The First Next Time is one of James Baldwin’s most famous works and its exists right in the center of his career and at the center of the Civil Rights Movement. I am not a big fan of situating his career alongside the Civil Rights movement because it likely limits our understanding of both, but it is hard to separate the two so I will stick to my banal observation. The book consists of one short essay, written in the form of a letter to his nephew, called “My Dungeon Shock” and one long essay “Down at the Cross,” which among other things tries to answer the question about why the Nation of Islam was becoming such a popular movement in the 1960s. So the essay moves from the personal to the political, and being published together we can guess Baldwin saw the two as intertwined.
“My Dungeon Shock” summarizes many of Baldwin’s observations about race. Indeed, it sustains some old questions in African-American identity that go back to Douglass’ essay on the Fourth of July and Dubois’ double consciousness. How is it possible to be an outsider in the land of your birth? It is an appropriately angry document. “I accuse my country and my countrymen, and for which neither I nor time nor history will ever forgive them, that they have destroyed and are destroying hundreds of thousands of lives and do not know it and do not want to know it.” (292) The problem is more profound than one that anger alone can answer. It is the means by which these lives are destroyed through the expectation of mediocrity, condescension, platitudes, and a the enforcement of an entire infrastructure of reality that his reader (his nephew) had no part in constructing. The calls of liberals in the 1960s to wait, to be patient, to integrate (as if Harlem’s blacks were not integrated already in brutal and horrifying ways) all come tumbling down in this honest and powerful letter. The lack of empathy by the white establishment is clearly expressed in Baldwin’s debate with William F. Buckley two years after The First Next Time. It is clear that Buckley fails to express any real empathy. Indeed he misses the point entirely.
In “Down at the Cross” Baldwin begins with his commitment to religion in his youth and ends with the growing popularity of Islam among blacks in the 1960s. We can consider the general point first. Can religion provide a path to freedom? There is the objective and subjective part of this. Objectively, I have my doubts that any institutional infrastructure, no matter how well-meaning, can create the conditions for personal freedom (and I do not see how you get to the freedom of a group without individual freedom first). Subjectively, it seems the story is more complicated. Baldwin discusses how by being saved, he found a place in the world. For a time he played the role of a leader in the congregation as a preacher. He probably learned many important lessons about persuasion and the use of the word that aided his career as an essayist. Baldwin makes the point in “Down at the Cross” that black Christianity failed to fully recognize the role of religion in sustaining segregation. “The white man’s Heaven is the black man’s Hell” may be a statement of outraged Christianity but it is also a statement that internalized segregation (if not “separate but equal”).
Baldwin is particularly interested in the rise of black Islam in the United States. He discusses his meeting with Elijah Muhammad, the founder of the Nation of Islam. Baldwin found the theology of the Nation of Islam convincing in a historical and realistic day-to-day sense. “We were offered, as Nation of Islam doctrine, historical and divine proof that all white people are cursed, and are devils, and are about to be brought down.” (315) Baldwin reminds us that this was not a difficult sale to those who lived in 1950s Harlem, where white people really did act like the devil. Whatever respect whites had in the eyes of blacks had long died off. They did look and act like demons. The Nation of Islam only made that truism divine truth. To connect this to Baldwin’s close relationship to Christianity, the black God would succeed in liberating the people where the white God failed. Baldwin wants to tell his readers that this is a powerful and convincing message for people who grew up like him.
The essay ends with a discussion of power and a vision of the future, not of shared power or a shifting of power or separatism (like that of the Nation of Islam). Rather, Baldwin returns to the old observation that both whites and blacks are a product of United States and bound to its fate. By this logic, there is no reason that he cannot own his political destiny. On this point, the Nation of Islam is correct. “If this sentiment is honored when it falls from the lips of Senator Byrd, then there is no reason it should not be honored when it falls from the lips of Malcolm X.” (342)
If we bracket the potential of abolishing political power, there seems to be in Baldwin’s analysis a clear libertarian justification for nationalism. Working within the system can get tiresome after four centuries. Of course, separatism and nationalism and the rhetoric of racial superiority is bankrupt. Baldwin’s analysis is a warning that white America has cultivated the Nation of Islam. Power cultivates resistance.
Here are some of Baldwin’s comments on the Nation of Islam.