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3 Decades of My Black Revolutionary Bookshelf
We thought we could save people’s lives with the manna to be found in books — and they only got better over time
Update 6/7/22: Level has a new home. You can read this article and other new articles by visiting LEVELMAN.com.
I began my journey into activism alone, a freshman at Ohio State University, still part of the city in which I was raised but a world away from everything I had known. I don’t think I was on campus a month before attending my first proper Black student event. As the African drumming and dance was winding down, I noticed a table full of books manned by a tall Black man in a suit and bowtie. I knew next to nothing about Black Muslims or the Nation of Islam and so struck up a conversation with the seller. I do not remember his name, but I remember him referring to me frequently as “brother,” which endeared me to whatever he was selling, and in short order, I quickly spent my only $20 on what would be my first copy of the Honorable Elijah Muhammad’s Message to the Blackman.
In my dorm room that night, I burned through the text, devouring its brief chapters as if they were Girl Scout cookies (which was not unlike how the book had been sold to me). It was my first truly revolutionary purchase. I never came close to subscribing…
