Why Didn't We Riot? by Issac J. Bailey

Author:Issac J. Bailey [Bailey, Issac J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Other Press
Published: 2020-10-06T00:00:00+00:00

It’s an uncomfortable truth that that was the man who brought Black America together in such large numbers. In the black community, he has always been something of an enigma. He’s despised in some quarters for his suspected role in the murder of Malcolm X, and in others for his bombastic speeches and tendency to speak poorly of black Christians and others not in favor of his plan for racial separation. Many white supremacists respect Farrakhan because his rhetoric about black people, and the solution to the race problem, frequently echoes theirs. When white supremacists approve of what someone is preaching, it should give us pause. That’s why the Million Man March, a call to strengthen the black community, was not universally praised by black people. While a young Barack Obama attended, Representative John Lewis, an icon of the civil rights era, declined to participate because Farrakhan “preached racial, religious and sexual divisiveness,” the Atlanta Journal-Constitution wrote.

I felt I had no choice but to go despite my distaste and disdain for Farrakhan. Once there, one scene stood out among everything else. There was a woman, a black woman. She was lying on her back on a blanket in the grass. Her eyes were closed. Her legs were bent and crossed at the knees. Her skin glistened in the sunlight. She may have been a decade older than I was. I can’t remember if her arms were resting underneath her head like a pillow, but I believe they were. Maybe she was dreaming. Or maybe she was just deeply inhaling the music and the moment. Whatever she was doing, it was obvious she felt safe in a sea of strange black men. I don’t know if she had come alone, but it didn’t matter. Every black man near her was unofficially standing guard. Had anyone dared try to disturb her, to take advantage of her, to disrespect her, they would have had to navigate a phalanx of black men determined to answer Farrakhan’s call to be better men. No one was going to hurt that beautiful black woman with those men around.

I had never seen anything like it. I had never been more proud, or moved. Though I knew that was not the way black men always treated black women, it lifted my spirits. It convinced me that black could be — and was — beautiful. Since then, anytime thoughts of black people being ugly or unkind or violent invade my mind, I’ve been able to tap back into that scene to flush those dark thoughts out. I didn’t stay the entire day. My brother Willie and I left as soon as Farrakhan climbed the stage and began to speak several hours into the event. I didn’t go to see Farrakhan. I didn’t want to hear anything he had to say. I went to see that black woman lying there in peace surrounded by black men ready to care for her. I went to see black men bump into each other

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