To have once been a criminal is no disgrace. To remain a criminal is the disgrace.
I’m not the kind of person who come here to say what you like. I’m going to tell you the truth whether you like it or not.
This is why I say it’s the ballot or the bullet. It’s liberty or it’s death. It’s freedom for everybody or freedom for nobody.
And we intend to expand it from the level of civil rights to the level of human rights. As long as you fight it on the level of civil rights, you’re under Uncle Sam’s jurisdiction. You’re going to his court expecting him to correct the problem. He created the problem. He’s the criminal! You don’t take your case to the criminal, you take your criminal to court.
So our next move is to take the entire civil rights struggle – problem – into the United Nations and let the world see that Uncle Sam is guilty of violating the human rights of 22 million Afro-Americans right down to the year of 1964 and still has the audacity or the nerve to stand up and represent himself as the leader of the free world?
For the white man to ask the black man if he hates him is just like the rapist asking the raped, or the wolf asking the sheep, ‘Do you hate me?
Yes, I have cherished my “demagogue” role. I know that societies often have killed the people who have helped to change those societies. And if I can die having brought any light, having exposed any meaningful truth that will help to destroy the racist cancer that is malignant in the body of America – then, all of the credit is due to Allah. Only the mistakes have been mine.
I read aimlessly, until I learned to read selectively, with a purpose.
Whether you use bullets or ballots, you’ve got to aim well; don’t strike at the puppet, strike at the puppeteer.
Sometimes a fruit falls from a tree and rolls so far away from its roots that it’s no longer of the tree. The hard fall, and long journey, bruises the fruit so much that it totally changes it. Its the same way for some of our people. This is why some cant be awakened regardless of how much truth you present to them. This journey has totally brainwashed them to such a degree that they’re no longer of the original tree.
If it is all right for black people to be drafted and sent to Korea or South Vietnam or Laos or Berlin or someplace else to fight and die for the white man, then there is nothing wrong with that same black man doing the same thing when he is under the brutality in this country at the hands of the white man.
I hadn’t hustled in the streets for years for nothing. I knew when I was being set up.
Many whites are even actually unaware of their own racism, until they face some test, and then their racism emerges in one form or other.
I had heard for years of Muslim hospitality, but one couldn’t quite imagine such warmth.
She knew from personal experience how crime existed only to the degree that the law cooperated with it. She showed me how, in the country’s entire social, political and economic structure, the criminal, the law, and the politicians were actually inseparable partners.
I am not educated, nor am I an expert in any particular field but I am sincere, and my sincerity is my credentials.
It is like a two-edged sword. It cuts into you. It causes you great pain, but if you can take the truth, it will cure you and save you from what otherwise be certain death.
If you stick a knife in my back nine inches and pull it out six inches, there’s no progress. If you pull it all the way out that’s not progress. Progress is healing the wound that the blow made. And they haven’t even pulled the knife out much less heal the wound.
The white man’s emotions superseded his intelligence. He will commit against non-whites the most incredible spontaneous emotional acts, so psyche-deep is his “white superiority” complex.
As long as you around here wearing the white men’s name bragging about this so called democracy, you will always be looked down up, by the rest of the world.
For the Muslims, I’m too worldly. For other groups, I’m too religious. For militants, I’m too moderate. For moderates, I’m too militant. I feel like I’m on a tightrope.