Soul on Ice by Eldridge Cleaver

Soul on Ice by Eldridge Cleaver

Author:Eldridge Cleaver
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Published: 2016-01-02T16:00:00+00:00


NOTES ON A NATIVE SON

* * *

After reading a couple of James Baldwin’s books, I began experiencing that continuous delight one feels upon discovering a fascinating, brilliant talent on the scene, a talent capable of penetrating so profoundly into one’s own little world that one knows oneself to have been unalterably changed and liberated, liberated from the frustrating grasp of whatever devils happen to possess one. Being a Negro, I have found this to be a rare and infrequent experience, for few of my black brothers and sisters here in America have achieved the power, which James Baldwin calls his revenge, which outlasts kingdoms: the power of doing whatever cats like Baldwin do when combining the alphabet with the volatile elements of his soul. (And, like it or not, a black man, unless he has become irretrievably “white-minded,” responds with an additional dimension of his being to the articulated experience of another black—in spite of the universality of human experience.)

I, as I imagine many others did and still do, lusted for anything that Baldwin had written. It would have been a gas for me to sit on a pillow beneath the womb of Baldwin’s typewriter and catch each newborn page as it entered this world of ours. I was delighted that Baldwin, with those great big eyes of his, which one thought to be fixedly focused on the macrocosm, could also pierce the microcosm. And although he was so full of sound, he was not a noisy writer like Ralph Ellison. He placed so much of my own experience, which I thought I had understood, into new perspective.

Gradually, however, I began to feel uncomfortable about something in Baldwin. I was disturbed upon becoming aware of an aversion in my heart to part of the song he sang. Why this was so, I was unable at first to say. Then I read Another Country, and I knew why my love for Baldwin’s vision had become ambivalent.

Long before, I had become a student of Norman Mailer’s The White Negro, which seemed to me to be prophetic and penetrating in its understanding of the psychology involved in the accelerating confrontation of black and white in America. I was therefore personally insulted by Baldwin’s flippant, school-marmish dismissal of The White Negro. Baldwin committed a literary crime by his arrogant repudiation of one of the few gravely important expressions of our time. The White Negro may contain an excess of esoteric verbal husk, but one can forgive Mailer for that because of the solid kernel of truth he gave us. After all, it is the baby we want and not the blood of afterbirth. Mailer described, in that incisive essay, the first important chinks in the “mountain of white supremacy”—important because it shows the depth of ferment, on a personal level, in the white world. People are feverishly, and at great psychic and social expense, seeking fundamental and irrevocable liberation— and, what is more important, are succeeding in escaping—from the big white lies that compose



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