In 1992, when I was 12 years old and in the sixth grade, the United States was swept up in a wave of interest surrounding Spike Lee\u2019s film Malcolm X<\/em>. Released that November, the movie catapulted Malcolm X\u2019s image into mainstream culture. The \u201cX\u201d symbol was everywhere: on T-shirts, hats, coffee mugs and posters, as an emblem of fashion and fierce pride. <\/p>\n It wasn\u2019t just a marketing phenomenon; the nation was captivated by Malcolm\u2019s ideas. Television programs aired retrospectives, journalists explored his relevance and conversations about his message found their way into the public discourse. I remember it all vividly\u2014not just as a craze, but as a cultural moment that left a lasting impact on how I understood the world.<\/p>\n Even at 12, I felt something profound in Malcolm X\u2019s presence. But let me be clear: I didn\u2019t understand him\u2014not then, and not fully now. All I knew was I felt an innate connection to his defiance, courage and uncompromising dedication. His words had a gravity that I couldn\u2019t shake. <\/p>\n When I heard him speak in interviews on television or saw Denzel Washington channel his integrity in Spike Lee\u2019s masterpiece, I knew instinctively that Malcolm X embodied something rare. He was a man of unwavering principles.<\/p>\n Growing up in Lowville, New York, a quaint village on the edge of the Western Adirondacks in the Tug Hill Plateau region with more cows than people, I had no reason to admire Malcolm. In Lowville, racism was so implicit it went unquestioned. People spoke about black people\u2014whom they rarely saw outside of Fort Drum\u2019s in-town military housing complex (the base was 45 minutes away)\u2014as \u201ccoloured.\u201d It was a place that upheld stereotypes and harbored ignorance without a second thought. <\/p>\n My early years in this environment shaped me more than I understood at the time. As a kid, I cluelessly giggled along with racist jokes, and on Halloween, some friends and I would go \u201cN-word knocking\u201d\u2014sneaking up to random houses, knocking and running away. My school\u2019s locker room conversations were littered with racial and gender slurs, and even teachers would make racist comments without a hint of shame. I didn\u2019t realize it then, but I\u2019d absorbed a bigoted worldview.<\/p>\n Yet, in the midst of this, there were also teachers, mentors and coaches who rejected these views and spoke up for inclusivity. My parents, too, raised me to love my neighbour and to see all people as children of God. <\/p>\n Sports and music broadened my horizons; it was hard to be a Boston Celtics fan without loving Robert Parish, to root for the Mets without admiring Darryl Strawberry, or to cheer on my beloved Miami Dolphins without respect for Mark Duper and Mark Clayton. At that time, I was beginning to fall in love with rap and hip-hop, as well as jazz and rhythm and blues. These influences, alongside Malcolm\u2019s, became seeds of change.<\/p>\n Somehow, amid this environment, Malcolm X\u2019s words reached me. I was a white 12-year-old wearing an \u201cX\u201d hat, laughing at racist jokes, clueless about the world beyond my hometown\u2019s limited perspective. But even then, I sensed that Malcolm saw through it all\u2014through my town\u2019s culture, through my ignorance. <\/p>\n It would take two decades for me to confront the depths of what he was telling me, but Malcolm\u2019s words were like seeds. He knew, in a way I didn\u2019t yet, that my town\u2019s mindset was steeped in historic and institutionalized racism, degrading not only black and brown communities but anyone held captive by that prejudice. He showed me, without ever having set foot in my small hometown, that my cultural and social environment was tainted.<\/p>\n Today I live in a much more diverse setting. Malcolm X visited Rochester, New York several times, most notably in February 1965, just days before he was assassinated in Harlem. His last speech was delivered at Corn Hill Methodist Church, where he shared a powerful message: that the struggle for black freedom wasn\u2019t just an American problem but a global one. He\u2019d come to Rochester before, in January 1963, speaking at the University of Rochester and engaging with local leaders on issues facing the black Muslim community. <\/p>\n Dr. Laura Warren Hill\u2019s work, particularly \u201cMalcolm X\u2019s Last Speech: Black Liberation and American Identity\u201d from the Journal of American History<\/em>, offers a deeper understanding of these visits by capturing Malcolm\u2019s ties to Rochester and his widening scope of activism. Knowing that he stood in the very city where I now live connects me to him in an unexpected way. It\u2019s a reminder that his legacy isn\u2019t just history\u2014it\u2019s alive, resonating with those willing to listen.<\/p>\n One of my friends who read an early draft of this piece put it better than I can: \u201cAdolescence is this, for many of us: cringe-inducing, multifaceted, confused, full of conflicting ideas. That\u2019s how we grow, though. We don\u2019t know any better until we do, and then, hopefully, we do better (to paraphrase Maya Angelou).\u201d<\/p>\nGrowing up with implicit racism<\/h2>\n
\nWords like seeds<\/h2>\n
\nMalcolm\u2019s ties to Rochester<\/h2>\n
\nGradual transformation for the better<\/h2>\n
\n![\"Malcolm](\"https:\/\/cdn.shortpixel.ai\/spai\/q_lossy+ret_img+to_auto\/eadn-wc05-103229.nxedge.io\/cdn\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/11\/malcolm-x-speaking-microphone.jpg\" "\\"MY")