Darkness is Not Absolute

The gift of like minds, and the weight of what's to come.

Dr. Ilyasah Shabazz (Daughter of Malcolm X and Dr. Betty Shabazz) presenting Frederick Joseph with the Malcolm X and Dr. Betty Shabazz Vanguard Award.

Friends, please bear with me, as this is not an essay in my typical sense, but rather a raw and unfiltered stream of consciousness, that I felt like penning quickly without more customary structures or filters.

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The older I become, the more I understand that our years are little more than a series of frames, flickering through the reel of life like a prismatic parade of ups and downs. They collide, collapse, consolidate and part, dancing an intricate ballet in the theater of one’s self. Each moment, every instance of triumph or failure, is a stone placed onto the scale of who we are.

It is the joys, the soaring peaks of euphoria, the sudden weightless moments of unadulterated bliss, that act as the wind that carries our wings, the airy forces that lift us high above the quicksand of our pains. These are the moments that brace us, fortify us, make us resilient and robust, equipping us to weather the storms of life’s inevitable downs.

I had one of these joyful moments recently — which couldn’t have come at a more needed time.

On Friday, May 19th, a date echoing with the resonance of the birth of one of my spiritual forefathers, the late Malcolm X, I stood embraced by the legacy of not one, but two luminaries. On this day, at the Shabazz Center in Harlem, housed at the site where brother Malcolm was stolen from us, I was bestowed with the Malcolm X and Dr. Betty Shabazz Vanguard Award. The award, a symbol of recognition for my labor of love — the work for my community, as well as the writing of my thoughts, my dreams, my aspirations for all of us — was presented by none other than their own flesh and blood, their daughter, Dr. Ilyasah Shabazz. To accept this honor from her hands, to hold in my own, the very manifestation of their legacies, was an experience both humbling and invigorating.

The name Malcolm X, the name Dr. Betty Shabazz, they are not just names to me, but galaxies. Stars, suns, and planets that have provided me hope and guidance, as an author, an activist, and a Black man in this world. They taught me the audacity of self-love, an act that is revolutionary in a society that has been meticulously crafted for centuries to manufacture self-loathing in the hearts of Black people.

Both of them represent a philosophy, a movement that taught me what it means to also love my community, to wrap it in the warmth of that love, to fortify it with the bricks of support and protection. And to stand on the very stage that bore witness to the tragic end of Brother Malcolm's physical journey, in a space where Sister Betty’s imagination and courage turned it into a beacon of change from trauma, to receive an award imbued with their spirit — it means everything.

Beyond the award or the space we were in, the congregation of people that filled that room, souls who, like me, are also trying to translate their love into tangible action. Names like Spike Lee and Fredrika Newton. Was the epitome of filling one’s emotional, mental, and spiritual cup.

To be recognized shoulder to shoulder with those sort of visionaries, to hold in my hands the legacy of two giants who continue to shape the path for Black liberation — this was not just an honor. It was a call to action, a reaffirmation of the unyielding love that Brother Malcolm and Sister Betty embodied, a love that I strive to emulate each day. They are in my DNA, their legacy is my inheritance, and to them, I owe the resilience of my spirit, the strength of my resolve, and the audacity of my love.

But what I hadn't fully realized then was the urgency of my need for that space, for that congregation of people in that moment. The pressing necessity to understand that in our daily battles, our moral and spiritual wars against darkness, we are not alone. That we are surrounded by an army of like-minded individuals, ready to stand with us, ready to flank us in our shared pursuit of light.

Because, that's the ledge we stand on, the precipice of a time that feels unsettlingly close to a full descent into darkness. This feeling, it's not just a vague, lingering discomfort, but rather a tangible dread, a foreboding that constricts the heart and fills the soul with disquiet. The encroaching shadows, they are not just in the corners of our eyes but are looming large on the horizon of our shared reality.

I have long been sounding the alarm, striking the drum with a steady rhythm to alert to the position our nation currently occupies. This is not an exercise in fear-mongering, but a necessity born from a sober assessment of the political landscape. I do not harbor mere suspicions that fascism is on its way. It is here. It is among us. Right now. And it is accelerating, fueled by the momentum generated by two men who I believe to be the most dangerous figures in contemporary America: Ron DeSantis and Elon Musk.

Elon Musk (L) and Ron DeSantis (R). Yasin Ozturk/Getty Images, Joe Raedle/Getty Images

Today, DeSantis is set to announce his candidacy for President of the United States in a Twitter conversation with Musk, a spectacle that shocks me as little as it disheartens me. The dangers they represent is a topic I intend to explore more comprehensively in future pieces. But for anyone with an attentive eye on the unfolding situation in Florida, you should already be cognizant of the red flags that are waving with increasing urgency.

Take a look at the state of voting rights, the denigration of trans rights, the stance on immigration, and the outright disregard for factual history — these all form an obvious case. If the trends in Florida haven’t already convinced you of DeSantis' perilous potential, his public alliance with Musk should.

And what of Musk, the billionaire alt-right technocrat who now controls Twitter, a platform of such significance in the history of human communication that its influence is, perhaps, only surpassed by its potential for misuse? In Musk’s hands, this tool of dialogue and discourse has been plunged further into the typhoon of hate-filled right-wing ideologies. He's effectively strangled the platform, silencing those who dare to echo sentiments of progress and hope. This hasn't just narrowed our public conversation but skewed it dangerously towards a something from which it might not return.

Again, I will dive deeper into my thoughts on DeSantis, Musk, and where Trump fits in on future pages. But for now I leave you with a poem I wrote in wake of the news:

Going forward, I hope that we might all find potent reminders that the darkness is not absolute. Looking for answers in the light left for us by ancestors such as Brother Malcolm and Sister Betty. Because I believe we will need them more than ever — just as we will need one another.