There are two kinds of white people who read James Baldwin.
First, there’s the one who got assigned Baldwin in some college class. All they knew going in was that he was a “fragile little Black man with a big civil rights voice.” Then they actually read him and walked away with a better understanding of humanity.
Then there is the second kind: the guilt ridden try-hard to impress. They want everyone to know they read Baldwin. They read Angelou. They read Morrison. Hell, they even tried reading Langston Hughes. They will tell you about the Miles Davis vinyl they bought in college, but they won't tell you who they voted for in the last couple Chicago mayoral elections. It is less about Baldwin and more about résumé building.
Me?
I’m neither. I’m the honky who picked up Notes of a Native Son because my hippie professor thought it was “cool, man.” I caved in when he said it was “just a collection of essays.” Holy hell, this “gay little Black man,” as Baldwin once called himself, blew me away. I’m not here to stand on a platform and preach. I’m not going to list every Black author I have ever read or pretend it made me enlightened. It didn’t make me woke, it made me self-aware...
... And that is what counts.
Today’s quote isn’t about race. It is about connection. Baldwin writes, “The moment we break faith with one another, the sea engulfs us and the light goes out.” He is talking about the threads that hold us together... empathy, trust, community. When we stop showing up for each other, when we turn away, the light dies.
That is why I chalked this quote on National Radio Day. Because the radio is always on in my house. Voices connecting voices, strangers talking to strangers, music binding people who will never meet. Different people with the same heartbeat.
Turn on your radio.
Read some Baldwin.
And remember this latest Jumboism: people are different, but human beings are the same.
