A Common Solution

Three decades after their deaths, Malcolm X and Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. still symbolize opposing ideological positions that divide African-Americans. Their clashes set the tone for internecine battles that have continued to disrupt Black communities. Which path to social justice is correct? By any means necessary? Or nonviolence? Integration or separation? Spike Lee raised the issue of the contrast between the two men at the end of his great film, Do the Right Thing. A photograph of the two looms silently on the screen.

But was the split between them inevitable? How incompatible were their ideas, really? Were they in some ways complimentary? Must African-Americans choose between their ideological legacies? Or is it possible that Malcolm and Martin would have resolved their differences had they not been assassinated? Does their unresolved discord represent a missed opportunity that has hobbled African-American political life?

Why, now, years after their deaths, are these questions relevant? As we enter the next millineum, with so manv of our people still impoverished, and the basic notion of African-American equality still a debatable one in the United States, there remains much to be learned from the relationship of these two extraordinary men.

There has been much speculation about what Malcolm or Martin would have done had they lived longer, but until recently, we could only wonder about what kind of relationship they had when alive. Although the two men met only briefly, there is considerable evidence regarding their attitudes toward each other and, more significantly, about how those attitudes changed over time.

On July 31, 1963, less than a month before the March on Washington for jobs and Freedom, Malcolm X invited Martin Luther King Jr. and other national civil rights leaders to speak at a Muslim rally in Harlem. In his letter, Malcolm warned that the nation's racial crisis might "erupt into an uncontrollable explosion" and insisted that racial unity was urgently needed.

"If capitalistic Kennedy and communistic Khrushchev can find something in common on which to form a United Front despite their tremendous ideological differences, it is a disgrace for Negro leaders not to be able to submerge our 'minor' differences in order to seek a common solution to a common problem posed by a Common Enemy," Malcolm argued.

Although as the minister of the Nation of Islam, Malcolm assured the civil rights leaders that he would "moderate the meeting and guarantee order and courtesy for all speakers," none of the invited leaders accepted his invitation. NAACP leader Roy Wilkins cited a previous speaking commitment in his response, even as he expressed appreciation for Malcolm's assurance of civility: "I am afraid I cannot say the same for some outdoor rallies held in New York City in Harlem and elsewhere in which the Muslims were not the sponsors and not responsible for order."

Martin King did not respond to Malcolm's invitation. In the midst of preparations for the Washington march, his staff may not have even brought the invitation to his attention. Although Malcolm had begun writing to Martin in 1957, he received only perfunctory replies from the civil rights leader's office. Early in 1958, Nation of Islam leader Elijah Muhammad attended one of Martin's speeches in Chicago. The two talked afterward, but Martin's staff turned down a subsequent invitation for Martin to appear at a Muslim rally in Hyde Park. His secretary, Maude Ballou, also rejected Malcolm's 1960 invitation to a Muslim "education rally," claiming that it arrived too late. During the early 1960s, Malcolm tried to attract Martin's attention by occa- sional visits or telephone calls to the SCLC headquarters, but he was only able to talk to office staff.

To what extent did these rebuffs add to the intensity of Malcolm's criticisms of Martin's nonviolent approach? Although some of the differences between the two men were surely based on deeply held religious and political convictions, there also were common aspects of their personalities that might have enabled them to resolve their differences. Both were sons of politically active Baptist ministers who saw religion as a tool for social transforma-tion; both were well informed about the relationship between the African-American freedom struggle and Third World liberation movements; both were men of integrity and courage.

Yet, Martin also was a privileged insider within the largest African-American denomination, while Malcolm was a member of a small Islamic group that was isolated from the Black religious main stream. Malcolm was not invited to the March on Washington, and he may have been bitter over being ignored by King and excluded from the inner circles of national Black leadership.

Soon after the march, Malcolm delivered one of his strongest speeches against national civil rights leaders who he said had allowed themselves to be "used against the Negro revolution." In his "Message to the Grass Roots" speech delivered Nov. 10, 1963, in Detroit, he charged that the march's White financial

backers had manipulated Black leaders, thereby transforming a potentially militant mass protest into a "picnic, a circus." While suggesting that White supporters of the march should get Academy Awards because "they acted like they really loved Negroes and footed a whole lot of Negroes," Malcolm sardonically noted that the Black leaders also deserved awards " for the best supporting cast."

Given Malcolm's verbal hostility and his advocacy of racial sep- aratism, it was not surprising that Martin rejected the occasional overtures from his fiercest Black critic. He may have thought that he had little to gain and much to lose from any association with the Nation of Islam. A summer of 1963 national survey of African-Americans by Newsweek found that 88 percent had positive opinions regarding Martin Luther King, while only 15 percent thought positively about Muhammad (Malcolm was not even listed on the survey form). Nevertheless, Martin could not ignore Malcolm's increasing popularity, especially among young, politically active Black people.

Firmly convinced that nonviolent direct action was the only effective tactic available to discontented Blacks, Martin struggled to understand why some alienated African-Americans were attracted to Black nationalist rhetoric. "Malcolm was clearly a product of the hate and violence invested in the Negro's blighted existence in this nation," he observed. "He, like so many of our number, was a victim of the despair inevitably deriving from the conditions of oppression, poverty and injustice which engulf the masses of our race. In his youth, there was no hope, no preaching, teaching or movements of nonviolence. He was too young for the Garvey Movement, and too poor to be a Communist - for the Communists geared their work to Negro intellectuals and labor without realizing that the masses of Negroes were unrelated to either - and yet he possessed a native intelligence and drive which demanded an outlet and means of expression."

Although Martin saw Malcolm as "very articulate" and conceded that he had "some of the answers," he condemned "the demagogic oratory" of "extremist leaders who preach revolution" yet were "invariably unwilling to lead what they know would certainly end in bloody, chaotic and total defeat." He strongly disagreed with Malcolm's rhetorical militancy, which he saw as far less useful for African-Americans than nonviolent direct action. Reflecting on their differences, Martin said, "I have often wished that he would talk less of violence, because violence is not going to solve our problem. And in his litany of articulating the despair of the Negro without offering any positive, creative alternative, I feel that Malcolm has done himself and our people a great disservice. Fiery, demagogic oratory in the black ghettos, urging Negroes to arm themselves and prepare to engage in violence, as he has done, can reap nothing but grief."

Martin was also disturbed by the personal nature of some of Malcolm's verbal assaults. Suspecting that Malcolm may have been responsible for an egg-throwing incident he endured in Harlem, Martin was dismayed that some Black nationalists "transferred their bitterness toward the white man to me," seeing him as "soft" or "a sort of polished Uncle Tom." For Martin, such criticisms were hypocritical, because nonviolent activists were at least confronting Southern racists rather than sitmply engaging in verbal combat. "They don't see that there's a great deal of difference between nonresistance to evil and nonviolent resistance. "

Despite the wide ideological gulf that existed between the two men in 1963, the mass protests of that year had set in motion forces that neither one could control or even fully understand. While King was being pushed toward greater militancy by an upsurge of grass-roots protest activity throughout the South, including campaigns by the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee, (SNCC), Malcolm was becoming increasingly dissatisfied with Elijah Muhammad's policy of nonengagement, which prevented members of the Nation of Islam from participating in politics and protests. In his autobiograhy Malcolm acknowledged his disap-pointment over the failure of the Nation of Islam to become involved in the escalating freedom struggle of the early 1960s: "I felt that, wherever black people committed themselves, in the Little Rocks and the Birminghams and other places, militantly disciplined Muslims should also be there for all the world to see, and respect, and discuss. It could be heard increasingly in the Negro commu- nities: 'Those Muslims talk tough, but they never do anything, unless sombody bothers Muslims.' "

Moreover, Malcolm knew that the Nation of Islam's apolitical stance obscured Elijah Muhammad's willingness to make political accommodations with reactionary, racist Whites when it served his purposes. In January 1961, Muhammad had sent Malcolm to Atlanta to meet with Ku Klux Klan officials to obtain the White supremacist group's support for the Nation's plan to create a separate Black state. This meeting, which remained a well-kept secret until Malcolm's break with the Nation, and Muhammad's long- term relationship with Nazi leader George Lincoln Rockwell, were certainly factors that caused Malcolm to become increasingly skeptical of Muhammad's motives and integrity.

By the end of 1963, Elijah Muhammad reacted to Malcolm's increasing popularity, independence and outspokenness by suspending his most effective recruiter. The pretext for the suspension was Malcolm's statement that the assassination of President John F. Kennedy was a case of "chickens coming home to roost." Actually, the split between the two men derived from Malcolm's determination to follow a course that paralleled King's-- that is, to combine religious leadership and political action.

By the time Malcolm returned from his pilgrimage to Mecca in the spring of 1964, he was prepared to break with the Nation of Islam and to begin building ties to the more militant elements within the Southern freedom struggle. Although his principal objective was to forge an alliance with grass-roots leaders and youthful activists in SNCC, he also sought to repair the damage caused by his earlier criticisms of Martin and other national civil rights leaders. "I've forgotten everything bad that the other leaders have said about me," he said soon after forming the Organization of Afro-American Unity (OAAU), "and I pray they can also forget the many bad things I've said about them."

When Martin was facing White mob violence in St. Augustine, Fla., in 1964, Malcolm sent a telegram to offer assistance: "If the federal government will not send troops to your aid, 'ust say the word and we will immediately dispatch some of our brothers there to organize self defense units among our people and the [Ku Klux Klan] will then receive a taste of its own medicine. The day of turning the other cheek to those brute beasts is over."

Eventually, Malcolm succeeded in his effort to meet with his main ideological adversary. On March 26, 1964, Martin emerged from a news conference at the U.S. Capitol to discover Malcolm X waiting for him. As photographers gathered around, the two men shook hands. Malcolm orchestrated the impromptu meeting, grinning broadly at the clearly surprised Martin while remarking, "Now you're going to get investigated." This passing encounter did not result in any concerted efforts to bridge the gulf between the two men, for Malcolm was more concerned about the vicious infighting in his own camp, while King's attention was focused on the pending civil rights legislation.

Later in 1964, Malcolm was able to meet with a number of SNCC workers, including its chairman, John Lewis, and Mississippi organizer Fannie Lou Hamer. He saw the OAAU as a potential bridge between the revitalized Black nationalist movement and the Black freedom struggle. At a time when many veteran civil rights activists were looking to Malcolm for guidance in mobilizing discontented urban Blacks, he was looking to the Southern struggle for inspiration in his effort to politicize the moribund Black nationalist movement. In early February 1965, Malcolm continued his overtures to the Southern struggle by going to Selma, Ala., during a major voting rights campaign. SNCC workers arranged his appearances in order to encourage Black students to join their efforts, and Malcolm's fiery speeches served their purposes even as his words disturbed SCLC representatives. Martin, who was in jail at the time, heard that Malcolm said "some pretty passionate things against me," but he also learned that Malcolm's demeanor was more cordial during a private meeting with Coretta King. "He spoke at length to my wife Coretta about his personal struggles and expressed an interest in working more closely with the nonviolent movement," Martin recalled. "He thought he could help me more by attacking me than praising me. He thought it would make it easier for me in the long run. He said, " If the white people realize what the alternative is, perhaps they will be more willing to hear Dr. King.' "

Just a few weeks after the visit to Selma, on Feb 21st, Malcolm X was assassinated. His death ended any chance that we would be able to discuss with King his goal of forging "a common solution to a common problem." Martin called the assassination "shocking and tragic."

He sent a telegram to Malcolm's widow, Betty Shabazz: "While we did not always see eye to eye on methods to solve the race problem, I always had a deep affection for Malcolm and felt that he had a great ability to put his finger on the existence and root of the problem," Martin wrote. "He was an eloquent spokesman for his point of view and no one can honestly doubt that Malcolm had a great concern for the problems that we face as a race."

Martin regretted that Malcolm did not have the chance to develop his growing "interest in politics as a way of dealing with the problems of the Negro." Unfortunately, Martin lamented, "history would not have it so. A man who lived under the torment of knowledge of the rape of his grandmother and murder of his father under the conditions of the present social order, does not readily accept that social order or seek to integrate into it."

Martin saw Malcolm's murder as a symptom of the kind of conflict that was not only undermining African-American political life but also newly independent African nations, such as the Congo. "The American Negro cannot afford to destroy its leadership," Martin observed. "Certainly we will continue to disagree, but we must disagree without becoming violently disagreeable. We will still suffer the temptation to bitterness, but we must learn that hate is too great a burden for a people moving on toward their date with destiny. Men of talent are too scarce to be destroyed by envy, greed and tribal rivalry before they reach their full maturity." He asserted that Malcolm's murder deprived "the world of a potentially great leader."

Martin would witness the destructive internal conflicts that disrupted African-American political life in the years after Malcolm's assassination. More than Martin could have known in 1965, Malcolm's death signaled the bedinning of bitter battles among proponents of the ideological alternatives the two men represented.

FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover was among the White leaders who sought to exploit the ideological differences symbolixed by the two leaders. Hoover saw Malcolm and Martin as among the potential messiahs who might have been able to, in the words of his infamous 1968 memorandum expanding the Bureau's Counter-intelligence Program, to "unify, and electrify" the militant Black movement. Rather than recognizing the points of convergence in the ideas of Martin and Malcolm, most Black leaders of the era after King's death in 1968 saw them as irreconcilable options. Black people were advised to choose between Martin and Malcolm, rather than affirming that each offer a partial answer to the problems of the race.

Unlike many of their followers, the two men understood at the end of their lives that their basic messages were compatible rather than contradictory. Both saw that the building of strong, Black-controlled institutions in African-American communities did not contradict the goal of achieving equal rights within the American political system; indeed, the achievement of the one goal would contribute to the achievement of the other. Perhaps the most important consequence of their tragic deaths was that they were unavailable to serve as elder statesmen for the African-American freedom struggle during that period of ideological uncertainty after the passage of historic civil rights legislation.

Had they lived, Malcolm and Martin might have advised their followers that the differences between the two were not as significant as was their common sense of dedication to the struggle for racial advancement. Malcolm came to realize that nonviolent tactics could be used militantly and were essential aspects of any mass struggle. Indeed, he was himself a peaceful man who never adopted a strategy of violence. Martin, for his part, remained philosophically committed to the ideals of Ghandian nonviolence, but he increasingly recognized that mass militancy driven by positive racial consciousness was essential for African-American progress. "I am not sad that black Americans are rebelling," he remarked in his last published essay, "Without this magnificent ferment among Negroes, the old evcasions and procrastinations would have continued indefinitely."

Malcolm and Martin understood the African-American dilemma from different perspectives rooted in their different experiences. Each leader was a visionary, yet the ideas of each were still evolving until their lives were cut short by assassination; neither fully comprehended, for example, the leadership potential of women. They were great leaders, but they were also products of a historical period of tremendous mass struggles.

Malcolm experienced the enduring problems of poverty, despair and powerlessness that we have yet to overcome. He insisted that Blacks address these problems by strengthening the institutions in their communities and by acquiring a strong sense of positive racial identity. He continues to have special significance for African-Americans at the bottom of the U.S. social order, because he was once there and felt the bitterness and frustration of those who remain there. He continues to inspire and enlighten Black people who experience the American nightmare rather than the American dream.

Martin also understood the importance of racial pride, even if he took such pride for granted. He recognized that African-Americans would never be free until they signed their own emancipation proclamation "with the pen and ink of assertive selfhood," but he also saw that the destiny of African-Americans was inextricably linked to that of all people and that any freedom struggle should have reconciliation as its ultimate goal. His message can enlighten us in these times when racial and ethnic conflicts have engulfed many nations and may yet engulf this one. He knew that nonviolent struggles seeking reconciliation and redemption do not offer the same excitement and emotional satisfaction as do revenge and retaliation; yet he also understood that, despite our differences, we are inextricable bound together in a network of interdependence on our increasingly endangered planet.

Clayborne Carson

Emerge, February 1998