Saturday, September 30, 2017

Marvin X on The Politics of Sports


Although Dr. Harry Edwards supposedly pioneered the sociology of sports, Dr. Nathan Hare wrote his PhD at the University of Chicago on Sports, and he was a professional boxer himself. But Dr. Hare was so radical he was kicked out of a Negro college, Howard University, where he lectured on sociology and taught Black Power radical Stokely Carmichael, aka Kwame Toure'; he was partly ousted from Howard for bringing Muhammad Ali to campus after he had refused to fight in Vietnam, after all, Ali said, "The Vietcong never called me a Nigger!" Later, Dr. Nathan Hare, after Howard also found his boxing career unacceptable for one of their academics, landed at San Francisco State College/now University to become the first chair of Black and Ethnic Studies at a major American university, igniting the longest student strike in American academic history.

Today as we replay the political history of athletes such as Muhammad Ali, Tommy Smith and John Carlos, reincarnated in the persona of Colin and now a host of other brothers who have suddenly awakened to the reality of life in racist, white supremacist America, despite their status as muli-million dollar running dogs for professional athletics, we are not shocked at the response of white America, led by the president who has further inflamed the torch of racism by calling the mostly Black athletes sons of bitches. Oh, shit, that white nationalist motherfucker Trump truly crossed the line of propriety by playing the dozens. Now you know Homey don't play dat, not with sacred holy Mother (Of God).

For sure, the politics of American sports has reached a level never seen before, even when Muhammad Ali refused to serve as a running dog for American imperialism or when John and Tommy gave the Black Power salute to protest American racism at the Olympics in Mexico City.

It is indeed wonderful to see the Black athletes unite with the suffering masses of North American Africans. These brothers (and surely their are sister athletes as well) have put their careers on the line for social justice, in the identical manner of Ali, Tommy and John. We salute them and welcome them home.
--Marvin X

Friday, September 29, 2017

Live from Planet Woke by Kwan Booth

Live from Planet Woke
On a morning that was remarkable in no other way, the famous sports star stared into the bathroom mirror, at his own face, and the huge problem hovering above it.
A kinky revolution had sprouted atop his head as he’d slept. A tiny 2 inch afro now stood triumphantly after toppling his closed cropped Caesar like a corrupt regime.
After breaking two sets of clippers and chipping his favorite sheers trying to rid himself of the stubborn scruff he headed down to breakfast, where he lamented to his wife while devouring an egg white omelette.

The news was on. A young woman had been shot by police the night before and there were protests happening all over the country. The famous sports star ignored the journalist’s voice like he always did, but had to call his wife’s name loudly to draw her attention away from the big screen.
He complained about the new edition to his profile and worried that it would be taken the wrong way. Like some kind of political statement or act of defiance.
Indeed this new face, with it’s black power coils, did resemble the pictures of the old activists and rabble rousers he’d seen in the books his wife was always reading. Books with titles that promised of uprisings and critical examinations of things that the famous sports star had either taken for granted or never fully understood.

His wife listened to his concerns, clutching a large mug of tea to her chest and nodding with the attentiveness of a compassionate lover.

She told him that he was overreacting. That it was probably just temporary. And besides, “if some people were rattled by a little something like this,” she said “then those people needed to have their coat tails pulled to the real ways of the world that they were living in.”
The famous sports star trusted his wife and knew that she had a much better grasp on these things. So with a heavy sigh, he pulled his jersey over his head with a bit more difficulty than usual, and headed out to practice, where he avoided questions about his new hairstyle and led the team through their morning routine.

But by the end of the month his mini fro had blown out into a perfect 12 inch sphere and a short beard and goatee had sprouted up to match. He’d begun to resemble some of the men on his father’s side, with their dark oak skin and drawls that stretched clear back to Mississippi. The ones that the god fearing Catholics on his mother’s side didn’t like very much.

And despite the fact that he’d made a point to stay away from the bruising debates on race and sex and oppression that had been igniting all over the country, his new ‘do was taking a political stance for him.

He noticed the new attention whenever he wore a hoodie, stood in elevators with white women or made late night grocery store runs. Not famous sports star attention. But something else entirely.
Once his fro reached two feet in length, certain friends said that they were shocked and slightly dismayed that he’d decided to play the race card. They’d never seen that side of him before.
“We didn’t think you were one of those people” they’d said, shaking their heads and scowling like they’d somehow been betrayed.

At the three feet milestone, photos of the star and his new hairstyle were leaked to the media. Sports commentators and pundits denounced his actions and questioned his allegiances. They fumed. Sport was no place to insert one’s personal political opinions.

By the time his afro topped six feet in circumference, the town where he’d grown up-which happened to have more churches per capita than any city in the United States-was torn in two.
At the local pizza parlor where he used to work-someone painted a Hitler moustache on his portrait, right before someone else covered it in kisses.

One restaurant named a hot dog in his honor on the same day that a lynch mob hung a mannequin with an afro from the Oak tree in front of his mother’s house.
By the time the season rolled around the sport star’s afro was the size of the state of Virginia and there was no way that he could play in his current condition.
Which suited him just fine. At his wife’s encouragement he’d began reading the books that she kept in stacks around the house. And the more he read, the more that the protests erupting across the country started to resonate.
He’d taken to spending the majority of his time with his books and his thoughts and his wife and the growing movement of people who’d begun to gather around him-drawn by the news reports and social media feeds and the buzz that something new was coming.
It was like his hair had it’s own gravitational pull as people from all over the world were drawn to the man with the planet sized afro. Together, under the shade of his curly hair, they’d discuss politics and philosophy and revolution, mapping out a new world that the famous former sports star now knew that he played a part in creating.
The afro ballooned until soon it eclipsed all of the west coast and some of the more adventurous had began to climb to it’s peak, scaling the sides to hike across its wide expanse. Desperate to see the world from a new vantage.
Over time they discovered that the kinky curls were an excellent medium for growing crops. A little digging revealed a network of underground freshwater streams. Carpenters sheared off long planks of the dense tresses to build libraries and schools and more and more like minded people began to join.
The famous former sports star’s wife was elected to oversee the development. Villages began popping up on the hairy horizon, with small houses and customs and names that reflected the values this group of idealists were working towards.
At a press conference, when he was asked about the developing community and what he was hoping to accomplish, the famous former sports star said that he was just doing his part to create the world that we all wanted to see.
“We’re just trying to be our best selves” he said, staring directly into the cameras and the flashing bulbs.
“We believe that it’s time to build a world where that can happen.”
And high above them all the sound of hammers and working drifted down to the press conference. The sounds of children and singing soon followed, as the promise of something better floated just above them all, between the ground and the sky. A new world: huge and living and clearly visible to anyone with the courage to just look up.
This short story previously appeared in the Afrofuturism issue of Chicago Literati

Wednesday, September 27, 2017

Marvin X on Pimpin' --This Saturday, September 30, Marvin X will perform with Blues singer/Mack Fillmore Slim--they will also have a conversation on The Game!

 Marvin X, The Master Hustler, i.e., entrepreneur 

"I made $400.00 a day selling the Homeless newspaper. I can sell toilet paper and come up! The lowest hustler in Harlem will sell toothpicks and come up! All the hustler needs is a product and any product will do. During the Crack era, hustlers sold a book of matches for $5.00, a box of matches for $50.00, especially during tweekers hours, i.e., 3AM in the morning. 

At the 1984 Democratic Party Convention in San Francisco, Marvin X made $2,000.00 per day at the four day event selling buttons.The San Francisco Chronicle labeled him the Button King. He also sold buttons at the Republican Party convention in Dallas, Texas. Observing him selling at the front gate of the convention, a Republican told him, "If you make two more dollars, you'll be a Republican!" A Dallas police officer asked him where he was from?" He replied, "I'm from here!" The officer said, "Naw ya ain't, ya ain't from here!" Marvin retorted, "Why you say that officer?" The officer said, "Cause ya smart!"
Marvin X, Opal Palmer Adisa and Ishmael Reed. On this occasion, Marvin X received the Lifetime Achievement Award from PEN Oakland, a literary society.
photo Wanda Sabir

Ishmael Reed says, "If you want to learn about motivation and inspiration, don't spend all that money going to workshops and seminars, just go stand at 14th and Broadway, downtown Oakland, and watch Marvin X at work. He's Plato teaching on the streets of Oakland!"

Marvin X is also a Master teacher, well loved by students, such as these University of California, Merced students in Professor Kim McMillan's theatre class where he frequently guest lectures. He's taught at UC Berkeley, UC San Diego, Fresno State University, San Francisco State University, University of Nevada, Reno, Mills College, Laney and Merritt Colleges, and elsewhere. He lectures coast to coast, e.g., University of Chicago, University of Houston, Texas, Texas Southern University,
Morehouse, Spelman colleges in Atlanta, Ga., Howard University, Washington, DC., Temple U and University of Penn, Philadelphia, New York University, NYC., Medgar Evers College, Brooklyn, NY., University of Mass, Boston, etc.

by Marvin X

I am not a pimp. I am a hustler, sometimes a trick. A hustler waits for no one to bring his money, he gets his own. It is beneath his dignity to wait or depend on a woman or anyone to get his hustle going. All he needs is product, almost anything will do, even a roll of toilet paper he can hustle. But the pimp's thing is women, he considers himself their manager and they consider him the same, usually by mutual agreement, often by torture, kidnapping and exploitation, including mind control, deprivation of sleep, food and isolation.

Having never been a pimp, I cannot speak with total authority, although I have been around pimps off and on my entire life, from growing up on 7th Street in Oakland to hanging with pimps in New York. My brother's claim to fame is pimping. He never desired anything else in life but pimping, as a result his life has been pimping and prison, nothing else. I have been deprived of his brotherly love because of his pimping and prison life.

Many of my friends were pimps, including some of my Muslim brothers who said they made their ho's make salat or prayer before they went out on the stroll. I was around Muslim pimps on the east coast who had their women selling bean pies and whoring to buy Crack.

More recently I had the pleasure of meeting several pimps-in-recovery at my theatre in San Francisco's Tenderloin district when we produced the Black Radical Book Fair in 2004. The pimps included Fillmore Slim, Gansta Brown, Jimmy Starr and Rosebud Bitterdose. They claim to have given up pimpin and have indeed written books and films on the gospel of the game.

In the case of Fillmore Slim, he is still greatly respected as the godfather of pimpin, especially on the West coast. He hooked up with me to see if I could help him get the message to young people that pimpin ain't easy and there's a price to be in the game. If you willing to pay the price, then go for it, but just know you are going to pay. Fillmore paid with several prison terms.

He says these young brothers call themselves pimpin but ain't hardly pimpin, ain't doing nothing but messin up the game. Don't have no style, no class. If you saw the BET awards last night, Prince was the only artist with class, the others looked like bums and derelicts, especially the hip hop brothers. As Fillmore said about young pimps, they don't know how to dress. And he said they most certainly don't know how to treat a lady. They want to beat women. He said they don't understand if they don't beat her, she might come back. They want to kill another nigguh if she runs off with him. This ain't part of the game. Don't be killing people, he said, like you own the woman. You don't own nobody. When she choose you, she with you, when she choose somebody else, let her go. Fillmore said these young nigguhs act like they in love. And keep a night job, he says, because pimpin ain't easy.

Young brothers so close up on the ho a trick can't get to her. And the nigguh look more like a woman than the woman. You don't know who to turn a date with, the pimp or the ho. He got earrings in both ears, blond hair and pants hangin off his behind, living at his mama's house, pimpin on a bicycle. Nigguh please.

Pimp like Bush. Get you a real ho like Condi Rice that can ho all over the world, that can serve presidents, prime ministers, generals.The white man is the world's greatest pimp: he pimpin you and yo woman, but you don't have a clue. On BET last night he pimped some of our greatest artists, had them parading as nothing but naked whores.

Nigguh pimps got babies on the street, eleven, twelve and thirteen. What they know about ho'in? They don't know how to put a rubber on a nigguh, let alone give head. They need to be in school. Get their GED. And the pimp needs to go with them to get his. Imagine the social consequences of over a million children dropping out of school each year, over 50% of them. Society, including the school, the religious community and the politicians are responsible for children choosing the pimp life, especially when our nation needs scientists and engineers if we are to have a future beyond pimpin and whoring.
posted 29 June 2006


Tuesday, September 26, 2017

Marvin X, America's Plato, Rumi, Hafiz, Saadi, In Concert, Black Repertory Group Theatre, 3201 Adeline St., Berkeley, Saturday, September 30, 7:30PM, located one block south of the ASHBY BART Station

Love Poems by Marvin X

Marvin X: America's Plato,Rumi, Hafiz, Saadi

Ishmael Reed calls him "Plato teaching on the streets of Oakland." Bob Holman says,  "He is the USA's Rumi!--the wisdom of Saadi, the ecstasy of Hafiz." Rudolph Lewis says, "A master teacher in many fields of thought. One of America's great story tellers. I'd put him ahead of Mark Twain!" James G. Spady writes, "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."


The Rapture or I will go into the city 

(from the play In the Name of Love, Laney College Theatre, 1981, written, produced and directed by Marvin X, with the assistance of Ayodele Nzinga.

I will go into the city
I will find work
I will find work
I will remember you country woman
I will not forget you
your laugh arguments
to learn
it is your way
let it be
how can I forget your lips
enchanting smile
I will not forget
we walked in the rain
it was free and we were free
we agreed
best of life is free

I will go into the city
I will find work
but you will be with me country woman
when those city women come to devour me
with sweet perfume
you will be there
you spirit will protect me

I will never forget
how we sipped $1.00 Margaritas
in the Mexican Cafe in Chinatown

our ride to the lake
picnic on the hill
ranger spotted us in his binoculars
we did not care
we were filled
with the Holy Spirit of Love

how can I forget
hours in bed
children of the love spirit
one moment
man and woman one
discovered missing self
eternal self
self of love
self of joy
self of happiness realized

I will go into the city
I will find work
I will not forget you country woman

I will return to claim you
in the name of Love
I will claim you
because you woman
I will claim you
you are feeling spirit intelligence
I will claim you
you have given yourself to me
so totally
I will claim you
in the name of Allah
I will claim you
for the Glory of Allah
I will claim you.
--Marvin X
from Selected Poems by Marvin X, 1979.

For the Women by Marvin X Women Writers Panel at Black Arts Movement 50th Anniversary Celebration, Laney College, Oakland, Feb. 7, 2015. L to R: Elaine Brown, Halifu Osumare, Judy Juanita, Portia Anderson, Kujichagulia, Aries Jordan. Standing: Marvin X, BAM producer
photo South Park Kenny Johnson

                                          For the Women

For the women who bear children
and nurture them with truth
for the women who cook and clean
behind thankless men

for the women who love so hard so true so pure
for the women with faith in God and men
for the women alone with beer and rum
for the women searching for a man at the club, college, church, party
for the women independent of men
for the women searching their souls
for the women who do drugs and freak
for the women who love only women
for the women who play and run and never show
for the women who rise in revolt in hand with men
who say never, never, never again
for the women who suffer abuse and cry for justice
for the women happy and free of maternal madness
for the women who study and write

for the women who sell their love to starving men
for the women who love to make love and be loved by men
for the women of Africa who work so hard
for the women of America who suffer the master
for the women who turn to God in prayer and patience

for the women who are mothers of children and mothers of men
for the women who suffer inflation, recession, abortion, rejection
for the women who understand the rituals of men and women
for the women who share
for the women who are greedy
for the women with power

for the women with nothing
for the women locked down
for the women down town
for the women who break horses
for the women in the fields
for the women who rob banks
for the women who kill
for the women of history
for the women of now
I salute you
A Man.
--Marvin X

 I Release You

You said release you
I chant I release you
three times
then you called
save your nephew
boyz in the hood want his head
gave him refuge in the mountains
manhood training
labor of love for you and him
he is you and you are him
my life is saving youth
what is revolution except saving
the next generation
from getting caught riding dirty
brothers marked for extinction
no use for them
no thinkers wanted
freedom fighters
conscious poets and rappers
I did my job
can I get a little love
hug a kiss
no matter you have someone new
We feed you for Allah’s pleasure only
we desire neither reward nor thanks, Al Qur’an.
marvin x

The Funny Thing is I Already Knew

I see you coming toward me
wind surrounds you
swirling swirling
a dance of dervishes in your stride
wind blows you to me
arms open wide
enfold  greatness of your spirit
I am here at your pleasure
do with me as you wish
no abuse please.
I have no fear of this
I know you already know this.

Ah, the air is so fresh
we must go to the ocean
walk the shore
barefoot in the sand as the tide comes in
holding hands in the wind
the dervish dance and swirl.
--Marvin X

Wish I Could Fly Like a Hawk


Wish I could fly like a hawk
just soar above earth
gliding smooth
no noise
observing all
madness below
rats scurrying
snakes in the grass
wish I could fly like a hawk
sometimes in motion still
wings frozen in flight
yet moving
wish I could be hawk
above the madness of it all
the meaningless chatter
cell phone psychosis
talking loud saying nothing
why are you breathing
without meaning purpose
no mission beyond nothingness
absorbing air from the meaningful
who subscribe to justice
let me fly above the living dead
let me soar
let me dream
another time and place
another space
this cannot be the end game
the hail marry
let me soar above it all
wings spread wide
let me glide
ah, the air is fresh up here
did I make it to heaven
did I escape hell
come with me
do not be afraid
the night is young
let us fly into the moon
see the crescent
so beautiful
let us fly into the friendly sky
wings spread wide
we are strong and mighty
the hawk.
--Marvin X

Oh, Mighty Kora

I Cannot Hide from Kora
Oh, Mighty Kora
you tear the heart apart
soul from mind
ten thousand years 
seeps into a soul lost in time
Oh, Kora
time lost regained
sounds set centuries ago
no improvisation no jazz
myth/ritual set for infinity
voices heard
message to the king
from the king
griot sings 
king listens obeys sound of kora
submit or die
heart music cannot lie
sound of nights on the River Senegal
thousand warriors dance
holy stomp of a thousand women
breasts shaking in the sun
take me home take me home Kora
I am not bound for this wilderness
dungeon of darkness
how was I taken from my holy land
cast into hell with devils of the worse kind
naked devoid of my holy tongue
my holy mind soul

I speak the language of bastards
men of ill repute
pirates, kidnappers rapists
these are not men the shell of human kind
plunder for illusions
no joy in their ritual
no happiness  no peace
I am weary  in a strange land
O Kora, take me back to the Senegal and Niger
Let me hear you in the day in the night
of ancient times
rhythms of ancestors
let me be at peace
this is not my world
no matter how I try
I am naked in the wind
take me home, take me home kora
let the whirlwind take me 
to the womb of my Mother
let me dwell in my Father's House.
--Marvin X

A Poem for Unresolved Grief When thy lover has gone to eternity
When touch is no more 

no feel in the night in the day
no smile walk
sweetness of body
kissing of lips breasts thighs
When thy lover has gone
A day we never imagine

love blinds 
the day came like a cloud of thunder rain
down upon head
drowning us in sorrow the worse kind
We cannot walk 
listen each day
her voice message 
til we are taken away
want to hear for the last time
voice of love
For all the joy shared
blending two into one
thinking two into one
When thy lover has gone
We are worse than dead
yet alive to suffer pain no one can know
Who has never loved
true love we say we want but never get
we have lived what few ever know
touch feel constant smile
When thy lover has gone
earth opens for the mate as well
no tears enough
No silent moments to get over matters 
confined in the prison of life
wish to leave for other worlds
to see if we can meet again
one so kind so true
life keeps us here bound like slave to master
we yearn for paradise
life is love and love has gone
desire is great pain a mountain
We visit familiar places but are lost
cannot find the way home
We call a friend to pick us up
take us home
there we sit in stupor
thinking of days joy ruled our world
joy never to return.
Lord help us through day night
It hurts to breathe 
a picture of our lover
We try night consumes us and we sleep
tomorrow will be a better day.
To heal the missing part of you
To feel again the love of yesterday
To realize what is gone cannot return
Flesh is frail
Spirit lives
In the day night
challenge the task
know we are spirit
Of the Great Spirit
We flow with the flow
Not the flesh,
body vessel
Never put faith in flesh
Enjoy the moment
seconds of the day
Romantic hours of night
physical shall pass
Then what shall we do
Stuck against the wall
a frog on a lily pad
Flow in the flow of the Great River
Sail down the Nile Niger Congo
Do not drown
reality is transitory
Except the metaphysical 
macro cosmic truth inside of you
Love continues into the ancestor tree
Beyond pain sorrow lost
Tears in the night
Love can be found again
If we try if we stand
As Rumi taught
reeds in the reed bed stand alone
Yet all together
The reed flute is a song of mourning
A yearning to return
Through the door of no return
flute plays the song of joy
A communal chant in the sun
world will bless you
Praise you sing
your song of sorrow is gone
healing complete
Live again and love
Reach touch somebody
Breathe out the pain
Exhale the misery
Love is in the air 
It blows your way
Listen to the wind
Listen to the sound of your flute.

We're In Love, But You Don't Know Me You don't know me
you had a chance to know me
before we made love
you had a chance to know my mind
understand my fears
learn about issues
help me heal some things
but you wanted to make love
so you don't know me
we made love
but you don't know me
don't have a clue
think I'm a good d
or some good tight p
but you don't know me
and never will now
because you wanted to make love
you wanted to get a nut
we didn't even talk much
a little bit leading up to sex
I went along
I was horny too
but you don't know me
and I don't know you
now we never will
we blew it forever
because we made love
too fast too quick too soon
now you think you own me
I can't breathe
can't talk on the phone to friends
because we made love
because I gave you some d
you gave me some p
now I'm no longer human
I'm your love slave you my slave
we're in love
but you don't know me
we gonna get married
but you don't know me
we're gonna have children
but you don't know me
you're gonna beat my ass
but you don't know me
you're going to jail
but you don't know me
we're getting a divorce
but you don't know me
now we're friends
"Just Friends" Charlie Parker tune
But you don't know me
and never will. 

Sunday, September 24, 2017

Black Bird Press News & Review: Terrible Tom Bowden's Blues Band joins Marvin X's Benefit Concert for the Movement Newspaper

Black Bird Press News & Review: Terrible Tom Bowden's Blues Band joins Marvin X's Benefit Concert for the Movement Newspaper

White Supremacy Drug War Blowback: Opioid addiction

 Marvin X speaks on White Supremacy Drug War blowback: America's Opioid Addiction

Common sense told us the drug war against black America would someday blow back on America, especially white America after the US government's delivery of Crack to the ghettos to finance the Contra war against the Sandinista  in Nicaragua. Journalist Gary Webb exposed the dirty deeds the US Government did when tons of Crack cocaine were made available to North American Africans to medicate their trauma from the lethal blows of white supremacy domination from a plethora of institutions that dehumanize our community at every turn, from economic deprivation, mis-education,
political disenfranchisement, nutricide from dietary deficiencies, mass incarceration, marital and relationship dysfunction, bombardment of fake news and Hollywood racist movies that induce fear and dread.

What goes around, comes around! As thou has done, so shall it be done to thee, the Bible tells us. Thus the current Opioid epidemic in America reveals even more plainly the discrimination in financing drug recovery that never occurred to a similar level during the Crack era. Who will deny that such financing is certainly due to the severe level of addiction in the white community, although this addiction does not discriminate. But why was not Crack addiction treated by the US government as an emergency? Yes, opioids, prescription and illegal, are devastating communities coast to coast. But didn't Crack do the same? Yet America's response was incarceration instead of mass recovery programs and massive government funds to finance them.

Crack, as I delineated in my recovery drama One Day in the Life,  was worse than slavery for North American Africans. Men, women and children were paraded and traded on the auction block of the Crack house. Five dollar Crack ho's put prostitutes out of business. Men and women performed homosexual acts, sometimes in the presence of their husbands and wives, to obtain Crack. In my play, the preacher (based on Rev. Cecil Williams of San Francisco's Glide Church) says, "Crack was worse than slavery! Didn't the slave care about his God, his momma, his woman, his children? Not the Crack slave, he don't care about nothing! The Crack slave is a funky, nasty slave!

And you got grandmothers and grandfathers on Crack. Somebody told me they know a great grandmother on Crack. She was leaving the old folks home, going into the streets to get that stuff the young folks was smoking. And grandpa wants the young girl, she wants the Crack, so grandpa ends up smoking the pipe to have fun with the young girl. Yeah, he bout to have a heart attack smoking the Crack pipe!"

For sure, Opioid addiction reduces some of the very best human beings into beasts and devils of the worse kind. We learned in the Meth epidemic, there are no boyfriends and girlfriends, only fuck friends, since, like Crack, the drug induces heightened sexuality.

We must ask why are people in such pain that they need medication? We came to the conclusion that White Supremacy is the root cause of America's pain and need for medication. Drugs are only a symptom of a deeper problem that is presently revealing itself in the Trump era, ignited, of course, during the Obama tenure in the White House. Thank God for Trump because he is bringing to the surface what has lingered in the deep structure of the American psyche. Thanks to Trump's mouth and tweeking addiction, he is calling forth all the demon spirits in Pandora's box. Thus, America has a chance to truly recover from its most severe addiction if she will only come out of denial, the first step in the recovery process. Well, let me say, the first step is to detox and then one can begin to recover. Once we rest from the stress, we can begin the process of untangling the conundrums that have bewildered and overwhelmed an entire nation of people for centuries, oppressor and oppressed alike, though Dr. Nathan Hare has informed us the oppressor and those who enjoy the privileges thereof, suffer White Supremacy Addiction Type I, we, the oppressed, suffer Addiction to White Supremacy Type II. Thus, the groups must seek recovery apart until such time as the addiction and residue has decreased to a functional level.

As per the recovery from White Supremacy, we agree with the harm reduction model of recovery that is utilized with drug recovery programs. We reject the notion that one shall be doomed to be addicted to white supremacy for eternity, which is why we rejected this aspect of the AA and NA model of recovery. We know that one can recover to the degree that he does not do great harm to himself or others. As a college and university English teacher, I had to recover from my own addiction to white supremacy that expressed itself in hatred of white people. When I had classes full of white students who were deaf, dumb and blind, with no concept of truth, I could not hate them but only desire to help them out of their miserable condition. I did indeed help them and they let me know they loved me and appreciated me for exposing them to the truth or reality of life as opposed to perpetuating their world of white supremacy make believe.

The drug addict is indeed a pitiful person, and most especially when addicted to the lethal dose of white supremacy mythology. So we want America to know the opioid addiction is a surface structure issue that demands attacking deep structure matters that yearn for solution, so this nation can truly be free once and for all times. Imagine, how wonderful America would be if and when she finally decides to truly recover from her 400 year addiction to white supremacy, if she would apologize, a key component in the recovery process; if she would made amends to all those she has harmed such as North American Africans, Native Americans, Latinos, Asians, poor whites and other whites she has made deaf, dumb and blind with the drug of white supremacy. Yes, the 1% must share the wealth with the 99%. Capitalist greed must be eliminated and adjudicated without further delay for the sake of the living, dead and yet unborn.

Our children and grandchildren deserve a better world than this. Let us be about the business of creating that world for them. The children are innocent and have done nothing but come here, like the Dreamers, so let us make the world a place where dreamers can live to realize their dreams to the fullest. Drugs can only medicate the pain momentarily, ultimately we must face the reality of our lives and walk in the light that dispels all darkness!
--Marvin X/El Muhajir (The Migrant)

Saturday, September 23, 2017

Marvin X talks with the Moorish Science Community on the History of Islam in the Bay Area

Marvin X talks with the Moors on the history of Islam in the Bay Areax  - Oakland.mp3


Marvin X In the Light Tour speaks to Moorish Americans on the History of Islam in the Bay Area

Marvin X extended his In the Light Tour to the Moorish American community today. He spoke to the Moors on the History of Islam in the Bay Area, recalling  a historic work he began several years ago His address was recorded with pics by The Movement Newspaper


Congressional Black Caucus

Are you ready for the 47th ALC?
Here are three things you can do to prepare for the ALC!
1.) Download The CBCF ALC '17 mobile app.

The CBCF mobile app is the primary source for all of your conference news and information. Through this app, you can access the full conference schedule, browse conference panelists and speakers, download session handouts, connect with other attendees and more. Download the CBCF ALC '17 mobile app now. Available now in the Apple App Store and Google Play Store.
2.) Create a customized schedule for your mobile device. 

With a jam-packed week ahead, we know it can be difficult to keep track of all your "must attend" sessions and events. Stay on track by creating a customized schedule right in the mobile app. You can even sync event details with your Google or Outlook calendar. 
3.) Join the conversation on social media! 

Make sure you share all of your exciting moments during the 47th Annual Legislative Conference using the hashtag #CBCFALC17. Tag @cbcfinc on Twitter in your posts so that we can like, re-tweet and engage with you!