Million Man March II

A few weeks ago, little known to the news media, Hon. Min. Louis Farrakhan announced that he will lead the second Million Man March. The March will take place in Washington, D.C. on October 16, 2005, the 10th anniversairy of the first March.

I remember the first March as if it was yesterday. It was held in the midst of a tough few years for black men. The black male image was under attack, once again. A few years had passed since the L.A. riots. OJ Simpson had just been aquitted a month earlier. Tupac Shakur had been put in jail for rape. Mike Tyson was a prisoner, and the murder rates among black men had skyrocketed throughout the USA. Statitistics about 33% of all black men being in the penal system were being reported. It seemed like we were falling apart and that our “leaders” weren’t doing anything about it. I remember thinking that the March was just what my soul needed.

I drove up to the March from Atlanta, GA, where I had been living for two years. I was 19 years old. I was militant. I was determined. The night before the March, my traveling partners debated whether we should all go out, drink and enjoy DC, or whether we should remain at home in remembrance of the March’s atonement theme. Thankfully, we stayed in, discussing social issues until we all fell asleep. The next morning, we took the train to the Washington Mall. The trains weren’t particularly crowded, nor was there much commotion. I remember thinking that the March would not draw the anticipated crowd.

DC is known for the extraordinarly steep escalators that lead up from the subway to the street. I remember leaving the subway and riding up the escalator. Because the escalator was so steep, as I rode up, all I could see was the sky. I could hear commotion outside, but I could not see the source. As I reached the top, I was greeted by an extra large brother holding a gigantic red, black and green flag, with the pole stuck in his belt buckle. The flag pole must have been 30 feet tall. The brother was yelling, “Atone for your sins, brothers! We are gonna work it out!!” This brother was serious, and I will always remember that flag and the look on his face.

A literal sea of black men had flooded the Mall. People were banging on drums; some were giving Harlem-style speeches on top of cardboard boxes; members of the Nation of Islam were marching in unison; and still other brothers were just watching. It seemed like there was already a million men there, and it was only 8:00 am.

Love him or hate him, Louis Farrakhan has a magical way with words. His presence has a calming effect on even the toughest thug, and he is almost universally repsected among lower-class black males. The Farrakhan Elixer was in full effect on that day. There was not one ounce of tension at the March. I had never seen so many rough-looking brothers so calm, so at ease, and so relaxed. Brothers that didn’t even know each other were hugging and crying like long lost friends. I remember looking up to the skies and thinking, “Lord, if we could always be like this…”