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A journal dedicated to truth, freedom of speech and radical spiritual consciousness. Our mission is the liberation of men and women from oppression, violence and abuse of any kind, interpersonal, political, religious, economic, psychosexual. We believe as Fidel Castro said, "The weapon of today is not guns but consciousness."

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    Final Draft Table of Contents, Notes of Artistic Freedom Fighter Marvin X
    6/1/18


    Marvin X speaking at Laney College, Oakland, 2015
    photo Alicia Mason
    Cover design Adam Turner

                    Marvin X speaking/reading at University of Chicago Sun Ra Conference, 2015
             (See Youtube video of Sun Ra Symposium on Afro-futurism at University of Chicago) 
                                                                     photo Burrell Sunrise

    Chapter One  Transcendence
    Bar B Q Becky and Black Revolution at Oakland’s Lake Merritt
    Is President Donald Trump a Damn Fool or Triple Damn Fool?
    Of Conundrums and Quagmires
    Dear Parents
    Dear White Folks
    Love Letter to Gay/Lesbian Youth
    Racism in America: the Grand Denial
    Imagine a Black  Nation!
    Black nationalism, flower children and the summer of love
    Transcend the low information vibration:
    Talk at San Francisco State University
    The revolutionary who never came in from the cold: Talk with University Of California, Merced  Students
    Revolution against fear
    Romanticism/Idealism
    Left/Right Paradigm
    Every day is a holy day
    Why are North American Africans Reactionary
    US Violence--level the playing field--everybody pack!
    Children and the national security of the united states
    Sectarianism
    Whiteness and Communal suicide
    How to stop violence in the Pan African hood; reply by Rudolph Lewis
    The Black Woman is God: from Sarah to Serena
    Last Rites of Muhammad Ali
    Chapter Two Obama Drama
    Pull yo pants up fada prez
    Excuse me, Mr. Prez
    Fictional interview with Prez Obama
    Fictional Prez Obama speech to Muslims
    On Prez Obama’s fake speech to Muslims
    Fictional Prez Obama’s speech on Afghanistan







    Chapter Three Reviews
    Black Arts Movement to Hip Hop: A Black Dialogue: Eric Arnold, Rene Guzman, Kim McMillan, Dr. J. Vern Cromartie, Marvin X; Respect Hip Hop Exhibit and The Education of Jahmeel--photo essay by Adam Turner
    Marvin X reviews Marvin X in Concert; photo essay by Adam Turner
    Sisyphus Syndrome, a Jazz Opera by Amiri Baraka
    Black Panther film pre-review
    Black Panther, an Afro-futurist film in the Myth-Science tradition of Sun Ra
    Addendum to Black Panther review: A psycholinguistic deconstruction of the Arabic word Nisa or Woman
    Django
    Sun Ra Arkestra at SF Jazz Center; photo essay by Adam Turner
    Maestro Michael Morgan’s Oakland  Symphony Notes on Vietnam Concert
    Mama at Twilight, Death by Love, a play by Ayodele Nzinga
    Film Fences, based on the August Wilson drama; reply by Dr. Abdul Alkalimat
    Maestro Michael Morgan’s Oakland Symphony Black Panther Concert
    Lifer, the Glen Bailey Story, a play by Ayodele Nzinga
    Black Odyssey, a play by Marcus Gardley
    Chapter Four
    The Black Arts Movement (BAM)
    Film script: Marvin X Driving Miss Libby
    BAM 50th Anniversary Celebration at Oakland’s Laney College
    BAM Wish List
    Letter of invitation to join BAM 27 City Tour
    Abstract for the BAM 27 City Tour
    BAM Speakers Bureau
    Straight Outta Oakland
    BAM Baby Mayor Ras Baraka and the Newark, New Jersey, Police Model of Symbiosis

    Chapter Five
    Black Arts Movement Business District (BAMBD)
    Oakland City Council approves BAMBD, January 19, 2016
    Symbiosis of Poets and Politicians
    Black Bourgeoisie Art and Opportunism
    Culture Pimps and Ho’s in the BAMBD
    Economics in the BAMBD
    BAMBD Billion Dollar Trust Fund
    How the BAMBD Billion Trust Fund will be allocated
    BAMBD Meets Carmel Developers
    Letter to Carmel Developers
    Afrocentric Design of the BAMBD, A Talk with Architect Fred Smith
    Toward Non-violence in the BAMBD
    Confidential Notes that ain’t confidential; reply by Oakland City Council President Lynette McElhaney
    Letter of Apology to Oakland Mayor Libby Schaaf and her reply
    Call for United Front at Oakland City Hall Black History Celebration





    Chapter Six
    The Cross and Lynching Tree: Assassination of Editor Chauncey Bailey
    Who killed Chauncey Bailey?
    Between the Devil and Deep blue sea
    A Shakespearean Tragedy
    OPD Gang
    Chauncey and Malcolm X
    Fake News Chauncey Bailey Project
    Chauncey’s last story

    Final thoughts: Endgame

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    Marvin X took a break from finishing his Notes of an Artistic Freedom Fighter
    to return to his Academy of da Corner #1, 14th and Broadway, downtown Oakland across the street from City Hall and Oscar Grant Plaza. Marvin X says it is the most dangerous classroom in the world. In what classroom do US Marines get shot in the head by police and the cased closed? If US Marines can get shot in the head by police, what chance did Oscar Grant have? My involvement with murder under the color of law began with the first case the Black Panther Newspaper headlined The Richmond Police Killing of Denzill Dowell, 1966. Of course Denzill was hardly tahe first Black killed in California history by police under the color of law. In 1979 the OPD were killing a Black man a month, until they killed my best friends baby brother, Melvin Black. I was teaching English at the University of Nevada, Reno part-time and working as a planner/data analyst for a community services agency, plus teaching in Upward Bound at UNR and teaching technical writing at Nevada Community College. The Nevada Committee for the Humanities gave me two planning grants via the National Endowment for the Humanities. I had a theory that when one enters a town, there are two people to know immediately: the preacher and the banker, afterall, the preacher knows everybody and the banker will, to my surprise, let one get overdrawn but continue to withdraw money. But as a dramatist, I know all dramas come to The End.

    So I was living the good life until the OPD killed my friend's baby brother. How could I enjoy my joy while my friends and comrades are in trauma and grief from the low intensity eternal battle with the forces of evil, no matter what color in this global conspiracy to bleed to death the 85% oppressed who are deaf dumb and blind to ultimate reality, a step above the low information vibration. In this era of the cellphone computer, there is no excuse for ignorance. Google Becky and she will tell you everything going on in the world. Becky will say Did you mean that....? But if one is stuck in the world of make believe and conspicuous consumption (Frazier, Black Bourgeoisie); if one dresses like an NBA player while one paycheck away from homelessness, there is a serious problem here. The question is how sick is the patient: mild, moderate or severe? 

    Time to leave Reno, the biggest little Mississippi in the world
     
    My revolutionary comrades in Oakland demanded I leave Reno immediately and help my friend and his family in their hour of grief. I didn't want to return to the battle field, after all the Mormon mafia in Reno was treating me royally. I was one of the two or three Blacks teaching and/or working at UNR. When Eldridge Cleave came to stay with me, as per the ladies,  he said I'd picked all the lilies in the field. Yes, I was single and living a licentious life. I gave him a white girl student who was having sex with Black athletes, me and anyone else with a dick, she told me. She couldn't boil water without burning the pot. In the players manner, I gave her to Eldridge, telling him she gave good head, which was a lie and Eldridge, being a connoisseur of sex, chided me for claiming she gave good head. The connoisseur claimed nine out of ten women were an insult to a dick.For sure, not every woman will describe herself as a beast, those who do, usually are a beast!

    When my daughters visited me that summer, they really  didn't like Efetayo. Nefertiti said, "Dad, you take one and bring another. And please don't let Efetayo cook. She burns up everything." And about my young student from UNR Upward Bound, Bernice, Nefertiti said, "Dad, she's just a baby." Bernice was 18 when I "caught her" while teaching Upward Bound. Ok, I have a love for young people. FYI, I married two of my students, Nisa from UC Berkeley and Barbara/Hasani from my controversial lectureship at Fresno State University. Nisa is mother of my daughter Muhammida, Barbara/Hasani is mother of Nefertiti and Amira. 

    Bernice was victim of sexual abuse from her male relatives, so traumatized when we tried to have sex she went into convulsions. We have no clue what trauma our children have experienced. Often men don't care about the woman's trauma and grief, for htmen have an insatiable desire to stick their penis in any hole, even a hole in the ground. At the end of Upward Bound, Bernice called me in the middle of the night saying she was going to kill herself. I told her I would drive the hundred miles to Hawthorn to keep her from killing herself. Is there recovery from sex with father and brother in law?
    Is there recovery from having sex with your three brothers until they are no longer brothers but  boyfriends who this sister/now girlfriend sets a schedule for her brothers/boyfriends.

    See my memoir My Friend the Devil. FYI, Nevada is the most conservative state in the union. Ronald Reagan's campaign for president was operated out of Reno. His best friend was Senator Paul Laxalt of Reno. Head of the Republican National Committee  was Attorney Frank Fahrenkopf of Reno.

    My boss at the Community Services Agency where I worked as a planner, came from a meeting with State officials and told me to tell Eldridge if he didn't leave Nevada they were going to kill him, even though a black AME preacher had given him land near Lake Lahontan, Silver Springs Nevada, near Reno, where Cleaver wanted to establish his ministry. The residents in this conservative community wanted no part of Cleaver and as his chief assistant, he sent me to the planning committee to address his presence in the area, especially since the land donated by a Black AME preacher and his white wife was adjacent to Lake Lahontan.
    The planning committee meeting, open to the public, was like a lynching party but they wanted Cleaver not me, so he stayed alive and I did as well although in the old days any nigger would have been fine. Do you think I was saved from the lynching tree because I was teaching at University of Nevada? I don't think so. But they didn't want me, they wanted Nat Turner.

    Soon after my boss delivered the message from Massa that Eldridge Cleaver had to go, and with  Rev. Chicken Wing reversing his land donation, probably on pain of death, Cleaver packed up and left my house in Reno. At the same time I concluded my days of lasciviousness  were over and it was back to the battlefield. The final straw came after Cleaver departed and shortly after I did as well to help organize a response to the killing of 15 year old Melvin Black, my best friend and top Arabic student's tragedy. Even though I was living a good life (I do better around Conservative whites--I didn't care that a reporter from the Reno Gazette let me know he was a Red Neck. Just give me respect. I am a Blackneck. I don't want your woman. Will you want to agree not to mess with mine, I will surely agree to leave yours alone. Now I must be honest and say that since I had a class full of white girls who were fucking the Black athletes and reported their activities to me, yes, despite their parents, who included UNR professors, told their children, "Niggers are bad news." For sure, the white girls found out Niggers are good news and came after me as well.   The most important thing I learned from working with Eldridge Cleaver was he demanded I arrange first class accommodations whenever we traveled. It was a great lesson to demand first class treatment since we are addicted to second class service.  I had no choice since teaching and working in Reno, I read the San Francisco Chronicle daily, along with the LA Times and the NY Times. The catalyst was picking up the SF Chronicle that morning then throwing it down after seeing the headlines about another Black man killed by the OPD, but later that night I flipped to the back page and there was pic of my friend Lawrence McKinney, aka Abdul Rahim and his sister Charlotte Black protesting at City Hall.

    We formed a community planning committee that decided on The Melvin Black Human Rights Conference at the Oakland Auditorium. According to Edith Austin, the master journalist and political organizer, she said 5,000 Blacks attended from 12 Noon to Midnight without incident. I called my friend Minister Farrakhan who agreed to be the featured speaker. Other speakers included Angela Davis, Eldridge Cleaver, Paul Cobb, Oba T Shaka, Dessie Woods Jones, et al. After a monologue by Khalid Abdullah Tarik Al Mansour, aka Att. Donad Warden, founder of the Afro American Association that gave birth or consciousness to the Black Panther Party, Black Arts Movement, Black Studies and Kwanza (Maulana Karenga was the Los Angeles representative of the Afro American Association).
    I will close with this: after the Melvin Black Human Rights Forum, the OPD killing of Blacks subsided, but what followed was drive by killings with UZIs and the epidemic of Crack cocaine that took us backward beyond slavery.
    --Marvin X
    6/1/18

    El'Malik Abdul Muhammad and Master Teacher Marvin X at  Academy of da Corner #1, 14th and Broadway, downtown Oakland. Marvin X has educated and counseled several members of the Muhammad family on spirituality and male/female relations. His 18 page pamphlet on partner relations Mythology of Pussy and Dick is a black underground classic, a healing treatise (biblotherapy) for elders, parents, sons and daughters. A sixteen year old female read MOPD with her mother and told the author, "I wish I'd read it when I was eight!" An elder gentleman told MX, "I hate to admit it but I learned something from your MOPD. Today someone asked did Trump write it. I shouted as they passed, Harvey Weinstein wrote it, although MOPD is for the liberation of all men and women globally who suffer from the addiction to the patriarchal mythology of domination.

    Marvin X returned to his Academy of da Corner #1, 14th and Broadway, downtown Oakland in the center of the Black Arts Movement District along the 14th Street corridor from the Lower Bottom to Lake Merritt. He was immediately inundated with problems of the mentally ill and persons suffering trauma and unresolved grief. A black mother gave him a leaflet with her murdered daughter's pic seeking community support since the OPD has been slow to respond. A white man in a pink dress stopped by with his hands tied with wrapping cloth. A beautiful sister came through wanting to read the Bible to Marvin X, but he ushered her away with her Bible reading. A brother with no shit proceeded to climb the light pole until one of his friends called him down. He then came to Marvin's book and literature table and asked if he could get (his regular) two dollars to move his mad act across the street. Marvin immediately reached into the donation jar and gave the man $2.00. A conscious seeking brother gave a iet$30.00 donation for the collected books of Drs. Julia and Nathan Hare. A sister refused the Movement Newspaper with the Red, Black and Green flag in the centerfold. She said she didn't put flags in her house. Anyway, what dat flag about? Master teacher told her it was the Pan African flag created by Marcus Garvey. She still didn't want it. Recently, Marvin X went into shock when a young man came to his Lakeshore Ave. Academy and asked if Marcus Garvey was an NBA player?

    Blacks with consciousness are often presumptuous and arrogant when dealing with the ignorant of our people, to say nothing of white people who have convinced many of us they know everything, yet one need only look at the world White supremacy/lunacy has created. With a trillion dollar national security budget, America cannot insure the safety of her white school children, no need to mention the murder, trauma and grief non-white children have long endured. I am so tired of quoting James Baldwin, "The murder of my child will not make your child safe."

    A young brother stopped to buy some conscious literature. A sister perused with great interest and said she would return. Some return, some don't, and this is coast to coast, whether Marvin's Academy is in Wash, D.C., Philly, Newark, Brooklyn, Harlem. Dirty South too. The consensus is that Marvin X has a different point of view and people are seeking something different, especially something provocative and challenging their long dormant brain cells.
    --Marvin X/El Muhajir (the migrant)
    6/1/18
    Final Draft Table of Contents, Notes of Artistic Freedom Fighter Marvin X
    6/1/18


    Marvin X speaking at Laney College, Oakland, 2015
    photo Alicia Mason
    Cover design Adam Turner

                    Marvin X speaking/reading at University of Chicago Sun Ra Conference, 2015
             (See Youtube video of Sun Ra Symposium on Afro-futurism at University of Chicago) 
                                                                     photo Burrell Sunrise

    Chapter One  Transcendence
    Bar B Q Becky and Black Revolution at Oakland’s Lake Merritt
    Is President Donald Trump a Damn Fool or Triple Damn Fool?
    Of Conundrums and Quagmires
    Dear Parents
    Dear White Folks
    Love Letter to Gay/Lesbian Youth
    Racism in America: the Grand Denial
    Imagine a Black  Nation!
    Black nationalism, flower children and the summer of love
    Transcend the low information vibration:
    Talk at San Francisco State University
    The revolutionary who never came in from the cold: Talk with University Of California, Merced  Students
    Revolution against fear
    Romanticism/Idealism
    Left/Right Paradigm
    Every day is a holy day
    Why are North American Africans Reactionary
    US Violence--level the playing field--everybody pack!
    Children and the national security of the united states
    Sectarianism
    Whiteness and Communal suicide
    How to stop violence in the Pan African hood; reply by Rudolph Lewis
    The Black Woman is God: from Sarah to Serena
    Last Rites of Muhammad Ali
    Chapter Two Obama Drama
    Pull yo pants up fada prez
    Excuse me, Mr. Prez
    Fictional interview with Prez Obama
    Fictional Prez Obama speech to Muslims
    On Prez Obama’s fake speech to Muslims
    Fictional Prez Obama’s speech on Afghanistan







    Chapter Three Reviews
    Black Arts Movement to Hip Hop: A Black Dialogue: Eric Arnold, Rene Guzman, Kim McMillan, Dr. J. Vern Cromartie, Marvin X; Respect Hip Hop Exhibit and The Education of Jahmeel--photo essay by Adam Turner
    Marvin X reviews Marvin X in Concert; photo essay by Adam Turner
    Sisyphus Syndrome, a Jazz Opera by Amiri Baraka
    Black Panther film pre-review
    Black Panther, an Afro-futurist film in the Myth-Science tradition of Sun Ra
    Addendum to Black Panther review: A psycholinguistic deconstruction of the Arabic word Nisa or Woman
    Django
    Sun Ra Arkestra at SF Jazz Center; photo essay by Adam Turner
    Maestro Michael Morgan’s Oakland  Symphony Notes on Vietnam Concert
    Mama at Twilight, Death by Love, a play by Ayodele Nzinga
    Film Fences, based on the August Wilson drama; reply by Dr. Abdul Alkalimat
    Maestro Michael Morgan’s Oakland Symphony Black Panther Concert
    Lifer, the Glen Bailey Story, a play by Ayodele Nzinga
    Black Odyssey, a play by Marcus Gardley
    Chapter Four
    The Black Arts Movement (BAM)
    Film script: Marvin X Driving Miss Libby
    BAM 50th Anniversary Celebration at Oakland’s Laney College
    BAM Wish List
    Letter of invitation to join BAM 27 City Tour
    Abstract for the BAM 27 City Tour
    BAM Speakers Bureau
    Straight Outta Oakland
    BAM Baby Mayor Ras Baraka and the Newark, New Jersey, Police Model of Symbiosis

    Chapter Five
    Black Arts Movement Business District (BAMBD)
    Oakland City Council approves BAMBD, January 19, 2016
    Symbiosis of Poets and Politicians
    Black Bourgeoisie Art and Opportunism
    Culture Pimps and Ho’s in the BAMBD
    Economics in the BAMBD
    BAMBD Billion Dollar Trust Fund
    How the BAMBD Billion Trust Fund will be allocated
    BAMBD Meets Carmel Developers
    Letter to Carmel Developers
    Afrocentric Design of the BAMBD, A Talk with Architect Fred Smith
    Toward Non-violence in the BAMBD
    Confidential Notes that ain’t confidential; reply by Oakland City Council President Lynette McElhaney
    Letter of Apology to Oakland Mayor Libby Schaaf and her reply
    Call for United Front at Oakland City Hall Black History Celebration





    Chapter Six
    The Cross and Lynching Tree: Assassination of Editor Chauncey Bailey
    Who killed Chauncey Bailey?
    Between the Devil and Deep blue sea
    A Shakespearean Tragedy
    OPD Gang
    Chauncey and Malcolm X
    Fake News Chauncey Bailey Project
    Chauncey’s last story


    Final thoughts: Endgame

    Order this book now, limited edition, signed by Marvin X. 
    Prepublication price $19.95, otherwise $29.95, 500 pages of wisdom 
    from the freest Black man in non-free America, 
    says James Sweeney

    Marvin X's mother, a deeply spiritual business woman, told him to use 
    the mind God gave you, boy. And you don't need them niggas, they 
    need you. Don't let them use you, think for 
    yourself. Well, for a half century, Marvin X survived exile, deportation, 
    prison, black and white balled, house arrest, agent provocateurs, snitches
    and the jealous and envious haters and blockers. No matter, Marvin X is indefatigable, 
    peripatetic and tenacious. A prominent political and spiritual leader told Marvin X he was 
    the most self confident person he'd ever met.

    We have the Square, for credit card orders. Call 51o-575-7148

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    Prez Donald Trump is the Devil in the Book of Job


    Marvin X at the University of Chicago, 2015
    photo  Burrell Sunrise

    Don't be scared of Prez Donald Trump, he just the devil, like the one in the Book of Job. If Trump is the devil, who is Job? Job is the so-called Negro who was kidnapped, brainwashed, raped, tortured and terrorized until reduced from Kunta to Toby and accepted his job for life, yes, job as in Job. Even today, after 400 years of involuntary servitude, most so-called Negroes, aka North  American Africans, only want a job, sometimes called "a slave" (Gotta get to ma slave, man, later).

    So although the idea of do for self or entrepreneurship is slowly creeping into his consciousness, especially after Marcus Garvey and Elijah Muhammad, because they recognize the glass ceiling awaits them, as did my darling daughter Muhammida El Muhajir realized after reaching the heights of corporate America (NIKE, William Morris Agency, et al.)  and departed to Ghana (See her interview with Al Jazeerah, Blaxit). She noted that after graduating from Howard University with a B.S. in Microbiology, on a track scholarship, "I ran track to be a winner. I am not going to stay in any race that I have no possibility of winning. Ghana may not have electricity 24/7 but they don't have white supremacy 24/7. I am not followed around in expensive stores, restaurants and hotels. I am black among my Black people!"

    Cheikh Anta Diop on Northern Cradle Tragedy and Southern Cradle Tragi-Comedy

    Cheikh Anta Diop taught us there is no tragedy in Southern Cradle or Kemetic/African drama . The essential theme in European or Northern Cradle drama is murder! Check out the Greek dramatists and especially Shakespeare.

    The primordial African drama is the Resurrection of Osiris, based on the annual ebb and flow of the Nile or Hapi River and the renewal of crops from death to resurrection celebrated in the Harvest festival ritual revised by Maulana Karenga (FYI, Karenga was the Southern California representative of Oakland's Afrcan American Association, under the leadership of Attorney Donald Warden, aka. Khalid Abdullah Tariq Al Mansour who went on to represent OPEC and the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia).

    Did Kwanza originate in Oakland?

    Let us consider Kwanza originated in Oakland with the AAA, just for historical fact, along with the AAA's influence on Black Panther founders Huey Newton and Bobby Seale (See AAA member Ed Howard on Oakland and Kwanza).

    The Afro American Association was critical in the West Coast Black Arts Movement and Black Studies. (In Sha Allah, Marvin X will explore this history in his forthcoming The Untold Story of the Black Student Revolution at San Francisco State University, co-authored by Nefertiti Jackmon and published by Black Bird Press, Oakland.

    Osiris as Kemetic/Egyptian Black African Savior God of Resurrection

    This prototypical savior drama (see Kersey Graves The World's Sixteen Crucified Saviors or Christianity Before Christ) of crucifixion, resurrection and ascension, the Osiris myth/ritual, followed kidnapped Africans to the New World, yes, that wilderness of North America and throughout the Americas or Diaspora.

    The Osiris Resurrection drama was synchronized in the variety of Kemetic/African spiritual expressions throughout the Americas, including Vodun, Condomple, Santaria, Holy Ghost Church, et al., no matter the US, Cuba, Puerto Rico, Haiti, Jamaica, Brazil, at al.  These New world Africans who had actually lived in the Americas Before Columbus as Moors, continue to express their myth/ritual spiritual expressions, but it was the same  expression Nile Valley vision of Resurrection and Joy, no matter the death of Africans in the Americas, genocide, the indefatigable African spirit.

    Rev. James Cone: The Cross and Lynching Tree: Osiris, Job, Jesus, Negro

    Our beloved Ancestor Rev. James Cone said we cannot understand Christianity and our role in the Christian myth/ritual until we come to terms with the Cross and the Lynching Tree. We can identify with the Crucified Jesus as Osiris or imagine ourselves as the central character in the Book of Job.

    God tells the devil to try Job to see if he will remain faithful. God said, "Devil, you can do anything to him but kill him." So the devil agreed to God's project, as if the devil had a choice since he was God's servant as well. He certainly didn't have power over God!

    The devil proceeded to torture Job to no end, inflicting him with all manner of diseases, boils, abscesses, loss of property, children, even his wife turned against him, crying, "Job, why don't you curse God and die!"

    But Job persisted as Abdullah, i.e., servant of God.

    We are all Abdullah, even the devil, Shaitan, as we see in the story of Job. Job was given a test that he passed: he kept the faith, a true trooper. He was solid, he never bent, never submitted.

    Prez Donald Trump as Devil

    As per Prez Donald Trump, keep the faith of your ancestors who endured the worse horrors any people endured in the history of the world; alas, the Jews suffered Hitler for four or five years while you suffered 400 years, yet you have no memory of your suffering.

    Is it not a psychological fact that victims of trauma can't  remember what happened to them? Dr. Nathan Hare says we don't suffer amnesia because amnesia implies we simply forgot, but Dr. Hare claims we suffered a severe degree of menticide or murder of the mind, hence we are in such a state of trauma and unresolved grief that we don't understand we have won the battle with the devil as depicted in the Book of Job.

    The Enemy will not tell you when you are winning!

    A partner of mine said, "The enemy will never tell you when you are winning!" You think they will announce on CNN, NPR, FOX?

    North Americans achieved National Sovereignty today after 400 years. The US Government agreed to pay 16 Trillion in Reparations and agreed to partition  land on a coast of the United States for the establishment of an independent state known as  The Republic of  North American Africa.


    Trump's Duty as Devil


    Prez Trump's duty as the devil is to try you to see if you are indeed a true trooper, i.e., Abdullah, servant of God/Allah. He's duty bound to inflict you with economic deprivation, although he claims you are in the best economic shape since you arrived in the wilderness of North America. Do you have living wage jobs? Are you able to halt the gentrification of your hoods coast to coast, from Harlem to San Frdaancisco's Fillmore and West Oakland?

    Malcolm X: Hoodwinked and Bamboozled

    Malcolm X told you not to be hoodwinked and  bamboozled! Elijah Muhammad told you not to be victims of tricknology!

    In fact, Elijah tricked the trick out of the trick; call it reverse psychology. Read Message to the Black Man by Elijah Muhammad , i.e., Black Studies 101. Elijah gave us an original mythology, even Marcus Garvey didn't give us the whole enchilada, although he studied with Duse Muhammad Ali in London before coming to America to connect with Booker T. Washington. Duse Muhammad gave him the concept of One God, One Aim, One Destiny, African for Africans, those at home and abroad. Today this is called Pan Africanism. Pan African-ism is the most potent concept in the Pan African world, a primal motivation of the African Union, although  the African Union is plagued with contradictions: At this moment the AU is a repetitious  continuation of the failed European model Africa adopted after de-colonialism and now trying to implement while the EU is falling apart as we see with Brexit. Italy is on the road to implement a nationalist, populist agenda, anti globalist and anti neo-liberalism agenda.

    Booker T and Marcus Garvey

    Washington died before Garvey could meet with him, although he understood Washington's philosophy of do for self, which Garvey implemented as best he could, fighting black bourgeoisie all the way, including W.E.B. DuBois. It is a sad chapter in  our history that our intellectuals conspired with the newly formed FBI to drive Garvey out of the USA, the greatest Black Nationalist leader of all times, until the coming of Elijah Muhammad who claimed he was only continuing the work of Garvey. And he did so, building the Nation of Islam into the greatest organization after Marcus Garvey. Consider Elijah's students: Malcolm X, Muhammad Ali, Farrakhan, Wraith Din Muhammad, Marvin X, et al.

    Have no fear of the devil, Prez Trump. Don't be afraid to make a deal with the devil, although he claims to be master of Art of the Deal. But we know the devil planned and Allah planned, but Allah is the Best Planner.

    Give the devil Brownie points for pardoning the first Black Heavyweight Champion Jack Johnson for violating the Black Man Act, i.e., transporting white women over state lines,.and for pardoning  our beloved sister Alice Johnson. FYI, what is the meaning of John in Arabic? John means life giver, Arabic Yahya. Jack and Alice were given life by the will of Allah through the devil. Her lawyer reported Alice said, "It feels like I have been resurrected from the dead...."

    We suggest the devil, Prez Trump,  stop cherry picking our oppressed people and give a general amnesty to all captives in USA dungeons, gulags, jails and prisons of America, most of whom are poor, mentally ill and drug addicted, plus lacked proper legal representation due to their poverty.

    Oh, Children of Job, do not be afraid to look the devil in his blues and don't blink. God got your back and your front. Be blessed and ever on the alert. Do not leave your post without being properly relieved, Soldier!
    --Marvin X
    6/6/18

    P.S. We cannot end this story without an antidote of how God/Allah blessed me in harmony with the Job myth/ritual. The Book of Job ends with Job keeping the faith and therefore being blessed with double everything he lost. Crack heads will remember how we used to run through the hood with a double up of Crack. Well, since the 60s I spent my money, in the words of my dear Mother, on travel and books. But Crack made me sell my library and when Eldridge Cleaver and I smoked together and ran out of money, I told him to look around his room which were book cases full of books. He immediately agreed to sell the books for Crack and we did, even down to the last book case.

    In the  Kemetic tragi-comedy and Christian Jobian myth-ritual, I have been blessed with more books in my apartment than I ever imagined. Dr. Nathan Hare gave me his entire library, more or less; I also inherited the library of my mentor, the Honorable John Doumbia, comrade of Malcolm X in their Harlem hustling days, along with many of my daughter Amira's books from her study at Yale and Stanford Law School.


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    Confession of Ex Basketball Player Marvin X
    draft 9/10/18

    Preface

    What I am about to tell you is going to shock you beyond belief as I shocked DJ Davey D when I told him I was writing this essay Confession of an ex-basketball player. But it's true. It is a story of how one can transcend the illusions of life, things we thought were priority, vital to our breath of air, yet, Solomon told us when I was a child I did childish things, when I became a man childish things mean nothing. Elijah Muhammad taught us the world was not made for sport and play. He told all his followers, including Muhammad Ali, the world was not for sport and play. HEM's sole focus was our liberation into a nation of our own. But we must take a break, R and R, sometimes, sooner or later.

    All armies must, even in the low intensity national liberation battle of North American Africans. Sports is a sometimes necessary diversion from the real world of dread, make believe and conspicuous consumption, the one billion five trillion illusions of the monkey mind (Guru Bawa).ort

    But some of us come to realize sports is indeed a diversion from the real world that would drive us to the brink of suicide or homicide if this world was our sole focus. Like music, sports soothes the wild beast in us while stimulating our tribal instincts in athletic prowess.

    For me as a child, teenager and college student, basketball was my life, a way to get away from home in a safe space. Shooting basketball probably saved me from descending off the precipice of juvenile criminality, although the coaches bet I would fuck up before the season was over at Edison High in Fresno. For sure, although an A student and athlete, several times I found myself in Juvenile Hall for stealing from the snack shop at White's Theatre where all us Blacks went on Sunday.

    The question is how did I get so far away from something I loved? 

    Shall we say there are passages (tech language portals) we go through in life. A critical ritual in Christology is the seven stations of the cross, although the primary Christian myth-ritual is crucifixion, resurrection, ascension.
    As I Write Tonight
    ur
    As I write, the music of my childhood growing up in West Oakland is playing, the Hammond B3 organ. Honestly, even now when I hear the Hammond, I time travel to growing up on 7th Street, West Oakland, Harlem of the West: that Hammond B3 organ takes me immediately to 7th Street: organ music blasting from cafes, beauty and barber shops, restaurants, pool halls, shoe shine parlors like Perry's, John Singer's Club; upstairs was the Pullman Porters Union, the first Black union in America, headed by C.L. Dellusm, uncle of Congressman and former Oakland Mayor Ron Dellums.
    There was Slim Jenkin's Restaurant where Josephine Baker was advertised for months, along with Earl Father Hines. When I passed Slim Jenkins hustling Jet and Ebony, I was fascinated at the billboard advertising Josephine Baker because my parents talked about her so much. I was in elementary school and in the Cub Scouts as I hustled Jet and Ebony magazines up and down 7th, from Peralta to Pine Street, so I mostly stood outside and listened to the music, although I could enter barber and beauty shops, pools halls and hear the juke box up close. Customers didn't know I was more interested in the music than selling Jet and Ebony.

    I sold down 7th to Pine which was the end of the line for the district, now called the Lower Bottom, although I never heard that term until lately. As far as I'm concerned, anyone who uses the term Lower Bottom did not grow up in West Oakland. But the socalled Lower Bottom was the end of the line, actually Pine was the Ho' Stroll and the across from the Amtrak Station on Pine was the Ho' Hotel, rooms rented by the hour. I sold Jet and Ebony in this area, making my way back to 7th via Peralta Street passing the West Oakland Library where as elementary school children they tried to teach us about Negroes in literature, although I wasn't ready nor were my classmates as I recall.

    Beyond Pine and Seventh Streets, the "Lower Bottom"

    Pine was the last street in West Oakland, next was the Army Base and Naval Supply Center, where Mom worked from time to time as a clerk typist while Dad held down the Florist Shop at 7th and Campbell. We lived in back of the shop without hot water and the toilet was outside the back door. We bathed in a tin tub after heating water on the stove. From our living quarters in back of the shop, we could look out the window to view the Negroes "acting a fool" on 7th as Granny said when she came to visit and sat in the window on weekends when 7th was crowded with people enjoying the night life, including sailors, soldiers and common folk. The sidewalks  were crowded and cars were bumper to bumper. I think Granny relished watching our people when the clubs let out: that's when the drama began over the Mythology of Pussy and Dick: Army and Navy brothers fighting with hood brothers over women. 

    Basketball at New Century Rec Center

    My basketball career began at New Century Rec Center, next door to MacFeely Elementary School, where I spent the 3rd and 4th grade. But New Century's gym was my home away from home. Soon I was addicted to basketball. It became my drug of choice. At New Century I saw a dance teacher that my elementary school mind said she was a beautiful queen. I could not say she was an African queen because I knew nothing about Africa except Tarzan and Jane.

    Dance teacher Ruth Beckford was royal with her short natural--who had a natural in the 50s? All I knew was she was black and beautiful. But my primary interest was basketball. When I got to Lowell Junior High, I made the team and a cheer leader tongue kissed me, scaring me to death. I knew nothing about the tongue kiss. But on the Lowell team was Joe Ellis who went on the play for the Warriors. At a basketball school, I won a trophy for hitting 9 of 10 at the free throw line. McClymonds star and NBA player Paul Silos was there.

    DeFermery Park, aka Bobby Hutton Park 

    Defermery Park basketball court separated stars from wannabees, after all Bill Russell played there, Paul Silos, Joe Ellis, Jim Hadnot and other  graduates of McClymonds who went professional, McClymonds, School of Champions, pride of West Oakland and the City at large after producing so many State champions in all sports. Let me acknowledge my homeboy from Fresno, Coach Benny Tapscott. 

    Basketball in Fresno

    As Mom and us children moved back and forth from Oakland to Fresno depending on Mom and Dad marital relations because they  were tripping and eventually divorced, but when in Fresno my basketball career continued at Frank H and Frank Smith on the West Side. We used to play at Frank Smith on the outside courts. Benny Tapscott was there, Odell Johnson, later stared at St. Mary's and became President of Laney College. All the Edison High players were there, especially Edison High star Billy Hicks, my neighbor in the projects. Odell went to Catholic School but his brothers made the team at  Edison High.

    I recall playing basketball at Defermery with the Pointer brothers (brothers of the Pointer Sisters singing group); the Aikens brothers, et al. If you could, and I did, maintain myself on court with the McClymonds brothers, I didn't feel bad. But New Century Rec had prepared me for the Defermery acid test.

    Lowell Jr. High trained me to engage the Defermery Park brothers, hell, we all played at New Century. It was the West Oakland's best gym.

    OG Basketball Player, 91 years old

    A few days ago in the parking lot of a grocery market, I recognized a brother I remembered from New Century and Defermery: he always had a braid in his hair. He was sitting at the wheel of a faded gold classic Cadillac. As I headed into the market I recognized him and couldn't resist saying something to him. I said, "Hey, bro, I remember you playing basketball at Defermery. Matter of fact, didn't you play at New Century?"

    He said yes. I said, "Hell, bro., you was old in the 50s as I recall. How old are you now?" He said, "91. I graduated from high school in 1944. Wasn't no Merritt College or Laney so I went to Community College in San Francisco." I was honored to be in his presence because I surely remember him, especially at Defermery, a master of the game. There were other brothers like Big Joe who used to use his weigh to muscle into the hole. at New Century and Defermery.

    Basketball in Fresno

    In Fresno, Edison was the school of champions. I spent my high school years on the team at Edison. I recall we played against Lemoore High School that had one black player, Tommy Smith. With five Blacks on our team, Tommy and his crew weree no match, we beat their asses. It was like Lebaron James playing the Warriors. Do the math: 1 vs 5!

    But we were humbled to see John Carlos and Tommy Smith raise their fists at the Mexico City Olympics.  Soon after John and Tommy's Mexico City affair that shocked the world that descendants of  the American Slave System (Ed Howard term) had the nerve to raise their fists at USA domestic colonialism, I found myself exiled in Mexico City, along with many other political refugees from throughout the Americas. I was one of many young political refugees from Dominican Republic, Cuba, Columbia, Venezuela to whom Mexico gave refuge. Thank you, Mexico, thank you.

    Mexico City Exile

    My Mexico City contact was the great revolutionary artist Elizabeth Cattlett Mora. She picked me up from the bus station and gave me initial refuge but said I could not stay with her because she was being watched because she was a Communist, although teaching at the University. Alas, before the Olympics students at the university were massacred and when parents went to the university the parents disappeared, so Betty Mora gave me temporary refuge and connected with those who could help me further.

    Blacks in Mexico City, 1970

    There was a community of Black Americans in Mexico City who had no plans of returning to the United States of America, in fact, they informed me that any human beings who wanted to endure the oppression meted out to North American Africans in the USA needed to endure such but it was not for them. These North American Africans had adjusted themselves to Mexican culture as an alternative to blatant USA racism, although Mexico had it's racism in its attempt to reconcile its mixed heritage of Spanish, Indian and African. After all, Mexican revolutionary heroes were Yanga, Vicente Guerrero, Afro Mexican George Washington and Abraham Lincoln of Mexico. Zapata, Afro Mexican revolutionary hero. 

    Praise for Mexico

    I loved Mexico's leit motif Por favor (please) repeated on every occasion to show civility, humility and appreciation.

    We praise Mexico for giving refuge to political refugees from throughout the Americas. Elder revolutionary Betty Mora instructed me that I would be fine as long as I stayed out of Mexican politics, which I did, until I decided to teach Black Power to students at an English language school and was fired. I spent time and hustled books with brothers at the African and Caribbean embassies. We had conversations on politics, in particular brothers from Ghana who informed they felt more equipped to deal with their English ex-colonial masters than the Russians President Nkrumah associated with, who sold them unusable military equipment. We think Nkrumah's vision of a United States of Africa was beyond these ambassadors. Brothers at the Caribbean embassies informed me they could not buy my Black Power literature even though they could travel home with diplomatic bags. At this time, 1970, Black Power literature was banned throughout the Caribbean. Why do you think Marcus Garvey left Jamaica, Stokely Carmichael and CLR James left Trinidad? These were slave and neo-colonial colonies. When I told my host in Mexico City, Betty Mora, I was going to Belize, then British Honduras, she was horrified, "No, Marvin, don't go, Belize is still a colony of Great Britain. They are in raw colonialism not neo-colonialism." As a hard headed North American African, I ignored the wisdom of Betty and departed to Belize with my wife now pregnant with our child we would name Nefertiti. Many years later, Nefertiti accompanied me to Alameda County Juvenile Hall where I spoke to the youth in the gym. When Nefertiti saw the females come into the gym, Nefertiti whispered, "Dad, those girls look tore up." And they did. Nefertiti told me later that at first she couldn't identify with the girls until she thought about her parents being in flight from oppression when she was conceived." We are in flight in our socalled land of the free and home of the brave. Tore up from the floor up, children, parents, grandparents, community. We are under great stress, most importantly our mental condition, but physical condition as well, especially our obesity. I am working on mine, especially when I recall my athletic past along with the How to Eat to Live teachings of the Honorable Elijah Muhammad who ignited the American health food revolution. 



    I connected with the grandsons of the Honorable Elijah Muhammad who were attending school at the University of the Americas, described by one of my Mexico City hosts as "a din of iniquity". They were the sons of Herbert Muhammad, Manager of Muhammad Ali.  I was sent a press badge as Foreign Editor of Muhammad Speaks, appointed by Herbert Muhammad, who was also Publisher of Muhammad
    Speaks. I wrote articles on Afro-Mexicans, including stories on Elizabeth Cattlett Mora, perhaps our greatest revolutionary artists; in the mode of Gwendolyn Brooks, Elizabeth Cattlett Mora identified with youth in the Black Power Movement, respecially the Black Panthers, thus, like Gwen, Betty Mora is a Master BAM Elder, her works speaks for itself, see Negro Es Bellow, i.e., black is beautiful using Black Panther iconology, a piece she was working on when she gave Marvin X refuge at her house. She and her husband, muralist Poncho Mora, were witnesses at the civil marriage of Marvin X and Barbara Hall, mother of their daughters Nefertiti and Amira. In the Maroon tradition, Marvin X snatched student Barbara Hall from Fresno State University, where he taught journalism, black literature and drama in the Black Studies Department, 1969, 70 students registered for his classes until Gov. Ronald Reagan discovered the lecturer was on trial in San Francisco for refusing to fight in Vietnam. Entering the State College Board of Trustees meeting, the said, "I want him off campus by any means necessary." Marvin faced Freesno Superior Court and was banned from Campus, the College claimed he was never hired, although he gave final grades to his 70 students from his classroom across the street from FSU at the Christian Center that provided him a classroom. FYI, Gov. Reagan also removed Angela Davis from lecturing at UCLA because she was a Black Communist, along with Marvin X, a Black Muslim who didn't allow whites in his classes, including the media. FYI, Mormons taught at FSU at this time and they believed Blacks could not enter the priesthood, later changed. Banned by Fresno Superior Court from entering FSU, Marvin X was simultaneously fighting his draft case in San Francisco. Students from throughout California supported his fight against serving in Vietnam. A group called the United Students of California said, "We want Marvin X not in jail, not in Vietnam but in the classroom."

    After being found guilty of draft evasion, Marvin X didn't wait for sentencing, he went into exile a second time, this time to Mexico City and Belize, Central America, from which he was soon arrested and deported back to America. In Belize, then British Honduras, the Minister of Home Affairs said in his deportation order: Your presence in not beneficial to the British Colony of Honduras, therefore you shall be deported back to the United States of America. Until the plane leaves to Miami at 4PM, you shall be placed under arrest. 


       
    Who Won Tonight?

    Who won tonight? Warriors! Warriors! Warriors! Everybody loves winners. I love winners. I salute the Oakland Warriors! Oakland is the City of Warriors, City of Resistance, like Fallujah in Iraq, destroyed yet resistant. Oakland North American Africans, yes, City of Champions by the Warriors victory tonight, the Pullman Porters Union, Black Panther Party and the battle continues....Let the now generation take the baton, let them not reinvent the wheel but learn from Ancestor mistakes and avoid them, move into the world of your making. Khalil Gibran said your children come through you but they are not you. You are the bow, they are the arrow! 

    I am not watching the game. I am writing this article. I have never watched a Warrior game or any other NBA game. I can't believe myself after spending my childhood and young adulthood playing basketball night and day, sleeping and eating basketball.

    But truthfully, I cannot believe as a basketball player--and I did not mention I was on the team at Merritt College after graduation from Edison and returning to Oakland to attend Merritt.  Before I get to Merritt, let me finish my high school career as a guard. Most significantly, I suffered a knee injury that pretty much ended my career because the injury recurred even when I got to Merritt College. But at Merritt my main problem was my West Oakland brothers from McClymonds, John Aikens, Jackson, Bobby Chapman, hell, our first team guard could dunk! But I was not going into the hole with those tall brothers from McClymonds, they weren't going to elbow me in the head. After suffering another knee injury on the road, I think it was against Fresno City College, I gave up basketball and started playing tennis. Wasn't that many blacks into tennis in 1963. When I beat a tall white boy on the tennis court, he threw his racket down and walked off the court.

    I continued playing tennis until I taught at the University of Nevada, Reno, and my children visited me for the summer. My son, Darrel, a high school tennis champ, beat me set after set and laughed all the way. I was then that I realized youth is no match for the elders. My son ended my tennis career forever.

    My athletic interest was rekindled when my oldest son Marvin Keith played college football as defensive end, captain of the defense. The few of his college games I attended, I saw him sack the quarterbacks. And this was all right with me until he thought I was the quarterback to sack as abandoned father.

    I was elated when he tried out for the San Francisco 49s but was cut. He didn't pursue his athletic career but went into computer programming. When he worked for PGE, he said, "Dad, do you know how much I make?" I said no son, he said, "Eight thousand dollars every two weeks." All I could say was wow. He showed me his hand computer  that controlled all the PGE computers in Northern California. After my son was cut from the 49rs, I had no further interest in football, although I played football, yes, tackle football in the hood with no protective gear. You think we had gear in the hood?
    But as hustler I made money during the San Francisco Super Bowels, hustling caps, shirts, etc.

    The Battle of the Bay World Series

    When the 1989 earthquake hit the Bay, I was hustling T shirts at the Eastbay Terminal. I was at Mission selling when the quake hit and I had to take shelter in the cove of a building. A Latina woman was shouting for me to take cover with her as the quake caused buildings to fall before my eyes. The Battle of the Bay was no more. I boarded an AC Transit bus to Oakland, but after getting on the bridge aboard the bus, the bridge fell and cars went into the bay. When the AC bus stopped, passengers were ordered off the bus and we walked back to the terminal. The rest is another story,just know North American Africans celebrated Xmas in October.

    Warriors win NBA title again

    The beauty of Oakland is that it is the City of Warriors in every genre, sports, politics, arts, culture, radical solutions.

    What About Warrior Politics

    Can Oakland solve its pressing housing crisis caused by gentrification and globalism? We hope you understand Globalism transcends White Supremacy. When I moved into a subsidized apartment by the Lake, Latinos were the repairmen, but after the change ownership of Asians, the Latino workers are no more, only Chinese who speak no English.

    We must therefore update our analysis of oppression, alas, it is no longer the white man but Global Man who cares nothing about racism only economics. You may be surprised at this multi-cultural phenomena that may include global investors from Latin America, Africa, Arabia, China, India, at al.

    City of Resistance 

    And yet, few understand Oakland as City of Resistance to USA domestic colonialism.
    Oakland resisted with armed resistance, no MLK, Jr. non-violence;Oakland style, fuck the police, back dat ass up bitch pig ass motherfucka.

    Don't  no Oakland soldiers fear yo ass OPD pig motherfucker, back yo ass up. We 7th Street Niggas.
    Back yo ass up. Yeah, we crazy so don't fuck wit us. Leave us the fuck alone. West Oakland fa life.
    Power to the People!

    Warriors Victory and continued occupation of Oakland's Lake Merritt


    The Warrior Celebration in Oakland continued Black people's occupation of Lake Merritt along Lakeshore Ave. Vendors were numerous with African clothing, jewelry, art work, food, books(Marvin X) and socializing with ample marijuana and alcohol, a celebration of Black Unity, Joy and Entrepreneurship.






    We call upon politicians to make the necessary policy changes to make permanent the Black presence at the Lake an extension of the Black Arts Movement District that begins from the Lower Bottom of 14th Street to Lake Merritt. This should be done in the name of racial and economic parity. North American African vendors should be exempt from City and State taxes for five to ten years pending reparations. Lake vending should be a pilot project to extend Black vending along the 14th Street corridor to inspire a Black economic and cultural Renaissance in Oakland, once known as Harlem of the West!
    --Marvin X, BAMBD Co-founder
    9/12/18


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    The Warrior Celebration in Oakland continued Black people's occupation of Lake Merritt along Lakeshore Ave. Vendors were numerous with African clothing, jewelry, art work, food, books(Marvin X) and socializing with ample marijuana and alcohol, a celebration of Black Unity, Joy and Entrepreneurship.





    We call upon politicians to make the necessary policy changes to make permanent the Black presence at the Lake an extension of the Black Arts Movement District that begins from the Lower Bottom of 14th Street to Lake Merritt. This should be done in the name of racial and economic parity. North American African vendors should be exempt from City and State taxes for five to ten years pending reparations. Lake vending should be a pilot project to extend Black vending along the 14th Street corridor to inspire a Black economic and cultural Renaissance in Oakland, once known as Harlem of the West!
    --Marvin X, BAMBD Co-founder
    9/12/18
    email: mxjackmon@gmail.com 

    Catch Marvin X autographing books at San Francisco Juneteenth, Sat. June 16; Berkeley Juneteenth, July 17 and North Oakland Juneteenth, June 23.



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    Poet/playwright, BAM co-founder Marvin X after a previous lecture/discussion with UC Merced students. Marvin X, in his ephemeral academic career, taught at Fresno State University, UC Berkeley, UC San Diego, Mills College, San Francisco State University, University of Nevada, Reno.
    He speaks at colleges and universities coast to coast. He spoke at the University of Chicago's Sun Ra Conference (Goggle). He appears in Stanley Nelson's film: Black Panthers, Vanguard of the Revolution, PBS. Marvin's archives were acquired by the Bancroft Library, University of California, Berkeley. His archives are currently on exhibit at the Oakland Museum of California's Respect Hip Hop.
    Email from Kim McMillan, PhD, University of California, Merced

    Hi Marvin,

    That was a fascinating read.  Perhaps consider creating a play on your life. My students truly were appreciative and in awe of your fearlessness.  The one student named Wheeldin really wanted to know if you met his grandfather who was teaching Black Studies at Fresno State while you were there.  Normally, I would show your email to my students. They are talented, sweet, and extremely sensitive.  However, I am not sure they would want anyone to know they cried over your work.  *:) happy
    In 2015, when we did Flowers for the Trashman at the Merced Multicultural Center, we had an Asian young man playing the role of Joe.  He had the audience in tears, including me.  At the reception, a few audience members told him that they related to the experience of being or knowing someone innocent and incarcerated.  One theatre-goer said, "This was better than going to see professional actors because you knew the students believed what they were saying."  Theatre that speaks Truth to Power is healing.

    Thank you for being there for my students.  You have never said no when I have asked you to speak.  You and several others from the Black Arts Movement and the Black Panther Party have come to UC Merced to educate young people about our history.  I am very grateful.  

    Peace,

    Kim

    Marvin X telephone interview with students in Dr. Kim McMillan's Theatre class, UC Merced
    7/5/18


    After a telephone interview with UC Merced students, instructor Dr. Kim McMillan left a
    message on Marvin X's voicemail informing Black Arts Movement poet/playwright and
    co-founder of BAM how deeply his plays touched her theatre students, especially his 1964
    BAM classic Flowers for the Trashman. She said they were in tears after reading Flowers.
    One student cried after reading the script that deals with family relations. She was glad her
    family healed before the death of a member as occurs in Flowers when the father suffers a
    heart attack before he can reconcile with the son. McMillan said another student cried after
    he read Flowers. "And he was a big guy, Marvin, 6'3'."


    "I just want you to know how your works affected my students. And I thank you for your
    interview with them that was frank and real." During the telephone interview, Kim said she
    wished she could have interacted with playwrights while attending San Francisco State
    University, Marvin's alma mater as well.


    The initial question from students was not about his dramatic works but his Parable of Love,
    from The Wisdom of Plato Negro, parables/fables, Marvin X. When Marvin X asked students
    what moved them about the Parable of Love, Kim read the second to last paragraph of the
    parable that dealt with family reconciliation:


    "...So even parents who are estranged, separated or divorced can and must let children see
    they can be civil, even if they are not friends, even if they hate each other. Don't make the
    child hate the father because you hate him, or hate the mother. Let's show our children love,
    and maybe then they will emulate our positive behavior and raise up from their animal actions...."


    Of course Parable of Love is related to his play Flowers. The last lines in Flowers for the
    Trashman has the main character, Joe, saying to his ghetto friend, Wes, "I want to talk with
    my sons, Wes, know what I mean? I want to talk with my sons...."


    Students wanted him to expand on the subject of family love. He said, "Flowers for the
    Trashman deals with a young man trying to understand his father but in his college-student
    youthfulness and ignorance, it was only in later years that he came to appreciate his father
    for what he was and was not!" In a poem, Marvin X wrote
    ...I did not know my father
    until I became him
    then I knew him well....

    He could have quoted a line from BAM co-founder, poet-playwright, Ancestor Amiri Baraka
    who said, "We send our children to these colleges and universities but they come back home
    hating us and everything we're about, but they don't even know what we're about!"
    The main character in Flowers, Joe, clearly didn't understand and therefore could not
    appreciate his father, a self employed Garveyite with a florist shop on 7th and Campbell
    Streets in West Oakland, in the 50s known as Harlem of the West!

    Marvin told students, "Love and understanding happens over time, with maturity. What we
    thought about our parents when we are 20 will not be what we think about them when we
    are 40, 50, 60!""If you have not come to love and appreciate them upon maturity, you
    continue to suffer the malady  Amiri Baraka described."


    Students asked about his one-act play (co-authored with Ed Bullins), Salaam, Huey Newton,
    Salaam. (See Best Short Plays of 1990).The play (a scene from his full length docudrama
    One Day in the Life) deals with his last meeting in a West Oakland Crack house with
    co-founder of the Black Panther Party, Dr. Huey Newton, with whom Marvin had befriended
    at Oakland's Merritt College, hotbed of West Coast Black nationalism and Pan-Africanism,
    when he arrived after graduating with honors (He is a lifetime member of CSF, the State high
    school honor society) from Edison high school , Fresno CA, 1962.  He told students how
    Huey Newton, Bobby Seale and others, especially members of the African American
    Association, under the leadership of Attorney Donald Warden, aka Khalid Abdullah Tariq
    Al Mansour, rapped, i.e., extemporaneous or free-style speaking, about black nationalism on
    the steps of Merritt College. The AAA helped give birth to the Black Panther Party, Black Arts
    Movement, Cultural Nationalism, including Kwanza, and Black Studies.


    But students wanted to know how Huey, Eldridge, Marvin and others succumbed to Crack
    cocaine as described in Salaam, Huey Newton, Salaam. Marvin said, "When we produced
    the full length version of the play in Brooklyn, New York, at Sista's Place, 1996, Viola
    Plummer, leader of Sista's Place, said there was no excuse for black revolutionaries
    succumbing to Crack addiction, since we had knowledge of America's use of drug warfare,
    as used by the Europeans dumping opium on the Chinese, or Alcohol on the Africans
    and Native Americas. Now, if you want, I can say I got addicted because I was 40 and in
    the mid-life crisis: disillusioned with teaching, marriage, religion, politics, revolution, everything.
    Crack came at a time when I was making so much money hustling I didn't know what to do e
    except fuck it off on dope!" His father always told him to be the best at whatever he wanted to
    do. When he got addicted to Crack, his father said, "Son , you ain't even a good dope fiend!
    You so smart you should be a billionaire, but you fucked up, boy; you so smart you
    outsmarted yourself!"

    Did Marvin X become a good dope fiend?

    While on Crack he became a street vendor at the crossroads of San Francisco, Market and
    Powell, Cable Car turnaround. He made and hustled incense, oils, drug paraphernalia,
    political buttons, cashmere wool scarves, sun glasses, umbrellas, anything to support his
    Crack habit contrary to his father.

    And a good dope fiend will find a way everyday to satisfy his habit. He is a most
    highly motivated individual. After the San Francisco Police Department harassed Black
    vendors from selling on the street, Marvin X incorporated his comrade and partner from the
    from the Black Arts Movement West San Francisco and at the Berkeley Flea Market,
    Ethna X. Wyatt, aka, Hurriyah Asar. soon after the San Francisco Board of Supervisors
    changed the rules so that only non-profit organizations and street artists could vend on the
    streets.

    After writing the incorporation papers to establish Hurriyah as a 501 (c) 3 Non-profit, Hurriyah
    and Marvin X were still harassed under the color law by the SFPD. The Chief Attorney for the
    San Francisco Police Department, Lawrence Wilson, told Hurriyah and I during a court
    recess, "If you beat us in court, we'll go to the Board of Supervisors and
    change the rules." (FYI, Lawrence Wilson, Chief Attorney of the SFPD was busted for dealing drugs out of his house and was sent to State Prison, eventually he died of AIDS.)

    And we beat him, and he went to the Board of Supervisors and they
    changed the rules! Alas, Native Americans told you the white man speaks with a forked
    tongue! After the SFPD continued to cite Hurriyah and myself for selling on the street
    legally, Hurriyah left the Bay Area to live on an island in South Carolina.
    Since her non-profit papers were still legal, I used them to become the Chief Street vendor.
    Yes,I controlled street vending in downtown San Francisco, especially the lucurative Union
    Square shopping district. Yes, the white boys paid me to work under my non-profit papers.
    And the SFPD pigs turned beat red when the white boys presented them a niggah's papers.
    The SFPD said the same thing about me controlling Union Square that the New York police
    said about Malcolm X controlling Harlem, "He got too much powser for a nigger!"

    Yes, the white boys were paying me to be on the street legally. And the white boys gave me
    more than monthly fees, they gave me all the products I wanted, especially their cashmere
    wool scarves their organizations were selling. I was selling Union Square turf like a real
    estate broker. We made a map of where and what white boys could sell here and there in
    Union Square.

    At Market and Powell, the old men, among others, stood around all day watching and
    conversing on activities at the Market and Powell Cable Car turnaround. They estimated I
    made $300.00 per day and said, "He the richest nigga in downtown San Francisco,"
    although all my money was going to the dope men who lined up at my booth daily since they
    knew I made cash money daily, thus I was a sitting duck for dope dealers as I wallowed in my
    mid-life crisis!
    During the 1984 Democratic Convention, he sold so many buttons the San Francisco
    Chronicle labeled him The Button King.

    When he went to Dallas, Texas to sell at the 1984 Republican Convention, the first night he
    sold buttons in Dallas a police officer asked, "Where you from?" When Marvin X replied,
    "I'm from here!" The pig said, "Naw ya ain't, ya ain't from here!" Why you say I ain't from
    here, Sir? He replied, "Cause ya smart!" After Republicans stood and watched him vend,
    one said, "If you make two more dollars, you'll be a Republican!"

    Another question from UC Merced Students

    What about his trials and tribulations after refusing to fight in Vietnam?

    Answer: When his English Professor, John Gardner, the great novelist and Medievalist, gave
    his script to the Drama Department (an unusual honor for an undergraduate, although
    Professor and Beat Poet Kenneth Rexroth proclaimed Marvin X, "The best playwright to hit
    San Francisco State University!"

    When SFSU Drama Department Director Thomas Tyrell, suggested Marvin tone down the
    script, he refused (tone it down is the story of my life from the consensus of conservative
    whites and Negroes),

    Although he appreciated the SFSU Drama Department for producing his first play, he soon
    dropped out of SFSU to establish Black Arts West Theatre on Fillmore Street, 1966, along with
    playwright Ed Bullins, et al. BAWT was at Turk and Fillmore, across the street from Tree's
    Pool Hall. On the corner of Turk and Fillmore, the China man sold two/three dolla fish
    samishes that we survived on along with the cooking of Ethna X. Wyatt, the radical
    Queen of Black Arts West, Marvin X's revolutionary partner from among a group of
    revolutionary black young women from Chicago that Summer of Love, although Ethna
    arrived in San Francisco around 1965-66.
    Just know Ethna's/Hurriyah's feminine/spiritual energy kept us brothers from killing each
    other: Marvin X, Ed Bullins, Duncan Barber, Carl Bossiere, Hillary Broadous.
    Thank you, Ethna X Wyatt/Hurriyah Asar,


    But when Marvin X dropped out of college, his draft deferment was violated and he was sent
    draft papers, although he had no plans of fighting in Vietnam for he was in total agreement
    with Muhammad Ali,"No Vietcong never called me a nigger!"

    Marvin X joined the Nation of Islam in 1967, Mosque #26, San Francisco, after
    departing from the Black House Political Cultural Center, founded by Eldridge Cleaver and
    himself, later joined by Ed Bullins, Ethna Wyatt, aka Hurriyah Asar, et al.


    Elijah Muhammad told his followers to go to prison as he did, rather than fight for the white
    devil. But Marvin was also under the influence of the Black Panther Party that said, "We
    must not only resist the draft but arrest as well." Marvin X fled the US to Toronto, Canada,
    soon joined by fellow draft resisters Oswald X, fellow student from SFSU and Norman
    Richmond from Los Angeles.
    But once Marvin discovered racism is as Canadian as hockey, he returned underground to
    the US.
    He is thankful for his Canadian exile that allowed him to be mentored by two of the greatest
    Pan African and Caribbean writers: Austin Clarke and Jan Carew.  


    Six months in Canada was enough for the poet who slipped underground to Chicago,
    connecting with the Chicago Black Arts Movement, Gwen Brooks, Carolyn Rogers, Johari
    Amini, Don L. Lee, aka Haki Madhubuti, Hoyt Fuller of Negro Digest/ Black World; Phil
    Choran's Theatre, Chicago Arts Ensemble, and Muhammad Speaks Newspaper, edited by
    Richard Durnham.


    "I was in Chicago when Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated. I was living on the south-
    side, 57th and Kimbark, having just moved from the north-side. The west-side burned, but
    when I got up the next morning and walked to 63rd and Cottage Grove, the streets were
    under National Guard occupation.


    Shortly after the death of MLK, Jr., I received a note from my friends on the north-side saying
    the FBI had been to their house looking for me. I then contacted playwright Ed Bullins who
    was playwright in residence at Harlem's New Lafayette Theatre and his invited me to Harlem
    as associate editor of Black Theatre Magazine. Swimming in the sea of my people in Harlem
    (never seeing white people for weeks unless one ventured downtown), I had no fear of the
    FBI on my tail. But on a visit to see a female in Montreal, Canada, I gave my true identity
    returning to the US and was arrested on the bus at a checkpoint and found myself in
    Plattsburg jail, upstate New York. After getting releleased through the efforts of the legendary
    Civil Rights lawyer Conrad Lynn, I eventually returned to San Francisco to stand trial (See
    Black Scholar Magazine for my Court Speech, 1970).
    Simultaneously, before leaving Harlem, I was invited to teach Black Studies at Fresno State
    College, now University, 1969. Black Studies hired me to teach three classes: black literature,
    journalism, drama. Seventy students enrolled. Then it was brought to the attention of Gov.
    Ronald Reagan that I was lecturing at FSU even though I refused to fight in Vietnam. As
    Governor, Reagan was president of the State College Board of Trustees. The Fresno Bee
    reported that upon entering the State College Board of Trustees meeting, Reagan wanted to
    know, "How we can get Marvin X off campus by any means necessary?" Yes, he actually
    quoted Malcolm X. Also, at this same time he was removing Angela Davis from teaching at
    UCLA because she was a Communist. He wanted me removed because I was a Black
    Muslim, who would not allow whites in my classes." Yes, under NOI teachings, I believed in
    separation not integration. But FSU was full of Mormons who also believed in separation at
    the time. Fresno Superior Court banned me from teaching at FSU, issuing a restraining order
    baring me from stepping onto campus. But a white Student Christian Center across from the
    campus allowed me to hold classes and I gave final grades to my 70 students even though
    FSU said I was never hired!


    After losing my case to teach at FSU and my draft case in San Francisco, I departed into
    my second exile, this time in Mexico City. I told the UC Merced students, "I am thankful that
    Mexico gave me refuge along with other young revolutionaries from throughout the Americas.
    In Mexico City, I found myself with young revolutionary brothers from Dominican Republic,
    Cuba, Belize, Columbia, Venezuela, and elsewhere. My Mexico City contact was the great
    revolutionary artist Elizabeth Cattlett Mora, a Black Communist who could only give me
    shelter for a short time since she knew she and her famous husband muralist Poncho Mora
    were under surveillance. After all, there had been a student massacre at the university a
    few months before I arrived. When parents went to the university to check on their students,
    the parents disappeared. Then too Tommy Smith and John Carlos had come to the Mexico
    City Olympics in 1968 to raise their fists in the Black Power salute that shook up the world.


    Elizabeth Catlett or Betty Mora told me I would be all right in Mexico City if  I stayed out of
    their politics which I did, for the most part. But after connecting with the African and
    Caribbean ambassadors and, selling them black books as my hustle to survive,
    they invited me to a party at the American Embassy. Black and bold, I attended even though
    the FBI was looking for me. In short, I was unafraid after Huey Newton, Bobby Seale and
    Eldridge Cleaver taught me fearlessness, the primary lesson of the Black Panther Party.
    Elijah Muhammad taught us to fear no one but Allah.


    But I soon tired of Spanish and connected with brothers from Belize, Central America,
    against advise of Betty Mora who was horrified I wanted to depart for Belize that was still
    a colony of Great Britain, aka British Honduras. "Marvin, please don't go, they are not even
    in neo-colonialism, they are still in raw colonialism, don't go!"


    Being the hard-headed so-called Negro, I ignored her advice and with my pregnant wife ,
    FSU student Barbara Hall, that I snatched from FSU, mother of my daughters Nefertiti and
    Amira: when she joined me in exile, we soon married in Mexico City (Betty and Poncho
    were witnesses at the civil ceremony).
    My sojourn in BH or Belize was short-lived as I did not follow the instructions of my contacts in Belize, Evan X. Hyde and Ishmael Shabazz, leaders of the Black Power Movement. And of course I made the further mistake of covering their sedition trial for Muhmmad Speaks Newspaper of which Herbert Muhammad had made me Foreign Editor after I connected with his sons in Mexico City. They were students at the University of the Americas, described as the din of iniquity by a sista.

    We became fast friends and I was invited to party at their casa. Now, in truth, Elijah Muhammad's grandsons were the talk of Mexico City in the North American African community of exiles or expatriates. The consensus was that Elijah or Sonny did not believe in the teachings of his grandfather, which I must confess, he did not from my observation. At his house party, he danced with a white woman, while his brother had a Mexican woman in a long dress. His brother wanted to be an airplane pilot and became the personal pilot of Elijah Muhammad.


    In hindsight, I suspect my time in Belize was to be short-lived after reporting in Muhammad
    Speaks Newspaper on the sedition trial of Evan X. Hyde and Ishmael Shabazz....



    --Continued in Notes of Artistic Freedom Fighter Marvin X, Part One, Black Bird Press, 2018


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    Poet, playwright, philosopher Marvin X at the University of Chicago Sun Ra Conference


    I have written that after a man deposits his seed into a woman, he has nullified his right to control the woman's body, simply because it is the woman's body, not his. If a man is against abortion, he should make this clear to the woman. And she should make clear to him she is pro abortion. Maybe they should sign an agreement that she has the human right to her body and the fruit thereof. In short, the man should not have sex with a woman who is pro abortion. And men should stay out of women's affairs.

    Men have enough to do handling male matters such as manhood training, including understanding what I said above. Go find your abandoned sons and nephews: tell them to pull their pants up! See my Mythology of Pussy and Dick, Black Bird Press, 2009.
    --MARVIN X
    7/10/18

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    Notes of Artistic Freedom Fighter Marvin X
    Marvin X Kidnapped, Incarcerated
     Marvin X, University of Chicago Sun Ra Conference on Afro-futurism
    Notes for Black August 2018
    7/14/18
    FYI: Marvin X speaks coast to coast live,  this Tuesday, July 17, 8pm EST, 5PM PST.
     Stay tuned for details.

    As part of Black August National Conference in Oakland, 2018, he will speak and read on his experience with incarceration.
    Marvin X: Kidnapped, Incarcerated 
    \

    Marvin X, Harlem NY, 1968

    He was part of the founding members of the Black Arts Movement, e.g., Amiri Baraka, Sonia Sanchez, Askia Toure, Larry Neal, Last Poets, Nikki Giovanni, Don L. Lee, Sun Ra, Milford Graves, Barbara Ann Teer, Ed Bullins, Robert Macbeth and the Lafayette Theatre, Oba Olatunji, et al. 
    photo Doug Harris

    In 1970, he was deported from British Honduras, now Belize, Central America for teaching Black Power and reporting on the sedition trial of Black Power leaders Evan X. Hyde and Ishmael Shabazz as Foreign Editor of Muhammad Speaks Newspaper. After his arrest and appearance before the Minister of Home Affairs who read his deportation order: Your presence is not beneficial to the British Colony of Honduras, therefore you are under arrest until your flight departs for Miami, Florida at 4PM. "I was taken to the police station and told to sit down in the lobby. I was not handcuffed and after a short time I was surrounded by Black police officers and when the circle was full, one asked me to teach them about Black Power. It was surreal but I replied that from my study of Belize history, Marcus Garvey came here in 1923 and told you to get the Queen of England off your walls. It is 1970, get that white bitch off your walls. The brothers cracked up and said I was all ite. They couldn't understand why the government was deporting me for teaching Black Power, after all the hippies came to Belize and smoked their weed and did other drugs, but they were not deported. When an uncle tom black officer came into the room but did not join the circle, the officers said he was a black mon wit white heart, black mon wit white heart!

    I was taken to the airport for the 4pm departure to the USA, and but when I resisted getting on the plane because my wife was five hours up the river, pregnant with no knowledge of my arrest and deportation and I wanted her to leave with me, I was thrown onto the plane and the door shut.

    The flight back to USA first went south over Cuba to Spanish Honduras, Tegucigalpa, the capital.  I though about hijacking the plane over Cuba but declined after recalling Cuba's troubling history with North American African revolutionaries Robert F. Williams and Eldridge Cleaver, especially when Cleaver discovered the Afro-Cubans ignited the revolution and identified with them although at the time the Cuban revolution said we are one people, yet it later recognized its African heritage when Cuban decided to assist the African revolution in Angola, South Africa and elsewhere, sacrificing the blood of Afro-Cubans in the African revolution.

    FYI, in truth, I can't recall if we crossed Cuba on the way to Tegucigalpa or on the way back, but when the plane landed in Tegucigalpa for a short stop, I got off the plane and even though the airport looked like an American military airport, I walked off the plane and told the soldiers I wanted refuge. One said, "Espera un momento, por favor." He soon returned and marched my black ass back onto the plane and we eventually arrived in Mimai, Florida where two US Marshals met me and delivered me to Dade County Jail in a cell with Niggas who, when I called them my brother, replied they were not my brothers, so I took the silent mode until I was transferred to the Federal facility at Miami City Jail, wherein the white Cuban prisoners, mainly dope dealers, welcomed me with open arms. In contrast to the treatment of my deaf, dumb and blind brothers in Dade County Jail, the white Cubans exclaimed that I was their brother and whatever I needed and wanted, all I had to do was ask them. Did I need any money, they asked. I said yes because I needed to check on the status of my pregnant wife stuck on an island Gales Point. I was able to call her family and learn my father in law had sent for her and she was home. The white Cuban dope dealers asked what I wanted to eat since they were sending out for restaurant food. After being in exile from America, what do you think I asked them to order for me: a milkshake, hamburger and fries!

    The Cuban dope dealers treated me with so much love I was depressed when I recalled my treatment with my Niggas so deaf, dumb and blind at Dade County Jail. Truly, it hurt me that the white Cubans showed me so much love but my brothers showed me so much hate!
    Each day at Miami City Jail, I watched the Cuban dope dealers go to court and return with 17 years, no matter guilty or innocent. They informed me who was innocent and who was guilty as the white Cubans returned from court. When they were busted, they said a white hippy knocked on their door. They called the police and told them white hippies were at their door, alas, the white hippies were the police.
    During my stay in Miami, it was announced there was an attempted prison breakout in Marin at the courthouse. I was joyful about the courthouse shootout to free George Jackson and others of the Black revolutionary prison movement. Actually, as a student at San Francisco State University and on the staff of Black Dialogue Magazine, we made a visit to the Soledad Prison Black Culture Club, 1966, chaired by Eldridge Cleaver and Alprentis Bunchy Carter. We shared our publication and they shared their writings that we published in Black Dialogue, including Cleaver's essay My Queen I Greet You, his love letter to the black woman although much of his Soul on Ice was mostly a praise song of the white woman, especially his white lawyer/lover, Beverly Axelrod, who smuggled his manuscript out of prison.
    Most importantly, we now know the Soledad Prison Black Culture Club was in fact the beginning of the Black and American Prison Movement (See the lectures of Prison Griot Kumasi for his minute by minute history of the Black Prison Movement. See my first play Flowers for the Trashman for references to my brother who was in another section of Soledad Prison at this time yet I learned he was part of the prison liberation movement. Kumasi notes, "It was kill or be killed, there was no other choice. You guys had your revolution on the outside, we had ours on the inside and it was kill or be killed!"

    Meanwhile in Miami, one morning two gentleman came to deliver me to San Francisco. We stopped in Nashville and I played a game of pool with these US Marshall's. Being a  poor shark from West Oakland, I beat them and then we continued our flight to San Francisco County Jail on Bryant Street where I spent three months going to trial for draft resistance and fleeing from prosecution (see my Court Speech in Black Scholar Magazine, issue on Black Prisoners,1970).

    As a political prisoner, I was not allowed to infect the general population on the main line so soon I was moved to C Block or the isolation section for political prisoners, nuts on the way to Napa Mental Hospital, murder suspects and homosexuals. I was put in a cell with a mental patient on his way to Napa. In the next cell was a murder suspect who'd been awaiting trial for over two years and hadn't had a visitor. We became friends and I arranged for my wife's best friend to visit him. Eventually he beat his murder charges and he hooked up with my wife's friend long enough to have a child who is now an international lawyer.

    I couldn't understand how copies of Muhammad Speaks Newspapers were dropped in my cell. I soon learned the Black Sheriff Charles Smith, a lieutenant at the time, dropped them in my cell at the request of my Black Arts Movement partner Ethna X, aka Hurriyah Asar. Charles Smith was a Sheriff and also a playwright, so he was sympathetic to Black liberation and especially the Black Arts Movement. Years later Sheriff Smith said he attended an Interpol Conference in Belize at which I was a topic of discussion.

    Anyway, after three months in SF County Jail which was a nano dot from hell: I saw black sheriffs abuse black inmates to "prove" themselves to their white comrades. Does it matter if the hangman is white or black?
    After writing my court speech on toilet paper and handing it to my P.D. (public pretender), I went to court to discover I'd beat my case on a technicality but the judge said, "Sir, the USA spent a lot of money trying to apprehend you, over five years. We must convict you for something so how much time would you like for avoiding persecution?
    I thought about (I'd already served three months), "Your honor, I will do five months." Yes, I gave myself my time!

    The judge sentenced me to five months in Federal Prison, with three months served in SF County Jail.
    I was sent to Terminal Island Federal Prison, San Pedro, California.

    Soon as I arrived in San Pedro, fish factory town, I noticed the fish smell. But once inside Terminal Island Prison, the Muslim brothers informed it was not the fish smelling but the smell of deaf, dumb and blind dead niggas, including fake ass Muslim niggas.  But more importantly, the first thing they told me was don't get sick, whatever you do, brother, don't get sick. We got a prison graveyard full of niggas who got sick in here!
    Depending on one's education, one is assigned a job. Some brothers did factory work or hard labor. Since I could type, they assigned me to the Yard Office, yes, from which the big yard and the entire prison is controlled. My job was to call the prisoners when they had a visit, if they did not respond, I would go to their dorm and let them know. Each dorm had a lobby with bookshelves. When I went to tell brothers they had a visit, I would peruse the dorm book collection and take books I wanted to my locker.

    One day my dorm buddy, a bank robber named Arthur Ratliff, took it upon himself to announce, "Listen up, everybody, Marvin X got all the best books in the prison in his locker. Any book on any subject you want, just come to his locker. Alas, I also had books in the prison library stamped contraband, meaning if caught with them there would be consequences. I didn't care, some of those contraband books I took with me when I departed Terminal Island, including J.A. Rogers classic deconstruction of White roots, Africa's Gift to America.
    One day on the big yard the Nation of Islam held an election. There were three of us but the election organizer was a brother named Marcellous 15X Bey Lee who I observed exercising in chains shortly after I entered TI. That day on the big yard, he said, as per the NOI election, "Marvin X, you the smartest, you the minister." He told the other brother he was the Secretary and he, himself,  was Captain. We did not contest the election results but held our first service in the chapel that Sunday. My lecture was on Black History. A Chicano brother in attendance told me it was the best lecture he’d ever heard. Well, after all, I was coming from Africa’s Gift to America by J.A. Rogers. No one can go wrong citing Rogers, recommended by the Honorable Elijah Muhammad and W.E.B. DuBois.
    We soon heard that Elijah Muhammad's grandson, Elijah, aka Sonny, was caught smuggling marijuana across the border and was in Lompoc Federal prison. We were told when the brothers tried to bow down to Sonny because of his bloodline, he told them he was just a nigga like them and didn't need any praise or special treatment. I had met Elijah, aka Sonny, during my Mexico City second exile. When I grew impatient for my Fresno State University student, Barbara Hall, to join me in exile, Elijah let me use his birth certificate to cross the border to snatch my wife to be and mother of our daughters Nefertiti and Amira. But when I got pass the US border as Elijah Muhammad and arrived in San Francisco where Barbara was staying, she was in Mexico City at the home of  my Mexico City contact, the painter/sculpturalist Elizabeth Cattlett Mora. When I returned to Mexico City and united with Barbara, Betty Mora educated me, "Marvin, when a woman says she is coming, she is coming!"
    --continued in Notes of Artistic Freedom Fighter Marvin X, Black Bird Press, 2018.

    0 0

    Notes of Artistic Freedom Fighter Marvin X
    Marvin X Kidnapped, Incarcerated
     Marvin X, University of Chicago Sun Ra Conference on Afro-futurism
    Notes for Black August 2018
    7/14/18
    FYI: Marvin X speaks coast to coast live,  this Tuesday, July 17, 8pm EST, 5PM PST.
     Stay tuned for details.

    As part of Black August National Conference in Oakland, 2018, he will speak and read on his experience with incarceration.
    Marvin X: Kidnapped, Incarcerated 
    \

    Marvin X, Harlem NY, 1968

    He was part of the founding members of the Black Arts Movement, e.g., Amiri Baraka, Sonia Sanchez, Askia Toure, Larry Neal, Last Poets, Nikki Giovanni, Don L. Lee, Sun Ra, Milford Graves, Barbara Ann Teer, Ed Bullins, Robert Macbeth and the Lafayette Theatre, Oba Olatunji, et al. 
    photo Doug Harris

    In 1970, he was deported from British Honduras, now Belize, Central America for teaching Black Power and reporting on the sedition trial of Black Power leaders Evan X. Hyde and Ishmael Shabazz as Foreign Editor of Muhammad Speaks Newspaper. After his arrest and appearance before the Minister of Home Affairs who read his deportation order: Your presence is not beneficial to the British Colony of Honduras, therefore you are under arrest until your flight departs for Miami, Florida at 4PM. "I was taken to the police station and told to sit down in the lobby. I was not handcuffed and after a short time I was surrounded by Black police officers and when the circle was full, one asked me to teach them about Black Power. It was surreal but I replied that from my study of Belize history, Marcus Garvey came here in 1923 and told you to get the Queen of England off your walls. It is 1970, get that white bitch off your walls. The brothers cracked up and said I was all ite. They couldn't understand why the government was deporting me for teaching Black Power, after all the hippies came to Belize and smoked their weed and did other drugs, but they were not deported. When an uncle tom black officer came into the room but did not join the circle, the officers said he was a black mon wit white heart, black mon wit white heart!

    I was taken to the airport for the 4pm departure to the USA, and but when I resisted getting on the plane because my wife was five hours up the river, pregnant with no knowledge of my arrest and deportation and I wanted her to leave with me, I was thrown onto the plane and the door shut.

    The flight back to USA first went south over Cuba to Spanish Honduras, Tegucigalpa, the capital.  I though about hijacking the plane over Cuba but declined after recalling Cuba's troubling history with North American African revolutionaries Robert F. Williams and Eldridge Cleaver, especially when Cleaver discovered the Afro-Cubans ignited the revolution and identified with them although at the time the Cuban revolution said we are one people, yet it later recognized its African heritage when Cuban decided to assist the African revolution in Angola, South Africa and elsewhere, sacrificing the blood of Afro-Cubans in the African revolution.

    FYI, in truth, I can't recall if we crossed Cuba on the way to Tegucigalpa or on the way back, but when the plane landed in Tegucigalpa for a short stop, I got off the plane and even though the airport looked like an American military airport, I walked off the plane and told the soldiers I wanted refuge. One said, "Espera un momento, por favor." He soon returned and marched my black ass back onto the plane and we eventually arrived in Mimai, Florida where two US Marshals met me and delivered me to Dade County Jail in a cell with Niggas who, when I called them my brother, replied they were not my brothers, so I took the silent mode until I was transferred to the Federal facility at Miami City Jail, wherein the white Cuban prisoners, mainly dope dealers, welcomed me with open arms. In contrast to the treatment of my deaf, dumb and blind brothers in Dade County Jail, the white Cubans exclaimed that I was their brother and whatever I needed and wanted, all I had to do was ask them. Did I need any money, they asked. I said yes because I needed to check on the status of my pregnant wife stuck on an island Gales Point. I was able to call her family and learn my father in law had sent for her and she was home. The white Cuban dope dealers asked what I wanted to eat since they were sending out for restaurant food. After being in exile from America, what do you think I asked them to order for me: a milkshake, hamburger and fries!

    The Cuban dope dealers treated me with so much love I was depressed when I recalled my treatment with my Niggas so deaf, dumb and blind at Dade County Jail. Truly, it hurt me that the white Cubans showed me so much love but my brothers showed me so much hate!
    Each day at Miami City Jail, I watched the Cuban dope dealers go to court and return with 17 years, no matter guilty or innocent. They informed me who was innocent and who was guilty as the white Cubans returned from court. When they were busted, they said a white hippy knocked on their door. They called the police and told them white hippies were at their door, alas, the white hippies were the police.
    During my stay in Miami, it was announced there was an attempted prison breakout in Marin at the courthouse. I was joyful about the courthouse shootout to free George Jackson and others of the Black revolutionary prison movement. Actually, as a student at San Francisco State University and on the staff of Black Dialogue Magazine, we made a visit to the Soledad Prison Black Culture Club, 1966, chaired by Eldridge Cleaver and Alprentis Bunchy Carter. We shared our publication and they shared their writings that we published in Black Dialogue, including Cleaver's essay My Queen I Greet You, his love letter to the black woman although much of his Soul on Ice was mostly a praise song of the white woman, especially his white lawyer/lover, Beverly Axelrod, who smuggled his manuscript out of prison.
    Most importantly, we now know the Soledad Prison Black Culture Club was in fact the beginning of the Black and American Prison Movement (See the lectures of Prison Griot Kumasi for his minute by minute history of the Black Prison Movement. See my first play Flowers for the Trashman for references to my brother who was in another section of Soledad Prison at this time yet I learned he was part of the prison liberation movement. Kumasi notes, "It was kill or be killed, there was no other choice. You guys had your revolution on the outside, we had ours on the inside and it was kill or be killed!"

    Meanwhile in Miami, one morning two gentleman came to deliver me to San Francisco. We stopped in Nashville and I played a game of pool with these US Marshall's. Being a  poor shark from West Oakland, I beat them and then we continued our flight to San Francisco County Jail on Bryant Street where I spent three months going to trial for draft resistance and fleeing from prosecution (see my Court Speech in Black Scholar Magazine, issue on Black Prisoners,1970).

    As a political prisoner, I was not allowed to infect the general population on the main line so soon I was moved to C Block or the isolation section for political prisoners, nuts on the way to Napa Mental Hospital, murder suspects and homosexuals. I was put in a cell with a mental patient on his way to Napa. In the next cell was a murder suspect who'd been awaiting trial for over two years and hadn't had a visitor. We became friends and I arranged for my wife's best friend to visit him. Eventually he beat his murder charges and he hooked up with my wife's friend long enough to have a child who is now an international lawyer.

    I couldn't understand how copies of Muhammad Speaks Newspapers were dropped in my cell. I soon learned the Black Sheriff Charles Smith, a lieutenant at the time, dropped them in my cell at the request of my Black Arts Movement partner Ethna X, aka Hurriyah Asar. Charles Smith was a Sheriff and also a playwright, so he was sympathetic to Black liberation and especially the Black Arts Movement. Years later Sheriff Smith said he attended an Interpol Conference in Belize at which I was a topic of discussion.

    Anyway, after three months in SF County Jail which was a nano dot from hell: I saw black sheriffs abuse black inmates to "prove" themselves to their white comrades. Does it matter if the hangman is white or black?
    After writing my court speech on toilet paper and handing it to my P.D. (public pretender), I went to court to discover I'd beat my case on a technicality but the judge said, "Sir, the USA spent a lot of money trying to apprehend you, over five years. We must convict you for something so how much time would you like for avoiding persecution?
    I thought about (I'd already served three months), "Your honor, I will do five months." Yes, I gave myself my time!

    The judge sentenced me to five months in Federal Prison, with three months served in SF County Jail.
    I was sent to Terminal Island Federal Prison, San Pedro, California.

    Soon as I arrived in San Pedro, fish factory town, I noticed the fish smell. But once inside Terminal Island Prison, the Muslim brothers informed it was not the fish smelling but the smell of deaf, dumb and blind dead niggas, including fake ass Muslim niggas.  But more importantly, the first thing they told me was don't get sick, whatever you do, brother, don't get sick. We got a prison graveyard full of niggas who got sick in here!
    Depending on one's education, one is assigned a job. Some brothers did factory work or hard labor. Since I could type, they assigned me to the Yard Office, yes, from which the big yard and the entire prison is controlled. My job was to call the prisoners when they had a visit, if they did not respond, I would go to their dorm and let them know. Each dorm had a lobby with bookshelves. When I went to tell brothers they had a visit, I would peruse the dorm book collection and take books I wanted to my locker.

    One day my dorm buddy, a bank robber named Arthur Ratliff, took it upon himself to announce, "Listen up, everybody, Marvin X got all the best books in the prison in his locker. Any book on any subject you want, just come to his locker. Alas, I also had books in the prison library stamped contraband, meaning if caught with them there would be consequences. I didn't care, some of those contraband books I took with me when I departed Terminal Island, including J.A. Rogers classic deconstruction of White roots, Africa's Gift to America.
    One day on the big yard the Nation of Islam held an election. There were three of us but the election organizer was a brother named Marcellous 15X Bey Lee who I observed exercising in chains shortly after I entered TI. That day on the big yard, he said, as per the NOI election, "Marvin X, you the smartest, you the minister." He told the other brother he was the Secretary and he, himself,  was Captain. We did not contest the election results but held our first service in the chapel that Sunday. My lecture was on Black History. A Chicano brother in attendance told me it was the best lecture he’d ever heard. Well, after all, I was coming from Africa’s Gift to America by J.A. Rogers. No one can go wrong citing Rogers, recommended by the Honorable Elijah Muhammad and W.E.B. DuBois.
    We soon heard that Elijah Muhammad's grandson, Elijah, aka Sonny, was caught smuggling marijuana across the border and was in Lompoc Federal prison. We were told when the brothers tried to bow down to Sonny because of his bloodline, he told them he was just a nigga like them and didn't need any praise or special treatment. I had met Elijah, aka Sonny, during my Mexico City second exile. When I grew impatient for my Fresno State University student, Barbara Hall, to join me in exile, Elijah let me use his birth certificate to cross the border to snatch my wife to be and mother of our daughters Nefertiti and Amira. But when I got pass the US border as Elijah Muhammad and arrived in San Francisco where Barbara was staying, she was in Mexico City at the home of  my Mexico City contact, the painter/sculpturalist Elizabeth Cattlett Mora. When I returned to Mexico City and united with Barbara, Betty Mora educated me, "Marvin, when a woman says she is coming, she is coming!"
    --continued in Notes of Artistic Freedom Fighter Marvin X, Black Bird Press, 2018.

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    BLACK REALITY THINK TANK PODCASTS

    Black Reality Think Tank With Dr.William Rogers; Interview with Marvin X

    By  | 

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  • 07/21/18--19:58: When God speaks to you

  • Left to right: Marvin X's son, Ancestor Abdul El Muhajir, aka, Darrell Jackmon; MX's father Owendell Jackmon I (RIP), and Marvin K. Jackmon, Hakim El Muhajir, oldest child.


    When God speaks to you
    His name won't matter
    Allah, God, Jesus, Jehovah, Jah, Krishna, Nigga
    but you will know it is God
    for the wisdom He spits into your ears
    so powerful, you know for sure
    it is the voice of God/Allah
    Sami Allahu liman hamida
    God hears those who praise Him
    Rabbana laka al hamd
    Our Lord to Thee is due all praise!
    God speaks through men and women
    God/Allah appears in the person of man
    speaking loud clear in your ears
    Today God/Allah spoke,
    "Your son is a martyr. He died the death of a martyr."

    SHAHID
    This was shocking to me, rocking my world
    a puzzle
    it putting his life in the sacred space of my mind heart soul
    special child
    far beyond the crowd
    took my travels higher
    he went to
    Egypt, Jerusalem, Damascus, London
    Brazil Japan
    then he was gone to eternity at 39.
    I am so grateful for the 39 years I knew him
    I couldn't understand why he walked into a train
    manic depression
    white man drugs depression
    situational disorder oppression
    God/Allah told me today he entered martyrdom
    I am satisfied.
    warrior son
    martyrdom
    As-salaam-Alaikum.

    --Marvin X/El Muhajir
    7/21/18



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    226

    Angela and Fania Davis. Fania made a donation to the medical expenses of Dr. Julia Hare. You can too!

    CONTRIBUTE to Let Freedom Ring


    Although there has been no public announcement on the grapevine, many of you are no doubt aware that Dr. Julia Hare has been living with Alzheimer’s for several years and was diagnosed with the End Stage of the condition during the Christmas/Kwanzaa holidays. However, she subsequently served notice that rumors of her demise are just a bit premature. 

    Her health providers refused to treat her on an outpatient basis without confinement (which is one thing if you will stay in a facility; but if you are determined to leave and expressly “go home,” they label you a “wanderer” and lock the door as they would if you had killed the preacher). 

    Though she had never read "The Medicalization of Everyday Life," by Dr. Thomas Ssazz. M.D., psychiatrist, she too called confinement against your will “incarceration.”  When I would go to see her in her locked situation, at the end of the visiting hour I would have to conspire with the staff to distract her in order for me to ease out the door and slip away without her. On the other side of the slamming door, secured by the loud click of the prison-like lock, I would hear her realizing my exit and banging on the door and calling my name, like Maria calling Roberto at the end of “For Whom the Bells Toll.”

    I took a physician and a lawyer as well as a retired judge and a community activist with me and went out and brought her home. Almost as soon as we got home somebody observed that she was getting better already.

    Although most of her medical costs are now being paid by her health insurance company, the cost of caregivers is staggering and relentless.

    Four years ago when we were blindsided by this diabolical and incurable condition, several persons whose opinion I respect suggested that I let it be known and accept donations to help preserve the freedom and dignity of the proud and inimitable lady I promised, fifty-seven years ago, to protect and “To Love and to Cherish” (Essence magazine). See also Ebony and Black Male/Female Relationships.

    So I am now following their advice and posting this donation request. Although we are advised by the Good Book to share and share alike, keep in mind that it’s the little things that count and, as one of Aesop's fables reminds us, no act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.
    ------------- 
     
    She Always Stood By Me: In Praise of Julia Hare
     SHE ALWAYS STOOD BY ME
    By Dr. Nathan Hare, 
    In Praise of Dr. Julia Hare`

    I had seen her singing and dancing but didn’t know her – call her Julia, the name I gave her, her mother named her Julia Ann – when my high school principal took our senior class to the Tulsa, Oklahoma Booker T. Washington High School’s legendary annual production of “Hijinx.” I remember I was sitting in the upper balcony, far out of reach of her, and didn’t pay her that much mind. It was all a dream world. White folks called the balcony “Nigger Heaven,” but there were no whites around in those days of Jim Crow segregation, Hijinx was nevertheless put on downtown in the city of Tulsa’s Convention Hall, the place where the state militia less than three decades earlier had detained over six thousand black men for their safety, after more than 800 were hospitalized and an estimated 300 killed during the bombing of Black Wall Street, the only time whites have bombed blacks from the air in American history.

    But, two years after I saw her for the first time, I was walking across the all-black campus of Oklahoma’s Langston University with a friend one afternoon when I suddenly stopped and told him: “There’s that l’il ol’ skinny girl who was playing that piano last night, and won first prize in the Freshman Talent Show; I think I’ll take her to the movie.” And he laughed and bet me a dollar she wouldn’t go to no motion picture show with me, but he didn’t know she had made eye contact with me in the Dining Hall the year before when she came to visit her pal sister for Homecoming Week and, no sooner than she left to go back home, her sister slipped me a note from her, and I answered  it, telling her I would like to get to know her better too; but my letter somehow fell into the hands of her over-protective mother, who was hoping to save her from the unhappy experiences with men that had befallen her older sisters. So that was the end of that. 

    I myself was just a country boy, at the top of my class scholastically but born and raised on a farm forty miles from Black Wall Street, outside of Slick, Oklahoma, while Julia Ann Reed (eventually Dr. Julia Hare) was a city girl with personality and sass. So when we took up with each other, everybody said our relationship wouldn’t last, that even our sun signs didn’t match.

    But in less than two months I had given her a birthday gift of a recording of Nat King Cole’s hit song, “Unforgettable,” because I had seen she liked it so. I could see that she was thrilled to high heaven that I had even given it to her; and she would play it over and over on the juke box, and she and I would sometimes slow-dance together.  But, while I could slow dance alright, especially in dark and familiar but unchaperoned places, and halfway jitterbug -- I didn’t know how to huckle buck at all, let alone to Suzie Q -- but Julia was a dancing queen.

    Sometimes when everybody was on the dancing floor in the Student Union Building, a gay artistic dancer, say, might take her hand and they would do the tango around the edge of the crowded dancing hall while we all stopped what we were doing and watched them go.  And she was equally adept at the ballroom and the waltz.  Students eventually voted her “Best Girl Dancer” campus-wide, as well as “Most Popular Girl”; and “Most Talented Girl.” For, not only was she one of the best piano players on the campus, in time she would become the regular university organist.

    When I graduated and left Langston on a Danforth Fellowship to study for the Ph.D. at the University of Chicago, a pretty big thing there in those days, Julia soon went to California in her childhood dream of someday making it in the music and entertainment world, and to help her older sister, an impregnated high school dropout with five children, whose husband had gone down to the drug store one night to get some medicine for one of their sick children and just kept going, never to be heard from until he turned up trying to make it in the jazz world in New York.

    Suffice it to say it was after considerable agony and ambivalence that Julia tabled her dreams for fame and fortune and rendezvoused with me in Tulsa and we were married in her mother’s house two days after Christmas when we were all of 23. Then in Chicago, rather than get by on my budgeted fellowship and a part-time job as a statistical clerk, Julia got a job as a substitute teacher.

    I used to feel sorry for her when she would get up winter mornings and cook me eggs and waffles and pancakes and bacon in time for her to be ready when her teachers van came in the cold to take her from the Southside of Chicago to teach unruly children in the Westside slums on the other side of the windy city. 
    Soon her girlfriends and female coworkers began to cock their heads to the side and crow that they “wouldn’t work while no man went to school.” The reason I know she wasn’t lying is one of my sisters and her teacher friend upstairs told her that in my presence, to my face. They quipped that I was getting a Ph.D. while she was getting a PHT (Putting Hubby Through) and then go on to warn her that as soon as I got the Ph.D., I was going to leave her for a younger woman -- never mind that we were still in our twenties. 
    But Julia stuck by me and persevered. Julia was the kind of woman who would stand by her man until he was headed in a better direction and she could get in front of him.

    I got the idea of persuading her to study for a master’s degree herself, so they would be jealous of both of us and by the time I got the Ph.D. she had earned an M.M.ED. from the music department of what is now Roosevelt University’s College of the Performing Arts.  Although she would later also pick up a doctorate in educational psychology, an Ed.D., she was always fond of saying that she was proudest of her MRS, allowing that she had had to work so much harder for the MRS.

    When we left for Washington D.C., in part so I could join with E. Franklin Frazier, though he would end up dying before the end of  the school year. Julia still had her own ambitions on hold, and she was taken aback when we got to D.C. and, in spite of her years of teaching experience in Chicago, plus one year each in Virginia and Oklahoma, the Board said she wasn’t qualified to be a substitute teacher in D.C., compelling her to commute in winter weather to teach in a white school in Maryland for a year before the black Board in D.C. deigned to hire her to teach in the black schools in the slums of the District.

    Yet In just four years, she would go on to win the Outstanding Young Educator Award (teachers 35 years old and under) from the Junior Chamber of Commerce collaborating with World Book Encyclopedia, with the expert judgment of the Department of Education at American University to recognize her as the most commendable teacher thirty-five and under for every grade level for all of the city of Washington, D.C.
    But the following year, I myself was fired from Howard University, along with another black professor and five white ones, for so-called “Black Power activities.” I returned to boxing, this time under my own name – I had quit before when two world champions were killed in the ring one year apart and she had already been getting the heebie-jeebies over the boxing, making big mirations over some cut lip or bloody nose. I’d tell her you ought to see the other guy. Then, after promising her I was going to quit, and did, two weeks later on All Fools Day, I took a shot or two of vodka and went down to the old Capitol Arena to see a friend fight, and was visiting in the dressing room, when  somebody’s opponent didn’t show up and ,I agreed to take the fight, which was an easy win, but two deans recognized me fighting under the name of Nat Harris, and the top dean called me in in a day or two and gave me an ultimatum which almost motivated me to return if I hadn’t promised Julia. Anyway, I had one fight in the comeback under the name of Nathan Hare, winning by a knockout in the first round, before I was asked to become the Coordinator of Black Studies at San Francisco State University.

    Now Julia was not a conscious herself at that point, but a bourgeois lady suddenly challenged to become a revolutionary’s wife and drown her dreams in a revolutionary life. But San Francisco had always been her favorite city, and her two older sisters were still living in the Bay Area, and her school teacher coworkers had sometimes been snide to her about  the things they read in the newspaper about me and Howard, and she had never wanted me to box anyway, let alone under my own name and everybody was waiting to see me on my back on the front page of the Washington Post with my feet sticking up -- so she pushed me, like most other people did, to accept the offer from San Francisco State.

    After closing out our apartment and her job as a laboratory teacher headed for the Board of Education, she came to San Francisco  and went down to the Board of Education here, armed with the citywide award from Washington, D.C. and thirty units beyond the master’s degree and a passing score on the National Teachers Exam, only to be told that in order to be a substitute teacher in San Francisco, she would have to take a course in Teacher’s Arithmetic and another in California History.
    Makes you wanna holler.

    She declined the psychotic suggestion and within a couple of months the Director of the Oakland Museum preparing to reopen happened to be in the audience when she, unemployed, was speaking on a panel at the Black Today conference I was chairing at San Francisco State, and the museum director recruited her as Director of Education. She had worked the previous summer in a program directed by one of the bigtime museums in New York City.

    Julia was in her element at the Museum, and got on well with the society set. Aside from her interest  in the arts, she was in her dream world social element, as she had come to admire Jackie Kennedy and was always studying the women’s and the fashion magazines, even before she worked at the Oakland Museum, and had a Saks card but was not a spendthrift and loved to shop anywhere, including the thrift stores, using Jackie Kennedy once  more as an inspiration. She knew how to put what little clothes she had together. Sometimes her affluent friends would be affronted when they would throw down big money for something they saw in a clothing store window, then get to an occasion and everybody would be praising Julia’s outfit from the thrift shop, though, like I said, she was not averse to using her Saks card. One night we wound up at a high level reception where a blue collar woman I happened to know was also taken with thrift stores and also appeared to me to be an unusually creative dresser.  I determined to introduce them to each other, but before I could do so, they had spied each other from across the room, though total strangers, and introduced themselves to each other.

    But that was the way she was.

    She worked at the Oakland Museum maybe a year while it was preparing to reopen and she and the white multimillionaire Director got the idea of making it a people’s museum and carry the art like Meals on Wheels to the people in the community. This horrified he museum’s docents, who had discovered her connection to me and hence the five-month strike for Black Studies raging at San Francisco State. For instance, one night Julia sat with the Director and his wife waiting for me for dinner at a downtown restaurant when they looked up and saw me getting arrested on the Walter Cronkite CBS Evening News, along with five hundred and fifty seven predominantly white Black Studies strikers at San Francisco State. The Oakland Museum Director was fired and eventually became President of the California Historical Society, but meanwhile I backed Julia’s wish to resign.

    Julia’s black consciousness also took a leap when James Baldwin’s sister, Dr. Rena Karefa Smart, invited me to speak to the Conference on Racism put on by the World Council of Churches in London in the spring of 1969, and I took Julia with me, stopping at St. Louis University on the way to pick up her fare, impressing her at the Custom’s window by nonchalantly counting and talking of pounds and shillings. She enjoyed the week in London, where I also took part in a demonstration with the daughters of Richad Wright, Rachel and Julia Wright. When we returned to San Francisco, Julia announced to me that she was going to start wearing an Afro.

    Her next job was as Public Information Director of the West tern Regional Office of the National Association Against Discrimination in Housing. Then, after two years she beat out seventy finalists for Community Affairs Director of Cowboy Gene Autry’s radio station in San Francisco, KSFO, where she flourished for all of ten years, including eventually some on-air broadcasting time in a sidekick role in the morning drive, until she ran into trouble with a new manager and took a part-time job as a talk show host with the number one talk show station in San Francisco. ABC’s KGO. However, in spite of the fact that she appeared to be one of the very best they had, they would not give her air time in the day time on weekdays, so she eventually sued the station for harassment and her three year contract was not renewed.

    Despite picking up a course for a while in the broadcasting department at the City College of San Francisco, unemployment at forty-eight was her darkest hour. Plus she was a people’s person, a performer, and didn’t like sitting at home, while I was a thinker and a writer and would have loved to change places with her as it was no accident that she became a radio talk show host and had married a psychotherapist, for whom listening had achieved the status of both an art form and a healing art.

    It hurt me to see how hard she was taking her fate. At the time, I was going around the country on the chitlin college lecture circuit pushing a male/female relationships movement on the wind of an incredibly popular editorial I had written for Ebony magazine, speaking out for a better black family based on Kupenda (Swahili for “to love”) black love groups I had been experimenting with at the time. I thought that it would be natural and nice to have a couple speaking on black male/female relationships instead of a solo spouse. I also was inspired by the fact that we had made our own poem rhyme as a couple, and wanted to share the love, so I asked her to come with me, and she agreed, and I named her “National Executive Director” of the Black Think Tank I was running at the time.

    Julia had always been a very good speaker – she’d won the award in “Auditorium” in the third grade in Tulsa, and the experience as a radio broadcaster and talk show host also seemed to augment her impromptu facility. Plus, people didn’t know she was farsighted and could see the copy standing back from the podium while also exploiting her radio broadcaster’s ability to read-talk off of next to nothing, causing it to appear that she wasn’t using any notes or anything at all.

    Having time all day, she used the time and worked hard learning the sociological material and preparing and practicing her speeches and was soon being hailed as “one of the most sought after motivational speakers in the country.” She spoke to most of all of the black women’s groups and even men’s groups, especially the mentoring conferences and began to be included in selections of distinguished black women. For instance she became a regular at the annual Essence Cultural Festival in New Orleans, but she spoke to all the leading black women’s groups and they all seemed to think a lot of her.

    Then, though not at her best when she appeared on the Tavis Smiley’s State of the Black Race Conference at Plymouth Rock in 2008, her comments went viral and seemingly all at once she got more than a million hits from around the world; but later, I stood perplexed after the widest circulating newspaper in Great Britain, “Black Voices,” gave her the two-page centerfold, under the headline, “The Female Malcolm X,” and offered to bring her for a tour of Europe, but she declined, saying she was afraid to fly over the ocean.
    Then, she began to forget and lose important and familiar things; which should have alerted me, but I was blinded by psychological denial as well as a lack of knowledge and familiarity with Alzheimer’s, up close and face to face. I should have been alerted because she had never gotten over the fact that her mother put her father in the rest home after he went and got a rifle to her and her mother fell and injured her foot and couldn’t keep up with him.

    But I was not there, though I visited him with her briefly in the rest home, but he always had a quiet and retiring disposition, a man of very few words, and I had no idea of the difficulties a demented elder can present, how unmanageable some can be, and how to relate to them and manage their behavior. 
    But by 2011, it was clear that something was wrong with Dr. J, despite her trying to hide it, and such a good actor at that. Her mother didn’t know that and drove her to play the piano, but her talent was more in her voice box and her being than her fingers. Plus, she had always relied on me for information, seeing me as a fountainhead of knowledge (she said she thought I was a “genius”). So I continued to play the role, but she wound up in confinement, with me duped by the medical establishment and conventional wisdom and custom.

    First it was 72 hours for her safety and mine, then it’s two weeks for hers when I opt out, then a month. They told me I’d have to have a “power of attorney” to make any decisions over her niece and them, but by then I had seen how oppressive involuntary confinement was to her: involuntary because most people will stay and just be bored and lonely, because after a while people don’t visit that much. Sometimes I would leave the office for visiting hours and be the only one there visiting anybody in the “Acute Psychiatric Ward,” for they have a mixture, which is demoralizing in itself to be in a place of the openly and acutely insane – like how did I come to this? – and people bellowing and moaning, sometimes in a different language, so you don’t know what they’re saying they will do to you, all day long. One night the house psychiatrist came out unsolicited by me and opined that I shouldn’t visit so often, but I paid her no mind.

    And yet, I admired how the staff could handle her, though she was the hardest patient of all for them to handle in a locked up condition. They liked her nevertheless and brought in a portable piano and allowed her to to entertain the other inmates anytime she wanted to. One night in casual conversation with me, she referred to her situation as “incarceration.” I knew for a fact she had never read Psychiatrist Thomas Ssazz, though I had, but even I hadn’t read his “The Medicalizaton of Everyday Life,” in which he independently called involuntary confinement of patients “incarceration.”

    Each night when the visiting hour was over, I would have to conspire with the staff to distract her while I sneaked out the door without her; but, by the time I would hear the  ominous prison-like click of the closing of the door, the nonchalant staff would have turned her loose and I would hear her sorrowfully knocking on the door and desperately calling out my name to help her, like Maria calling Roberto at the end of “For Whom the Bells Toll.”

    I thought of the marital vows when I had stood with my hand on a Bible and promised to love her and protect her until death do us part. I also wondered and imagined what she would have done if they would lock me up against my will for medical treatment of a condition they admit they can’t cure or rightly treat and don’t really even know what causes it.

    What would she have done if I was the one on the other side of the door of sanity in an insane world, where the  most powerful man in existence is collectively described as mentally ill by thirty top psychiatrists and such. I recalled how she would sometimes say in other random but serious circumstances and idle speculation: “If anybody ever bothers you [or do harm in any way], no telling what I would do; I will tear up this town.”

    The next morning I woke up early from a largely sleepless night and called some of the  San Francisco State College BSU leaders from the 1960s Black and Ethnic Studies Strike: including a physician who consults worldwide on Alzheimer’s, a retired judge, a retired lawyer or two, a community organizer in San Francisco and another visiting from the East Coast, and went out and brought her home.

    That was almost six years ago, when she was diagnosed in the late moderate stage. However, my collaborators had noted and remarked on Julia’s visible improvement after an hour of freedom. But later she would develop a bed sore and go through hospice, at home under a visiting clinic, indeed two, as the one who refused before now wanted to come in under new Medicare guidelines from Obamacare. They brought in the death apparatus and stored it in the apartment in full anticipation. A physician sat for at least twenty minutes explaining to me why the bedsore wouldn’t heal, but it did, though I do believe that if Julia had been confined again she would have died, literally, under categorizing and caring staff prescript.

    Mind you, they’re good in what they do, they just need to do it in the home and community.. We have the technology to do so: computers, internet and social networks, cars. S.U,B’s, bicycles, scooters, cellphones with cameras in the back while pointed at you. It would be cheaper as well, for people in their home are already paying rent.

    In any event, I did what I had to do: stand by my wife who had stood by me; but more than that, it just seems there is something wrong with incarcerating a proud and dignified lady in the final stage of her life cycle, against her will, don’t care if she has never had so much as a parking ticket in her life.
    Mental Health Is Tied to Social Health

    I have learned on a deeper level that mental health is tied to social health, and I am gratified and impressed by the way people are getting behind the movement to deal with the Alzheimer’s epidemic and coming pandemic. I liked it when Barack Obama called for a cure by 2025, and it looks to me if interest keeps mounting as it has in recent years, we will meet that goal; but though it would be a blessing to so many others, it won’t do Julia any good or mend a broken heart.

    I want to acknowledge that I could not have stood by Julia in her present ordeal, if so many people hadn’t stood by me, or the few hadn’t stood by me so well. While it is true, and has been said, that most people, especially the ones you’d most expect, will not lift a finger to help a flea, I have been amazed by the quality and the quantity of help and the quantity of the quality of help Julia and I have received from too many to mention. I must find a way some day to thank them in a circumstance that might prevent leaving somebody out.

    When I jumped out with promises and parachutes that didn’t open or got snagged, I didn’t know where to go or what to do. I was so ignorant of Alzheimer’s it’s a shame. Partly because people had been prone to hide the demented in the closet, so to speak, or put them away altogether, lock them away if necessary. 
    I often stand and look back now and realize how many people I encountered in the past  who had Alzheimer’s and I didn’t know it: we just lumped them in the loose category of “senile,” a net big enough to encompass almost anybody elderly individual. Two things people think about an old person they meet: they are senile and got some money or something of value under the mattress or somewhere, and the young person is going to try to get it if  they can; not that they necessarily need it, just so they can get it and have it.
    As for Julia, I regret to say that at this point she is going down slow, fast. She is doing well in her physical health and emotionally but Alzheimer’s is a progressively deteriorating disease, and you can see her going down in a cognitive way, something like month by month.

    She has lost much of her ability to speak and function by now, but I can tell that she knows more than she can say.

    People ask me if she still remembers me, if she knows who I am, and I am compelled to quibble, but I say yes, on her current level, she has forgotten much of the old me but she knows me as she knows me now, and of course what is more important, is I know who she is.

    She still knows herself well enough to answer to her name, if you are trying to get her attention, though you can usually get her attention without calling her name, say by simply using the remote to raise or modulate the volume on the cablevision, or by playing her one of her favorite songs on the computer, something I do for an hour or two on many an evening after the sun goes down, and you can tell she is exceedingly gratified, just to have the attention but she will use her hand to direct the music in the air. When we were 24 years old and I was teaching for a year at Virginia State College in Petersburg, Virginia, she was the Minister of Music, including choir director, for the oldest black Baptist church in America, the Harrison Street First Baptist Church, which still exists. At one point, needing more male voices, she even recruited me to sing in the choir and once gave me a solo part to sing. I just acted like I was in the shower.

    So I know there will inevitably come a time when she will have forgotten me altogether without a doubt, but I will remember her: that she sometimes gave me a hard time in good times but always stood by me in times of trouble, always took my side.

    She continues to live at home with Alzheimer’s and find exquisite enjoyment in the instrumental music on 24/7 cablevision, as she was a pianist by background and training and by temperament a dramatist but became a scholar primarily as my longest and most continual student. Though going down slow these days in a cognitive sense, she is doing well physically and emotionally, enjoying interacting with her caregivers and me and the special attention I try to give her because maybe I didn’t always love her quite as often as I could have when times were good, little things I should have said and done but didn’t take the time. So I just try to fill her life with whatever joy I can and always love her all the time.

    So, even when it comes to the point that she no longer remembers me, I will remember her, and I will recall that she was unforgettable and thought I was unforgettable too.
    ***
    Marvin X Jackmon
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    Since all my aunts and uncles joined the ancestors, cerca 2001, I adopted Drs. Nathan and Julia Hare as my uncle and aunt. I love them dearly and Nathan, at 85, works with me on many projects as he is able. He is presently editing my next book of essays, Notes of Artistic Freedom Fighter Marvin X. We urge all of you who know him as the Father of Black and Ethnic studies, and one of our greatest revolutionary scholars and writers, Howard University, San Francisco State University, Sociologist, Clinical Psychologist, possessor of two PhDs, and founding publisher of Black Scholar Magazine, to donate whatever you can to his Gofundme campaign to cover the medical expenses of his wife of 60 years, Dr. Julia Hare, featured in a Great Britain newspaper as The Female Malcolm X (see her speech at Tavis Smiley's Black Forum). Last week at my Academy of da Corner, Lakeshore Ave., Oakland, we were happy that Attorney Fania Davis came by and made a generous donation for the Hare's medical expenses.

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     Nia Wilson, RIP

    Rapper/activist Alia Sharief rocks crowd at rally for Nia and Latifa Wilson. When Marvin X praised her speech, she said, "Marvin X, I am just your student!"

    Power to the People!

    North American Africans in Oakland are in pain, grief and sorrow at the cold blooded murder of Nia Wilson and the stabbing of her sister Latifah at the BART station. Ironically, Channel Two television tried to debase Nia by showing her with a gun at some earlier time.



    Obviously, if she'd had the gun on her person, she might be alive today. At least she would have been able to exercise self defense. I've told my three daughters to pack. I don't want them in no situation where they cannot defend themselves and their children! One daughter told me the other day, "Daddy, I'm strapped!"

    Signs throughout the BART tell riders to "Be aware of your surroundings!" The Boy Scout motto is Be Prepared! In the hood we say, "Stay strapped!" The time is such that America's low intensity war against North American Africans is escalating so we must be aware of our surroundings at all times and never get caught napping. We cannot pretend we will be treated as other human beings when this has not occurred in the 400 years we've been in the wilderness of North America. We have been treated as savages along with the indigenous people. And we are killed today as if we were savages or animals, although the Euro-Americans have always treated their animals, especially their dogs, far better than they've treated Africans kidnapped into the "American slave system" (Ed Howard term).

    This morning's rally of Black Artists expressing their grief and sorrow at the murder and stabbing of the Wilson sisters, quickly morphed into a manhood/womanhood rite of passage. Men were given their marching orders to upgrade their respect for women and men. Speakers urged the men to stop calling women bitches and ho's and to assist women when they need protection and not seek sexual favors for their role as protectors of the family, tribe and community. Men expressed their sorrow for not being able to save our sisters from the savage attack. We can't say the white culprit was mentally ill because we have no knowledge of his medical records. We do know it was a totally unprovoked attack by a white person upon two North American African females.

    Some speakers recalled the shameful actions of NAA men who were standing with phones in hand, although the stabber has a prison record so we know he knew how to move quickly upon his prey, almost before anyone had time to intervene.

    There was a call for the religious community to march with the people as protection since ministers are known to be a shield from the brute force of police who attacked protesters.

    If we recall the incident in Los Angeles when the LAPD attacked the Nation of Islam's Mosque and Minister Malcolm X pleaded with the Honorable Elijah Muhammad for a swift retaliation, HEM told Malcolm to chill because in any war there shall be causalities, and so it is with the Wilson sisters. They are causalities of war but we must pick the right time to retaliate. Forget about justice in the courts! In war the warriors give justice to the enemy.

    Frankie Beverly sings of joy and pain, sunshine and rain. Wars have tragedies and victories. As we mourn the death of Nia Wilson, consider her a martyr for freedom. Consider Latifah a soldier in the Black Liberation Army.

    As we mourn and celebrate the death of Nia, let us also celebrate the victory we enjoy with the occupation of Lake Merritt. One of the speakers was from the Bar B Que Becky Revolution that  continues every Sunday at Lake Merritt on Lakeshore Avenue. It is a beautiful demonstration of Power to the People. Revolution is the seizure of power as we have done with the Sunday occupation of Lake Merritt, a space we were banned from while I grew up in West Oakland. Those who don't know need to know it happens every Sunday with vendors and our people enjoying themselves in a space we have liberated. A cultural worker came by my book stand and said, "Marvin, the people just took the Lake, huh?" I said, "Yes, we just took the motherfucka!"

    The vendors begin setting up around 6AM so they can secure vending space and parking space. There has been little police presence and little need for security. I know of no incidents, thus revealing how beautiful we are when in full control of our space. The occupation of Lake Merritt is thus a political, cultural and economic revolution that can and must be expanded along the entire length of the Black Arts Movement Cultural District from Lake Merritt along the 14th Street corridor to the Lower Bottom  and along East Oakland's International Blvd. to deep East. This space must be part of any economic and cultural parity package. Just know life is joy and pain, sunshine and rain!
    --Marvin X
    Co-founder
    Black Arts Movement
    Black Arts Movement Cultural District
    7/26/18

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  • 07/28/18--19:33: Poem for my Reluctant Lover

  • Poet Marvin X reading
    University of Chicago, 2015

    Poem for my Reluctant Lover

    She said I could pick her out in a crowd
    And so I did one day
    thousands of people passed
    just a coincidence I was looking
    when she passed
    it wasn't her face
    her body
    our energy connected that instant
    Oh, the power of Divine
    I called her name
    she turned and came into my arms
    said she would come my way tomorrow
    maybe spend a moment or two
    reluctant lover
    black velvet goddess
    high priestess of my soul
    have we denied our Lord
    What commandments of my Lord
    shall I deny
    Oh, Black Queen goddess
    if you deny me on earth
    I shall meet you in heaven
    will you deny me in our Father's House?

    Let love flow like water 
    sacred springs
    let rivers of love flow between two spirits
    let steel sharpen steel
    let honesty and truth come together
    let intelligence, beauty wisdom unite
    let us shake the universe with our love
    if only for a moment
    what is life but moments
    a collection of moments
    some moments are lighter than a feather
    some moments are higher than Mt. Kilimanjaro.  
    --Marvin X
    7/28/18

    Black Bird Press
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  • 07/30/18--15:34: I Remember Charlie Blackwell

  • Poet Charles Blackwell (RIP)

    I remember Charlie
    blind poet
    My Mississippi Nigga
    used to call out to him
    spitting his Mississippi mythic blues poems
    Story teller supreme
    Can't believe you slipped to spirit world
    is this your trickster poem
    last time I saw you
    you lookin' for good woman
    like all good men
    bad men too
    good women love bad men
    Ok, speak faya self Marvin X

    Charlie good man great
    I think he played a trick
    he behind stage
    ready to come on with dem Mississippi Blues poems.
    --Marvin X
    7/29/18

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    Marvin X classic: How to Recover from the Addiction to White Supremacy


    Can we get pass human bullshit
    white folks shit
    worse than dog shit
    more you clean
    more it stinks
    stay outta white folks business
    leave dem 'lone
    dey crazy
    ain't white supremacy
    it white lunacy crazy
    don't drink the Kool Aid
    ok, drink a little
    detox
    puke it out
    white lunacy
    bullshit
    fake news
    fake constitution
    fake religion
    They ain't talkin' bout Mary's baby
    ain't talkin bout
    Cross and Lynching tree
    crazy white folks
    they love children so much
    don't separate children from parents
    they so concerned
    concerned with North American African children
    concerned on New Year's Day 400 years
    auction day care
    selling men women children down the river care
    don't drink the Kool Aid
    just a little bit
    detox.


    White folks
    My teacher Sun Ra say
    You so evil
    devil don't want you in hell!

    but you care about dogs
    whales owls elephants
    gorillas
    global warming
    abortion
    Jesus called you liars and murderers
    you can't protect your own children at school
    can't protect your border
    haven
    for every filthy unclean bird

    Do Mexicans have walls around their houses?
    You must ain't been to Mexico. Violate your visa in Mexico.
    Tell 'em don't separate me from my wife and kids
    Don't drink the Kool Aid
    just  little bit
    detox!

    I ain't no human. I try to be like Jesus said
    In this world but no of it!

    If you of it
    you drank the Kool Aid
    detox!

    ---Marvin X
    7/30/18


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  • 08/01/18--21:50: Black Fire


  • Blood
    fire
    bones
    indigenous blood
    aboriginal African blood
    slave system blood bones mounds
    trees swamps rivers plains blood
    buffalo cotton sugar cane blood
    plantation house african slave huts blood
    tears
    cries
    moans
    screams howls even today
    ancestors scream moan howl
    no justice no peace
    nobody wants more than justice
    nobody wants less
    fires coast to coast
    fire blood bones consume the land of the free
    home of the brave
    medals for Wounded Knee murderers men women children
    In the name of Jesus
    for the cross
    for the crown
    for the king and queen
    mint julep queen
    big house queen
    BBC queen
    Emmit Til don't look at queen
    bow head no whistle queen
    bow down
    get off sidewalk queen
    now minority queen
    white man in drag queen

    what goes round comes round
    who don't know this simple shit
    fools smarter than God
    Like Job's wife
    they say curse God and die
    enjoy now
    no matter tomorrow
    heaven on earth
    no pie in sky slavery sermons
    white man heaven
    black man's hell
    cross lynching tree no matter
    smarter than God
    no mary's baby love
    no cross no crown
    white christian crown no cross
    saved by grace
    grace allows racism
    white supremacy grace
    slave catcher grace
    police murder grace
    black codes grace
    incarceration 13th Amendment
    involuntary servitude grace
    black fire grace
    blood constitution grace
    civil rites last rites grace
    white man's heaven black man's hell grace
    God gave Noah the rainbow sign
    no more water
    fire next time.
    no climate change
    world change
    can you change
    can you change
    Mother Nature change
    perpetual motion
    changing world
    change
    or die
    change
    or burn.
    change.
    black fire.
    --Marvin X
    8/1/18

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    SATURDAY, MARCH 24, 2018


    Hello Marvin,

    Great to hear from you again. I hope you've been able to get out to see the show. We are happy to accommodate your request for tickets.

    We have 20 tickets reserved under "guests of Marvin X"  Please tell them to come to the main ticket booth to retrieve them. 

    Also, please let them know that since this is the final week of the show we anticipate large crowds and there could possible a short wait to go into the exhibition on occasion. But, it should be too much of a wait. Enjoy! And don't hesitate to let us know if you have any questions. 

    Hope to see you here.

    Warmest regards,
    Rhonda 


    Respect Hip Hop Exhibit and the Education of Jahmeel--Adam Turner Photo Essay



























    \
    Now, I want everybody to know Rashid interviewed me at the Respect Hip Hop Exhibit. I knew he was coming to interview me but I didn't know he was going to exhaust me with questions which he did, but since I've known him since he was a child, I endured his questions, I just wasn't prepared for an exhaustive interview, but what is the duty of the civilized man but to teach the uncivilized, and if he doesn't perform his duty he suffers a severe chastisement by Allah.Did that, done that. I let him exhaust me in his quest for truth. Ache! What better place than the Hip Hop Exhibit for elders to be questioned by their sons and daughters!--Marvin X


    Rashid Jameel Patterson and Marvin X


    "WHEN YOU LISTEN TO TUPAC SHAKUR, E-40, TOO SHORT, MASTER P OR ANY OTHER RAPPERS OUT OF THE BAY AREA OF CALI, THINK OF MARVIN X. HE LAID THE FOUNDATION AND GAVE US THE LANGUAGE TO EXPRESS BLACK MALE URBAN EXPERIENCES IN A LYRICAL WAY!"

    --JAMES G. SPADY, PHILADELPHIA NEW OBSERVER NEWSPAPER



    Jameel and Jahmeel

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    The Origin of Blackness
    by Marvin X/El Muhajir

    Translated from English into Arabic
    by Ali Sheriff Bey
    RIP

    Sudan la al lawn
    black is not a color
    lawn kuli min sudan
    all colors come from black
    sudan al harakat
    black is a rhythm
    al marna tambura
    a drum beat
    anata
    ancient
    assi
    primitive
    al awwal sudan kalam
    first word was black
    al awwal rajuli sudan
    first man was black
    Allah sudan
    god is black
    sudan ilmi akhi
    black knows its brother
    anta mufail mashay min sudan
    you can't run from black
    anta mufail ghaybaw min sudan
    you can't hide from black
    ka umma sudan
    your mama is black
    ka abu sudan
    your father is black
    ka burka sudan
    your shadow is black
    al atum ra'a wa sami sudan
    things you see and hear are black
    sudan al asil
    black is reality
    wahabi
    unity
    hurriya
    freedom
    adil 
    justice
    musawat
    equality.
    --Marvin X/El Muhajir
    from Woman, Man's Best Friend, Al Kitab Sudan/Black Bird Press, 1972








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    Notes: Revolution, Youth, Old Age, Sickness and Death at San Francisco State University


    Black Students at San Francisco State University ignited the longest and most violent student rebellion in American Academic History, 1968, in their struggle to establish Black and Ethnic Studies, joined by Third World peoples. Howard University Sociology Professor Dr. Nathan Hare was recruited for Chair of Black Studies at SF State College/now University, but he was rejected by the administration that had no desire to establish Black and Ethnic Studies at SFSC/U. Another critical issue was BSU/Black Panther Minister of Education, George Murray. "They" wanted him removed as lecturer in the English Department.


    In 1968 I was underground in Harlem, NY, after I refused to fight in Vietnam. I dropped out of SFSC/U a short time the SFC/U Drama Department produced my first play, Flowers for the Trashman, at the suggestion of my English Professor, Medievalist, John Gardner. After the Drama Department’s production, an honor for an undergraduate, I dropped out of college to establish my own theatre in the Fillmore, across from Tree’s Pool Hall as described in Bernard’s narrative. Bernard mentions Leonard’s Bar B Que, Sun Reporter Newspaper, Half Note Club on Divisadero, Bunny Simon’s Play Pen and the jazz venue The Both/And.
    Bunny Simon gave Black Dialogue Magazine his venue for a writer’s conference. If my memory is correct, cerca 1966, we performed my second play Come Next Summer, starring Bobby Seale as a young revolutionary trying to find himself. A white Communist, Saul Einstein, was trying to recruit the young black revolutionary. Soon after Bancobby Seale and Huey P. Newton founded the Black Panther Party.
    This is why I say the Black Arts Movement was not the sister but the mother of the Black Arts Movement.
    When LeRoi Jones/Amiri Baraka came to SFC/U with his Communications Project that included plays, poetry and a film Black Spring, now lost, it advanced the radical consciousness of BSU students and others. After George Murray performed the Preacher in Ben Caldwell’s The First Militant Preacher, he was never the same, he thereafter donned the persona of the revolutionary and was soon appointed Black Panther Party Minister of Education, as well as a member of  the BSU Central Committee.


    George Murray

    and I were undergrads at SFSC/U. He was a conservative poet from the Church of God in Christ, a church in East Oakland founded by his father. Knowing George as an undergrad, I would have never suspected he would become Minister of Education of the Black Panther Party. Yet my deepest suspicions told me George was revolutionized when he performed in LeRoi Jones/Amiri Baraka's SFSU Communications Project, 1967.


    Contrary to Larry Neal's classic essay on the Black Arts Movement, in which vhe asserted, "The Black Arts Movement is the sister of the Black Power Movement





    8/4/18 Marvin X Notes on the Untold Story of the Black Student Revolution at SFSU, 1968


    How ironic to sit reading the life stories of my comrades in the Black Student Revolution at San Francisco State University, then stopping to call one of the student warriors, Judge George Colbert, in his hospital bed, with another warrior at his side, Terry Collins.


    Last night I was in San Francisco at the home of Drs. Julia and Nathan Hare. Julia was asleep. Dr. Hare was editing my next book Notes of Artistic Freedom Fighter Marvin X, Introduction by Dr. Nathan Hare.

    I am relieved he agreed to edit the manuscript, he has allowed me to get into my top priority project: The Untold Story of the Black Student Revolution at San Francisco State University.

    As I perused the life stories of BSU and Strike leaders, given to me  by BSU strike leader Bernard Stringer , I thought about the fact that their narratives fit perfectly into the central theme of North American African Literature and liberation struggle: How I Got Ova', i.e., how I survived the American genocide of North American Africans.

    The early life of fellow students Bernard Stringer and Sharon Treskanoff (just for starters in my perusal)  was depressing enough in the delineation of their comic-tragedy ( see Diop, Cultural Unity of Africa) of North American African students, not to think of my own narrative Somethin' Proper, Autobiography of a North American African Poet, Introduction by Dr. Nathan Hare), Black Bird Press, 1998. Sharon Treskanoff's story is a plethora of what North American Africans endure in these hells of North America. An old North American African is reported to have said, "Being Black ain't so bad, it's just inconvenient!" To escape this pervasive inconvenience, my daughter, Muhammida El Muhajir, has returned to our Motherland, Africa, now residing in Accra, Ghana, along with 5,000 North American Africans in Accra, Ghana. My daughter told Al Jazeera, "...Ghana may not have electricity 24/7, but they don't have white supremacy 24/7.... When I visit expensive stores, restaurants and hotels, nobody follows me around. Police do not kill people for no reason!...."

    Muhammida as child of conscious parents (her mother Nisa Ra, was part of the Third World Student Revolution at UC Berkeley when she met Marvin X, Lecturer in Black Studies, 1972.  When Muhammida produced her inter-generational discussions in Brooklyn, NY and Philadelphia entitled Black Power Babies, and after reading the narratives of Bernard Stringer and Sharon Truskenoff, we must not submit to the reactionary narrative our liberation struggle was a failure, although the Black Liberation Army, coast to coast, suffered a military defeat by the overwhelming forces of the USA oppressor. But we have brainwashed our conscious children to continue the revolution until victory.

    Sharon's narrative was full of joy and pain, Texas, San Francisco Hunters Point paid. As per Bernard Stringer's childhood joy and pain, I know well because his father operated a grocery store in Fresno  at Dunn and Thorne Streets. My grandmother lived on Dunn, across the street in the projects so I grew up in Mr. Stringer's store, a tall black man who spoke with authority. I don't think anyone ever robbed Mr. Stringer's store. I think Bernard concurred.

    Sharon came from conscious parents in an interracial family, they were progressive and aggressive social activists.

    What we see here is the story of generations of freedom fighters. The BSU students did not jump out of the box. First came the Negro Students Association. So we evolve, struggle and pass the baton to our children. Don't think they don't know what to do, alas, freedom is in their DNA!

    Shortly before he joined the ancestors, Amiri Baraka was asked after his reading at UC Berkeley, "Mr. Baraka, what was your greatest achievement?"

    He said, "I survived!"


    So as I continue reading the SFSU BSU student narratives, I am honored to be in the number! Dr.y Nathan said we were the very best of our generation, who did all we could for our community, and  I must add sometimes to the neglect our our families. But in Muhammida's Black Power Babies, our children said they appreciated us as conscious parents, even though we forced them to wear African garb and did not allow them to celebrate Xmas, Easter, 4th of July and other white supremacy myths and rituals.


    We appreciate so much the griot Phavia Kujichagulia when she spoke on the inter-generational discussion at Laney College at the 50th Anniversary of the Black Arts Movement, "Yes, I brainwashed my daughter, washed all the white supremacy out of her brain. There is a pic of Kujichagulia in awe of her daughter speaking.


    In summary as we imagine a conclusion to this Untold Story, the beat goes on and on and on. We were students who once thought we knew everything but found out we didn't know shit except white supremacy mythology and rituals. But in the Sixties, we know North American African students, at San Francisco State University, but also coast to coast, Columbia University, Cornell U., Howard U., South Carolina State, Orangeburg, SA. The Freedom Riders, students who sat-in, who worked in SNCC for voter registration in the murderous dirty south. Students who called for Black Power! Students who challenged the very ideology of Civil Rights. Malcolm X helped clarified our struggle was about Human Rights.


    At San Francisco State College/University, we, North American African students, were slow to realize we were entitled to parity as per Associated Student funds. This sparked a revolution in our human rights consciousness.er


    If I may speak on behalf of my comrades in the NSA and BSU, we give praise to our ancestors, elders and all those who assisted our liberation for human rights, especially at SFSU.  As Bernard Stringer stressed in his narrative, we thank the white and black community who sometimes gave us scholarship money, yes, mothers in the hood who were inspired we was seeking a college education, white people who saw we were sincere and helped us with employment, housing and food. We thank them as we proceed with The Untold Story of the Black Student Revolution at San Francisco State University, a work in progress.


    Sincerely,

    Marvin X

    8/4/18I


    P.S. Pray for Judge George Colbert, pray for warrior woman Dr. Julia Hare and her devoted mate of 60 years, Dr.Nathan Hare. Liberty or Death!


    MX


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