Commentary: Malcolm and Me

Malcolm and Me, by Robin Farmer, is a YA/middle-grade historical fiction set in 1973-1974 Philadelphia, following young Roberta Forest in her eighth-grade year at a Catholic high school. It’s a story about being Black and Catholic, afros, Black pride, tokenism, white flight, the power of affinity spaces, the Black Panthers, police brutality, colorism, white saviorism, Black history, poetry, and music.

“Who can tell me why Thomas Jefferson signed the Declaration of Independence when at the time he owned slaves?”

This is the question that catalyzes a year-long journey that, for Roberta, opens doors that cannot be closed, raises questions that need answers, and carries the potential to rip her own family apart. But she doesn’t know this yet.

Of course a fellow student answers their teacher that “Thomas Jefferson probably didn’t have time to free them yet.” But Roberta, one of a handful of Black students at the Catholic school, won’t stand for that.

“Because he was a hypocrite.” Roberta answers.

Hypocrisy is the elusive shadow that seems to cast itself over everyone and everything… not only Thomas Jefferson but Roberta’s parents too, knee-deep in a separation cloaked in mystery. Religion is not so lucky as to escape untouched either. Raised Catholic, Roberta’s mind is swamped with questions like

Why is Jesus always portrayed as white?

If God is merciful, then why does he allow the suffering of Black people?

“Love thy neighbor”, except when he’s Black, right?

Why does the color white symbolize purity, holiness, and goodness, whereas the color black is coded as dirty, unholy, and bad?

To suddenly see your religion as hypocritical is perspective-altering, to say the least. And these questions make Roberta wonder if she even believes in God, a doubt she fears speaking to until she is forced to confront it head-on. And, naturally, as Roberta questions her faith, she also questions her country. A country founded on hypocrisy.

“We walk toward the Liberty Bell, which I’m actually looking forward to seeing. The crack in that golden-brown bell sums up America in a nutshell— flawed from the start. The weight of the nation’s hypocrisy— land of the free, home of the slaves— was too much for the bell to bear.”

The Autobiography of Malcolm X as told by Alex Haley is the centerpiece of Roberta’s life. She hungrily gobbles up Malcolm’s story, sees pieces of herself in his struggle— in their struggle— (like how he too had a similar encounter with his racist eighth-grade teacher), and discusses his writing and life at length with her best friend Bonnie and her father. Malcolm is like her north star, her guide, her sage, her teacher.

“Malcolm helps me better understand why I sometimes feel like an outsider in my school, church, neighborhood, and even my country. He also questioned the hypocrisy of religion as well as the U.S Constitution, which counted Black men as three-fifths of a person while the Declaration of Independence said all men were created equal.”

Malcolm X is not the only pillar of Black history in Roberta’s story. Black history is woven throughout, teaching me things I’d never known before like…

… the fact that Sister Theresa Maxis Duchemin, one of the founding members of the first Black order, the Oblate Sisters of Providence in Baltimore, was exiled when a Bishop publically revealed that her mother was Black.

Or Marcus Garvey and the story behind the pan-African flag, its colors: red, green, and black, and how it was born from a song called ‘Every Race Has a Flag But the Coon.’

Or that it was the security guard, a Black man named Frank Wills, that “set in motion events that brought everything to life” in the Watergate scandal.

Or the history behind Black History Month from Douglass Day to Carter G. Woodson to Black History week, then beyond.

One of the most potent themes in Farmer’s debut novel is history repeating itself. Roberta is coming of age after the Civil Rights Movement, the Black Panthers, and amidst the Watergate scandal. Echoes of the past collide with our present, like Nixon firing his special prosecutor, attacking his own justice department, and the process of holding the President accountable being labeled a ‘witch hunt’. Roberta tells her father that in 50 years, she doesn’t think they will need things like the Panthers’ ten-point program. Yet here we are, 50 years later, amidst a growing revolution against white supremacy, witnessing fascism rising again to prominence, in desperate need of things like shelter, food, education, and justice for all.

For any generation, the turmoils we face feel new and, as such, isolating. But young people today growing up in the era of Trump and Black Lives Matter need to know that they aren’t alone, that this fight is a long one, and that there are people around them who understand their pain, who hear them, who get it. If we can help young people contextualize current events as extensions of the past, as patterns, then it’s easier to see a path forward, to imagine liberated futures. Hopelessness feeds on isolation. The sooner we each connect arms with both our elders and youngers, placing ourselves in a chain that can’t be broken, the more possibilities we will see. And, just person-to-person, it feels good to be seen, to not feel so alone in your pain.

“Maybe that bell didn’t crack because of the weight of hypocrisy. Perhaps it couldn’t bear the tension between what America is supposed to be and what it is. Often, these days, I feel like that bell, like I’m about to crack. The gap between the truth and the world around me is too much to bear.”

Farmer writes in her Authors Note,

“I hope Roberta’s story speaks to young readers struggling with that elusive thing called truth, a feat even harder in this age of alternative facts. The issues gripping the nation today are the same ones I grappled with over 45 years ago. Much work remains.’”