really, beacause very few people knew about his lifestyle or care..Maaan fuck that niggaah. It's niggaahz like him & that Rustin character who've helped misdirect the consciousness of black/ African Americans/ negros.
Yes, I'm fine. Thanks for asking.
Today is James Baldwin Birthday, Best Orator of the past 500 years.
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Lol stop being anti African American for once in your life
It shouldn't be that hard for you but it clearly is
I've been more places than you
And because I didn't pick a random African man from some place that you happen to know about you want to diminish James fucking Baldwin?
Shame on you
Complete and utter shame on you.
Op-Ed: How James Baldwin spoke to immigrants like me
Leah Mirakhor
,
Los Angeles Times Opinion•August 2, 2020
James Baldwin in 1985. (Associated Press)
James Baldwin was born Aug. 2, 1924, in Harlem, to parents who were children of former slaves. For migrants fleeing an economically depressed and racist South, Harlem was not much better, and his parents struggled to provide anything close to the American dream for their children. “By the time you are 7,” he recalled near the end of his life, “you know why you are in a ghetto.”
Baldwin knew by then that the Pledge of Allegiance’s promise of “liberty and justice for all” would not apply to him or his siblings, but his father insisted he recite the words each day at school, terrified of what would happen if he did not.
In August 1987, when I was 7 years old, my family came to the United States as refugees, joining a drove of asylum seekers from across the world. My father fled Iran, aided by smugglers who helped him cross the Iran-Pakistan border. After several weeks, my mother, sister and I flew from Tehran to Paris to meet him. And by December 1987, the year Baldwin died, we had settled in Queens, a subway ride away from his Harlem.
Of course, I didn’t know that at the time. I wouldn’t encounter Baldwin’s searing and impassioned prophecies for another decade — no one in my family had read him, no one in my primary schools had taught his work. But when I finally encountered him after starting college, his words changed my life. In the pages of his novels, essays and plays, I came to understand both my father’s terror and my adopted country. Baldwin provided me with a blueprint for what it meant to be an American.
In 1948, when Baldwin fled America for France, he was neither a migrant nor a refugee, but he was, as he later wrote, at the “end of a certain rope,” living an impossible nightmare in the country of his birth. He was either going to be killed or kill somebody if he stayed. He was also trying to escape his father’s fate of becoming embittered, angry and beaten down by his native country.
As Baldwin fled America, refugees and migrants were fleeing to America, seeking to escape the authoritarian regimes that had curtailed their livelihoods and find a place of safety and prosperity. The irony was not lost on Baldwin. As he stated in his 1965 debate with William Buckley, the “American dream comes at the expense of the American Negro.”
By 7, I had absorbed the grammar of American life. I realized even before I became fluent in English that I did not want to assimilate; I wanted to disappear into whiteness. This terrified my father.
One morning as he walked me to school, I told him I wanted to change my name to Julie and have blond hair. Like Baldwin, my father understood that my desired erasure meant a “profound rupture” with our history, our language, even our connection. He would often remind me, “Americans do not know who they are.”
I later learned that wanting to become “American,” for the immigrant, often really meant wanting to become a white American. “White,” Baldwin reflected in 1978, “is really a metaphor for safety and for power and that is why people are white.” Immigrant children know this truth even before they can articulate it. And our parents, fearing for our safety, knew like the Irish, Italian and other immigrants before them, that they, as Baldwin said, “would not like to be Black here.”
The problem, as my father anticipated, even if he didn’t express it this way, was that his children had been socialized to accept the invitation to become white. And with that invitation came the danger so many recent immigrants face of forgetting why we came to this country, the danger we would embrace its baser aspects.
“The tragedy of this country now,” Baldwin wrote in 1963, “is that most of the people who say they care about it do not care. What they care about is their safety and their profits. What they care about is not rocking the boat. What they care about is the continuation of white supremacy.”
In his vast body of work, Baldwin showed us how to bear witness to the past “with both pride and despair,” so that we could break from the tragedy of the present. Baldwin told the stories of Black Americans who came "from a long line of runaway slaves who managed to survive without passports.” And in these histories, he reminded us of what it might mean to be an American.
Leah Mirakhor is a writer and critic based in New Haven, Conn. She teaches at Yale University.
Leah Mirakhor
,
Los Angeles Times Opinion•August 2, 2020
James Baldwin in 1985. (Associated Press)
James Baldwin was born Aug. 2, 1924, in Harlem, to parents who were children of former slaves. For migrants fleeing an economically depressed and racist South, Harlem was not much better, and his parents struggled to provide anything close to the American dream for their children. “By the time you are 7,” he recalled near the end of his life, “you know why you are in a ghetto.”
Baldwin knew by then that the Pledge of Allegiance’s promise of “liberty and justice for all” would not apply to him or his siblings, but his father insisted he recite the words each day at school, terrified of what would happen if he did not.
In August 1987, when I was 7 years old, my family came to the United States as refugees, joining a drove of asylum seekers from across the world. My father fled Iran, aided by smugglers who helped him cross the Iran-Pakistan border. After several weeks, my mother, sister and I flew from Tehran to Paris to meet him. And by December 1987, the year Baldwin died, we had settled in Queens, a subway ride away from his Harlem.
Of course, I didn’t know that at the time. I wouldn’t encounter Baldwin’s searing and impassioned prophecies for another decade — no one in my family had read him, no one in my primary schools had taught his work. But when I finally encountered him after starting college, his words changed my life. In the pages of his novels, essays and plays, I came to understand both my father’s terror and my adopted country. Baldwin provided me with a blueprint for what it meant to be an American.
In 1948, when Baldwin fled America for France, he was neither a migrant nor a refugee, but he was, as he later wrote, at the “end of a certain rope,” living an impossible nightmare in the country of his birth. He was either going to be killed or kill somebody if he stayed. He was also trying to escape his father’s fate of becoming embittered, angry and beaten down by his native country.
As Baldwin fled America, refugees and migrants were fleeing to America, seeking to escape the authoritarian regimes that had curtailed their livelihoods and find a place of safety and prosperity. The irony was not lost on Baldwin. As he stated in his 1965 debate with William Buckley, the “American dream comes at the expense of the American Negro.”
By 7, I had absorbed the grammar of American life. I realized even before I became fluent in English that I did not want to assimilate; I wanted to disappear into whiteness. This terrified my father.
One morning as he walked me to school, I told him I wanted to change my name to Julie and have blond hair. Like Baldwin, my father understood that my desired erasure meant a “profound rupture” with our history, our language, even our connection. He would often remind me, “Americans do not know who they are.”
I later learned that wanting to become “American,” for the immigrant, often really meant wanting to become a white American. “White,” Baldwin reflected in 1978, “is really a metaphor for safety and for power and that is why people are white.” Immigrant children know this truth even before they can articulate it. And our parents, fearing for our safety, knew like the Irish, Italian and other immigrants before them, that they, as Baldwin said, “would not like to be Black here.”
The problem, as my father anticipated, even if he didn’t express it this way, was that his children had been socialized to accept the invitation to become white. And with that invitation came the danger so many recent immigrants face of forgetting why we came to this country, the danger we would embrace its baser aspects.
“The tragedy of this country now,” Baldwin wrote in 1963, “is that most of the people who say they care about it do not care. What they care about is their safety and their profits. What they care about is not rocking the boat. What they care about is the continuation of white supremacy.”
In his vast body of work, Baldwin showed us how to bear witness to the past “with both pride and despair,” so that we could break from the tragedy of the present. Baldwin told the stories of Black Americans who came "from a long line of runaway slaves who managed to survive without passports.” And in these histories, he reminded us of what it might mean to be an American.
Leah Mirakhor is a writer and critic based in New Haven, Conn. She teaches at Yale University.
You cannot say someone is the best orator in 500 years. Have you ever heard Jonas Savimbi
speak? It is funny, when someone does not dance to your little tunes, it is a sin, but you are
free to insult others at will. Fuck you. No, that fellow is not the best orator in 500 years. That
is a baseless assertion, that has not been tested. Now leave me the fuck alone
You accuse me but refuse to look in the mirror.
I can say what I feel you can disagree without subscribing to a playbook that is tired.
I don't believe you've heard that person speak. You Google random people and play a part.
Funny you ask to be left alone you're in my thread and quoted me?
Now I know you're white
I have heard not just Savimbi, but many other demagogues speak. I have also heard
the speeches of James Baldwin. You on the other hand have not heard the people I
have heard, which is why your assertion that James Baldwin is the best orator in 500
years is nonsense. You are speaking on behalf of several billions of people, 99.99999%
of whom you have never heard speak. To contest this truth is stupid, and that is why
I will not answer you any more
How do you know I haven't?
That's just your bigoted view of African Americans
Stop being a bigot.
I have heard him and others
I knew Africa's countries and capitols before I knew America's
Typical bigot
Always assuming the worst in African Americans.
When I started doing my Political/Social Causes "thing" so any decades ago,
I experience this quote pretty hard.
It's why I still can't stand most White Liberals to this day.
And I still find myself dealing with this among various circles.
I've been a Baldwin fan since childhood.
I know peeps keep harping on his sexuality.
But as I kept telling White (and some Black) Gays in said above circles,
Dude saw his Blackness FIRST!!!
Baldwin felt his sexuality was a private matter.
Just as I'm tired of some Black folks going on some homophobic rant when it comes to Baldwin,
We can't let all these White (and Black) Gays/Lesbians co-opt Baldwin's life and message either.
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I am not saying the guys is not good; nor am I saying that the ones I have
heard and like are better. I am making the indisputable statement that there
is no basis to say this guy, or for that matter the one I like, is the best orator
in the last 500 years. No one has that much information. We can make that
assertion in music, because the record exists, and because music has been
improved by the participation of black people. Oratory on the other hand
is something that has been practised by too many people, in too many
languages, in too many circumstances, and in too many ages to get away
with making such sweeping and final assertion
heard and like are better. I am making the indisputable statement that there
is no basis to say this guy, or for that matter the one I like, is the best orator
in the last 500 years. No one has that much information. We can make that
assertion in music, because the record exists, and because music has been
improved by the participation of black people. Oratory on the other hand
is something that has been practised by too many people, in too many
languages, in too many circumstances, and in too many ages to get away
with making such sweeping and final assertion
Spotify says Paul Mooney is the artist I listened to most this year. He has this bit about Black Americans compared against Caribbean Black Americans and Africans. He ended it with was Africans should have come for us. It's fucking hilarious.
When you look at my YouTube cache it's pretty much Malcolm X and James Baldwin videos. I have a couple of books about Malcolm but I have a good collection of James Baldwin books. I love James Baldwin. I think I've posted numerously on this website about his presence. The man just has a command of words that was just beautiful.
James Baldwin
James Baldwin (1924–1987) was a writer and civil rights activist who is best known for his semi-autobiographical novels and plays that center on race, politics, and sexuality.
American Experience | James Baldwin from "The Negro and the American Promise" | Season 16 | PBS
James Baldwin's appearance on Boston Public television alongside MLK and Malcolm X.
www.pbs.org
Celebrating James Baldwin Doodle - Google Doodles
Learn more about the creation of Celebrating James Baldwin Doodle and discover the story behind the unique artwork.
Who was James Baldwin? Google Doodle honors writer, civil rights activist for Black History Month
February is Black History Month and the Google Doodle for Feb. 1 honors American writer and civil rights activist James Baldwin.
www.usatoday.com
Here’s why Thursday’s Google doodle is celebrating author James Baldwin
Author and civil rights activist James Baldwin is depicted in the Google doodle for Thursday, Feb. 1, 2024. Here's why.
EBONY EXCLUSIVE: Google Doodle Invokes the Memory of James Baldwin In an Black History Month Homage
Artist Jon Key shares his excitement for the release of this James Baldwin Google Doodle and drawing strength from celebrating Black History Month.
www.ebony.com
Recommended James Baldwin works
If you are looking to familiarize yourself with Baldwin's work, here are some of his most famous literary pieces:- "Go Tell It on the Mountain" (1953): Baldwin's first novel and widely considered to be his finest work. The novel is based on his own experiences as a teenaged preacher in a small revivalist church.
- "Notes of a Native Son" (1955): A collection of ten essays, mostly tackling the issues of race in America and Europe.
- "Giovanni's Room" (1956): A novel about a young expatriate American's inability to come to terms with his sexuality.
- "Another Country" (1962): A novel that "renowned for its frank portrayal of bisexuality and interracial relations, published in a time when these subjects were taboo," according to Britannica.
- "Blues for Mister Charlie" (1964): A play that served as a denunciation of racial bigotry and hatred.
- "If Beale Street Could Talk" (1974): A novel about a love story set in Harlem in the 1970s.
To Us, He Was James Baldwin. To Them, He Was Uncle Jimmy.
On what would have been his one hundredth birthday, four of James Baldwin’s nephews remember their beloved uncle: a fun, affectionate man who taught them how to play chess, breakdance, and move through the world as Black men.