COLUMN: Never Believe Anything You Read - An Evening With Farrakhan

From Corin Brown's "Bonin' In the Boneyard," Fall '94 Wow! As I ambled home from the Civic Center with admittance to the den of one of the last true spiritual icons secured in my hot little mitts, my mind raced through all of the thoughts I had since the idea of attending "Stop the Killing" first occurred to me. I had read of Farrakhan's impending visit in the DP a few weeks ago and instantly recalled all that I had read and heard about Farrakhan in the past. I recalled the phrases "anti-semite," "racist," "violence provocator," "Anti-American" -- pretty typical fare, when learning about Farrakhan from the American press. I was well aware of the popular image of Farrakhan in America -- it was less than flattering. But I had also read that his legitimacy had been swelling to mind-bending heights in the African-American community in recent years. I was intrigued. Certainly Farrakhan's increasing credibility throughout the entire African-American community was not earned undeservedly, I thought to myself. There were definitely conflicting opinions swirling around the bow-tied one. What was evident to me, was that this conflict was split entirely and exclusively along racial lines in America. Whites disagreed with him. Blacks did not disagree with him. But like with most racial issues I didn't believe anyone. I was sick of having to choose among someone else's opinions on the never ending saga of American race relations. I wanted to find out what all the hubbub was about myself. I didn't want Time magazine telling me, and I didn't want Ebony magazine telling me. I was sick of hearing from both sides of the issue. I wanted my own side. I had always been one of those people who only delved into contemporary African-American culture as much as the front page of the newspaper would let me, which is to say, not too much. And even though I knew there was more to the whole issue than what I got from the press, I had been satisfied. I didn't want to know any more. To tell you the truth I never took that sort of thing seriously. Nor did anyone I know. But now I forced myself to take that sort of thing seriously. Now I had tickets to the real show. This was my chance to see for myself. From the time I got my tickets that acute sensation of inevitability, that no-turning-back feeling enveloped me. I batted it around in my head. Why the hell was I going? I was nervous and scared. But I owed it to myself to arrive at my own opinion. I wouldn't be able to live with myself had I pussed out. I had always despised how the commercial american media manipulated the conventional wisdom of the nation with regards to everything. The art of oration, debate and thought was lost. The renaissance in media of blind acceptance, presumption, apathy and stupidity was upon us. This was one of the only opportunities I was probably going to get to see a true icon, a true orator live and in person. I brought along a buddy whom I knew was into interesting stuff like this. Oh yeah, my buddy was a big dude too. I figured he'd be able to find a hole out of the Civic Center if things got sketchy. As we approached the Civic Center, I quickly realized that there were not going to be any riots, any gang-bangings, and certainly any lynchings. We were entering a civilized religious service. We weaved our way through the throng of Farrakhan youth hawking various pro-Farrakhan rags and offered ourselves up to the Farrakhan security brigade who ushered us in and then submitted us to another wave of Farrakhan militia who proceeded to frisk us intimately. Everyone affiliated with Minister Farrakhan was dressed the same as their mentor -- dapper double-breasted suit with bow-tie. They were all extremely respectful, professional, uniformly handsome and spartan without fail. It was very impressive. Our tickets were taken by another soldier and we were in. Where concessions and souvenirs are usually sold to LaSalle basketball games, books, tapes, videos, pamphlets were being sold by more Farrakhan followers. We mingled around the Islam religion market for a while until we decided to sit down. Oh yeah, my friend and I were the only white people I saw. We took our seats near the middle of the floor and took in the program. My nervousness had fled and I was now eager to see and hear the man. That's all I wanted. That's all I got. He came out shadowed by a phalanx of his similarly adorned hoplites and delivered the most powerful 3 hour speech I have ever heard. I leaned on every word, waiting for those signature Farrakhan slanderous diatribes against Jews and Christians I had been trained to expect. For a half-hour to forty-five minutes of his 3 hour sermon he spoke about contemporary African-American issues. The remainder of the 3 hours he taught us Islam -- 100 percent unadulterated ancient Islam religion. This was not what I expected. And I didn't neccesarily like it. I expected, "Kill the Jews, Kill the Christians, Kill Whitey." I did not get what I expected. The message I got from attending the 3 hour "Stop the Killing" was much more involved, complex, civilized than I would have been led to believe had I not attended. If I had read about it in the newspaper Sunday or caught it in a 15 second blurb on the 11 o'clock news things would've looked different. And what I've written today is certainly no basis upon which to base any opinion. The only thing I know for a fact is that what I heard last Saturday was different than what I read and heard in the national news media. Go out and learn for yourself. Don't let anyone else tell you different. Corin Brown is a senior Political Science major from Newton, Massachussetts. Bonin' In the Boneyard appears alternate Thursdays.