No Name in the Street by James Baldwin

A black and white photo of James Baldwin, looking to the right. The author and title appear in fine type in the upper left corner.

by Ben H.

“People who treat other people as less than human must not be surprised when the bread they have cast on the waters come floating back to them, poisoned.” 

James Baldwin writes gorgeous prose. I copy lines that I find memorable, but I find myself copying down entire pages. If you’re still waiting to read Baldwin, don’t wait! Read now!   

In No Name in the Street, Baldwin writes about his experience traveling in the southern states for the first time. Baldwin, never at a loss for words (check out this incendiary debate on YouTube), writes about his first impression of southerners, “what struck me was the unbelievable dimension of their sorrow. I felt as though I had wandered into hell.” What a first impression!

This theme of sorrow surfaces in another memorable passage where Baldwin describes his visit with civil rights leader Reverend Fred Shuttlesworth. Shuttlesworth’s Alabama home had recently been bombed and destroyed by the KKK. Baldwin writes about Shuttlesworth, “It was as though he were wrestling with the mighty fact that the danger in which he stood was as nothing compared to the spiritual horror which drove those who were trying to destroy him. They endangered him, but they doomed themselves.” The idea of racism being a cancer, a parasite that dooms the host and turns it into something less than human, is a theme that Baldwin returns to many times in No Name in the Street. The sorrow that he refers to is the byproduct of this loss of humanity.

That said, not every passage is heavy. Baldwin has the rare ability to combine the tragic and the humorous in the same sentence. He insightfully, humorously, and poetically describes things such as grits (“a pale, lumpy, tasteless kind of porridge which the Southerner insists is a delicacy but which I believe they ingest as punishment for their sins”) and buying whiskey in dry states (“where whiskey was against the law, you simply bought your whiskey from the law enforcers”).  

Baldwin’s color commentary of historical events is a crucial part of the story of America. Statistics and reportorial accounts of racism in America don’t paint the full picture. Baldwin writes the narrative and helps the reader taste it, hear it, and feel it. I find that tragic historical events can sometimes, through familiarity, fade into the timeline of history; but reading about the phone call that Baldwin and Billy Dee Williams received when Martin Luther King Jr was assassinated highlights it in technicolor. 

On a personal note (as if the rest of this hasn’t been personal), I consider myself well-read and aware, but I still only have my lived experiences. The following passage about well-meaning folks without first-hand experience of discrimination struck me, “These liberals were not, as I was, forever being found by the police in the ‘wrong’ neighborhood, and so could not have had first-hand knowledge of how gleefully a policeman translates his orders from above. But they had no right not to know that; if they did not know that, they knew nothing and had no right to speak…” By reading books like No Name in the Street, I grow my understanding, if not experientially, at least academically and empathetically, and that is no small thing. 

Ben works at Project Literacy, Howard County Library’s adult basic education initiative, based at HCLS Central Branch. He loves reading, writing, walking, and talking (all the basics).

I Am Not Your Negro

Review by Eric L.

The title itself should take you back to a time and parlance that we, as a country of “free” citizens, should have moved past long ago. Sadly, we have not. 

I am Not Your Negro is a great introduction to James Baldwin. Filmmaker Raoul Peck worked on the project for nearly a decade (a recent article by Peck in The Atlantic entitled James Baldwin Was Right All Along is a great primer). The film offers a potent collage of civil rights era footage, recent Black Lives Matter protests, interviews, and debates that feature Baldwin speaking (captivating), as well as the narration of excerpts from an incomplete manuscript read by actor Samuel L. Jackson, tentatively entitled Remember This House.  

The 1979 manuscript concerns Baldwin’s reluctant return to America after a long sojourn in France. The nonfiction piece, a pensive essay on racism in America, details his relationship with, and observations of, Medgar Evers, Martin Luther King Jr., and Malcolm X. Baldwin refers to himself as a “witness” of these three titans of the civil rights movement, all murdered before the age of 40. Baldwin explicitly states that he’s not missing his native land; the impetus for his return seems out of a sense of guilt that America’s serious racial divide is an abstraction to him while living abroad.  

Baldwin succinctly states that “segregation equals apathy and ignorance,” as they are forces very difficult to overcome. His assessment of Americans’ sense of reality and the reasons for it should give us all something to contemplate. I love good writing, and Baldwin’s prose is beautiful. I believe this is why some have compared his essays to those of George Orwell (I encourage you to read his essays, too. I’m a huge fan). I would describe both as moral or political artists, and perhaps I appreciate their contemplative tone.

As a side note, Baldwin’s fictional  Another Country, included in PBS’s the Great American Read, made for a great discussion in my book group. The narrative deftly examines race, gender, sexual orientation, social class, power, and anger. The nonfiction title The Fire Next Time is comprised of two essays, one a letter Baldwin wrote to his nephew. I find them both beautifully written and compelling.  

Perhaps it’s a positive sign that the aforementioned materials are currently in high demand and hard to borrow, both in print and digitally, so just start by streaming the film on Kanopy. It is well worth your time! 

It some ways it seems odd that someone like me is writing this piece. If you met me you’d quickly realize that I’m close to the apex of privilege in America for a variety of reasons. I’m well aware of this fact, though I wasn’t always. I’d proffer that sometimes single words such as “privilege” become overused, politicized, and more importantly, lose their intent. This is precisely why we should all contemplate our world, and art is an engaging way to do so. 

Eric is a DIY Instructor and Research Specialist at the Elkridge branch. He enjoys reading, films, music, doing nearly anything outside, and people.