Eulogy
for Malcolm X
The following eulogy was delivered by Ossie Davis at the
funeral of Malcolm X on 27 February 1965 at the Faith Temple
Church
Of God
Here—at this final hour, in this quiet place—Harlem
has come to bid farewell to one of its brightest hopes—extinguished
now, and gone from us forever. For Harlem is where he worked
and where he struggled and fought—his home of homes,
where his heart was, and where his people are—and it
is, therefore, most fitting that we meet once again—in
Harlem—to share these last moments with him.
For Harlem has ever been gracious to those who have loved her,
have fought for her and have defended her honor even to the
death. It is not in the memory of man that this beleaguered,
unfortunate, but nonetheless proud community has found a braver,
more gallant young champion than this Afro-American who lies
before us—unconquered still.
I say the word again, as he would want me to: Afro-American—Afro-American
Malcolm, who was a master, was most meticulous in his use of
words. Nobody knew better than he the power words have over
minds of men.
Malcolm had stopped being a Negro years ago. It had become
too small, too puny, too weak a word for him. Malcolm was bigger
than that. Malcolm had become an Afro-American, and he wanted—so
desperately—that we, that all his people, would become
Afro-Americans, too.
There are those who will consider it their duty, as friends
of the Negro people, to tell us to revile him, to flee, even
from the presence of his memory, to save ourselves by writing
him out of the history of our turbulent times.
Many will ask what Harlem finds to honor in this stormy, controversial
and bold young captain—and we will smile. Many will say
turn away—away from this man; for he is not a man but
a demon, a monster, a subverter and an enemy of the black man—and
we will smile. They will say that he is of hate—a fanatic,
a racist—who can only bring evil to the cause for which
you struggle! And we will answer and say to them:
Did you ever talk to Brother Malcolm? Did you ever touch him
or have him smile at you? Did you ever really listen to him?
Did he ever do a mean thing? Was he ever himself associated
with violence or any public disturbance? For if you did, you
would know him. And if you knew him, you would know why we
must honor him: Malcolm was our manhood, our living, black
manhood!
This was his meaning to his people. And, in honoring him, we
honor the best in ourselves. Last year, from Africa, he wrote
these words to a friend: My journey, he says, is almost ended,
and I have a much broader scope than when I started out, which
I believe will add new life and dimension to our struggle for
freedom and honor and dignity in the States.
I am writing these things so that you will know for a fact
the tremendous sympathy and support we have among the African
States for our human rights struggle. The main thing is that
we keep a united front wherein our most valuable time and energy
will not be wasted fighting each other.
However we may have differed with him—or with each other
about him and his value as a man—let his going from us
serve only to bring us together, now.
Consigning these mortal remains to earth, the common mother
of all, secure in the knowledge that what we place in the ground
is no more now a man—but a seed—which, after the
winter of our discontent, will come forth again to meet us.
And we will know him then for what he was and is—a prince—our
own black shining prince!—who didn’t hesitate to
die, because he loved us so.
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