In practically every activity he pursued, the poet, activist, and iconoclast Amiri Baraka, who died earlier this month, was an intellectual and creative lightning rod. His advocates saw in him a "truly free black man" who was unafraid to speak truth to power. His detractors saw someone who traded in insult, posturing, and conspiracy. Depending on your worldview, Baraka was either an eloquent sentinel guarding against the spread of white supremacy or a loudmouth who never stopped complaining about racial inequities. No matter where you stood, it was impossible to deny that Baraka was consistently racial -- blackness, after all, was his lifelong project.
But most of Baraka's obituaries failed to appreciate the full extent of that project. The narratives have focused on his intellectual and cultural commitment to blackness -- his early years as a Beat in Greenwich Village, his turn to a black nationalist creative aesthetic that ushered in the Black Arts Movement of the late 1960s -- and on his removal as the poet laureate of New Jersey after he wrote "Somebody Blew Up America," a poem that was widely seen as anti-Semitic for its claim that Israelis had advance knowledge of the September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks.
What has gone neglected -- quite shockingly so -- was Baraka’s commitment to blackness as a political project. Of all his pursuits, his leadership in organizing a National Black Political Convention, which was an attempt to imbue formal politics with a fundamental sense of blackness, is perhaps the most relevant to the United States’ present cultural moment. One might be tempted dismiss Baraka’s political blackness as outmoded in the age of U.S. President Barack Obama, whose astonishing rise began with his keynote address at a very different political convention. But whatever Obama’s reputation as a post-racial political leader,
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