“There is no better than adversity. Every defeat, every heartbreak, every loss, contains its own seed, its own lesson on how to improve your performance next time.” - Malcolm X
From son to orphan to hustler to convict to revolutionary, the constant and consistent personal rise of Malcolm is what made his ideas so politically dangerous. If the sum of his life were just his political work it would be brilliant enough, but his personal life gave his politics a greater gravitas. When Malcolm spoke of oppression he wasn’t just speaking from some far off detached perspective that had to imagine the full spectrum of that oppression but spoke from the physical wretchedness of personal experienced. A personal experience of oppression that he wasn’t supposed to survive much less conquer.
His life is an epic poem that encompassed the full arc of possibilities. From those early years when the agents of oppression burned his family’s home, to the murder of his outspoken father, to the scattering of his family after his mother went mad from it all, Malcolm was forged in the fire. From the orphanages, to the streets, to the prison and the pulpit Malcolm was in the process of not allowing his oppressor to define him. From his tour of African nations and African leaders to his pilgrimage to Mecca his metamorphosis seemed to never cease. He reversed the polarities of macrocosm and microcosm. Turning the machinations of his personal life into a grand microcosm of political oppression and using it like a weapon in his political life as a minor macrocosm of political oppression. It was this process of defining and redefining himself to both his oppressors and the oppressed in which Malcolm declared his victories.
In Egyptian mythology the Phoenix rises from the ashes of the fire. It recreates itself, gives birth to itself from within the adversity that’s tried to destroy it. Each time it falls, it rises and it rises from it’s own will. It’s the cycle of life and death and life. Malcolm was a Phoenix rising from the ashes of his home, from the death of his father, from the oppression induced madness of his mother, from the orphanages and schools that furthered that oppression from the streets where he hustled, from the prison where he studied, from the pulpit where he preached, from the betrayal of his mentor, from the pilgrimage of his faith… Malcolm rose again and again like a Phoenix giving birth to itself, refusing to cool in the ashes… Malcolm isn’t dead… his life is a shining example that finds new life as we rise from the ashes of a fire that tries to destroy us and fails…
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