1. In America, everyone treated me like a frog-eyed piece of trash and I could not get laid, but in France, in Fra—You see this blowtorch, Malcolm?—I use this blowtorch in Paris to keep the French boys off my dick. I sorta hold it up to this can of hairspray here and make a flamethrower, like this, see, WOOF! and the whole crowd lunges back. Ordinarily I also shout, “Ne touchez pas ma bite, messieurs !” You should see what I have to do in Germany.
2. See, Malcolm, in this Black Power, there is no place for Black Faggot Power, so I say Fuck you at a slightly lower volume than I do to the white man—under my breath, even. You hide your own oppression of others—to begin with, women and homosexuals, but not to end there—behind your religion. And may I be frank here? This is only a major network, after all. What is this, NBC? Word on the street is that you and your Nation may even be discriminating against folks with whom you personally have certain things in common. Certain experiences, let’s say. It is the same with Martin and his wonderful crowd of Christians, who suffer nobly for equality while failing to imagine that anyone other than the Negro people deserve equality quite as much, and that the Negro people’s oppression is so special that we are incapable of oppressing anyone ourselves, which you and I know to be bullshit. Someone ought to tell you, Malcolm, your own people are about to shoot you dead. And that is not a metaphor.
3. Yes, it is indeed true that I’ve received my fair share of buggery in the ass from the dicks of pale-skinned gentlemen, but healthy sex requires an exchange of power, in which one gains as much agency as one relinquishes, and by doing so agrees to give up power that one may enjoy in the outside social world. Mutual desire puts its participants on equal footing, if only within a limited space or moment—for instance, a particular filthy room in a boarding house in Harlem with no windows. And in that space or moment, the agreement itself, once it is made, often matters more than the color of one’s skin or other qualities of the participants’ bodies. After all, one can be judged favorably for the color of one’s skin. Sometimes—often when I am in Europe—I think, ‘Too favorably.’
4. Might I recommend to you, Malcolm, the experience of having a white male stranger spontaneously fall to his knees in order to take your black cock into his mouth and pleasure you with his tongue and lips? To say nothing of the many societal taboos you will break simultaneously by inserting your black penis into his willing, wriggling little Caucasian posterior? I can tell you firsthand that it is an experience you will joyfully carry with you in all your future dealings with the white man. (Assuming such things do not already inform your incredibly virile righteousness.) And even Martin might rejoice to know that while having sex with a white man, he wouldn’t be judged entirely by the color of his skin but also judged—possibly quite positively, I don’t know anything about Martin’s personal business—by the size of his member. Of course, if anyone found out, he would be judged by everyone for many things other than his color. In fact, his color might cease to be as large an issue with the public were this sexual experience to come to light. You and Martin might not prefer that sort of judgment to judgment by the color of your skin, but at the very least, it would be a respite from the same tired old racism, would it not?
5. Pardon me for changing the subject, Malcolm, but I’ve been meaning to ask—are you aware of that incredibly alluring gap between your teeth? I’ve always disliked the gigantic gap between my own teeth; it’s considerably wider than yours, which is quite subtle; one could even call it ‘delicate.’ And speaking of delicate, do you know that you have prettier lips than Martin? Which is saying a lot, because Martin has very beautiful lips. And you’re so much taller than him. My god, I believe you’re nearly a full foot taller than myself. Your leg is nearly taller than me. I feel like a wild boar standing next to a giraffe! What are you doing after the taping here, of this— this little television program? Are you hungry at all? I must say I am famished. Do black Muslims drink? I suppose not. I imagine that you don’t eat pork, either. My stars, black Muslims must have quite a lot of difficulty remembering that they’re black.
6. . . . because the American people cannot hold in their minds the idea of what it might mean to be both black and homosexual. Even those with a double consciousness frequently fail to acknowledge the existence of those blessed with triple or even quadruple consciousnesses. You cannot be both, they say. You must choose, as I have in my public persona, though not in my fiction—but who reads fiction nowadays?—to promote one struggle for liberty over another, to deny a part of oneself in order to have any hope of liberating the part that has a fighting chance. To plead urgently for equality from one corner of your mouth and keep the other motionless—at least before the masses of TV viewership—with regard to an equality you dare not hope to achieve, an equality which it does not seem possible to name, let alone fight for.
7. I’ve heard yourself and those very handsome Panther men with their leather jackets and machine guns speak of achieving black liberation “by any means necessary,” which is apparently a phrase lifted from Sartre. I wonder, does “any means” include homosexual and interracial sexual experiences? I mean, you did say “any means.” Everyone presumes that the slogan refers to violence, but could it not just as easily refer to lovemaking? It’s just— it’s an incredibly sexy animal, the panther. Don’t you believe it would raise the consciousness of white Americans if they all suddenly gave birth to black children? Honestly, I have only pity for those who would not enjoy spending an evening with one or more of those exceptionally attractive panthers. As Eartha would say, prrrchowrr!
8. The time has come to fuck the very butt of white male supremacy. Talk about rough trade! We must utterly wreck its tight system of oppression, and seed it with the jism of liberty, so that freedom can spill forth from the spent anus of America. Until we’ve pulled out and climbed off, this country will never be able to relax.