“The paradox of education is precisely this – that as one begins to become conscious one begins to examine the society in which he is being educated.”
– James Baldwin (August 2, 1924 – December 1, 1987)
James Baldwin loved me before I had any understanding of who or what I was. I thought he loved and embraced every little black boy who didn’t fit in, who stood out and wasn’t easily defined by other men or society. His early writings spoke of the struggle to just BE. Baldwin’s language spoke to a lost part of my identity. His writing and love spoke for those yet to come.
I’m writing this on the eve of his ninety-sixth birthday. Like most of our heroes in death, we idolize their lives and work. I often wonder if Baldwin was alive today what would he say about the state of the world? How would this prophetic writer summarize COVID-19, Trump, and the Black Lives Matter movement that is shaping our future?
Baldwin has been referred to as a prophet. When you look at his work written nearly over fifty years ago you can see why. He wrote about the Civil Rights Movement and life abroad as a Black Man in a strange place. James Baldwin wrote about Martin, Malcolm, Medgar, and the madness of being black and in rage. Baldwin wrote of universal love while living a private life as a homosexual.
Baldwin was a novelist, essayist, playwright, poet, social critic, and author of over twenty books. I loved Baldwin because he questioned this country, religion, and race in a poetic yet truthful manner. He made people of color rethink our ideas on identity, gender, and sexuality. He did all of that with just the stroke of a pen. I could only wish to be one-fourth of the writer Baldwin was.
There was a time I was “in love with the idea” of Baldwin. An educated Black man who lyrical words spoke volumes out of his smaller stature. I didn’t embrace his ideas until I was much older. I happened to be in Boston, during my college years, near the university where he was going to have a lecture. My friend knowing me to be a fan of Baldwin’s suggested that we attend. In my ignorance, I wanted to go sightseeing instead of hearing him talk in person. The following year Baldwin died.
One of my college roommate skipped classes, took a bus into New York City to pay his respect among the thousands of people outside of Saint John’s cathedral. Not me, I thought it wouldn’t matter. I did say I was naive and ignorant at the time. One of the reasons I relish his words and ideas to this day.
Like I stated, Baldwin did love me first. I felt his love over the years pouring over his essays and writings. I always found something new and different. With the release of, I Am Not Your Negro (2016), we were all able to hear his prophetic vision again and apply it in real-time to what is happening all over the world.
Baldwin’s ultimate strengths I believe was love. His love for his people and a country that didn’t recognize his life or worth. Even after he left America to escape the racism and homophobia which ate away at his soul, love brought him back to fight in the only way he could.
Thank you, James, for loving this black boy when he felt not worthy of being beautiful. That he didn’t have a voice, and his words didn’t matter. There isn’t a time when I’m writing I can hear Baldwin whispering, “your crown has been brought and paid for – you simply must wear it.”
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