the way

you do.

One day I asked

Mr. Michaux about Padmore.

He showed me a copy of Padmore’s

Pan Africanism or

Communism. I was fascinated.

You know Stokely

says he wants to go into

medicine, but, you know, I think

his real calling will be

politics.

“� at’s the Nonviolent

Action Group from Howard

University. Why’nt you join us?

I studied

those striking masks and artifacts

trying to imagine the stories

they contained and to visualize

the people

who had made them and the cultures

that had produced these artists.

While I was sifting

through all these new political

and cultural experiences and impressions, trying

to come toclear terms with

my people’s

identity and cultural reality, � guring

out my own relationship to it all and what it all

meant, Sterling Brown

reached out to us.

� us in about nine

months, thanks to Mrs. Baker,

an isolated and impulsive act of de� ance,

a tentaive gesture

coming out of a dormitory-room bull

session, had evolved into an

organization.

It is no wonder then that

our sisters

proved such dependable and admi-

rable partners in

struggle.

We were where we were

only because of our willingness

to a� rm our

beliefs even at the risk of

physical injury. So it was never dull on

death row.

But what Malcom

demonstrated that night in Crampton

Auditorium on the Howard campus

was the raw power,

the visceral potency, of the grip

our unarticulated collective

blackness held over us.

If you will promise

me, your elder brother,

that you will never, ever accept any of the

many derogratory, degrading,

and reductive de� nitions that this

society has ready for you, then I,

Jimmy Baldwin, promise you I shall never

betray you.

When I met thefamily, I discovered that

her mom, Mrs. Lulabelle

Johnson, took care of the twelve children of the family.

Yet there was always a bed

and something to eat for me in that

house.

But I never really began to feel

it until I looked into the eyes and lined

faces of men like

Amzie Moore, Mr. Dewey Greene,

Mr. Hartman Turnbow, Mr. E.W. Steptoe, or

Mr. C.C. Bryant and listened to their voic-

es telling their stories.

� en our history became real to me.

Mrs. Hamer replied,

“� at’s just what I’m trying to git

out of. � ings be like they always

was? I want change.”

Yet the loyalty, respect, and a� ection

with which the local

people, atleast those active in the

struggle, regarded their leader was

unmistakable.

� e entire Boynton family

were warriors. � e plainti� in the Supreme Court case

Boyton vs.

Virginia, which integrated bus travel, was

her son. Her husband also had

been a highly respected

leader, who managed to continue the

� ght literally from his grave.

� e recruiting of people

and the setting up of a grassroots

organizational structure went quickly. Mr. Hulett,

our lone registered voter, was key.

Jon’s murder

grieved us. However, from then on, a little too late,

the project sta� took the strong

position, nonnegotiatable, that to

allow whites in would be

tantamount to inviting their deaths.

But when Huey P. Newton

said anything, you could see that it was something that had been

carefully though out.

When I � rst met them, he was

the one that

impressed me.

“Well, no, Stokely.

I wasn’t saying that at all.

But y’know, that isn’t such a bad idea.

� e Good Lord knows you going need all the

help you can get.

Besides, I’ll be preaching.”“In that case,

Dr. King, you know I’m goin’ be

there.”

He was like a younger

brother to me. I knew Cleve

and would trust him with my

life.

Now an editor with a big publisher,

she wondered whether it wouldn’t be

valuable to expand the

Black Power paper into a

full-length book.

You couldn’t help noticing

him. Something about

Michael X set him apart from the

other students.

Dr. Castro was just on top of

everything, Jack.

Every aspect a� ecting the revolution.

He obviously had a clear, complete

vision of the new and humane society

he wished to bring about.

� en Mrs. Du Bois

said, “Do you know Nkrumah?”

I said, “Of course, who doesn’t know Nkrumah?

I’ve read all—”

“I meant have you met him?

Would you like to?”

Ho Chi Minh was a great man.

He clari� ed

many things for me. He had a real appreciation

for our struggle in America.

Of all the

incredible things that had been

happening during this trip,

this had to be, hands down,

the most unbelievable.

I mean, to meet this beautiful,

entirely remarkable woman again.

What had most impressed

me was the sensitive and principled

way Sékou Touré,

his government, and his party did it,

in the true spirit of

Pan-Africanism and the highest values

of our tradional cultures.

Since that day my name has

been Kwame Ture.

I hope I’ve tried to liveup to

the responsibility it carries.

In Tanzania the Sebakos

impressed me greatly. Africa needs

more leaders like

these, I thought.

First Lamin was

heartbroken, then outraged.

He decided to gradutate, then to make

his way to Guinea to

work for the Osageyfo.

Leiutenant Kouyate was

passionatley committed to the

liberation of the continent and in

constant touch with all the

groups. So I could

learn a lot from

him.

Damn the money. I will die

before I sell out for the white man’s

money.”

Well, let me tell you

one thing. If you

leave Guinea now

you will be making a very great

mistake.Inspire 19

One day I asked

Mr. Michaux about Padmore.

He showed me a copy of Padmore’s

Pan Africanism or

Communism. I was fascinated.

“Don’t ever lie, always speak

the truth. Remember the less

fortunate. Waste

not, want not.

� ink of others always.

Never waste food. Never waste anything that

someone else might need.”

� e Indians made a

profound impression on me.

At this time, being the more recent

arrivals, they frequently wore

their national dress,

spoke their national

languages, and

maintained their religous faith and practice.

My mother was, and remains, voluble,

passionate, impulsive,

and excitable. She was an excellent

seamstress. So that in any

� nancial crisis, we could usually

depend on May Charles

to produce it from somewhere.

� at barbershop became for

me a necessary corrective,

an early window into an African-Ameri-

can worldview and

sensibility, a crucially important

counterpoint of reference for those.

“Boy, you hear me,

those black men

marched right out of prison and into

power,” my father exulted.

Marxism o� ered me an approach,

a coherent point of view

from which to under-stand and engage

society, in terms of the

“forces of history.” � ese people impressed

on me that to bring about

social change you had to study and

clearly understand

the forces of society.

Clearly this man

was a radical activist, an intellectual

and a strategist who apparently commended

the respect of the room. I sat up.

“Who the hell is that?” I asked Gene.

“Why,” he said, “that’s Bayard Rustin, the socialist.”

A lot of youth

would gather in the evenings and

we’d all just dig the music and

show o� the latest

dance moves. � at was when I recieved

my � rst groundation in our

culture in America. It came from

that music.

Mah people,

Mah people,If you only knew who

you were,

You could not live the way

you do.

One day I asked

Mr. Michaux about Padmore.

He showed me a copy of Padmore’s

Pan Africanism or

Communism. I was fascinated.

You know Stokely

says he wants to go into

medicine, but, you know, I think

his real calling will be

politics.

“� at’s the Nonviolent

Action Group from Howard

University. Why’nt you join us?

I studied

those striking masks and artifacts

trying to imagine the stories

they contained and to visualize

the people

who had made them and the cultures

that had produced these artists.

While I was sifting

through all these new political

and cultural experiences and impressions, trying

to come toclear terms with

my people’s

identity and cultural reality, � guring

out my own relationship to it all and what it all

meant, Sterling Brown

reached out to us.

� us in about nine

months, thanks to Mrs. Baker,

an isolated and impulsive act of de� ance,

a tentaive gesture

coming out of a dormitory-room bull

session, had evolved into an

organization.

It is no wonder then that

our sisters

proved such dependable and admi-

rable partners in

struggle.

We were where we were

only because of our willingness

to a� rm our

beliefs even at the risk of

physical injury. So it was never dull on

death row.

But what Malcom

demonstrated that night in Crampton

Auditorium on the Howard campus

was the raw power,

the visceral potency, of the grip

our unarticulated collective

blackness held over us.

If you will promise

me, your elder brother,

that you will never, ever accept any of the

many derogratory, degrading,

and reductive de� nitions that this

society has ready for you, then I,

Jimmy Baldwin, promise you I shall never

betray you.

When I met thefamily, I discovered that

her mom, Mrs. Lulabelle

Johnson, took care of the twelve children of the family.

Yet there was always a bed

and something to eat for me in that

house.

But I never really began to feel

it until I looked into the eyes and lined

faces of men like

Amzie Moore, Mr. Dewey Greene,

Mr. Hartman Turnbow, Mr. E.W. Steptoe, or

Mr. C.C. Bryant and listened to their voic-

es telling their stories.

� en our history became real to me.

Mrs. Hamer replied,

“� at’s just what I’m trying to git

out of. � ings be like they always

was? I want change.”

Yet the loyalty, respect, and a� ection

with which the local

people, atleast those active in the

struggle, regarded their leader was

unmistakable.

� e entire Boynton family

were warriors. � e plainti� in the Supreme Court case

Boyton vs.

Virginia, which integrated bus travel, was

her son. Her husband also had

been a highly respected

leader, who managed to continue the

� ght literally from his grave.

� e recruiting of people

and the setting up of a grassroots

organizational structure went quickly. Mr. Hulett,

our lone registered voter, was key.

Jon’s murder

grieved us. However, from then on, a little too late,

the project sta� took the strong

position, nonnegotiatable, that to

allow whites in would be

tantamount to inviting their deaths.

But when Huey P. Newton

said anything, you could see that it was something that had been

carefully though out.

When I � rst met them, he was

the one that

impressed me.

“Well, no, Stokely.

I wasn’t saying that at all.

But y’know, that isn’t such a bad idea.

� e Good Lord knows you going need all the

help you can get.

Besides, I’ll be preaching.”“In that case,

Dr. King, you know I’m goin’ be

there.”

He was like a younger

brother to me. I knew Cleve

and would trust him with my

life.

Now an editor with a big publisher,

she wondered whether it wouldn’t be

valuable to expand the

Black Power paper into a

full-length book.

You couldn’t help noticing

him. Something about

Michael X set him apart from the

other students.

Dr. Castro was just on top of

everything, Jack.

Every aspect a� ecting the revolution.

He obviously had a clear, complete

vision of the new and humane society

he wished to bring about.

� en Mrs. Du Bois

said, “Do you know Nkrumah?”

I said, “Of course, who doesn’t know Nkrumah?

I’ve read all—”

“I meant have you met him?

Would you like to?”

Ho Chi Minh was a great man.

He clari� ed

many things for me. He had a real appreciation

for our struggle in America.

Of all the

incredible things that had been

happening during this trip,

this had to be, hands down,

the most unbelievable.

I mean, to meet this beautiful,

entirely remarkable woman again.

What had most impressed

me was the sensitive and principled

way Sékou Touré,

his government, and his party did it,

in the true spirit of

Pan-Africanism and the highest values

of our tradional cultures.

Since that day my name has

been Kwame Ture.

I hope I’ve tried to liveup to

the responsibility it carries.

In Tanzania the Sebakos

impressed me greatly. Africa needs

more leaders like

these, I thought.

First Lamin was

heartbroken, then outraged.

He decided to gradutate, then to make

his way to Guinea to

work for the Osageyfo.

Leiutenant Kouyate was

passionatley committed to the

liberation of the continent and in

constant touch with all the

groups. So I could

learn a lot from

him.

Damn the money. I will die

before I sell out for the white man’s

money.”

Well, let me tell you

one thing. If you

leave Guinea now

you will be making a very great

mistake.Spark

“You know Stokely

says he wants to go into

medicine, but, you know, I think his

real calling will be

politics.”

“Don’t ever lie, always speak

the truth. Remember the less

fortunate. Waste

not, want not.

� ink of others always.

Never waste food. Never waste anything that

someone else might need.”

� e Indians made a

profound impression on me.

At this time, being the more recent

arrivals, they frequently wore

their national dress,

spoke their national

languages, and

maintained their religous faith and practice.

My mother was, and remains, voluble,

passionate, impulsive,

and excitable. She was an excellent

seamstress. So that in any

� nancial crisis, we could usually

depend on May Charles

to produce it from somewhere.

� at barbershop became for

me a necessary corrective,

an early window into an African-Ameri-

can worldview and

sensibility, a crucially important

counterpoint of reference for those.

“Boy, you hear me,

those black men

marched right out of prison and into

power,” my father exulted.

Marxism o� ered me an approach,

a coherent point of view

from which to under-stand and engage

society, in terms of the

“forces of history.” � ese people impressed

on me that to bring about

social change you had to study and

clearly understand

the forces of society.

Clearly this man

was a radical activist, an intellectual

and a strategist who apparently commended

the respect of the room. I sat up.

“Who the hell is that?” I asked Gene.

“Why,” he said, “that’s Bayard Rustin, the socialist.”

A lot of youth

would gather in the evenings and

we’d all just dig the music and

show o� the latest

dance moves. � at was when I recieved

my � rst groundation in our

culture in America. It came from

that music.

Mah people,

Mah people,If you only knew who

you were,

You could not live the way

you do.

One day I asked

Mr. Michaux about Padmore.

He showed me a copy of Padmore’s

Pan Africanism or

Communism. I was fascinated.

You know Stokely

says he wants to go into

medicine, but, you know, I think

his real calling will be

politics.

“� at’s the Nonviolent

Action Group from Howard

University. Why’nt you join us?

I studied

those striking masks and artifacts

trying to imagine the stories

they contained and to visualize

the people

who had made them and the cultures

that had produced these artists.

While I was sifting

through all these new political

and cultural experiences and impressions, trying

to come toclear terms with

my people’s

identity and cultural reality, � guring

out my own relationship to it all and what it all

meant, Sterling Brown

reached out to us.

� us in about nine

months, thanks to Mrs. Baker,

an isolated and impulsive act of de� ance,

a tentaive gesture

coming out of a dormitory-room bull

session, had evolved into an

organization.

It is no wonder then that

our sisters

proved such dependable and admi-

rable partners in

struggle.

We were where we were

only because of our willingness

to a� rm our

beliefs even at the risk of

physical injury. So it was never dull on

death row.

But what Malcom

demonstrated that night in Crampton

Auditorium on the Howard campus

was the raw power,

the visceral potency, of the grip

our unarticulated collective

blackness held over us.

If you will promise

me, your elder brother,

that you will never, ever accept any of the

many derogratory, degrading,

and reductive de� nitions that this

society has ready for you, then I,

Jimmy Baldwin, promise you I shall never

betray you.

When I met thefamily, I discovered that

her mom, Mrs. Lulabelle

Johnson, took care of the twelve children of the family.

Yet there was always a bed

and something to eat for me in that

house.

But I never really began to feel

it until I looked into the eyes and lined

faces of men like

Amzie Moore, Mr. Dewey Greene,

Mr. Hartman Turnbow, Mr. E.W. Steptoe, or

Mr. C.C. Bryant and listened to their voic-

es telling their stories.

� en our history became real to me.

Mrs. Hamer replied,

“� at’s just what I’m trying to git

out of. � ings be like they always

was? I want change.”

Yet the loyalty, respect, and a� ection

with which the local

people, atleast those active in the

struggle, regarded their leader was

unmistakable.

� e entire Boynton family

were warriors. � e plainti� in the Supreme Court case

Boyton vs.

Virginia, which integrated bus travel, was

her son. Her husband also had

been a highly respected

leader, who managed to continue the

� ght literally from his grave.

� e recruiting of people

and the setting up of a grassroots

organizational structure went quickly. Mr. Hulett,

our lone registered voter, was key.

Jon’s murder

grieved us. However, from then on, a little too late,

the project sta� took the strong

position, nonnegotiatable, that to

allow whites in would be

tantamount to inviting their deaths.

But when Huey P. Newton

said anything, you could see that it was something that had been

carefully though out.

When I � rst met them, he was

the one that

impressed me.

“Well, no, Stokely.

I wasn’t saying that at all.

But y’know, that isn’t such a bad idea.

� e Good Lord knows you going need all the

help you can get.

Besides, I’ll be preaching.”“In that case,

Dr. King, you know I’m goin’ be

there.”

He was like a younger

brother to me. I knew Cleve

and would trust him with my

life.

Now an editor with a big publisher,

she wondered whether it wouldn’t be

valuable to expand the

Black Power paper into a

full-length book.

You couldn’t help noticing

him. Something about

Michael X set him apart from the

other students.

Dr. Castro was just on top of

everything, Jack.

Every aspect a� ecting the revolution.

He obviously had a clear, complete

vision of the new and humane society

he wished to bring about.

� en Mrs. Du Bois

said, “Do you know Nkrumah?”

I said, “Of course, who doesn’t know Nkrumah?

I’ve read all—”

“I meant have you met him?

Would you like to?”

Ho Chi Minh was a great man.

He clari� ed

many things for me. He had a real appreciation

for our struggle in America.

Of all the

incredible things that had been

happening during this trip,

this had to be, hands down,

the most unbelievable.

I mean, to meet this beautiful,

entirely remarkable woman again.

What had most impressed

me was the sensitive and principled

way Sékou Touré,

his government, and his party did it,

in the true spirit of

Pan-Africanism and the highest values

of our tradional cultures.

Since that day my name has

been Kwame Ture.

I hope I’ve tried to liveup to

the responsibility it carries.

In Tanzania the Sebakos

impressed me greatly. Africa needs

more leaders like

these, I thought.

First Lamin was

heartbroken, then outraged.

He decided to gradutate, then to make

his way to Guinea to

work for the Osageyfo.

Leiutenant Kouyate was

passionatley committed to the

liberation of the continent and in

constant touch with all the

groups. So I could

learn a lot from

him.

Damn the money. I will die

before I sell out for the white man’s

money.”

Well, let me tell you

one thing. If you

leave Guinea now

you will be making a very great

mistake.Inspire 21

“That’s the Nonviolent

Action Group from Howard

University. Why’nt you join us?”

“Don’t ever lie, always speak

the truth. Remember the less

fortunate. Waste

not, want not.

� ink of others always.

Never waste food. Never waste anything that

someone else might need.”

� e Indians made a

profound impression on me.

At this time, being the more recent

arrivals, they frequently wore

their national dress,

spoke their national

languages, and

maintained their religous faith and practice.

My mother was, and remains, voluble,

passionate, impulsive,

and excitable. She was an excellent

seamstress. So that in any

� nancial crisis, we could usually

depend on May Charles

to produce it from somewhere.

� at barbershop became for

me a necessary corrective,

an early window into an African-Ameri-

can worldview and

sensibility, a crucially important

counterpoint of reference for those.

“Boy, you hear me,

those black men

marched right out of prison and into

power,” my father exulted.

Marxism o� ered me an approach,

a coherent point of view

from which to under-stand and engage

society, in terms of the

“forces of history.” � ese people impressed

on me that to bring about

social change you had to study and

clearly understand

the forces of society.

Clearly this man

was a radical activist, an intellectual

and a strategist who apparently commended

the respect of the room. I sat up.

“Who the hell is that?” I asked Gene.

“Why,” he said, “that’s Bayard Rustin, the socialist.”

A lot of youth

would gather in the evenings and

we’d all just dig the music and

show o� the latest

dance moves. � at was when I recieved

my � rst groundation in our

culture in America. It came from

that music.

Mah people,

Mah people,If you only knew who

you were,

You could not live the way

you do.

One day I asked

Mr. Michaux about Padmore.

He showed me a copy of Padmore’s

Pan Africanism or

Communism. I was fascinated.

You know Stokely

says he wants to go into

medicine, but, you know, I think

his real calling will be

politics.

“� at’s the Nonviolent

Action Group from Howard

University. Why’nt you join us?

I studied

those striking masks and artifacts

trying to imagine the stories

they contained and to visualize

the people

who had made them and the cultures

that had produced these artists.

While I was sifting

through all these new political

and cultural experiences and impressions, trying

to come toclear terms with

my people’s

identity and cultural reality, � guring

out my own relationship to it all and what it all

meant, Sterling Brown

reached out to us.

� us in about nine

months, thanks to Mrs. Baker,

an isolated and impulsive act of de� ance,

a tentaive gesture

coming out of a dormitory-room bull

session, had evolved into an

organization.

It is no wonder then that

our sisters

proved such dependable and admi-

rable partners in

struggle.

We were where we were

only because of our willingness

to a� rm our

beliefs even at the risk of

physical injury. So it was never dull on

death row.

But what Malcom

demonstrated that night in Crampton

Auditorium on the Howard campus

was the raw power,

the visceral potency, of the grip

our unarticulated collective

blackness held over us.

If you will promise

me, your elder brother,

that you will never, ever accept any of the

many derogratory, degrading,

and reductive de� nitions that this

society has ready for you, then I,

Jimmy Baldwin, promise you I shall never

betray you.

When I met thefamily, I discovered that

her mom, Mrs. Lulabelle

Johnson, took care of the twelve children of the family.

Yet there was always a bed

and something to eat for me in that

house.

But I never really began to feel

it until I looked into the eyes and lined

faces of men like

Amzie Moore, Mr. Dewey Greene,

Mr. Hartman Turnbow, Mr. E.W. Steptoe, or

Mr. C.C. Bryant and listened to their voic-

es telling their stories.

� en our history became real to me.

Mrs. Hamer replied,

“� at’s just what I’m trying to git

out of. � ings be like they always

was? I want change.”

Yet the loyalty, respect, and a� ection

with which the local

people, atleast those active in the

struggle, regarded their leader was

unmistakable.

� e entire Boynton family

were warriors. � e plainti� in the Supreme Court case

Boyton vs.

Virginia, which integrated bus travel, was

her son. Her husband also had

been a highly respected

leader, who managed to continue the

� ght literally from his grave.

� e recruiting of people

and the setting up of a grassroots

organizational structure went quickly. Mr. Hulett,

our lone registered voter, was key.

Jon’s murder

grieved us. However, from then on, a little too late,

the project sta� took the strong

position, nonnegotiatable, that to

allow whites in would be

tantamount to inviting their deaths.

But when Huey P. Newton

said anything, you could see that it was something that had been

carefully though out.

When I � rst met them, he was

the one that

impressed me.

“Well, no, Stokely.

I wasn’t saying that at all.

But y’know, that isn’t such a bad idea.

� e Good Lord knows you going need all the

help you can get.

Besides, I’ll be preaching.”“In that case,

Dr. King, you know I’m goin’ be

there.”

He was like a younger

brother to me. I knew Cleve

and would trust him with my

life.

Now an editor with a big publisher,

she wondered whether it wouldn’t be

valuable to expand the

Black Power paper into a

full-length book.

You couldn’t help noticing

him. Something about

Michael X set him apart from the

other students.

Dr. Castro was just on top of

everything, Jack.

Every aspect a� ecting the revolution.

He obviously had a clear, complete

vision of the new and humane society

he wished to bring about.

� en Mrs. Du Bois

said, “Do you know Nkrumah?”

I said, “Of course, who doesn’t know Nkrumah?

I’ve read all—”

“I meant have you met him?

Would you like to?”

Ho Chi Minh was a great man.

He clari� ed

many things for me. He had a real appreciation

for our struggle in America.

Of all the

incredible things that had been

happening during this trip,

this had to be, hands down,

the most unbelievable.

I mean, to meet this beautiful,

entirely remarkable woman again.

What had most impressed

me was the sensitive and principled

way Sékou Touré,

his government, and his party did it,

in the true spirit of

Pan-Africanism and the highest values

of our tradional cultures.

Since that day my name has

been Kwame Ture.

I hope I’ve tried to liveup to

the responsibility it carries.

In Tanzania the Sebakos

impressed me greatly. Africa needs

more leaders like

these, I thought.

First Lamin was

heartbroken, then outraged.

He decided to gradutate, then to make

his way to Guinea to

work for the Osageyfo.

Leiutenant Kouyate was

passionatley committed to the

liberation of the continent and in

constant touch with all the

groups. So I could

learn a lot from

him.

Damn the money. I will die

before I sell out for the white man’s

money.”

Well, let me tell you

one thing. If you

leave Guinea now

you will be making a very great

mistake.Spark

I studied

those striking masks and artifacts

trying to imagine the stories

they contained and to visualize

the people

who had made them and the cultures

that had produced these

artists.

“Don’t ever lie, always speak

the truth. Remember the less

fortunate. Waste

not, want not.

� ink of others always.

Never waste food. Never waste anything that

someone else might need.”

� e Indians made a

profound impression on me.

At this time, being the more recent

arrivals, they frequently wore

their national dress,

spoke their national

languages, and

maintained their religous faith and practice.

My mother was, and remains, voluble,

passionate, impulsive,

and excitable. She was an excellent

seamstress. So that in any

� nancial crisis, we could usually

depend on May Charles

to produce it from somewhere.

� at barbershop became for

me a necessary corrective,

an early window into an African-Ameri-

can worldview and

sensibility, a crucially important

counterpoint of reference for those.

“Boy, you hear me,

those black men

marched right out of prison and into

power,” my father exulted.

Marxism o� ered me an approach,

a coherent point of view

from which to under-stand and engage

society, in terms of the

“forces of history.” � ese people impressed

on me that to bring about

social change you had to study and

clearly understand

the forces of society.

Clearly this man

was a radical activist, an intellectual

and a strategist who apparently commended

the respect of the room. I sat up.

“Who the hell is that?” I asked Gene.

“Why,” he said, “that’s Bayard Rustin, the socialist.”

A lot of youth

would gather in the evenings and

we’d all just dig the music and

show o� the latest

dance moves. � at was when I recieved

my � rst groundation in our

culture in America. It came from

that music.

Mah people,

Mah people,If you only knew who

you were,

You could not live the way

you do.

One day I asked

Mr. Michaux about Padmore.

He showed me a copy of Padmore’s

Pan Africanism or

Communism. I was fascinated.

You know Stokely

says he wants to go into

medicine, but, you know, I think

his real calling will be

politics.

“� at’s the Nonviolent

Action Group from Howard

University. Why’nt you join us?

I studied

those striking masks and artifacts

trying to imagine the stories

they contained and to visualize

the people

who had made them and the cultures

that had produced these artists.

While I was sifting

through all these new political

and cultural experiences and impressions, trying

to come toclear terms with

my people’s

identity and cultural reality, � guring

out my own relationship to it all and what it all

meant, Sterling Brown

reached out to us.

� us in about nine

months, thanks to Mrs. Baker,

an isolated and impulsive act of de� ance,

a tentaive gesture

coming out of a dormitory-room bull

session, had evolved into an

organization.

It is no wonder then that

our sisters

proved such dependable and admi-

rable partners in

struggle.

We were where we were

only because of our willingness

to a� rm our

beliefs even at the risk of

physical injury. So it was never dull on

death row.

But what Malcom

demonstrated that night in Crampton

Auditorium on the Howard campus

was the raw power,

the visceral potency, of the grip

our unarticulated collective

blackness held over us.

If you will promise

me, your elder brother,

that you will never, ever accept any of the

many derogratory, degrading,

and reductive de� nitions that this

society has ready for you, then I,

Jimmy Baldwin, promise you I shall never

betray you.

When I met thefamily, I discovered that

her mom, Mrs. Lulabelle

Johnson, took care of the twelve children of the family.

Yet there was always a bed

and something to eat for me in that

house.

But I never really began to feel

it until I looked into the eyes and lined

faces of men like

Amzie Moore, Mr. Dewey Greene,

Mr. Hartman Turnbow, Mr. E.W. Steptoe, or

Mr. C.C. Bryant and listened to their voic-

es telling their stories.

� en our history became real to me.

Mrs. Hamer replied,

“� at’s just what I’m trying to git

out of. � ings be like they always

was? I want change.”

Yet the loyalty, respect, and a� ection

with which the local

people, atleast those active in the

struggle, regarded their leader was

unmistakable.

� e entire Boynton family

were warriors. � e plainti� in the Supreme Court case

Boyton vs.

Virginia, which integrated bus travel, was

her son. Her husband also had

been a highly respected

leader, who managed to continue the

� ght literally from his grave.

� e recruiting of people

and the setting up of a grassroots

organizational structure went quickly. Mr. Hulett,

our lone registered voter, was key.

Jon’s murder

grieved us. However, from then on, a little too late,

the project sta� took the strong

position, nonnegotiatable, that to

allow whites in would be

tantamount to inviting their deaths.

But when Huey P. Newton

said anything, you could see that it was something that had been

carefully though out.

When I � rst met them, he was

the one that

impressed me.

“Well, no, Stokely.

I wasn’t saying that at all.

But y’know, that isn’t such a bad idea.

� e Good Lord knows you going need all the

help you can get.

Besides, I’ll be preaching.”“In that case,

Dr. King, you know I’m goin’ be

there.”

He was like a younger

brother to me. I knew Cleve

and would trust him with my

life.

Now an editor with a big publisher,

she wondered whether it wouldn’t be

valuable to expand the

Black Power paper into a

full-length book.

You couldn’t help noticing

him. Something about

Michael X set him apart from the

other students.

Dr. Castro was just on top of

everything, Jack.

Every aspect a� ecting the revolution.

He obviously had a clear, complete

vision of the new and humane society

he wished to bring about.

� en Mrs. Du Bois

said, “Do you know Nkrumah?”

I said, “Of course, who doesn’t know Nkrumah?

I’ve read all—”

“I meant have you met him?

Would you like to?”

Ho Chi Minh was a great man.

He clari� ed

many things for me. He had a real appreciation

for our struggle in America.

Of all the

incredible things that had been

happening during this trip,

this had to be, hands down,

the most unbelievable.

I mean, to meet this beautiful,

entirely remarkable woman again.

What had most impressed

me was the sensitive and principled

way Sékou Touré,

his government, and his party did it,

in the true spirit of

Pan-Africanism and the highest values

of our tradional cultures.

Since that day my name has

been Kwame Ture.

I hope I’ve tried to liveup to

the responsibility it carries.

In Tanzania the Sebakos

impressed me greatly. Africa needs

more leaders like

these, I thought.

First Lamin was

heartbroken, then outraged.

He decided to gradutate, then to make

his way to Guinea to

work for the Osageyfo.

Leiutenant Kouyate was

passionatley committed to the

liberation of the continent and in

constant touch with all the

groups. So I could

learn a lot from

him.

Damn the money. I will die

before I sell out for the white man’s

money.”

Well, let me tell you

one thing. If you

leave Guinea now

you will be making a very great

mistake.Inspire 23

“Don’t ever lie, always speak

the truth. Remember the less

fortunate. Waste

not, want not.

� ink of others always.

Never waste food. Never waste anything that

someone else might need.”

� e Indians made a

profound impression on me.

At this time, being the more recent

arrivals, they frequently wore

their national dress,

spoke their national

languages, and

maintained their religous faith and practice.

My mother was, and remains, voluble,

passionate, impulsive,

and excitable. She was an excellent

seamstress. So that in any

� nancial crisis, we could usually

depend on May Charles

to produce it from somewhere.

� at barbershop became for

me a necessary corrective,

an early window into an African-Ameri-

can worldview and

sensibility, a crucially important

counterpoint of reference for those.

“Boy, you hear me,

those black men

marched right out of prison and into

power,” my father exulted.

Marxism o� ered me an approach,

a coherent point of view

from which to under-stand and engage

society, in terms of the

“forces of history.” � ese people impressed

on me that to bring about

social change you had to study and

clearly understand

the forces of society.

Clearly this man

was a radical activist, an intellectual

and a strategist who apparently commended

the respect of the room. I sat up.

“Who the hell is that?” I asked Gene.

“Why,” he said, “that’s Bayard Rustin, the socialist.”

A lot of youth

would gather in the evenings and

we’d all just dig the music and

show o� the latest

dance moves. � at was when I recieved

my � rst groundation in our

culture in America. It came from

that music.

Mah people,

Mah people,If you only knew who

you were,

You could not live the way

you do.

One day I asked

Mr. Michaux about Padmore.

He showed me a copy of Padmore’s

Pan Africanism or

Communism. I was fascinated.

You know Stokely

says he wants to go into

medicine, but, you know, I think

his real calling will be

politics.

“� at’s the Nonviolent

Action Group from Howard

University. Why’nt you join us?

I studied

those striking masks and artifacts

trying to imagine the stories

they contained and to visualize

the people

who had made them and the cultures

that had produced these artists.

While I was sifting

through all these new political

and cultural experiences and impressions, trying

to come toclear terms with

my people’s

identity and cultural reality, � guring

out my own relationship to it all and what it all

meant, Sterling Brown

reached out to us.

� us in about nine

months, thanks to Mrs. Baker,

an isolated and impulsive act of de� ance,

a tentaive gesture

coming out of a dormitory-room bull

session, had evolved into an

organization.

It is no wonder then that

our sisters

proved such dependable and admi-

rable partners in

struggle.

We were where we were

only because of our willingness

to a� rm our

beliefs even at the risk of

physical injury. So it was never dull on

death row.

But what Malcom

demonstrated that night in Crampton

Auditorium on the Howard campus

was the raw power,

the visceral potency, of the grip

our unarticulated collective

blackness held over us.

If you will promise

me, your elder brother,

that you will never, ever accept any of the

many derogratory, degrading,

and reductive de� nitions that this

society has ready for you, then I,

Jimmy Baldwin, promise you I shall never

betray you.

When I met thefamily, I discovered that

her mom, Mrs. Lulabelle

Johnson, took care of the twelve children of the family.

Yet there was always a bed

and something to eat for me in that

house.

But I never really began to feel

it until I looked into the eyes and lined

faces of men like

Amzie Moore, Mr. Dewey Greene,

Mr. Hartman Turnbow, Mr. E.W. Steptoe, or

Mr. C.C. Bryant and listened to their voic-

es telling their stories.

� en our history became real to me.

Mrs. Hamer replied,

“� at’s just what I’m trying to git

out of. � ings be like they always

was? I want change.”

Yet the loyalty, respect, and a� ection

with which the local

people, atleast those active in the

struggle, regarded their leader was

unmistakable.

� e entire Boynton family

were warriors. � e plainti� in the Supreme Court case

Boyton vs.

Virginia, which integrated bus travel, was

her son. Her husband also had

been a highly respected

leader, who managed to continue the

� ght literally from his grave.

� e recruiting of people

and the setting up of a grassroots

organizational structure went quickly. Mr. Hulett,

our lone registered voter, was key.

Jon’s murder

grieved us. However, from then on, a little too late,

the project sta� took the strong

position, nonnegotiatable, that to

allow whites in would be

tantamount to inviting their deaths.

But when Huey P. Newton

said anything, you could see that it was something that had been

carefully though out.

When I � rst met them, he was

the one that

impressed me.

“Well, no, Stokely.

I wasn’t saying that at all.

But y’know, that isn’t such a bad idea.

� e Good Lord knows you going need all the

help you can get.

Besides, I’ll be preaching.”“In that case,

Dr. King, you know I’m goin’ be

there.”

He was like a younger

brother to me. I knew Cleve

and would trust him with my

life.

Now an editor with a big publisher,

she wondered whether it wouldn’t be

valuable to expand the

Black Power paper into a

full-length book.

You couldn’t help noticing

him. Something about

Michael X set him apart from the

other students.

Dr. Castro was just on top of

everything, Jack.

Every aspect a� ecting the revolution.

He obviously had a clear, complete

vision of the new and humane society

he wished to bring about.

� en Mrs. Du Bois

said, “Do you know Nkrumah?”

I said, “Of course, who doesn’t know Nkrumah?

I’ve read all—”

“I meant have you met him?

Would you like to?”

Ho Chi Minh was a great man.

He clari� ed

many things for me. He had a real appreciation

for our struggle in America.

Of all the

incredible things that had been

happening during this trip,

this had to be, hands down,

the most unbelievable.

I mean, to meet this beautiful,

entirely remarkable woman again.

What had most impressed

me was the sensitive and principled

way Sékou Touré,

his government, and his party did it,

in the true spirit of

Pan-Africanism and the highest values

of our tradional cultures.

Since that day my name has

been Kwame Ture.

I hope I’ve tried to liveup to

the responsibility it carries.

In Tanzania the Sebakos

impressed me greatly. Africa needs

more leaders like

these, I thought.

First Lamin was

heartbroken, then outraged.

He decided to gradutate, then to make

his way to Guinea to

work for the Osageyfo.

Leiutenant Kouyate was

passionatley committed to the

liberation of the continent and in

constant touch with all the

groups. So I could

learn a lot from

him.

Damn the money. I will die

before I sell out for the white man’s

money.”

Well, let me tell you

one thing. If you

leave Guinea now

you will be making a very great

mistake.Spark

While I was sifting

through all these new political

and cultural experiences and impressions, trying to

come toclear terms with

my people’s

identity and cultural reality, figuring

out my own relationship to it all and what it all

meant, Sterling Brown

reached out to us.

“Don’t ever lie, always speak

the truth. Remember the less

fortunate. Waste

not, want not.

� ink of others always.

Never waste food. Never waste anything that

someone else might need.”

� e Indians made a

profound impression on me.

At this time, being the more recent

arrivals, they frequently wore

their national dress,

spoke their national

languages, and

maintained their religous faith and practice.

My mother was, and remains, voluble,

passionate, impulsive,

and excitable. She was an excellent

seamstress. So that in any

� nancial crisis, we could usually

depend on May Charles

to produce it from somewhere.

� at barbershop became for

me a necessary corrective,

an early window into an African-Ameri-

can worldview and

sensibility, a crucially important

counterpoint of reference for those.

“Boy, you hear me,

those black men

marched right out of prison and into

power,” my father exulted.

Marxism o� ered me an approach,

a coherent point of view

from which to under-stand and engage

society, in terms of the

“forces of history.” � ese people impressed

on me that to bring about

social change you had to study and

clearly understand

the forces of society.

Clearly this man

was a radical activist, an intellectual

and a strategist who apparently commended

the respect of the room. I sat up.

“Who the hell is that?” I asked Gene.

“Why,” he said, “that’s Bayard Rustin, the socialist.”

A lot of youth

would gather in the evenings and

we’d all just dig the music and

show o� the latest

dance moves. � at was when I recieved

my � rst groundation in our

culture in America. It came from

that music.

Mah people,

Mah people,If you only knew who

you were,

You could not live the way

you do.

One day I asked

Mr. Michaux about Padmore.

He showed me a copy of Padmore’s

Pan Africanism or

Communism. I was fascinated.

You know Stokely

says he wants to go into

medicine, but, you know, I think

his real calling will be

politics.

“� at’s the Nonviolent

Action Group from Howard

University. Why’nt you join us?

I studied

those striking masks and artifacts

trying to imagine the stories

they contained and to visualize

the people

who had made them and the cultures

that had produced these artists.

While I was sifting

through all these new political

and cultural experiences and impressions, trying

to come toclear terms with

my people’s

identity and cultural reality, � guring

out my own relationship to it all and what it all

meant, Sterling Brown

reached out to us.

� us in about nine

months, thanks to Mrs. Baker,

an isolated and impulsive act of de� ance,

a tentaive gesture

coming out of a dormitory-room bull

session, had evolved into an

organization.

It is no wonder then that

our sisters

proved such dependable and admi-

rable partners in

struggle.

We were where we were

only because of our willingness

to a� rm our

beliefs even at the risk of

physical injury. So it was never dull on

death row.

But what Malcom

demonstrated that night in Crampton

Auditorium on the Howard campus

was the raw power,

the visceral potency, of the grip

our unarticulated collective

blackness held over us.

If you will promise

me, your elder brother,

that you will never, ever accept any of the

many derogratory, degrading,

and reductive de� nitions that this

society has ready for you, then I,

Jimmy Baldwin, promise you I shall never

betray you.

When I met thefamily, I discovered that

her mom, Mrs. Lulabelle

Johnson, took care of the twelve children of the family.

Yet there was always a bed

and something to eat for me in that

house.

But I never really began to feel

it until I looked into the eyes and lined

faces of men like

Amzie Moore, Mr. Dewey Greene,

Mr. Hartman Turnbow, Mr. E.W. Steptoe, or

Mr. C.C. Bryant and listened to their voic-

es telling their stories.

� en our history became real to me.

Mrs. Hamer replied,

“� at’s just what I’m trying to git

out of. � ings be like they always

was? I want change.”

Yet the loyalty, respect, and a� ection

with which the local

people, atleast those active in the

struggle, regarded their leader was

unmistakable.

� e entire Boynton family

were warriors. � e plainti� in the Supreme Court case

Boyton vs.

Virginia, which integrated bus travel, was

her son. Her husband also had

been a highly respected

leader, who managed to continue the

� ght literally from his grave.

� e recruiting of people

and the setting up of a grassroots

organizational structure went quickly. Mr. Hulett,

our lone registered voter, was key.

Jon’s murder

grieved us. However, from then on, a little too late,

the project sta� took the strong

position, nonnegotiatable, that to

allow whites in would be

tantamount to inviting their deaths.

But when Huey P. Newton

said anything, you could see that it was something that had been

carefully though out.

When I � rst met them, he was

the one that

impressed me.

“Well, no, Stokely.

I wasn’t saying that at all.

But y’know, that isn’t such a bad idea.

� e Good Lord knows you going need all the

help you can get.

Besides, I’ll be preaching.”“In that case,

Dr. King, you know I’m goin’ be

there.”

He was like a younger

brother to me. I knew Cleve

and would trust him with my

life.

Now an editor with a big publisher,

she wondered whether it wouldn’t be

valuable to expand the

Black Power paper into a

full-length book.

You couldn’t help noticing

him. Something about

Michael X set him apart from the

other students.

Dr. Castro was just on top of

everything, Jack.

Every aspect a� ecting the revolution.

He obviously had a clear, complete

vision of the new and humane society

he wished to bring about.

� en Mrs. Du Bois

said, “Do you know Nkrumah?”

I said, “Of course, who doesn’t know Nkrumah?

I’ve read all—”

“I meant have you met him?

Would you like to?”

Ho Chi Minh was a great man.

He clari� ed

many things for me. He had a real appreciation

for our struggle in America.

Of all the

incredible things that had been

happening during this trip,

this had to be, hands down,

the most unbelievable.

I mean, to meet this beautiful,

entirely remarkable woman again.

What had most impressed

me was the sensitive and principled

way Sékou Touré,

his government, and his party did it,

in the true spirit of

Pan-Africanism and the highest values

of our tradional cultures.

Since that day my name has

been Kwame Ture.

I hope I’ve tried to liveup to

the responsibility it carries.

In Tanzania the Sebakos

impressed me greatly. Africa needs

more leaders like

these, I thought.

First Lamin was

heartbroken, then outraged.

He decided to gradutate, then to make

his way to Guinea to

work for the Osageyfo.

Leiutenant Kouyate was

passionatley committed to the

liberation of the continent and in

constant touch with all the

groups. So I could

learn a lot from

him.

Damn the money. I will die

before I sell out for the white man’s

money.”

Well, let me tell you

one thing. If you

leave Guinea now

you will be making a very great

mistake.Inspire 25

Thus in about nine

months, thanks to Mrs. Baker,

an isolated and impulsive act of defiance,

a tentative gesture

coming out of a dormitory-room bull

session, had evolved into an

organization.

“Don’t ever lie, always speak

the truth. Remember the less

fortunate. Waste

not, want not.

� ink of others always.

Never waste food. Never waste anything that

someone else might need.”

� e Indians made a

profound impression on me.

At this time, being the more recent

arrivals, they frequently wore

their national dress,

spoke their national

languages, and

maintained their religous faith and practice.

My mother was, and remains, voluble,

passionate, impulsive,

and excitable. She was an excellent

seamstress. So that in any

� nancial crisis, we could usually

depend on May Charles

to produce it from somewhere.

� at barbershop became for

me a necessary corrective,

an early window into an African-Ameri-

can worldview and

sensibility, a crucially important

counterpoint of reference for those.

“Boy, you hear me,

those black men

marched right out of prison and into

power,” my father exulted.

Marxism o� ered me an approach,

a coherent point of view

from which to under-stand and engage

society, in terms of the

“forces of history.” � ese people impressed

on me that to bring about

social change you had to study and

clearly understand

the forces of society.

Clearly this man

was a radical activist, an intellectual

and a strategist who apparently commended

the respect of the room. I sat up.

“Who the hell is that?” I asked Gene.

“Why,” he said, “that’s Bayard Rustin, the socialist.”

A lot of youth

would gather in the evenings and

we’d all just dig the music and

show o� the latest

dance moves. � at was when I recieved

my � rst groundation in our

culture in America. It came from

that music.

Mah people,

Mah people,If you only knew who

you were,

You could not live the way

you do.

One day I asked

Mr. Michaux about Padmore.

He showed me a copy of Padmore’s

Pan Africanism or

Communism. I was fascinated.

You know Stokely

says he wants to go into

medicine, but, you know, I think

his real calling will be

politics.

“� at’s the Nonviolent

Action Group from Howard

University. Why’nt you join us?

I studied

those striking masks and artifacts

trying to imagine the stories

they contained and to visualize

the people

who had made them and the cultures

that had produced these artists.

While I was sifting

through all these new political

and cultural experiences and impressions, trying

to come toclear terms with

my people’s

identity and cultural reality, � guring

out my own relationship to it all and what it all

meant, Sterling Brown

reached out to us.

� us in about nine

months, thanks to Mrs. Baker,

an isolated and impulsive act of de� ance,

a tentaive gesture

coming out of a dormitory-room bull

session, had evolved into an

organization.

It is no wonder then that

our sisters

proved such dependable and admi-

rable partners in

struggle.

We were where we were

only because of our willingness

to a� rm our

beliefs even at the risk of

physical injury. So it was never dull on

death row.

But what Malcom

demonstrated that night in Crampton

Auditorium on the Howard campus

was the raw power,

the visceral potency, of the grip

our unarticulated collective

blackness held over us.

If you will promise

me, your elder brother,

that you will never, ever accept any of the

many derogratory, degrading,

and reductive de� nitions that this

society has ready for you, then I,

Jimmy Baldwin, promise you I shall never

betray you.

When I met thefamily, I discovered that

her mom, Mrs. Lulabelle

Johnson, took care of the twelve children of the family.

Yet there was always a bed

and something to eat for me in that

house.

But I never really began to feel

it until I looked into the eyes and lined

faces of men like

Amzie Moore, Mr. Dewey Greene,

Mr. Hartman Turnbow, Mr. E.W. Steptoe, or

Mr. C.C. Bryant and listened to their voic-

es telling their stories.

� en our history became real to me.

Mrs. Hamer replied,

“� at’s just what I’m trying to git

out of. � ings be like they always

was? I want change.”

Yet the loyalty, respect, and a� ection

with which the local

people, atleast those active in the

struggle, regarded their leader was

unmistakable.

� e entire Boynton family

were warriors. � e plainti� in the Supreme Court case

Boyton vs.

Virginia, which integrated bus travel, was

her son. Her husband also had

been a highly respected

leader, who managed to continue the

� ght literally from his grave.

� e recruiting of people

and the setting up of a grassroots

organizational structure went quickly. Mr. Hulett,

our lone registered voter, was key.

Jon’s murder

grieved us. However, from then on, a little too late,

the project sta� took the strong

position, nonnegotiatable, that to

allow whites in would be

tantamount to inviting their deaths.

But when Huey P. Newton

said anything, you could see that it was something that had been

carefully though out.

When I � rst met them, he was

the one that

impressed me.

“Well, no, Stokely.

I wasn’t saying that at all.

But y’know, that isn’t such a bad idea.

� e Good Lord knows you going need all the

help you can get.

Besides, I’ll be preaching.”“In that case,

Dr. King, you know I’m goin’ be

there.”

He was like a younger

brother to me. I knew Cleve

and would trust him with my

life.

Now an editor with a big publisher,

she wondered whether it wouldn’t be

valuable to expand the

Black Power paper into a

full-length book.

You couldn’t help noticing

him. Something about

Michael X set him apart from the

other students.

Dr. Castro was just on top of

everything, Jack.

Every aspect a� ecting the revolution.

He obviously had a clear, complete

vision of the new and humane society

he wished to bring about.

� en Mrs. Du Bois

said, “Do you know Nkrumah?”

I said, “Of course, who doesn’t know Nkrumah?

I’ve read all—”

“I meant have you met him?

Would you like to?”

Ho Chi Minh was a great man.

He clari� ed

many things for me. He had a real appreciation

for our struggle in America.

Of all the

incredible things that had been

happening during this trip,

this had to be, hands down,

the most unbelievable.

I mean, to meet this beautiful,

entirely remarkable woman again.

What had most impressed

me was the sensitive and principled

way Sékou Touré,

his government, and his party did it,

in the true spirit of

Pan-Africanism and the highest values

of our tradional cultures.

Since that day my name has

been Kwame Ture.

I hope I’ve tried to liveup to

the responsibility it carries.

In Tanzania the Sebakos

impressed me greatly. Africa needs

more leaders like

these, I thought.

First Lamin was

heartbroken, then outraged.

He decided to gradutate, then to make

his way to Guinea to

work for the Osageyfo.

Leiutenant Kouyate was

passionatley committed to the

liberation of the continent and in

constant touch with all the

groups. So I could

learn a lot from

him.

Damn the money. I will die

before I sell out for the white man’s

money.”

Well, let me tell you

one thing. If you

leave Guinea now

you will be making a very great

mistake.Spark

It is no wonder then that

our sisters

proved such dependable and admirable

partners in struggle.

“Don’t ever lie, always speak

the truth. Remember the less

fortunate. Waste

not, want not.

� ink of others always.

Never waste food. Never waste anything that

someone else might need.”

� e Indians made a

profound impression on me.

At this time, being the more recent

arrivals, they frequently wore

their national dress,

spoke their national

languages, and

maintained their religous faith and practice.

My mother was, and remains, voluble,

passionate, impulsive,

and excitable. She was an excellent

seamstress. So that in any

� nancial crisis, we could usually

depend on May Charles

to produce it from somewhere.

� at barbershop became for

me a necessary corrective,

an early window into an African-Ameri-

can worldview and

sensibility, a crucially important

counterpoint of reference for those.

“Boy, you hear me,

those black men

marched right out of prison and into

power,” my father exulted.

Marxism o� ered me an approach,

a coherent point of view

from which to under-stand and engage

society, in terms of the

“forces of history.” � ese people impressed

on me that to bring about

social change you had to study and

clearly understand

the forces of society.

Clearly this man

was a radical activist, an intellectual

and a strategist who apparently commended

the respect of the room. I sat up.

“Who the hell is that?” I asked Gene.

“Why,” he said, “that’s Bayard Rustin, the socialist.”

A lot of youth

would gather in the evenings and

we’d all just dig the music and

show o� the latest

dance moves. � at was when I recieved

my � rst groundation in our

culture in America. It came from

that music.

Mah people,

Mah people,If you only knew who

you were,

You could not live the way

you do.

One day I asked

Mr. Michaux about Padmore.

He showed me a copy of Padmore’s

Pan Africanism or

Communism. I was fascinated.

You know Stokely

says he wants to go into

medicine, but, you know, I think

his real calling will be

politics.

“� at’s the Nonviolent

Action Group from Howard

University. Why’nt you join us?

I studied

those striking masks and artifacts

trying to imagine the stories

they contained and to visualize

the people

who had made them and the cultures

that had produced these artists.

While I was sifting

through all these new political

and cultural experiences and impressions, trying

to come toclear terms with

my people’s

identity and cultural reality, � guring

out my own relationship to it all and what it all

meant, Sterling Brown

reached out to us.

� us in about nine

months, thanks to Mrs. Baker,

an isolated and impulsive act of de� ance,

a tentaive gesture

coming out of a dormitory-room bull

session, had evolved into an

organization.

It is no wonder then that

our sisters

proved such dependable and admi-

rable partners in

struggle.

We were where we were

only because of our willingness

to a� rm our

beliefs even at the risk of

physical injury. So it was never dull on

death row.

But what Malcom

demonstrated that night in Crampton

Auditorium on the Howard campus

was the raw power,

the visceral potency, of the grip

our unarticulated collective

blackness held over us.

If you will promise

me, your elder brother,

that you will never, ever accept any of the

many derogratory, degrading,

and reductive de� nitions that this

society has ready for you, then I,

Jimmy Baldwin, promise you I shall never

betray you.

When I met thefamily, I discovered that

her mom, Mrs. Lulabelle

Johnson, took care of the twelve children of the family.

Yet there was always a bed

and something to eat for me in that

house.

But I never really began to feel

it until I looked into the eyes and lined

faces of men like

Amzie Moore, Mr. Dewey Greene,

Mr. Hartman Turnbow, Mr. E.W. Steptoe, or

Mr. C.C. Bryant and listened to their voic-

es telling their stories.

� en our history became real to me.

Mrs. Hamer replied,

“� at’s just what I’m trying to git

out of. � ings be like they always

was? I want change.”

Yet the loyalty, respect, and a� ection

with which the local

people, atleast those active in the

struggle, regarded their leader was

unmistakable.

� e entire Boynton family

were warriors. � e plainti� in the Supreme Court case

Boyton vs.

Virginia, which integrated bus travel, was

her son. Her husband also had

been a highly respected

leader, who managed to continue the

� ght literally from his grave.

� e recruiting of people

and the setting up of a grassroots

organizational structure went quickly. Mr. Hulett,

our lone registered voter, was key.

Jon’s murder

grieved us. However, from then on, a little too late,

the project sta� took the strong

position, nonnegotiatable, that to

allow whites in would be

tantamount to inviting their deaths.

But when Huey P. Newton

said anything, you could see that it was something that had been

carefully though out.

When I � rst met them, he was

the one that

impressed me.

“Well, no, Stokely.

I wasn’t saying that at all.

But y’know, that isn’t such a bad idea.

� e Good Lord knows you going need all the

help you can get.

Besides, I’ll be preaching.”“In that case,

Dr. King, you know I’m goin’ be

there.”

He was like a younger

brother to me. I knew Cleve

and would trust him with my

life.

Now an editor with a big publisher,

she wondered whether it wouldn’t be

valuable to expand the

Black Power paper into a

full-length book.

You couldn’t help noticing

him. Something about

Michael X set him apart from the

other students.

Dr. Castro was just on top of

everything, Jack.

Every aspect a� ecting the revolution.

He obviously had a clear, complete

vision of the new and humane society

he wished to bring about.

� en Mrs. Du Bois

said, “Do you know Nkrumah?”

I said, “Of course, who doesn’t know Nkrumah?

I’ve read all—”

“I meant have you met him?

Would you like to?”

Ho Chi Minh was a great man.

He clari� ed

many things for me. He had a real appreciation

for our struggle in America.

Of all the

incredible things that had been

happening during this trip,

this had to be, hands down,

the most unbelievable.

I mean, to meet this beautiful,

entirely remarkable woman again.

What had most impressed

me was the sensitive and principled

way Sékou Touré,

his government, and his party did it,

in the true spirit of

Pan-Africanism and the highest values

of our tradional cultures.

Since that day my name has

been Kwame Ture.

I hope I’ve tried to liveup to

the responsibility it carries.

In Tanzania the Sebakos

impressed me greatly. Africa needs

more leaders like

these, I thought.

First Lamin was

heartbroken, then outraged.

He decided to gradutate, then to make

his way to Guinea to

work for the Osageyfo.

Leiutenant Kouyate was

passionatley committed to the

liberation of the continent and in

constant touch with all the

groups. So I could

learn a lot from

him.

Damn the money. I will die

before I sell out for the white man’s

money.”

Well, let me tell you

one thing. If you

leave Guinea now

you will be making a very great

mistake.Inspire 27

We were where we were

only because of our willingness

to affirm our

beliefs even at the risk of

physical injury. So it was never dull on

death row.

“Don’t ever lie, always speak

the truth. Remember the less

fortunate. Waste

not, want not.

� ink of others always.

Never waste food. Never waste anything that

someone else might need.”

� e Indians made a

profound impression on me.

At this time, being the more recent

arrivals, they frequently wore

their national dress,

spoke their national

languages, and

maintained their religous faith and practice.

My mother was, and remains, voluble,

passionate, impulsive,

and excitable. She was an excellent

seamstress. So that in any

� nancial crisis, we could usually

depend on May Charles

to produce it from somewhere.

� at barbershop became for

me a necessary corrective,

an early window into an African-Ameri-

can worldview and

sensibility, a crucially important

counterpoint of reference for those.

“Boy, you hear me,

those black men

marched right out of prison and into

power,” my father exulted.

Marxism o� ered me an approach,

a coherent point of view

from which to under-stand and engage

society, in terms of the

“forces of history.” � ese people impressed

on me that to bring about

social change you had to study and

clearly understand

the forces of society.

Clearly this man

was a radical activist, an intellectual

and a strategist who apparently commended

the respect of the room. I sat up.

“Who the hell is that?” I asked Gene.

“Why,” he said, “that’s Bayard Rustin, the socialist.”

A lot of youth

would gather in the evenings and

we’d all just dig the music and

show o� the latest

dance moves. � at was when I recieved

my � rst groundation in our

culture in America. It came from

that music.

Mah people,

Mah people,If you only knew who

you were,

You could not live the way

you do.

One day I asked

Mr. Michaux about Padmore.

He showed me a copy of Padmore’s

Pan Africanism or

Communism. I was fascinated.

You know Stokely

says he wants to go into

medicine, but, you know, I think

his real calling will be

politics.

“� at’s the Nonviolent

Action Group from Howard

University. Why’nt you join us?

I studied

those striking masks and artifacts

trying to imagine the stories

they contained and to visualize

the people

who had made them and the cultures

that had produced these artists.

While I was sifting

through all these new political

and cultural experiences and impressions, trying

to come toclear terms with

my people’s

identity and cultural reality, � guring

out my own relationship to it all and what it all

meant, Sterling Brown

reached out to us.

� us in about nine

months, thanks to Mrs. Baker,

an isolated and impulsive act of de� ance,

a tentaive gesture

coming out of a dormitory-room bull

session, had evolved into an

organization.

It is no wonder then that

our sisters

proved such dependable and admi-

rable partners in

struggle.

We were where we were

only because of our willingness

to a� rm our

beliefs even at the risk of

physical injury. So it was never dull on

death row.

But what Malcom

demonstrated that night in Crampton

Auditorium on the Howard campus

was the raw power,

the visceral potency, of the grip

our unarticulated collective

blackness held over us.

If you will promise

me, your elder brother,

that you will never, ever accept any of the

many derogratory, degrading,

and reductive de� nitions that this

society has ready for you, then I,

Jimmy Baldwin, promise you I shall never

betray you.

When I met thefamily, I discovered that

her mom, Mrs. Lulabelle

Johnson, took care of the twelve children of the family.

Yet there was always a bed

and something to eat for me in that

house.

But I never really began to feel

it until I looked into the eyes and lined

faces of men like

Amzie Moore, Mr. Dewey Greene,

Mr. Hartman Turnbow, Mr. E.W. Steptoe, or

Mr. C.C. Bryant and listened to their voic-

es telling their stories.

� en our history became real to me.

Mrs. Hamer replied,

“� at’s just what I’m trying to git

out of. � ings be like they always

was? I want change.”

Yet the loyalty, respect, and a� ection

with which the local

people, atleast those active in the

struggle, regarded their leader was

unmistakable.

� e entire Boynton family

were warriors. � e plainti� in the Supreme Court case

Boyton vs.

Virginia, which integrated bus travel, was

her son. Her husband also had

been a highly respected

leader, who managed to continue the

� ght literally from his grave.

� e recruiting of people

and the setting up of a grassroots

organizational structure went quickly. Mr. Hulett,

our lone registered voter, was key.

Jon’s murder

grieved us. However, from then on, a little too late,

the project sta� took the strong

position, nonnegotiatable, that to

allow whites in would be

tantamount to inviting their deaths.

But when Huey P. Newton

said anything, you could see that it was something that had been

carefully though out.

When I � rst met them, he was

the one that

impressed me.

“Well, no, Stokely.

I wasn’t saying that at all.

But y’know, that isn’t such a bad idea.

� e Good Lord knows you going need all the

help you can get.

Besides, I’ll be preaching.”“In that case,

Dr. King, you know I’m goin’ be

there.”

He was like a younger

brother to me. I knew Cleve

and would trust him with my

life.

Now an editor with a big publisher,

she wondered whether it wouldn’t be

valuable to expand the

Black Power paper into a

full-length book.

You couldn’t help noticing

him. Something about

Michael X set him apart from the

other students.

Dr. Castro was just on top of

everything, Jack.

Every aspect a� ecting the revolution.

He obviously had a clear, complete

vision of the new and humane society

he wished to bring about.

� en Mrs. Du Bois

said, “Do you know Nkrumah?”

I said, “Of course, who doesn’t know Nkrumah?

I’ve read all—”

“I meant have you met him?

Would you like to?”

Ho Chi Minh was a great man.

He clari� ed

many things for me. He had a real appreciation

for our struggle in America.

Of all the

incredible things that had been

happening during this trip,

this had to be, hands down,

the most unbelievable.

I mean, to meet this beautiful,

entirely remarkable woman again.

What had most impressed

me was the sensitive and principled

way Sékou Touré,

his government, and his party did it,

in the true spirit of

Pan-Africanism and the highest values

of our tradional cultures.

Since that day my name has

been Kwame Ture.

I hope I’ve tried to liveup to

the responsibility it carries.

In Tanzania the Sebakos

impressed me greatly. Africa needs

more leaders like

these, I thought.

First Lamin was

heartbroken, then outraged.

He decided to gradutate, then to make

his way to Guinea to

work for the Osageyfo.

Leiutenant Kouyate was

passionatley committed to the

liberation of the continent and in

constant touch with all the

groups. So I could

learn a lot from

him.

Damn the money. I will die

before I sell out for the white man’s

money.”

Well, let me tell you

one thing. If you

leave Guinea now

you will be making a very great

mistake.Spark

But what Malcolm

demonstrated that night in Crampton

Auditorium on the Howard campus

was the raw power,

the visceral potency, of the grip

our unarticulated collective

blackness held over us.

“Don’t ever lie, always speak

the truth. Remember the less

fortunate. Waste

not, want not.

� ink of others always.

Never waste food. Never waste anything that

someone else might need.”

� e Indians made a

profound impression on me.

At this time, being the more recent

arrivals, they frequently wore

their national dress,

spoke their national

languages, and

maintained their religous faith and practice.

My mother was, and remains, voluble,

passionate, impulsive,

and excitable. She was an excellent

seamstress. So that in any

� nancial crisis, we could usually

depend on May Charles

to produce it from somewhere.

� at barbershop became for

me a necessary corrective,

an early window into an African-Ameri-

can worldview and

sensibility, a crucially important

counterpoint of reference for those.

“Boy, you hear me,

those black men

marched right out of prison and into

power,” my father exulted.

Marxism o� ered me an approach,

a coherent point of view

from which to under-stand and engage

society, in terms of the

“forces of history.” � ese people impressed

on me that to bring about

social change you had to study and

clearly understand

the forces of society.

Clearly this man

was a radical activist, an intellectual

and a strategist who apparently commended

the respect of the room. I sat up.

“Who the hell is that?” I asked Gene.

“Why,” he said, “that’s Bayard Rustin, the socialist.”

A lot of youth

would gather in the evenings and

we’d all just dig the music and

show o� the latest

dance moves. � at was when I recieved

my � rst groundation in our

culture in America. It came from

that music.

Mah people,

Mah people,If you only knew who

you were,

You could not live the way

you do.

One day I asked

Mr. Michaux about Padmore.

He showed me a copy of Padmore’s

Pan Africanism or

Communism. I was fascinated.

You know Stokely

says he wants to go into

medicine, but, you know, I think

his real calling will be

politics.

“� at’s the Nonviolent

Action Group from Howard

University. Why’nt you join us?

I studied

those striking masks and artifacts

trying to imagine the stories

they contained and to visualize

the people

who had made them and the cultures

that had produced these artists.

While I was sifting

through all these new political

and cultural experiences and impressions, trying

to come toclear terms with

my people’s

identity and cultural reality, � guring

out my own relationship to it all and what it all

meant, Sterling Brown

reached out to us.

� us in about nine

months, thanks to Mrs. Baker,

an isolated and impulsive act of de� ance,

a tentaive gesture

coming out of a dormitory-room bull

session, had evolved into an

organization.

It is no wonder then that

our sisters

proved such dependable and admi-

rable partners in

struggle.

We were where we were

only because of our willingness

to a� rm our

beliefs even at the risk of

physical injury. So it was never dull on

death row.

But what Malcom

demonstrated that night in Crampton

Auditorium on the Howard campus

was the raw power,

the visceral potency, of the grip

our unarticulated collective

blackness held over us.

If you will promise

me, your elder brother,

that you will never, ever accept any of the

many derogratory, degrading,

and reductive de� nitions that this

society has ready for you, then I,

Jimmy Baldwin, promise you I shall never

betray you.

When I met thefamily, I discovered that

her mom, Mrs. Lulabelle

Johnson, took care of the twelve children of the family.

Yet there was always a bed

and something to eat for me in that

house.

But I never really began to feel

it until I looked into the eyes and lined

faces of men like

Amzie Moore, Mr. Dewey Greene,

Mr. Hartman Turnbow, Mr. E.W. Steptoe, or

Mr. C.C. Bryant and listened to their voic-

es telling their stories.

� en our history became real to me.

Mrs. Hamer replied,

“� at’s just what I’m trying to git

out of. � ings be like they always

was? I want change.”

Yet the loyalty, respect, and a� ection

with which the local

people, atleast those active in the

struggle, regarded their leader was

unmistakable.

� e entire Boynton family

were warriors. � e plainti� in the Supreme Court case

Boyton vs.

Virginia, which integrated bus travel, was

her son. Her husband also had

been a highly respected

leader, who managed to continue the

� ght literally from his grave.

� e recruiting of people

and the setting up of a grassroots

organizational structure went quickly. Mr. Hulett,

our lone registered voter, was key.

Jon’s murder

grieved us. However, from then on, a little too late,

the project sta� took the strong

position, nonnegotiatable, that to

allow whites in would be

tantamount to inviting their deaths.

But when Huey P. Newton

said anything, you could see that it was something that had been

carefully though out.

When I � rst met them, he was

the one that

impressed me.

“Well, no, Stokely.

I wasn’t saying that at all.

But y’know, that isn’t such a bad idea.

� e Good Lord knows you going need all the

help you can get.

Besides, I’ll be preaching.”“In that case,

Dr. King, you know I’m goin’ be

there.”

He was like a younger

brother to me. I knew Cleve

and would trust him with my

life.

Now an editor with a big publisher,

she wondered whether it wouldn’t be

valuable to expand the

Black Power paper into a

full-length book.

You couldn’t help noticing

him. Something about

Michael X set him apart from the

other students.

Dr. Castro was just on top of

everything, Jack.

Every aspect a� ecting the revolution.

He obviously had a clear, complete

vision of the new and humane society

he wished to bring about.

� en Mrs. Du Bois

said, “Do you know Nkrumah?”

I said, “Of course, who doesn’t know Nkrumah?

I’ve read all—”

“I meant have you met him?

Would you like to?”

Ho Chi Minh was a great man.

He clari� ed

many things for me. He had a real appreciation

for our struggle in America.

Of all the

incredible things that had been

happening during this trip,

this had to be, hands down,

the most unbelievable.

I mean, to meet this beautiful,

entirely remarkable woman again.

What had most impressed

me was the sensitive and principled

way Sékou Touré,

his government, and his party did it,

in the true spirit of

Pan-Africanism and the highest values

of our tradional cultures.

Since that day my name has

been Kwame Ture.

I hope I’ve tried to liveup to

the responsibility it carries.

In Tanzania the Sebakos

impressed me greatly. Africa needs

more leaders like

these, I thought.

First Lamin was

heartbroken, then outraged.

He decided to gradutate, then to make

his way to Guinea to

work for the Osageyfo.

Leiutenant Kouyate was

passionatley committed to the

liberation of the continent and in

constant touch with all the

groups. So I could

learn a lot from

him.

Damn the money. I will die

before I sell out for the white man’s

money.”

Well, let me tell you

one thing. If you

leave Guinea now

you will be making a very great

mistake.Inspire 29

“If you will promise

me, your elder brother,

that you will never, ever accept any of the

many derogatory, degrading,

and reductive definitions that this

society has ready for you, then I,

Jimmy Baldwin, promise you I shall never

betray you.”

“Don’t ever lie, always speak

the truth. Remember the less

fortunate. Waste

not, want not.

� ink of others always.

Never waste food. Never waste anything that

someone else might need.”

� e Indians made a

profound impression on me.

At this time, being the more recent

arrivals, they frequently wore

their national dress,

spoke their national

languages, and

maintained their religous faith and practice.

My mother was, and remains, voluble,

passionate, impulsive,

and excitable. She was an excellent

seamstress. So that in any

� nancial crisis, we could usually

depend on May Charles

to produce it from somewhere.

� at barbershop became for

me a necessary corrective,

an early window into an African-Ameri-

can worldview and

sensibility, a crucially important

counterpoint of reference for those.

“Boy, you hear me,

those black men

marched right out of prison and into

power,” my father exulted.

Marxism o� ered me an approach,

a coherent point of view

from which to under-stand and engage

society, in terms of the

“forces of history.” � ese people impressed

on me that to bring about

social change you had to study and

clearly understand

the forces of society.

Clearly this man

was a radical activist, an intellectual

and a strategist who apparently commended

the respect of the room. I sat up.

“Who the hell is that?” I asked Gene.

“Why,” he said, “that’s Bayard Rustin, the socialist.”

A lot of youth

would gather in the evenings and

we’d all just dig the music and

show o� the latest

dance moves. � at was when I recieved

my � rst groundation in our

culture in America. It came from

that music.

Mah people,

Mah people,If you only knew who

you were,

You could not live the way

you do.

One day I asked

Mr. Michaux about Padmore.

He showed me a copy of Padmore’s

Pan Africanism or

Communism. I was fascinated.

You know Stokely

says he wants to go into

medicine, but, you know, I think

his real calling will be

politics.

“� at’s the Nonviolent

Action Group from Howard

University. Why’nt you join us?

I studied

those striking masks and artifacts

trying to imagine the stories

they contained and to visualize

the people

who had made them and the cultures

that had produced these artists.

While I was sifting

through all these new political

and cultural experiences and impressions, trying

to come toclear terms with

my people’s

identity and cultural reality, � guring

out my own relationship to it all and what it all

meant, Sterling Brown

reached out to us.

� us in about nine

months, thanks to Mrs. Baker,

an isolated and impulsive act of de� ance,

a tentaive gesture

coming out of a dormitory-room bull

session, had evolved into an

organization.

It is no wonder then that

our sisters

proved such dependable and admi-

rable partners in

struggle.

We were where we were

only because of our willingness

to a� rm our

beliefs even at the risk of

physical injury. So it was never dull on

death row.

But what Malcom

demonstrated that night in Crampton

Auditorium on the Howard campus

was the raw power,

the visceral potency, of the grip

our unarticulated collective

blackness held over us.

If you will promise

me, your elder brother,

that you will never, ever accept any of the

many derogratory, degrading,

and reductive de� nitions that this

society has ready for you, then I,

Jimmy Baldwin, promise you I shall never

betray you.

When I met thefamily, I discovered that

her mom, Mrs. Lulabelle

Johnson, took care of the twelve children of the family.

Yet there was always a bed

and something to eat for me in that

house.

But I never really began to feel

it until I looked into the eyes and lined

faces of men like

Amzie Moore, Mr. Dewey Greene,

Mr. Hartman Turnbow, Mr. E.W. Steptoe, or

Mr. C.C. Bryant and listened to their voic-

es telling their stories.

� en our history became real to me.

Mrs. Hamer replied,

“� at’s just what I’m trying to git

out of. � ings be like they always

was? I want change.”

Yet the loyalty, respect, and a� ection

with which the local

people, atleast those active in the

struggle, regarded their leader was

unmistakable.

� e entire Boynton family

were warriors. � e plainti� in the Supreme Court case

Boyton vs.

Virginia, which integrated bus travel, was

her son. Her husband also had

been a highly respected

leader, who managed to continue the

� ght literally from his grave.

� e recruiting of people

and the setting up of a grassroots

organizational structure went quickly. Mr. Hulett,

our lone registered voter, was key.

Jon’s murder

grieved us. However, from then on, a little too late,

the project sta� took the strong

position, nonnegotiatable, that to

allow whites in would be

tantamount to inviting their deaths.

But when Huey P. Newton

said anything, you could see that it was something that had been

carefully though out.

When I � rst met them, he was

the one that

impressed me.

“Well, no, Stokely.

I wasn’t saying that at all.

But y’know, that isn’t such a bad idea.

� e Good Lord knows you going need all the

help you can get.

Besides, I’ll be preaching.”“In that case,

Dr. King, you know I’m goin’ be

there.”

He was like a younger

brother to me. I knew Cleve

and would trust him with my

life.

Now an editor with a big publisher,

she wondered whether it wouldn’t be

valuable to expand the

Black Power paper into a

full-length book.

You couldn’t help noticing

him. Something about

Michael X set him apart from the

other students.

Dr. Castro was just on top of

everything, Jack.

Every aspect a� ecting the revolution.

He obviously had a clear, complete

vision of the new and humane society

he wished to bring about.

� en Mrs. Du Bois

said, “Do you know Nkrumah?”

I said, “Of course, who doesn’t know Nkrumah?

I’ve read all—”

“I meant have you met him?

Would you like to?”

Ho Chi Minh was a great man.

He clari� ed

many things for me. He had a real appreciation

for our struggle in America.

Of all the

incredible things that had been

happening during this trip,

this had to be, hands down,

the most unbelievable.

I mean, to meet this beautiful,

entirely remarkable woman again.

What had most impressed

me was the sensitive and principled

way Sékou Touré,

his government, and his party did it,

in the true spirit of

Pan-Africanism and the highest values

of our tradional cultures.

Since that day my name has

been Kwame Ture.

I hope I’ve tried to liveup to

the responsibility it carries.

In Tanzania the Sebakos

impressed me greatly. Africa needs

more leaders like

these, I thought.

First Lamin was

heartbroken, then outraged.

He decided to gradutate, then to make

his way to Guinea to

work for the Osageyfo.

Leiutenant Kouyate was

passionatley committed to the

liberation of the continent and in

constant touch with all the

groups. So I could

learn a lot from

him.

Damn the money. I will die

before I sell out for the white man’s

money.”

Well, let me tell you

one thing. If you

leave Guinea now

you will be making a very great

mistake.Spark

When I met thefamily, I discovered that

her mom, Mrs. Lulabelle

Johnson, took care of the twelve children of the family.

Yet there was always a bed

and something to eat for me in that

house.

“Don’t ever lie, always speak

the truth. Remember the less

fortunate. Waste

not, want not.

� ink of others always.

Never waste food. Never waste anything that

someone else might need.”

� e Indians made a

profound impression on me.

At this time, being the more recent

arrivals, they frequently wore

their national dress,

spoke their national

languages, and

maintained their religous faith and practice.

My mother was, and remains, voluble,

passionate, impulsive,

and excitable. She was an excellent

seamstress. So that in any

� nancial crisis, we could usually

depend on May Charles

to produce it from somewhere.

� at barbershop became for

me a necessary corrective,

an early window into an African-Ameri-

can worldview and

sensibility, a crucially important

counterpoint of reference for those.

“Boy, you hear me,

those black men

marched right out of prison and into

power,” my father exulted.

Marxism o� ered me an approach,

a coherent point of view

from which to under-stand and engage

society, in terms of the

“forces of history.” � ese people impressed

on me that to bring about

social change you had to study and

clearly understand

the forces of society.

Clearly this man

was a radical activist, an intellectual

and a strategist who apparently commended

the respect of the room. I sat up.

“Who the hell is that?” I asked Gene.

“Why,” he said, “that’s Bayard Rustin, the socialist.”

A lot of youth

would gather in the evenings and

we’d all just dig the music and

show o� the latest

dance moves. � at was when I recieved

my � rst groundation in our

culture in America. It came from

that music.

Mah people,

Mah people,If you only knew who

you were,

You could not live the way

you do.

One day I asked

Mr. Michaux about Padmore.

He showed me a copy of Padmore’s

Pan Africanism or

Communism. I was fascinated.

You know Stokely

says he wants to go into

medicine, but, you know, I think

his real calling will be

politics.

“� at’s the Nonviolent

Action Group from Howard

University. Why’nt you join us?

I studied

those striking masks and artifacts

trying to imagine the stories

they contained and to visualize

the people

who had made them and the cultures

that had produced these artists.

While I was sifting

through all these new political

and cultural experiences and impressions, trying

to come toclear terms with

my people’s

identity and cultural reality, � guring

out my own relationship to it all and what it all

meant, Sterling Brown

reached out to us.

� us in about nine

months, thanks to Mrs. Baker,

an isolated and impulsive act of de� ance,

a tentaive gesture

coming out of a dormitory-room bull

session, had evolved into an

organization.

It is no wonder then that

our sisters

proved such dependable and admi-

rable partners in

struggle.

We were where we were

only because of our willingness

to a� rm our

beliefs even at the risk of

physical injury. So it was never dull on

death row.

But what Malcom

demonstrated that night in Crampton

Auditorium on the Howard campus

was the raw power,

the visceral potency, of the grip

our unarticulated collective

blackness held over us.

If you will promise

me, your elder brother,

that you will never, ever accept any of the

many derogratory, degrading,

and reductive de� nitions that this

society has ready for you, then I,

Jimmy Baldwin, promise you I shall never

betray you.

When I met thefamily, I discovered that

her mom, Mrs. Lulabelle

Johnson, took care of the twelve children of the family.

Yet there was always a bed

and something to eat for me in that

house.

But I never really began to feel

it until I looked into the eyes and lined

faces of men like

Amzie Moore, Mr. Dewey Greene,

Mr. Hartman Turnbow, Mr. E.W. Steptoe, or

Mr. C.C. Bryant and listened to their voic-

es telling their stories.

� en our history became real to me.

Mrs. Hamer replied,

“� at’s just what I’m trying to git

out of. � ings be like they always

was? I want change.”

Yet the loyalty, respect, and a� ection

with which the local

people, atleast those active in the

struggle, regarded their leader was

unmistakable.

� e entire Boynton family

were warriors. � e plainti� in the Supreme Court case

Boyton vs.

Virginia, which integrated bus travel, was

her son. Her husband also had

been a highly respected

leader, who managed to continue the

� ght literally from his grave.

� e recruiting of people

and the setting up of a grassroots

organizational structure went quickly. Mr. Hulett,

our lone registered voter, was key.

Jon’s murder

grieved us. However, from then on, a little too late,

the project sta� took the strong

position, nonnegotiatable, that to

allow whites in would be

tantamount to inviting their deaths.

But when Huey P. Newton

said anything, you could see that it was something that had been

carefully though out.

When I � rst met them, he was

the one that

impressed me.

“Well, no, Stokely.

I wasn’t saying that at all.

But y’know, that isn’t such a bad idea.

� e Good Lord knows you going need all the

help you can get.

Besides, I’ll be preaching.”“In that case,

Dr. King, you know I’m goin’ be

there.”

He was like a younger

brother to me. I knew Cleve

and would trust him with my

life.

Now an editor with a big publisher,

she wondered whether it wouldn’t be

valuable to expand the

Black Power paper into a

full-length book.

You couldn’t help noticing

him. Something about

Michael X set him apart from the

other students.

Dr. Castro was just on top of

everything, Jack.

Every aspect a� ecting the revolution.

He obviously had a clear, complete

vision of the new and humane society

he wished to bring about.

� en Mrs. Du Bois

said, “Do you know Nkrumah?”

I said, “Of course, who doesn’t know Nkrumah?

I’ve read all—”

“I meant have you met him?

Would you like to?”

Ho Chi Minh was a great man.

He clari� ed

many things for me. He had a real appreciation

for our struggle in America.

Of all the

incredible things that had been

happening during this trip,

this had to be, hands down,

the most unbelievable.

I mean, to meet this beautiful,

entirely remarkable woman again.

What had most impressed

me was the sensitive and principled

way Sékou Touré,

his government, and his party did it,

in the true spirit of

Pan-Africanism and the highest values

of our tradional cultures.

Since that day my name has

been Kwame Ture.

I hope I’ve tried to liveup to

the responsibility it carries.

In Tanzania the Sebakos

impressed me greatly. Africa needs

more leaders like

these, I thought.

First Lamin was

heartbroken, then outraged.

He decided to gradutate, then to make

his way to Guinea to

work for the Osageyfo.

Leiutenant Kouyate was

passionatley committed to the

liberation of the continent and in

constant touch with all the

groups. So I could

learn a lot from

him.

Damn the money. I will die

before I sell out for the white man’s

money.”

Well, let me tell you

one thing. If you

leave Guinea now

you will be making a very great

mistake.Inspire 31

Mrs. Hamer replied,

“That’s just what I’m trying to git

out of. Things be like they always

was? I want

change.”

“Don’t ever lie, always speak

the truth. Remember the less

fortunate. Waste

not, want not.

� ink of others always.

Never waste food. Never waste anything that

someone else might need.”

� e Indians made a

profound impression on me.

At this time, being the more recent

arrivals, they frequently wore

their national dress,

spoke their national

languages, and

maintained their religous faith and practice.

My mother was, and remains, voluble,

passionate, impulsive,

and excitable. She was an excellent

seamstress. So that in any

� nancial crisis, we could usually

depend on May Charles

to produce it from somewhere.

� at barbershop became for

me a necessary corrective,

an early window into an African-Ameri-

can worldview and

sensibility, a crucially important

counterpoint of reference for those.

“Boy, you hear me,

those black men

marched right out of prison and into

power,” my father exulted.

Marxism o� ered me an approach,

a coherent point of view

from which to under-stand and engage

society, in terms of the

“forces of history.” � ese people impressed

on me that to bring about

social change you had to study and

clearly understand

the forces of society.

Clearly this man

was a radical activist, an intellectual

and a strategist who apparently commended

the respect of the room. I sat up.

“Who the hell is that?” I asked Gene.

“Why,” he said, “that’s Bayard Rustin, the socialist.”

A lot of youth

would gather in the evenings and

we’d all just dig the music and

show o� the latest

dance moves. � at was when I recieved

my � rst groundation in our

culture in America. It came from

that music.

Mah people,

Mah people,If you only knew who

you were,

You could not live the way

you do.

One day I asked

Mr. Michaux about Padmore.

He showed me a copy of Padmore’s

Pan Africanism or

Communism. I was fascinated.

You know Stokely

says he wants to go into

medicine, but, you know, I think

his real calling will be

politics.

“� at’s the Nonviolent

Action Group from Howard

University. Why’nt you join us?

I studied

those striking masks and artifacts

trying to imagine the stories

they contained and to visualize

the people

who had made them and the cultures

that had produced these artists.

While I was sifting

through all these new political

and cultural experiences and impressions, trying

to come toclear terms with

my people’s

identity and cultural reality, � guring

out my own relationship to it all and what it all

meant, Sterling Brown

reached out to us.

� us in about nine

months, thanks to Mrs. Baker,

an isolated and impulsive act of de� ance,

a tentaive gesture

coming out of a dormitory-room bull

session, had evolved into an

organization.

It is no wonder then that

our sisters

proved such dependable and admi-

rable partners in

struggle.

We were where we were

only because of our willingness

to a� rm our

beliefs even at the risk of

physical injury. So it was never dull on

death row.

But what Malcom

demonstrated that night in Crampton

Auditorium on the Howard campus

was the raw power,

the visceral potency, of the grip

our unarticulated collective

blackness held over us.

If you will promise

me, your elder brother,

that you will never, ever accept any of the

many derogratory, degrading,

and reductive de� nitions that this

society has ready for you, then I,

Jimmy Baldwin, promise you I shall never

betray you.

When I met thefamily, I discovered that

her mom, Mrs. Lulabelle

Johnson, took care of the twelve children of the family.

Yet there was always a bed

and something to eat for me in that

house.

But I never really began to feel

it until I looked into the eyes and lined

faces of men like

Amzie Moore, Mr. Dewey Greene,

Mr. Hartman Turnbow, Mr. E.W. Steptoe, or

Mr. C.C. Bryant and listened to their voic-

es telling their stories.

� en our history became real to me.

Mrs. Hamer replied,

“� at’s just what I’m trying to git

out of. � ings be like they always

was? I want change.”

Yet the loyalty, respect, and a� ection

with which the local

people, atleast those active in the

struggle, regarded their leader was

unmistakable.

� e entire Boynton family

were warriors. � e plainti� in the Supreme Court case

Boyton vs.

Virginia, which integrated bus travel, was

her son. Her husband also had

been a highly respected

leader, who managed to continue the

� ght literally from his grave.

� e recruiting of people

and the setting up of a grassroots

organizational structure went quickly. Mr. Hulett,

our lone registered voter, was key.

Jon’s murder

grieved us. However, from then on, a little too late,

the project sta� took the strong

position, nonnegotiatable, that to

allow whites in would be

tantamount to inviting their deaths.

But when Huey P. Newton

said anything, you could see that it was something that had been

carefully though out.

When I � rst met them, he was

the one that

impressed me.

“Well, no, Stokely.

I wasn’t saying that at all.

But y’know, that isn’t such a bad idea.

� e Good Lord knows you going need all the

help you can get.

Besides, I’ll be preaching.”“In that case,

Dr. King, you know I’m goin’ be

there.”

He was like a younger

brother to me. I knew Cleve

and would trust him with my

life.

Now an editor with a big publisher,

she wondered whether it wouldn’t be

valuable to expand the

Black Power paper into a

full-length book.

You couldn’t help noticing

him. Something about

Michael X set him apart from the

other students.

Dr. Castro was just on top of

everything, Jack.

Every aspect a� ecting the revolution.

He obviously had a clear, complete

vision of the new and humane society

he wished to bring about.

� en Mrs. Du Bois

said, “Do you know Nkrumah?”

I said, “Of course, who doesn’t know Nkrumah?

I’ve read all—”

“I meant have you met him?

Would you like to?”

Ho Chi Minh was a great man.

He clari� ed

many things for me. He had a real appreciation

for our struggle in America.

Of all the

incredible things that had been

happening during this trip,

this had to be, hands down,

the most unbelievable.

I mean, to meet this beautiful,

entirely remarkable woman again.

What had most impressed

me was the sensitive and principled

way Sékou Touré,

his government, and his party did it,

in the true spirit of

Pan-Africanism and the highest values

of our tradional cultures.

Since that day my name has

been Kwame Ture.

I hope I’ve tried to liveup to

the responsibility it carries.

In Tanzania the Sebakos

impressed me greatly. Africa needs

more leaders like

these, I thought.

First Lamin was

heartbroken, then outraged.

He decided to gradutate, then to make

his way to Guinea to

work for the Osageyfo.

Leiutenant Kouyate was

passionatley committed to the

liberation of the continent and in

constant touch with all the

groups. So I could

learn a lot from

him.

Damn the money. I will die

before I sell out for the white man’s

money.”

Well, let me tell you

one thing. If you

leave Guinea now

you will be making a very great

mistake.Spark

“Don’t ever lie, always speak

the truth. Remember the less

fortunate. Waste

not, want not.

� ink of others always.

Never waste food. Never waste anything that

someone else might need.”

� e Indians made a

profound impression on me.

At this time, being the more recent

arrivals, they frequently wore

their national dress,

spoke their national

languages, and

maintained their religous faith and practice.

My mother was, and remains, voluble,

passionate, impulsive,

and excitable. She was an excellent

seamstress. So that in any

� nancial crisis, we could usually

depend on May Charles

to produce it from somewhere.

� at barbershop became for

me a necessary corrective,

an early window into an African-Ameri-

can worldview and

sensibility, a crucially important

counterpoint of reference for those.

“Boy, you hear me,

those black men

marched right out of prison and into

power,” my father exulted.

Marxism o� ered me an approach,

a coherent point of view

from which to under-stand and engage

society, in terms of the

“forces of history.” � ese people impressed

on me that to bring about

social change you had to study and

clearly understand

the forces of society.

Clearly this man

was a radical activist, an intellectual

and a strategist who apparently commended

the respect of the room. I sat up.

“Who the hell is that?” I asked Gene.

“Why,” he said, “that’s Bayard Rustin, the socialist.”

A lot of youth

would gather in the evenings and

we’d all just dig the music and

show o� the latest

dance moves. � at was when I recieved

my � rst groundation in our

culture in America. It came from

that music.

Mah people,

Mah people,If you only knew who

you were,

You could not live the way

you do.

One day I asked

Mr. Michaux about Padmore.

He showed me a copy of Padmore’s

Pan Africanism or

Communism. I was fascinated.

You know Stokely

says he wants to go into

medicine, but, you know, I think

his real calling will be

politics.

“� at’s the Nonviolent

Action Group from Howard

University. Why’nt you join us?

I studied

those striking masks and artifacts

trying to imagine the stories

they contained and to visualize

the people

who had made them and the cultures

that had produced these artists.

While I was sifting

through all these new political

and cultural experiences and impressions, trying

to come toclear terms with

my people’s

identity and cultural reality, � guring

out my own relationship to it all and what it all

meant, Sterling Brown

reached out to us.

� us in about nine

months, thanks to Mrs. Baker,

an isolated and impulsive act of de� ance,

a tentaive gesture

coming out of a dormitory-room bull

session, had evolved into an

organization.

It is no wonder then that

our sisters

proved such dependable and admi-

rable partners in

struggle.

We were where we were

only because of our willingness

to a� rm our

beliefs even at the risk of

physical injury. So it was never dull on

death row.

But what Malcom

demonstrated that night in Crampton

Auditorium on the Howard campus

was the raw power,

the visceral potency, of the grip

our unarticulated collective

blackness held over us.

If you will promise

me, your elder brother,

that you will never, ever accept any of the

many derogratory, degrading,

and reductive de� nitions that this

society has ready for you, then I,

Jimmy Baldwin, promise you I shall never

betray you.

When I met thefamily, I discovered that

her mom, Mrs. Lulabelle

Johnson, took care of the twelve children of the family.

Yet there was always a bed

and something to eat for me in that

house.

But I never really began to feel

it until I looked into the eyes and lined

faces of men like

Amzie Moore, Mr. Dewey Greene,

Mr. Hartman Turnbow, Mr. E.W. Steptoe, or

Mr. C.C. Bryant and listened to their voic-

es telling their stories.

� en our history became real to me.

Mrs. Hamer replied,

“� at’s just what I’m trying to git

out of. � ings be like they always

was? I want change.”

Yet the loyalty, respect, and a� ection

with which the local

people, atleast those active in the

struggle, regarded their leader was

unmistakable.

� e entire Boynton family

were warriors. � e plainti� in the Supreme Court case

Boyton vs.

Virginia, which integrated bus travel, was

her son. Her husband also had

been a highly respected

leader, who managed to continue the

� ght literally from his grave.

� e recruiting of people

and the setting up of a grassroots

organizational structure went quickly. Mr. Hulett,

our lone registered voter, was key.

Jon’s murder

grieved us. However, from then on, a little too late,

the project sta� took the strong

position, nonnegotiatable, that to

allow whites in would be

tantamount to inviting their deaths.

But when Huey P. Newton

said anything, you could see that it was something that had been

carefully though out.

When I � rst met them, he was

the one that

impressed me.

“Well, no, Stokely.

I wasn’t saying that at all.

But y’know, that isn’t such a bad idea.

� e Good Lord knows you going need all the

help you can get.

Besides, I’ll be preaching.”“In that case,

Dr. King, you know I’m goin’ be

there.”

He was like a younger

brother to me. I knew Cleve

and would trust him with my

life.

Now an editor with a big publisher,

she wondered whether it wouldn’t be

valuable to expand the

Black Power paper into a

full-length book.

You couldn’t help noticing

him. Something about

Michael X set him apart from the

other students.

Dr. Castro was just on top of

everything, Jack.

Every aspect a� ecting the revolution.

He obviously had a clear, complete

vision of the new and humane society

he wished to bring about.

� en Mrs. Du Bois

said, “Do you know Nkrumah?”

I said, “Of course, who doesn’t know Nkrumah?

I’ve read all—”

“I meant have you met him?

Would you like to?”

Ho Chi Minh was a great man.

He clari� ed

many things for me. He had a real appreciation

for our struggle in America.

Of all the

incredible things that had been

happening during this trip,

this had to be, hands down,

the most unbelievable.

I mean, to meet this beautiful,

entirely remarkable woman again.

What had most impressed

me was the sensitive and principled

way Sékou Touré,

his government, and his party did it,

in the true spirit of

Pan-Africanism and the highest values

of our tradional cultures.

Since that day my name has

been Kwame Ture.

I hope I’ve tried to liveup to

the responsibility it carries.

In Tanzania the Sebakos

impressed me greatly. Africa needs

more leaders like

these, I thought.

First Lamin was

heartbroken, then outraged.

He decided to gradutate, then to make

his way to Guinea to

work for the Osageyfo.

Leiutenant Kouyate was

passionatley committed to the

liberation of the continent and in

constant touch with all the

groups. So I could

learn a lot from

him.

Damn the money. I will die

before I sell out for the white man’s

money.”

Well, let me tell you

one thing. If you

leave Guinea now

you will be making a very great

mistake.Inspire 33

But I never really began to feel

it until I looked into the eyes and lined

faces of men like

Amzie Moore, Mr. Dewey Greene,

Mr. Hartman Turnbow, Mr. E.W. Steptoe, or

Mr. C.C. Bryant and listened to their voices

telling their stories.

Then our history became real to me.

“Don’t ever lie, always speak

the truth. Remember the less

fortunate. Waste

not, want not.

� ink of others always.

Never waste food. Never waste anything that

someone else might need.”

� e Indians made a

profound impression on me.

At this time, being the more recent

arrivals, they frequently wore

their national dress,

spoke their national

languages, and

maintained their religous faith and practice.

My mother was, and remains, voluble,

passionate, impulsive,

and excitable. She was an excellent

seamstress. So that in any

� nancial crisis, we could usually

depend on May Charles

to produce it from somewhere.

� at barbershop became for

me a necessary corrective,

an early window into an African-Ameri-

can worldview and

sensibility, a crucially important

counterpoint of reference for those.

“Boy, you hear me,

those black men

marched right out of prison and into

power,” my father exulted.

Marxism o� ered me an approach,

a coherent point of view

from which to under-stand and engage

society, in terms of the

“forces of history.” � ese people impressed

on me that to bring about

social change you had to study and

clearly understand

the forces of society.

Clearly this man

was a radical activist, an intellectual

and a strategist who apparently commended

the respect of the room. I sat up.

“Who the hell is that?” I asked Gene.

“Why,” he said, “that’s Bayard Rustin, the socialist.”

A lot of youth

would gather in the evenings and

we’d all just dig the music and

show o� the latest

dance moves. � at was when I recieved

my � rst groundation in our

culture in America. It came from

that music.

Mah people,

Mah people,If you only knew who

you were,

You could not live the way

you do.

One day I asked

Mr. Michaux about Padmore.

He showed me a copy of Padmore’s

Pan Africanism or

Communism. I was fascinated.

You know Stokely

says he wants to go into

medicine, but, you know, I think

his real calling will be

politics.

“� at’s the Nonviolent

Action Group from Howard

University. Why’nt you join us?

I studied

those striking masks and artifacts

trying to imagine the stories

they contained and to visualize

the people

who had made them and the cultures

that had produced these artists.

While I was sifting

through all these new political

and cultural experiences and impressions, trying

to come toclear terms with

my people’s

identity and cultural reality, � guring

out my own relationship to it all and what it all

meant, Sterling Brown

reached out to us.

� us in about nine

months, thanks to Mrs. Baker,

an isolated and impulsive act of de� ance,

a tentaive gesture

coming out of a dormitory-room bull

session, had evolved into an

organization.

It is no wonder then that

our sisters

proved such dependable and admi-

rable partners in

struggle.

We were where we were

only because of our willingness

to a� rm our

beliefs even at the risk of

physical injury. So it was never dull on

death row.

But what Malcom

demonstrated that night in Crampton

Auditorium on the Howard campus

was the raw power,

the visceral potency, of the grip

our unarticulated collective

blackness held over us.

If you will promise

me, your elder brother,

that you will never, ever accept any of the

many derogratory, degrading,

and reductive de� nitions that this

society has ready for you, then I,

Jimmy Baldwin, promise you I shall never

betray you.

When I met thefamily, I discovered that

her mom, Mrs. Lulabelle

Johnson, took care of the twelve children of the family.

Yet there was always a bed

and something to eat for me in that

house.

But I never really began to feel

it until I looked into the eyes and lined

faces of men like

Amzie Moore, Mr. Dewey Greene,

Mr. Hartman Turnbow, Mr. E.W. Steptoe, or

Mr. C.C. Bryant and listened to their voic-

es telling their stories.

� en our history became real to me.

Mrs. Hamer replied,

“� at’s just what I’m trying to git

out of. � ings be like they always

was? I want change.”

Yet the loyalty, respect, and a� ection

with which the local

people, atleast those active in the

struggle, regarded their leader was

unmistakable.

� e entire Boynton family

were warriors. � e plainti� in the Supreme Court case

Boyton vs.

Virginia, which integrated bus travel, was

her son. Her husband also had

been a highly respected

leader, who managed to continue the

� ght literally from his grave.

� e recruiting of people

and the setting up of a grassroots

organizational structure went quickly. Mr. Hulett,

our lone registered voter, was key.

Jon’s murder

grieved us. However, from then on, a little too late,

the project sta� took the strong

position, nonnegotiatable, that to

allow whites in would be

tantamount to inviting their deaths.

But when Huey P. Newton

said anything, you could see that it was something that had been

carefully though out.

When I � rst met them, he was

the one that

impressed me.

“Well, no, Stokely.

I wasn’t saying that at all.

But y’know, that isn’t such a bad idea.

� e Good Lord knows you going need all the

help you can get.

Besides, I’ll be preaching.”“In that case,

Dr. King, you know I’m goin’ be

there.”

He was like a younger

brother to me. I knew Cleve

and would trust him with my

life.

Now an editor with a big publisher,

she wondered whether it wouldn’t be

valuable to expand the

Black Power paper into a

full-length book.

You couldn’t help noticing

him. Something about

Michael X set him apart from the

other students.

Dr. Castro was just on top of

everything, Jack.

Every aspect a� ecting the revolution.

He obviously had a clear, complete

vision of the new and humane society

he wished to bring about.

� en Mrs. Du Bois

said, “Do you know Nkrumah?”

I said, “Of course, who doesn’t know Nkrumah?

I’ve read all—”

“I meant have you met him?

Would you like to?”

Ho Chi Minh was a great man.

He clari� ed

many things for me. He had a real appreciation

for our struggle in America.

Of all the

incredible things that had been

happening during this trip,

this had to be, hands down,

the most unbelievable.

I mean, to meet this beautiful,

entirely remarkable woman again.

What had most impressed

me was the sensitive and principled

way Sékou Touré,

his government, and his party did it,

in the true spirit of

Pan-Africanism and the highest values

of our tradional cultures.

Since that day my name has

been Kwame Ture.

I hope I’ve tried to liveup to

the responsibility it carries.

In Tanzania the Sebakos

impressed me greatly. Africa needs

more leaders like

these, I thought.

First Lamin was

heartbroken, then outraged.

He decided to gradutate, then to make

his way to Guinea to

work for the Osageyfo.

Leiutenant Kouyate was

passionatley committed to the

liberation of the continent and in

constant touch with all the

groups. So I could

learn a lot from

him.

Damn the money. I will die

before I sell out for the white man’s

money.”

Well, let me tell you

one thing. If you

leave Guinea now

you will be making a very great

mistake.Spark

Yet the loyalty, respect, and affection

with which the local

people, at least those active in the

struggle, regarded their leader was

unmistakable.

“Don’t ever lie, always speak

the truth. Remember the less

fortunate. Waste

not, want not.

� ink of others always.

Never waste food. Never waste anything that

someone else might need.”

� e Indians made a

profound impression on me.

At this time, being the more recent

arrivals, they frequently wore

their national dress,

spoke their national

languages, and

maintained their religous faith and practice.

My mother was, and remains, voluble,

passionate, impulsive,

and excitable. She was an excellent

seamstress. So that in any

� nancial crisis, we could usually

depend on May Charles

to produce it from somewhere.

� at barbershop became for

me a necessary corrective,

an early window into an African-Ameri-

can worldview and

sensibility, a crucially important

counterpoint of reference for those.

“Boy, you hear me,

those black men

marched right out of prison and into

power,” my father exulted.

Marxism o� ered me an approach,

a coherent point of view

from which to under-stand and engage

society, in terms of the

“forces of history.” � ese people impressed

on me that to bring about

social change you had to study and

clearly understand

the forces of society.

Clearly this man

was a radical activist, an intellectual

and a strategist who apparently commended

the respect of the room. I sat up.

“Who the hell is that?” I asked Gene.

“Why,” he said, “that’s Bayard Rustin, the socialist.”

A lot of youth

would gather in the evenings and

we’d all just dig the music and

show o� the latest

dance moves. � at was when I recieved

my � rst groundation in our

culture in America. It came from

that music.

Mah people,

Mah people,If you only knew who

you were,

You could not live the way

you do.

One day I asked

Mr. Michaux about Padmore.

He showed me a copy of Padmore’s

Pan Africanism or

Communism. I was fascinated.

You know Stokely

says he wants to go into

medicine, but, you know, I think

his real calling will be

politics.

“� at’s the Nonviolent

Action Group from Howard

University. Why’nt you join us?

I studied

those striking masks and artifacts

trying to imagine the stories

they contained and to visualize

the people

who had made them and the cultures

that had produced these artists.

While I was sifting

through all these new political

and cultural experiences and impressions, trying

to come toclear terms with

my people’s

identity and cultural reality, � guring

out my own relationship to it all and what it all

meant, Sterling Brown

reached out to us.

� us in about nine

months, thanks to Mrs. Baker,

an isolated and impulsive act of de� ance,

a tentaive gesture

coming out of a dormitory-room bull

session, had evolved into an

organization.

It is no wonder then that

our sisters

proved such dependable and admi-

rable partners in

struggle.

We were where we were

only because of our willingness

to a� rm our

beliefs even at the risk of

physical injury. So it was never dull on

death row.

But what Malcom

demonstrated that night in Crampton

Auditorium on the Howard campus

was the raw power,

the visceral potency, of the grip

our unarticulated collective

blackness held over us.

If you will promise

me, your elder brother,

that you will never, ever accept any of the

many derogratory, degrading,

and reductive de� nitions that this

society has ready for you, then I,

Jimmy Baldwin, promise you I shall never

betray you.

When I met thefamily, I discovered that

her mom, Mrs. Lulabelle

Johnson, took care of the twelve children of the family.

Yet there was always a bed

and something to eat for me in that

house.

But I never really began to feel

it until I looked into the eyes and lined

faces of men like

Amzie Moore, Mr. Dewey Greene,

Mr. Hartman Turnbow, Mr. E.W. Steptoe, or

Mr. C.C. Bryant and listened to their voic-

es telling their stories.

� en our history became real to me.

Mrs. Hamer replied,

“� at’s just what I’m trying to git

out of. � ings be like they always

was? I want change.”

Yet the loyalty, respect, and a� ection

with which the local

people, atleast those active in the

struggle, regarded their leader was

unmistakable.

� e entire Boynton family

were warriors. � e plainti� in the Supreme Court case

Boyton vs.

Virginia, which integrated bus travel, was

her son. Her husband also had

been a highly respected

leader, who managed to continue the

� ght literally from his grave.

� e recruiting of people

and the setting up of a grassroots

organizational structure went quickly. Mr. Hulett,

our lone registered voter, was key.

Jon’s murder

grieved us. However, from then on, a little too late,

the project sta� took the strong

position, nonnegotiatable, that to

allow whites in would be

tantamount to inviting their deaths.

But when Huey P. Newton

said anything, you could see that it was something that had been

carefully though out.

When I � rst met them, he was

the one that

impressed me.

“Well, no, Stokely.

I wasn’t saying that at all.

But y’know, that isn’t such a bad idea.

� e Good Lord knows you going need all the

help you can get.

Besides, I’ll be preaching.”“In that case,

Dr. King, you know I’m goin’ be

there.”

He was like a younger

brother to me. I knew Cleve

and would trust him with my

life.

Now an editor with a big publisher,

she wondered whether it wouldn’t be

valuable to expand the

Black Power paper into a

full-length book.

You couldn’t help noticing

him. Something about

Michael X set him apart from the

other students.

Dr. Castro was just on top of

everything, Jack.

Every aspect a� ecting the revolution.

He obviously had a clear, complete

vision of the new and humane society

he wished to bring about.

� en Mrs. Du Bois

said, “Do you know Nkrumah?”

I said, “Of course, who doesn’t know Nkrumah?

I’ve read all—”

“I meant have you met him?

Would you like to?”

Ho Chi Minh was a great man.

He clari� ed

many things for me. He had a real appreciation

for our struggle in America.

Of all the

incredible things that had been

happening during this trip,

this had to be, hands down,

the most unbelievable.

I mean, to meet this beautiful,

entirely remarkable woman again.

What had most impressed

me was the sensitive and principled

way Sékou Touré,

his government, and his party did it,

in the true spirit of

Pan-Africanism and the highest values

of our tradional cultures.

Since that day my name has

been Kwame Ture.

I hope I’ve tried to liveup to

the responsibility it carries.

In Tanzania the Sebakos

impressed me greatly. Africa needs

more leaders like

these, I thought.

First Lamin was

heartbroken, then outraged.

He decided to gradutate, then to make

his way to Guinea to

work for the Osageyfo.

Leiutenant Kouyate was

passionatley committed to the

liberation of the continent and in

constant touch with all the

groups. So I could

learn a lot from

him.

Damn the money. I will die

before I sell out for the white man’s

money.”

Well, let me tell you

one thing. If you

leave Guinea now

you will be making a very great

mistake.Inspire 35

The entire Boynton family

were warriors. The plaintiff in the Supreme Court case

Boyton vs.

Virginia, which integrated bus travel, was

her son. Her husband also had

been a highly respected

leader, who managed to continue the

fight literally from his grave.

“Don’t ever lie, always speak

the truth. Remember the less

fortunate. Waste

not, want not.

� ink of others always.

Never waste food. Never waste anything that

someone else might need.”

� e Indians made a

profound impression on me.

At this time, being the more recent

arrivals, they frequently wore

their national dress,

spoke their national

languages, and

maintained their religous faith and practice.

My mother was, and remains, voluble,

passionate, impulsive,

and excitable. She was an excellent

seamstress. So that in any

� nancial crisis, we could usually

depend on May Charles

to produce it from somewhere.

� at barbershop became for

me a necessary corrective,

an early window into an African-Ameri-

can worldview and

sensibility, a crucially important

counterpoint of reference for those.

“Boy, you hear me,

those black men

marched right out of prison and into

power,” my father exulted.

Marxism o� ered me an approach,

a coherent point of view

from which to under-stand and engage

society, in terms of the

“forces of history.” � ese people impressed

on me that to bring about

social change you had to study and

clearly understand

the forces of society.

Clearly this man

was a radical activist, an intellectual

and a strategist who apparently commended

the respect of the room. I sat up.

“Who the hell is that?” I asked Gene.

“Why,” he said, “that’s Bayard Rustin, the socialist.”

A lot of youth

would gather in the evenings and

we’d all just dig the music and

show o� the latest

dance moves. � at was when I recieved

my � rst groundation in our

culture in America. It came from

that music.

Mah people,

Mah people,If you only knew who

you were,

You could not live the way

you do.

One day I asked

Mr. Michaux about Padmore.

He showed me a copy of Padmore’s

Pan Africanism or

Communism. I was fascinated.

You know Stokely

says he wants to go into

medicine, but, you know, I think

his real calling will be

politics.

“� at’s the Nonviolent

Action Group from Howard

University. Why’nt you join us?

I studied

those striking masks and artifacts

trying to imagine the stories

they contained and to visualize

the people

who had made them and the cultures

that had produced these artists.

While I was sifting

through all these new political

and cultural experiences and impressions, trying

to come toclear terms with

my people’s

identity and cultural reality, � guring

out my own relationship to it all and what it all

meant, Sterling Brown

reached out to us.

� us in about nine

months, thanks to Mrs. Baker,

an isolated and impulsive act of de� ance,

a tentaive gesture

coming out of a dormitory-room bull

session, had evolved into an

organization.

It is no wonder then that

our sisters

proved such dependable and admi-

rable partners in

struggle.

We were where we were

only because of our willingness

to a� rm our

beliefs even at the risk of

physical injury. So it was never dull on

death row.

But what Malcom

demonstrated that night in Crampton

Auditorium on the Howard campus

was the raw power,

the visceral potency, of the grip

our unarticulated collective

blackness held over us.

If you will promise

me, your elder brother,

that you will never, ever accept any of the

many derogratory, degrading,

and reductive de� nitions that this

society has ready for you, then I,

Jimmy Baldwin, promise you I shall never

betray you.

When I met thefamily, I discovered that

her mom, Mrs. Lulabelle

Johnson, took care of the twelve children of the family.

Yet there was always a bed

and something to eat for me in that

house.

But I never really began to feel

it until I looked into the eyes and lined

faces of men like

Amzie Moore, Mr. Dewey Greene,

Mr. Hartman Turnbow, Mr. E.W. Steptoe, or

Mr. C.C. Bryant and listened to their voic-

es telling their stories.

� en our history became real to me.

Mrs. Hamer replied,

“� at’s just what I’m trying to git

out of. � ings be like they always

was? I want change.”

Yet the loyalty, respect, and a� ection

with which the local

people, atleast those active in the

struggle, regarded their leader was

unmistakable.

� e entire Boynton family

were warriors. � e plainti� in the Supreme Court case

Boyton vs.

Virginia, which integrated bus travel, was

her son. Her husband also had

been a highly respected

leader, who managed to continue the

� ght literally from his grave.

� e recruiting of people

and the setting up of a grassroots

organizational structure went quickly. Mr. Hulett,

our lone registered voter, was key.

Jon’s murder

grieved us. However, from then on, a little too late,

the project sta� took the strong

position, nonnegotiatable, that to

allow whites in would be

tantamount to inviting their deaths.

But when Huey P. Newton

said anything, you could see that it was something that had been

carefully though out.

When I � rst met them, he was

the one that

impressed me.

“Well, no, Stokely.

I wasn’t saying that at all.

But y’know, that isn’t such a bad idea.

� e Good Lord knows you going need all the

help you can get.

Besides, I’ll be preaching.”“In that case,

Dr. King, you know I’m goin’ be

there.”

He was like a younger

brother to me. I knew Cleve

and would trust him with my

life.

Now an editor with a big publisher,

she wondered whether it wouldn’t be

valuable to expand the

Black Power paper into a

full-length book.

You couldn’t help noticing

him. Something about

Michael X set him apart from the

other students.

Dr. Castro was just on top of

everything, Jack.

Every aspect a� ecting the revolution.

He obviously had a clear, complete

vision of the new and humane society

he wished to bring about.

� en Mrs. Du Bois

said, “Do you know Nkrumah?”

I said, “Of course, who doesn’t know Nkrumah?

I’ve read all—”

“I meant have you met him?

Would you like to?”

Ho Chi Minh was a great man.

He clari� ed

many things for me. He had a real appreciation

for our struggle in America.

Of all the

incredible things that had been

happening during this trip,

this had to be, hands down,

the most unbelievable.

I mean, to meet this beautiful,

entirely remarkable woman again.

What had most impressed

me was the sensitive and principled

way Sékou Touré,

his government, and his party did it,

in the true spirit of

Pan-Africanism and the highest values

of our tradional cultures.

Since that day my name has

been Kwame Ture.

I hope I’ve tried to liveup to

the responsibility it carries.

In Tanzania the Sebakos

impressed me greatly. Africa needs

more leaders like

these, I thought.

First Lamin was

heartbroken, then outraged.

He decided to gradutate, then to make

his way to Guinea to

work for the Osageyfo.

Leiutenant Kouyate was

passionatley committed to the

liberation of the continent and in

constant touch with all the

groups. So I could

learn a lot from

him.

Damn the money. I will die

before I sell out for the white man’s

money.”

Well, let me tell you

one thing. If you

leave Guinea now

you will be making a very great

mistake.Spark

The recruiting of people

and the setting up of a grassroots

organizational structure went quickly. Mr. Hulett,

our lone registered voter, was key.

“Don’t ever lie, always speak

the truth. Remember the less

fortunate. Waste

not, want not.

� ink of others always.

Never waste food. Never waste anything that

someone else might need.”

� e Indians made a

profound impression on me.

At this time, being the more recent

arrivals, they frequently wore

their national dress,

spoke their national

languages, and

maintained their religous faith and practice.

My mother was, and remains, voluble,

passionate, impulsive,

and excitable. She was an excellent

seamstress. So that in any

� nancial crisis, we could usually

depend on May Charles

to produce it from somewhere.

� at barbershop became for

me a necessary corrective,

an early window into an African-Ameri-

can worldview and

sensibility, a crucially important

counterpoint of reference for those.

“Boy, you hear me,

those black men

marched right out of prison and into

power,” my father exulted.

Marxism o� ered me an approach,

a coherent point of view

from which to under-stand and engage

society, in terms of the

“forces of history.” � ese people impressed

on me that to bring about

social change you had to study and

clearly understand

the forces of society.

Clearly this man

was a radical activist, an intellectual

and a strategist who apparently commended

the respect of the room. I sat up.

“Who the hell is that?” I asked Gene.

“Why,” he said, “that’s Bayard Rustin, the socialist.”

A lot of youth

would gather in the evenings and

we’d all just dig the music and

show o� the latest

dance moves. � at was when I recieved

my � rst groundation in our

culture in America. It came from

that music.

Mah people,

Mah people,If you only knew who

you were,

You could not live the way

you do.

One day I asked

Mr. Michaux about Padmore.

He showed me a copy of Padmore’s

Pan Africanism or

Communism. I was fascinated.

You know Stokely

says he wants to go into

medicine, but, you know, I think

his real calling will be

politics.

“� at’s the Nonviolent

Action Group from Howard

University. Why’nt you join us?

I studied

those striking masks and artifacts

trying to imagine the stories

they contained and to visualize

the people

who had made them and the cultures

that had produced these artists.

While I was sifting

through all these new political

and cultural experiences and impressions, trying

to come toclear terms with

my people’s

identity and cultural reality, � guring

out my own relationship to it all and what it all

meant, Sterling Brown

reached out to us.

� us in about nine

months, thanks to Mrs. Baker,

an isolated and impulsive act of de� ance,

a tentaive gesture

coming out of a dormitory-room bull

session, had evolved into an

organization.

It is no wonder then that

our sisters

proved such dependable and admi-

rable partners in

struggle.

We were where we were

only because of our willingness

to a� rm our

beliefs even at the risk of

physical injury. So it was never dull on

death row.

But what Malcom

demonstrated that night in Crampton

Auditorium on the Howard campus

was the raw power,

the visceral potency, of the grip

our unarticulated collective

blackness held over us.

If you will promise

me, your elder brother,

that you will never, ever accept any of the

many derogratory, degrading,

and reductive de� nitions that this

society has ready for you, then I,

Jimmy Baldwin, promise you I shall never

betray you.

When I met thefamily, I discovered that

her mom, Mrs. Lulabelle

Johnson, took care of the twelve children of the family.

Yet there was always a bed

and something to eat for me in that

house.

But I never really began to feel

it until I looked into the eyes and lined

faces of men like

Amzie Moore, Mr. Dewey Greene,

Mr. Hartman Turnbow, Mr. E.W. Steptoe, or

Mr. C.C. Bryant and listened to their voic-

es telling their stories.

� en our history became real to me.

Mrs. Hamer replied,

“� at’s just what I’m trying to git

out of. � ings be like they always

was? I want change.”

Yet the loyalty, respect, and a� ection

with which the local

people, atleast those active in the

struggle, regarded their leader was

unmistakable.

� e entire Boynton family

were warriors. � e plainti� in the Supreme Court case

Boyton vs.

Virginia, which integrated bus travel, was

her son. Her husband also had

been a highly respected

leader, who managed to continue the

� ght literally from his grave.

� e recruiting of people

and the setting up of a grassroots

organizational structure went quickly. Mr. Hulett,

our lone registered voter, was key.

Jon’s murder

grieved us. However, from then on, a little too late,

the project sta� took the strong

position, nonnegotiatable, that to

allow whites in would be

tantamount to inviting their deaths.

But when Huey P. Newton

said anything, you could see that it was something that had been

carefully though out.

When I � rst met them, he was

the one that

impressed me.

“Well, no, Stokely.

I wasn’t saying that at all.

But y’know, that isn’t such a bad idea.

� e Good Lord knows you going need all the

help you can get.

Besides, I’ll be preaching.”“In that case,

Dr. King, you know I’m goin’ be

there.”

He was like a younger

brother to me. I knew Cleve

and would trust him with my

life.

Now an editor with a big publisher,

she wondered whether it wouldn’t be

valuable to expand the

Black Power paper into a

full-length book.

You couldn’t help noticing

him. Something about

Michael X set him apart from the

other students.

Dr. Castro was just on top of

everything, Jack.

Every aspect a� ecting the revolution.

He obviously had a clear, complete

vision of the new and humane society

he wished to bring about.

� en Mrs. Du Bois

said, “Do you know Nkrumah?”

I said, “Of course, who doesn’t know Nkrumah?

I’ve read all—”

“I meant have you met him?

Would you like to?”

Ho Chi Minh was a great man.

He clari� ed

many things for me. He had a real appreciation

for our struggle in America.

Of all the

incredible things that had been

happening during this trip,

this had to be, hands down,

the most unbelievable.

I mean, to meet this beautiful,

entirely remarkable woman again.

What had most impressed

me was the sensitive and principled

way Sékou Touré,

his government, and his party did it,

in the true spirit of

Pan-Africanism and the highest values

of our tradional cultures.

Since that day my name has

been Kwame Ture.

I hope I’ve tried to liveup to

the responsibility it carries.

In Tanzania the Sebakos

impressed me greatly. Africa needs

more leaders like

these, I thought.

First Lamin was

heartbroken, then outraged.

He decided to gradutate, then to make

his way to Guinea to

work for the Osageyfo.

Leiutenant Kouyate was

passionatley committed to the

liberation of the continent and in

constant touch with all the

groups. So I could

learn a lot from

him.

Damn the money. I will die

before I sell out for the white man’s

money.”

Well, let me tell you

one thing. If you

leave Guinea now

you will be making a very great

mistake.Inspire 37

Jon’s murder

grieved us. However, from then on,

a little too late, the project staff took the

strong position,

nonnegotiable, that to allow

whites in would be tantamount to inviting

their deaths.

“Don’t ever lie, always speak

the truth. Remember the less

fortunate. Waste

not, want not.

� ink of others always.

Never waste food. Never waste anything that

someone else might need.”

� e Indians made a

profound impression on me.

At this time, being the more recent

arrivals, they frequently wore

their national dress,

spoke their national

languages, and

maintained their religous faith and practice.

My mother was, and remains, voluble,

passionate, impulsive,

and excitable. She was an excellent

seamstress. So that in any

� nancial crisis, we could usually

depend on May Charles

to produce it from somewhere.

� at barbershop became for

me a necessary corrective,

an early window into an African-Ameri-

can worldview and

sensibility, a crucially important

counterpoint of reference for those.

“Boy, you hear me,

those black men

marched right out of prison and into

power,” my father exulted.

Marxism o� ered me an approach,

a coherent point of view

from which to under-stand and engage

society, in terms of the

“forces of history.” � ese people impressed

on me that to bring about

social change you had to study and

clearly understand

the forces of society.

Clearly this man

was a radical activist, an intellectual

and a strategist who apparently commended

the respect of the room. I sat up.

“Who the hell is that?” I asked Gene.

“Why,” he said, “that’s Bayard Rustin, the socialist.”

A lot of youth

would gather in the evenings and

we’d all just dig the music and

show o� the latest

dance moves. � at was when I recieved

my � rst groundation in our

culture in America. It came from

that music.

Mah people,

Mah people,If you only knew who

you were,

You could not live the way

you do.

One day I asked

Mr. Michaux about Padmore.

He showed me a copy of Padmore’s

Pan Africanism or

Communism. I was fascinated.

You know Stokely

says he wants to go into

medicine, but, you know, I think

his real calling will be

politics.

“� at’s the Nonviolent

Action Group from Howard

University. Why’nt you join us?

I studied

those striking masks and artifacts

trying to imagine the stories

they contained and to visualize

the people

who had made them and the cultures

that had produced these artists.

While I was sifting

through all these new political

and cultural experiences and impressions, trying

to come toclear terms with

my people’s

identity and cultural reality, � guring

out my own relationship to it all and what it all

meant, Sterling Brown

reached out to us.

� us in about nine

months, thanks to Mrs. Baker,

an isolated and impulsive act of de� ance,

a tentaive gesture

coming out of a dormitory-room bull

session, had evolved into an

organization.

It is no wonder then that

our sisters

proved such dependable and admi-

rable partners in

struggle.

We were where we were

only because of our willingness

to a� rm our

beliefs even at the risk of

physical injury. So it was never dull on

death row.

But what Malcom

demonstrated that night in Crampton

Auditorium on the Howard campus

was the raw power,

the visceral potency, of the grip

our unarticulated collective

blackness held over us.

If you will promise

me, your elder brother,

that you will never, ever accept any of the

many derogratory, degrading,

and reductive de� nitions that this

society has ready for you, then I,

Jimmy Baldwin, promise you I shall never

betray you.

When I met thefamily, I discovered that

her mom, Mrs. Lulabelle

Johnson, took care of the twelve children of the family.

Yet there was always a bed

and something to eat for me in that

house.

But I never really began to feel

it until I looked into the eyes and lined

faces of men like

Amzie Moore, Mr. Dewey Greene,

Mr. Hartman Turnbow, Mr. E.W. Steptoe, or

Mr. C.C. Bryant and listened to their voic-

es telling their stories.

� en our history became real to me.

Mrs. Hamer replied,

“� at’s just what I’m trying to git

out of. � ings be like they always

was? I want change.”

Yet the loyalty, respect, and a� ection

with which the local

people, atleast those active in the

struggle, regarded their leader was

unmistakable.

� e entire Boynton family

were warriors. � e plainti� in the Supreme Court case

Boyton vs.

Virginia, which integrated bus travel, was

her son. Her husband also had

been a highly respected

leader, who managed to continue the

� ght literally from his grave.

� e recruiting of people

and the setting up of a grassroots

organizational structure went quickly. Mr. Hulett,

our lone registered voter, was key.

Jon’s murder

grieved us. However, from then on, a little too late,

the project sta� took the strong

position, nonnegotiatable, that to

allow whites in would be

tantamount to inviting their deaths.

But when Huey P. Newton

said anything, you could see that it was something that had been

carefully though out.

When I � rst met them, he was

the one that

impressed me.

“Well, no, Stokely.

I wasn’t saying that at all.

But y’know, that isn’t such a bad idea.

� e Good Lord knows you going need all the

help you can get.

Besides, I’ll be preaching.”“In that case,

Dr. King, you know I’m goin’ be

there.”

He was like a younger

brother to me. I knew Cleve

and would trust him with my

life.

Now an editor with a big publisher,

she wondered whether it wouldn’t be

valuable to expand the

Black Power paper into a

full-length book.

You couldn’t help noticing

him. Something about

Michael X set him apart from the

other students.

Dr. Castro was just on top of

everything, Jack.

Every aspect a� ecting the revolution.

He obviously had a clear, complete

vision of the new and humane society

he wished to bring about.

� en Mrs. Du Bois

said, “Do you know Nkrumah?”

I said, “Of course, who doesn’t know Nkrumah?

I’ve read all—”

“I meant have you met him?

Would you like to?”

Ho Chi Minh was a great man.

He clari� ed

many things for me. He had a real appreciation

for our struggle in America.

Of all the

incredible things that had been

happening during this trip,

this had to be, hands down,

the most unbelievable.

I mean, to meet this beautiful,

entirely remarkable woman again.

What had most impressed

me was the sensitive and principled

way Sékou Touré,

his government, and his party did it,

in the true spirit of

Pan-Africanism and the highest values

of our tradional cultures.

Since that day my name has

been Kwame Ture.

I hope I’ve tried to liveup to

the responsibility it carries.

In Tanzania the Sebakos

impressed me greatly. Africa needs

more leaders like

these, I thought.

First Lamin was

heartbroken, then outraged.

He decided to gradutate, then to make

his way to Guinea to

work for the Osageyfo.

Leiutenant Kouyate was

passionatley committed to the

liberation of the continent and in

constant touch with all the

groups. So I could

learn a lot from

him.

Damn the money. I will die

before I sell out for the white man’s

money.”

Well, let me tell you

one thing. If you

leave Guinea now

you will be making a very great

mistake.Spark

But when Huey P. Newton said anything,

you could see that it was something that had been

carefully though out.

When I first met them, he was the

one that impressed

me.

Endure

“Don’t ever lie, always speak

the truth. Remember the less

fortunate. Waste

not, want not.

� ink of others always.

Never waste food. Never waste anything that

someone else might need.”

� e Indians made a

profound impression on me.

At this time, being the more recent

arrivals, they frequently wore

their national dress,

spoke their national

languages, and

maintained their religous faith and practice.

My mother was, and remains, voluble,

passionate, impulsive,

and excitable. She was an excellent

seamstress. So that in any

� nancial crisis, we could usually

depend on May Charles

to produce it from somewhere.

� at barbershop became for

me a necessary corrective,

an early window into an African-Ameri-

can worldview and

sensibility, a crucially important

counterpoint of reference for those.

“Boy, you hear me,

those black men

marched right out of prison and into

power,” my father exulted.

Marxism o� ered me an approach,

a coherent point of view

from which to under-stand and engage

society, in terms of the

“forces of history.” � ese people impressed

on me that to bring about

social change you had to study and

clearly understand

the forces of society.

Clearly this man

was a radical activist, an intellectual

and a strategist who apparently commended

the respect of the room. I sat up.

“Who the hell is that?” I asked Gene.

“Why,” he said, “that’s Bayard Rustin, the socialist.”

A lot of youth

would gather in the evenings and

we’d all just dig the music and

show o� the latest

dance moves. � at was when I recieved

my � rst groundation in our

culture in America. It came from

that music.

Mah people,

Mah people,If you only knew who

you were,

You could not live the way

you do.

One day I asked

Mr. Michaux about Padmore.

He showed me a copy of Padmore’s

Pan Africanism or

Communism. I was fascinated.

You know Stokely

says he wants to go into

medicine, but, you know, I think

his real calling will be

politics.

“� at’s the Nonviolent

Action Group from Howard

University. Why’nt you join us?

I studied

those striking masks and artifacts

trying to imagine the stories

they contained and to visualize

the people

who had made them and the cultures

that had produced these artists.

While I was sifting

through all these new political

and cultural experiences and impressions, trying

to come toclear terms with

my people’s

identity and cultural reality, � guring

out my own relationship to it all and what it all

meant, Sterling Brown

reached out to us.

� us in about nine

months, thanks to Mrs. Baker,

an isolated and impulsive act of de� ance,

a tentaive gesture

coming out of a dormitory-room bull

session, had evolved into an

organization.

It is no wonder then that

our sisters

proved such dependable and admi-

rable partners in

struggle.

We were where we were

only because of our willingness

to a� rm our

beliefs even at the risk of

physical injury. So it was never dull on

death row.

But what Malcom

demonstrated that night in Crampton

Auditorium on the Howard campus

was the raw power,

the visceral potency, of the grip

our unarticulated collective

blackness held over us.

If you will promise

me, your elder brother,

that you will never, ever accept any of the

many derogratory, degrading,

and reductive de� nitions that this

society has ready for you, then I,

Jimmy Baldwin, promise you I shall never

betray you.

When I met thefamily, I discovered that

her mom, Mrs. Lulabelle

Johnson, took care of the twelve children of the family.

Yet there was always a bed

and something to eat for me in that

house.

But I never really began to feel

it until I looked into the eyes and lined

faces of men like

Amzie Moore, Mr. Dewey Greene,

Mr. Hartman Turnbow, Mr. E.W. Steptoe, or

Mr. C.C. Bryant and listened to their voic-

es telling their stories.

� en our history became real to me.

Mrs. Hamer replied,

“� at’s just what I’m trying to git

out of. � ings be like they always

was? I want change.”

Yet the loyalty, respect, and a� ection

with which the local

people, atleast those active in the

struggle, regarded their leader was

unmistakable.

� e entire Boynton family

were warriors. � e plainti� in the Supreme Court case

Boyton vs.

Virginia, which integrated bus travel, was

her son. Her husband also had

been a highly respected

leader, who managed to continue the

� ght literally from his grave.

� e recruiting of people

and the setting up of a grassroots

organizational structure went quickly. Mr. Hulett,

our lone registered voter, was key.

Jon’s murder

grieved us. However, from then on, a little too late,

the project sta� took the strong

position, nonnegotiatable, that to

allow whites in would be

tantamount to inviting their deaths.

But when Huey P. Newton

said anything, you could see that it was something that had been

carefully though out.

When I � rst met them, he was

the one that

impressed me.

“Well, no, Stokely.

I wasn’t saying that at all.

But y’know, that isn’t such a bad idea.

� e Good Lord knows you going need all the

help you can get.

Besides, I’ll be preaching.”“In that case,

Dr. King, you know I’m goin’ be

there.”

He was like a younger

brother to me. I knew Cleve

and would trust him with my

life.

Now an editor with a big publisher,

she wondered whether it wouldn’t be

valuable to expand the

Black Power paper into a

full-length book.

You couldn’t help noticing

him. Something about

Michael X set him apart from the

other students.

Dr. Castro was just on top of

everything, Jack.

Every aspect a� ecting the revolution.

He obviously had a clear, complete

vision of the new and humane society

he wished to bring about.

� en Mrs. Du Bois

said, “Do you know Nkrumah?”

I said, “Of course, who doesn’t know Nkrumah?

I’ve read all—”

“I meant have you met him?

Would you like to?”

Ho Chi Minh was a great man.

He clari� ed

many things for me. He had a real appreciation

for our struggle in America.

Of all the

incredible things that had been

happening during this trip,

this had to be, hands down,

the most unbelievable.

I mean, to meet this beautiful,

entirely remarkable woman again.

What had most impressed

me was the sensitive and principled

way Sékou Touré,

his government, and his party did it,

in the true spirit of

Pan-Africanism and the highest values

of our tradional cultures.

Since that day my name has

been Kwame Ture.

I hope I’ve tried to liveup to

the responsibility it carries.

In Tanzania the Sebakos

impressed me greatly. Africa needs

more leaders like

these, I thought.

First Lamin was

heartbroken, then outraged.

He decided to gradutate, then to make

his way to Guinea to

work for the Osageyfo.

Leiutenant Kouyate was

passionatley committed to the

liberation of the continent and in

constant touch with all the

groups. So I could

learn a lot from

him.

Damn the money. I will die

before I sell out for the white man’s

money.”

Well, let me tell you

one thing. If you

leave Guinea now

you will be making a very great

mistake.Inspire 39

“Well, no, Stokely.

I wasn’t saying that at all.

But y’know, that isn’t such a bad idea.

The Good Lord knows you going need all the

help you can get.

Besides, I’ll be preaching.”“In that case,

Dr. King, you know I’m goin’ be

there.”

“Don’t ever lie, always speak

the truth. Remember the less

fortunate. Waste

not, want not.

� ink of others always.

Never waste food. Never waste anything that

someone else might need.”

� e Indians made a

profound impression on me.

At this time, being the more recent

arrivals, they frequently wore

their national dress,

spoke their national

languages, and

maintained their religous faith and practice.

My mother was, and remains, voluble,

passionate, impulsive,

and excitable. She was an excellent

seamstress. So that in any

� nancial crisis, we could usually

depend on May Charles

to produce it from somewhere.

� at barbershop became for

me a necessary corrective,

an early window into an African-Ameri-