“Mr. Malcolm X, why do you teach black supremacy, and hate?” A red flag waved for me, something chemical happened inside me, every time I heard that. When we Muslims had talked about “the devil white man” he had been relatively abstract, someone we Muslims rarely actually came into contact with, but now here was that devil-in-the-flesh on the phone—with all of his calculating, cold-eyed, self-righteous tricks and nerve and gall. The voices questioning me became to me as breathing, living devils.
