I wished you were there. Not so much for the message, because I’ve told it to you time and time again, and what I didn’t know, you could hear at any given moment standing on 125th and Amsterdam. No, I wished you were there because we needed the numbers. There’s a power in those things. Those numbers, I mean.
I’ve seen church folk shout, and you have too, so you weren’t needed to witness my imitation of them when the Minister said “show me a Jew that forgave Hitler.” Then he said something about the folks who can’t seem to find forgiveness in their heart for their parent, but can walk into a room with the enemy, smiling. I shouted louder because I was so far back, I was afraid my claps wouldn’t make it to the stairs of that government structure.
I wished you were there because I wanted to tell you the story of the Washington Monument while it sat behind us, erect. We’d turn away from the monitors while I shared the story of Isis not being able to find the penis of her slain lover, Osiris, and replacing it with an obelisk, and watch your eyes light up when you figured out on your own that the Washington Monument was nothing more than a large black penis in the middle of Washington, DC. It is the symbol they chose to remind us that George Washington is the father of this country.
You didn’t need to be there to hear the Minister clear himself of involvement in the death of Malcolm X, or the speculation that immediately followed. “What if the Minister has been working with the FBI all these years like Whitey Bulger,” someone sitting close to me asked. You would have asked “yeah, what it?” I would had kept listening.
“We don’t ask your sexual preference,” the Minister said as rainbow flags blew in the wind. “We love you. We want to free all people.” And the applause grew, while some faces turned sour, and some folks departed. This was different, as I’ve always assumed the Nation was against homosexuality. This is good because all people should be free, but you already know that, so you didn’t miss it.
You missed the parents who brought their children who weren’t even thoughts 10 years ago. You missed the Black man selling #AllLivesMatter t-shirts, and you missed the white man who stood 10 feet in front of me, facing the crowd, ignoring the speech, holding a Jesus Loves You sign. You missed the groups of Asian organizations promoting #BlackLivesMatter, and you missed the Minister saying he was 82-years-old, and the old old lady shouting “Black don’t crack.” It don’t, though. The babies in dashikis, the oil and incense man, the beautiful sky over DC, and the Fruit of Islam brothers picking up a man and carrying him to a place far far away are the things you missed. But the speech? No, you missed nothing new.
Keep pushing the agenda to free the people by any means necessary. Keep educating the children righteously and loving the women wholly. Love the men, too. You weren’t needed there to get this, as I’ve said all this to you before. You were needed there for the number, if the administration cared enough to count honestly.