The stage thus set, he then turned upon his non-white victims hisweapons of war.I read how, entering India-half a _billion_ deeply religious brown people-the British white man, by1759, through promises, trickery and manipulations, controlled much of India through Great Britain'sEast India Company. The parasitical British administration kept tentacling out to half of thesubcontinent. In 1857, some of the desperate people of India finally mutinied-and, excepting theAfrican slave trade, nowhere has history recorded any more unnecessary bestial and ruthless humancarnage than the British suppression of the non-white Indian people.Over 115 million African blacks-close to the 1930's population of the United States-were murdered orenslaved during the slave trade. And I read how when the slave market was glutted, the cannibalisticwhite powers of Europe next carved up, as their colonies, the richest areas of the black continent. AndEurope's chancelleries for the next century played a chess game of naked exploitation and power fromCape Horn to Cairo.Ten guards and the warden couldn't have torn me out of those books. Not even Elijah Muhammadcould have been more eloquent than those books were in providing indisputable proof that the collective white man had acted like a devil in virtually every contact he had with the world's collectivenon-white man. I listen today to the radio, and watch television, and read the headlines about thecollective white man's fear and tension concerning China. When the white man professes ignoranceabout why the Chinese hate him so, my mind can't help flashing back to what I read, there in prison,about how the blood forebears of this same white man raped China at a time when China was trustingand helpless. Those original white "Christian traders" sent into China millions of pounds of opium. By1839, so many of the Chinese were addicts that China's desperate government destroyed twentythousand chests of opium. The first Opium War was promptly declared by the white man. Imagine!Declaring _war_ upon someone who objects to being narcotized! The Chinese were severely beaten,with Chinese-invented gunpowder.The Treaty of Nanking made China pay the British white man for the destroyed opium; forced openChina's major ports to British trade; forced China to abandon Hong Kong; fixed China's import tariffsso low that cheap British articles soon flooded in, maiming China's industrial development.After a second Opium War, the Tientsin Treaties legalized the ravaging opium trade, legalized aBritish-French-American control of China's customs. China tried delaying that Treaty's ratification;Peking was looted and burned."Kill the foreign white devils!" was the 1901 Chinese war cry in the Boxer Rebellion. Losing again, thistime the Chinese were driven from Peking's choicest areas. The vicious, arrogant white man put upthe famous signs, "Chinese and dogs not allowed."Red China after World War II closed its doors to the Western white world. Massive Chineseagricultural, scientific, and industrial efforts are described in a book that _Life_ magazine recentlypublished. Some observers inside Red China have reported that the world never has known such ahate-white campaign as is now going on in this non-white country where, present birth-ratescontinuing, in fifty more years Chinese will be half the earth's population. And it seems that someChinese chickens will soon come home to roost, with China's recent successful nuclear tests.

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During the last year or so, in the _New York Times_, Arnold Toynbee used the word "bleached" indescribing the white man. (His words were: "White (i.e. bleached) human beings of North Europeanorigin. . . .") Toynbee also referred to the European geographic area as only a peninsula of Asia. Hesaid there is no such thing as Europe. And if you look at the globe, you will see for yourself thatAmerica is only an extension of Asia. (But at the same time Toynbee is among those who have helpedto bleach history. He has written that Africa was the only continent that produced no history. Hewon't write that again. Every day now, the truth is coming to light. )I never will forget how shocked I was when I began reading about slavery's total horror. It made suchan impact upon me that it later became one of my favorite subjects when I became a minister of Mr.Muhammad's The world's most monstrous crime, the sin and the blood on the white man's hands, arealmost impossible to believe. Books like the one by Frederick Olmstead opened my eyes to the horrorssuffered when the slave was landed in the United States. The European woman, Fannie Kimball, whohad married a Southern white slaveowner, described how human beings were degraded. Of course Iread _Uncle Tom's Cabin_. In fact, I believe that's the only novel I have ever read since I startedserious reading.Parkhurst's collection also contained some bound pamphlets of the Abolitionist Anti-Slavery Societyof New England. I read descriptions of atrocities, saw those illustrations of black slave women tied upand flogged with whips; of black mothers watching their babies being dragged off, never to be seen bytheir mothers again; of dogs after slaves, and of the fugitive slave catchers, evil white men with whipsand clubs and chains and guns. I read about the slave preacher Nat Turner, who put the fear of Godinto the white slavemaster. Nat Turner wasn't going around preaching pie-in-the-sky and "non violent" freedom for the black man. There in Virginia one night in 1831, Nat and seven other slavesstarted out at his master's home and through the night they went from one plantation "big house" tothe next, killing, until by the next morning 57 white people were dead and Nat had about 70 slavesfollowing him. White people, terrified for their lives, fled from their homes, locked themselves up inpublic buildings, hid in the woods, and some even left the state. A small army of soldiers took twomonths to catch and hang Nat Turner. Somewhere I have read where Nat Turner's example is said tohave inspired John Brown to invade Virginia and attack Harper's Ferry nearly thirty years later, withthirteen white men and five Negroes.I read Herodotus, "the father of History," or, rather, I read about him. And I read the histories ofvarious nations, which opened my eyes gradually, then wider and wider, to how the whole world'swhite men had indeed acted like devils, pillaging and raping and bleeding and draining the wholeworld's non-white people. I remember, for instance, books such as Will Durant's story of Orientalcivilization, and Mahatma Gandhi's accounts of the struggle to drive the British out of India.Book after book showed me how the white man had brought upon the world's black, brown, red, andyellow peoples every variety of the sufferings of exploitation. I saw how since the sixteenth century,the so-called "Christian trader" white man began to ply the seas in his lust for Asian and Africanempires, and plunder, and power. I read, I saw, how the white man never has gone among the nonwhite peoples bearing the Cross in the true manner and spirit of Christ's teachings-meek, humble, andChrist-like.I perceived, as I read, how the collective white man had been actually nothing but a piraticalopportunist who used Faustian machinations to make his own Christianity his initial wedge incriminal conquests. First, always "religiously," he branded "heathen" and "pagan" labels upon ancientnon-white cultures and civilizations.

After the letter to my wife, I wrote next essentially the same letter to my sister Ella. And I knew where Ella would stand. She had been saving to make the pilgrimage to Mecca herself.I wrote to Dr. Shawarbi, whose belief in my sincerity had enabled me to get a passport to Mecca.All through the night, I copied similar long letters for others who were very close to me. Among themwas Elijah Muhammad's son Wallace Muhammad, who had expressed to me his conviction that theonly possible salvation for the Nation of Islam would be its accepting and projecting a betterunderstanding of Orthodox Islam.And I wrote to my loyal assistants at my newly formed Muslim Mosque, Inc. in Harlem, with a noteappended, asking that my letter be duplicated and distributed to the press.I knew that when my letter became public knowledge back in America, many would be astounded-loved ones, friends, and enemies alike. And no less astounded would be millions whom I did notknow-who had gained during my twelve years with Elijah Muhammad a "hate" image of Malcolm X.Even I was myself astounded. But there was precedent in my life for this letter. My whole life hadbeen a chronology of-_changes_.Here is what I wrote . . . from my heart:"Never have I witnessed such sincere hospitality and the overwhelming spirit of true brotherhood asis practiced by people of all colors and races here in this Ancient Holy Land, the home of Abraham,Muhammad, and all the other prophets of the Holy Scriptures. For the past week, I have been utterlyspeechless and spellbound by the graciousness I see displayed all around me by people _of all colors_."I have been blessed to visit the Holy City of Mecca. I have made my seven circuits around the Ka'ba,led by a young _Mutawaf_ named Muhammad. I drank water from the well of Zem Zem. I ran seventimes back and forth between the hills of Mt. Al-Safa and Al-Marwah. I have prayed in the ancient cityof Mina, and I have prayed on Mt. Arafat."There were tens of thousands of pilgrims, from all over the world. They were of all colors, from blue-eyed blonds to black-skinned Africans. But we were all participating in the same ritual, displaying aspirit of unity and brotherhood that my experiences in America had led me to believe never couldexist between the white and the non-white."America needs to understand Islam, because this is the one religion that erases from its society therace problem. Throughout my travels in the Muslim world, I have met, talked to, and even eaten withpeople who in America would have been considered 'white'-but the 'white' attitude was removedfrom their minds by the religion of Islam. I have never before seen _sincere_ and _true_ brotherhoodpracticed by all colors together, irrespective of their color.

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Finally, we lifted our hands in prayer and thanksgiving, repeating Allah's words: "There is no God butAllah. He has no partner. His are authority and praise. Good emanates from Him, and He has powerover all things."Standing on Mount Arafat had concluded the essential rites of being a pilgrim to Mecca. No one whomissed it could consider himself a pilgrim.The _Ihram_ had ended. We cast the traditional seven stones at the devil. Some had their hair andbeards cut. I decided that I was going to let my beard remain. I wondered what my wife Betty, and ourlittle daughters, were going to say when they saw me with a beard, when I got back to New York.New York seemed a million miles away. I hadn't seen a newspaper that I could read since I left NewYork. I had no idea what was happening there. A Negro rifle club that had been in existence for overtwelve years in Harlem had been "discovered" by the police; it was being trumpeted that I was"behind it." Elijah Muhammad's Nation of Islam had a lawsuit going against me, to force me and my family to vacate the house in which we lived on Long Island.The major press, radio, and television media in America had representatives in Cairo hunting all over,trying to locate me, to interview me about the furor in New York that I had allegedly caused-when Iknew nothing about any of it.I only knew what I had left in America, and how it contrasted with what I had found in the Muslimworld. About twenty of us Muslims who had finished the Hajj were sitting in a huge tent on MountArafat. As a Muslim from America, I was the center of attention. They asked me what about the Hajjhad impressed me the most. One of the several who spoke English asked; they translated my answersfor the others. My answer to that question was not the one they expected, but it drove home my point.I said, "The _brotherhood_! The people of all races, colors, from all over the world coming together as_one_! It has proved to me the power of the One God."It may have been out of taste, but that gave me an opportunity, and I used it, to preach them a quicklittle sermon on America's racism, and its evils.I could tell the impact of this upon them. They had been aware that the plight of the black man inAmerica was "bad," but they had not been aware that it was inhuman, that it was a psychologicalcastration. These people from elsewhere around the world were shocked. As Muslims, they had a verytender heart for all unfortunates, and very sensitive feelings for truth and justice. And in everything Isaid to them, as long as we talked, they were aware of the yardstick that I was using to measureeverything-that to me the earth's most explosive and pernicious evil is racism, the inability of God'screatures to live as One, especially in the Western world. I have reflected since that the letter I finally sat down to compose had been subconsciously shapingitself in my mind.The _color-blindness_ of the Muslim world's religious society and the _color-blindness_ of the Muslimworld's human society: these two influences had each day been making a greater impact, and anincreasing persuasion against my previous way of thinking.The first letter was, of course, to my wife, Betty. I never had a moment's question that Betty, afterinitial amazement, would change her thinking to join mine. I had known a thousand reassurances thatBetty's faith in me was total. I knew that she would see what I had seen-that in the land of Muhammadand the land of Abraham, I had been blessed by Allah with a new insight into the true religion ofIslam, and a better understanding of America's entire racial dilemma.

Muhammad Ali Clay my friend-_friend_!" They halfunderstood me. Some of them didn't understand, and that's how it began to get around that I wasCassius Clay, world heavyweight champion. I was later to learn that apparently every man, womanand child in the Muslim world had heard how Sonny Liston (who in the Muslim world had the imageof a man-eating ogre) had been beaten in Goliath-David fashion by Cassius Clay, who then had toldthe world that his name was Muhammad Ali and his religion was Islam and Allah had given him hisvictory.　Establishing the rapport was the best thing that could have happened in the compartment. My beingan American Muslim changed the attitudes from merely watching me to wanting to look out for me.Now, the others began smiling steadily. They came closer, they were frankly looking me up anddown. Inspecting me. Very friendly. I was like a man from Mars.The _Mutawaf_'s aide returned, indicating that I should go with him. He pointed from our tier downat the mosque and I knew that he had come to take me to make the morning prayer, El Sobh, alwaysbefore sunrise. I followed him down, and we passed pilgrims by the thousands, babbling languages, everything but English. I was angry with myself for not having taken the time to learn more of theorthodox prayer rituals before leaving America. In Elijah Muhammad's Nation of Islam, we hadn'tprayed in Arabic. About a dozen or more years before, when I was in prison, a member of theorthodox Muslim movement in Boston, named Abdul Hameed, had visited me and had later sent meprayers in Arabic. At that time, I had learned those prayers phonetically. But I hadn't used them since.I made up my mind to let the guide do everything first and I would watch him. It wasn't hard to gethim to do things first. He wanted to anyway. Just outside the mosque there was a long trough withrows of faucets. Ablutions had to precede praying. I knew that. Even watching the _Mutawaf_'shelper, I didn't get it right. There's an exact way that an orthodox Muslim washes, and the exact way isvery important.I followed him into the mosque, just a step behind, watching. He did his prostration, his head to theground. I did mine. "_Bi-smi-llahi-r-Rahmain-r-Rahim-_" ("In the name of Allah, the Beneficent, theMerciful-") All Muslim prayers began that way. After that, I may not have been mumbling the rightthing, but I was mumbling.I don't mean to have any of this sound joking. It was far from a joke with me. No one who happenedto be watching could tell that I wasn't saying what the others said. After that Sunrise Prayer, my guide accompanied me back up to the fourth tier. By sign language, hesaid he would return within three hours, then he left.

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My guide, on the fourth tier, gestured me into a compartment that contained about fifteen people.Most lay curled up on their rugs asleep. I could tell that some were women, covered head and foot. Anold Russian Muslim and his wife were not asleep. They stared frankly at me. Two Egyptian Muslimsand a Persian roused and also stared as my guide moved us over into a comer. With gestures, heindicated that he would demonstrate to me the proper prayer ritual postures. Imagine, being a Muslimminister, a leader in Elijah Muhammad's Nation of Islam, and not knowing the prayer ritual.I tried to do what he did. I knew I wasn't doing it right. I could feel the other Muslims' eyes on me.Western ankles won't do what Muslim ankles have done for a lifetime. Asians squat when they sit,Westerners sit upright in chairs. When my guide was down in a posture, I tried everything I could toget down as he was, but there I was, sticking up. After about an hour, my guide left, indicating that hewould return later.I never even thought about sleeping. Watched by the Muslims, I kept practicing prayer posture. I refused to let myself think how ridiculous I must have looked tothem. After a while, though, I learned a lime trick that would let me get down closer to the floor. Butafter two or three days, my ankle was going to swell.As the sleeping Muslims woke up, when dawn had broken, they almost instantly became aware of me,and we watched each other while they went about their business. I began to see what an importantrole the rug played in the overall cultural life of the Muslims. Each individual had a small prayer rug,and each man and wife, or large group, had a larger communal rug. These Muslims prayed on theirrugs there in the compartment. Then they spread a tablecloth over the rug and ate, so the rug becamethe dining room. Removing the dishes and cloth, they sat on the rug-a living room. Then they curl upand sleep on the rug-a bedroom. In that compartment, before I was to leave it, it dawned on me for thefirst time why the fence had paid such a high price for Oriental rugs when I had been a burglar inBoston. It was because so much intricate care was taken to weave fine rugs in countries where rugswere so culturally versatile. Later, in Mecca, I would see yet another use of the rug. When any kind ofdispute arose, someone who was respected highly and who was not involved would sit on a rug withthe disputers around him, which made the rug a courtroom. In other instances it was a classroom.One of the Egyptian Muslims, particularly, kept watching me out of the corner of his eye. I smiled athim. He got up and came over to me. "Hel-lo-" he said. It sounded like the Gettysburg Address. Ibeamed at him, "Hello!" I asked his name. "Name? Name?" He was trying hard, but he didn't get it.We tried some words on each other. I'd guess his English vocabulary spanned maybe twenty words.Just enough to frustrate me. I was trying to get him to comprehend anything. "Sky." I'd point. He'dsmile. "Sky," I'd say again, gesturing for him to repeat it after me. He would. "Airplane . . . rug . . . foot.. . sandal . . . eyes. . . ." Like that. Then an amazing thing happened. I was so glad I had somecommunication with a human being, I was just saying whatever came to mind. I said "Muhammad AliClay-" All of the Muslims listening lighted up like a Christmas tree. "You? You?" My friend waspointing at me. I shook my head, "No, no.