I was introduced to James Baldwin by the way of Malcolm X. He mentioned in his writings how Baldwin were one of his fiercest interlocutors in debate. I had heard Baldwin’s name a few times but never really knew much about him. I knew of the book “Giovanni’s Room,” and I must apologize because, to this day, I still haven’t read it.
Then, during my college years, I was in a library and saw a book Baldwin wrote called “The Fire Next Time.” Something about the title stirred something within me, and I thought, “What the hell, let me check it out.” This was memorable for me because at that time, I was just dipping my toe into the cold waters of social justice and community organizing. Many of my classes focused on social justice, but I found myself reading more memoirs and autobiographical books when I wasn’t in class.
The moment I read “A Letter to My Nephew,” I was glued to every word. There was something about the way Baldwin wrote to him that made me feel as if he were speaking directly to me. As a young Black man receiving guidance and mentorship from an older Black man, it was relatable and something I believe many young Black men yearned to hear. You let down your guard and spoke about the love you had for your nephew’s future in a country notorious for racism, to a boy who bore your name. As I read it, I wished you were right in front of me so I could see you face to face and feel the love you placed into each of those prose.
Even the title of that book and its biblical reference to Noah, the completion of the flood, and God sending a rainbow, but knowing if evil reared its head, God would rain down with flames to purify the world of such corruption, resonated deeply. As a New York native who left the country and found solace in Paris, it made sense to me. But knowing the courage it took for Baldwin to risk his safety because of his race and sexuality, and still feeling compelled to return to America to fight for liberation, was profoundly inspiring.
I had to look within myself and wonder, as a migrant to New York City, living in Harlem, a place where your legacy is anchored, would I care to go back down South during a time of political divisiveness around reproductive rights, immigrant rights, mass shootings and police brutality? Would I risk my own life if it meant I could save others from the trials they face? I don’t know that answer yet. But I know it was one Baldwin was willing to find out as he returned to America.
Your social commentary on American life, not just as a queer, Black man but as a literary and cinematic critic, is evident in books like “The Devil Finds Work.” To many, Baldwin is known as a great writer, but to me, he is known as a great man.
This weekend, I will be at the Schomburg Center to celebrate the mark Baldwin left on this earth and the legacy he left behind. Thank you, Mr. Baldwin. The pleasure is all ours.
Featured image: Photo by Allan Warren CC BY-SA 3.0
