Interview with Dr. Benjamin Chavis Muhammad

Interview with Dr. Benjamin Chavis Muhammad
By Jason Page
Platinum Plus
2/1/5

Dr. Benjamin Chavis Muhammad and I are hanging out on a Friday afternoon talking about Nat Turner, Jim Jones and how, despite the outcome, young folk rocked the vote last year and became a legitimate voting body to be reckoned with. We see you Barack! We agree that Nat, the cat that in 1831 got a sign from above and along with several other runaway slaves, used the weapons of his slavemaster to slaughter 55 white men, women and children, would have loved hip hop. He would have bumped Jim Jones on his way to the Travis' that night on his nifty little iPod, had he had one. The music that Muhammad defends vehemently, expresses Turner's rage and personifies the creativity that has redefined protest movements since the first brothers jumped to shore and into the villages of North Carolina hundreds of years ago, escaping to peace. Some might think us crazy to praise a man who killed 55 white people in 1831. Comparatively, that'd have to be at least a jetliner-full today. And we all know how America feels about blacks dying versus our lighter counter parts. Muhammad and I express our satisfaction with Nat's role in American history and the results of her historical sin. We determine that given the history before Nat Turner, his choices reflect his being a product of his environment. To paraphrase Chris Rock, I don't condone what Nat did. But I understand. Dr. Ben and I commiserate over the similarities between Nat Turner, Jim Jones and many other raw and righteous rappers who are blazing the charts and stealing the hearts of youth across the world. The spirit of their jouneys are similar, in that they have all taken the tools of their oppression and left a mark on the fabric of our soul, our cultural landscape, our nation. That’s Dr. Ben in Jones’ intro on his album, On My Way To Church. The language most might think profane, language about lynching and insurrection, floats back and forth and into the tape recorder until early evening, when its just too late on a brisk Friday night to be rehashing harsh history. By the time we were done, I had enough history to embarrass the balls off every history teacher I ever had, from junior high on up. Sitting across from him and realizing the magnitude of his life’s work, I couldn’t help but feel blessed to be able to spend the time with a freedom fighting giant. Up until that afternoon, my knowledge of Ben Muhammad’s work began with the Million Man March, popped up again out of Hype William’s Belly and has been consistant with his hard hitting tenure as head of the Hip Hop Summit Action Network along side Russell Simmons.

Nat. Yeah, Nat. Nat Turner would have loved Hip Hop, we agreed. And while the books make Nat out to be insane, I’d counter with creative. Creatively genius. Pleasantries and niceties aside, Brother Ben asks continuing his rave for Nat, “we‘d think he was insane. But why? Because he wanted to revolt? Who’s insane? The slave that wants to be free? Or the one who remains a slave?” Revolution and youth movements. While an office full of twenty and thirty somethings wrapped up a weeks-worth of work around us, Dr. Ben Chavis Muhammad, a man ahead of his time since before he got his first NAACP membership card at the tender age of twelve, takes me through a few key moments in the last couple centuries, including two battles in Wilmington, North Carolina, his two ringing phones keeping time in the telling.

It is clear that Chavis Muhammad has dedicated his life to encouraging youth to fight oppression, believing that we have a responsibility to our ancestors to, not only survive oppression but, eliminate oppression until everyone can realize their full potential in life. “There is something healthy about the descendents of slaves not accepting contemporary manifestations of slave master mentality and reality,” he says, tilting his head back. “In truth, hip hop is providing a freedom to express oneself out of a [new] context.” Keeping one eye on the prize and the other on history, Doctor Ben has forever found ways to mobilize youth. Recently, he rides with the Hip-Hop Summit Action Network and literally re-mixed the ingredients of our oppression into something we can all relate to.
Benjamin Chavis, Born on January 22, 1948 in Oxford, North Carolina, comes from a long line of freedom fighters, including his grandfather John Chavis, the first black man to attend Princeton. Young Ben was no stranger to the movement. “I got my first taste of teargas in high school,” he states, with the seriousness of a man who’s been beaten by prison guards and framed by the federal government. His broad shoulders and strong hands hold the weight of the movement.
I sit there, back against the wall as he redirects the conversation to give me a history lesson about Wilmington, North Carolina and the two years 1898 and 1971. After quips about Nat Turner and his likeness to Jim Jones, the events of November 10, 1898 make Nat’s seem like a walk in the park. White animosity and jealousy over black wealth in Wilmington led to the only coup d 'tat the United States has seen. Birthed from hatred and fueled by government sponsored propaganda, whites went buckwild on black folk, killing and injuring hundreds, just long enough for our elected leadership to step down to their white successors under the force of violence. The language reflected our unflinching understanding of white supremacy. We discussed this massacre and its elements. In my mind, I painted the picture of how that afternoon played out, simply because I am aware that with emancipation came one hundred-plus years of lynchings, rapes and massacres of communities of black Americans. No longer property of whites, our rights were not protected. We were sport for white hatred. The language in my head and through my lips lends credibility to my current torrents of suppressed rage when contemplating race relations today. Dr. Ben understands. He smells me.
Fast forward to 1971. Same soil. Same blood. The school system in and around Wilmington, which had been divided three ways, black, white and native, had been forced to desegregate. In response, parents were attacking buses and kids; and principals were expelling black kids. “It is expensive to uphold, but the privileged would fight tooth and nail to keep the status quo. And this was a poor county. They would go into their pockets to make it happen.” The United Church of Christ Commission For Racial Justice came to Wilmington like the Roots on tour. With them, a young seasoned organizer in Ben Chavis.

Chavis rode into town with years of organizing under his belt. When speaking of the face of racial discrimination, Chavis remembers confronting the problem head on. He says they, “felt the adults of [his] generation were too tolerant. We were going to disobey the sign and the attitude.” As an organizer, The group of organizers handed the city and school officials their demands, gave them three days and dug in for a boycott. They were rewarded with a violent showdown and wrongful prosecution thanks to the FBI and ATF.

Ben Chavis and nine others were brought up on charges and spent a good chunk of the seventies in prison. They became known as the Wilmington Ten. While behind bars, Chavis got his masters from Duke University, a Ph.D from Howard University and translated the New Testament into Greek. In his struggles, he became friends with Angela Davis and began campaigning for political prisoners all over the world. He helped start the National Alliance Against Racism and Political Oppression. The good doctor reminds me, “it is healthy for every generation to resume its responsibility to eliminate oppression. Not escape or survive, but eliminate.”

In April of 1993 I was busy about to graduate high school. But that spring, I held my breath with the world and awaited the verdict following the beating of Rodney King. Dr. Chavis, upon became the youngest Executive Director of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People immediately flew to Los Angeles to help unify Bloods and Crips while the city burned. Without my asking, Dr. Ben explained his motivations. “I wanted my first official act to be identifying with young people who are caught in the crux of what it meant to be a black American in 1993.” No better place than South Central Los Angeles. Within a short time after this victory, and after he filled the membership rolls of the NAACP with young blood Dr. Chavis left the organization on sordid terms, redefining himself once again.

In 1997, Dr. Chavis became Muhammad soon after he brought over a million black me together before the capitol in an act of peaceful solidarity in the name of racial and class justice for The Million Man March in 1995. The event remains a landmark in our history, sparking more uplifting spin-offs than Live Aid. While media diminished the success of the event, its organizers celebrated a day of victory and atonement for millions of people world-wide.

Breaking away from the history lesson Dr. Ben encourages us to focus on the youth of yesterday, today and, most especially, tomorrow. “The Nat Turners of today are doing that entrepreneurially by "owning masters, owning labels,” he says. This is what Brother Ben likes to see. It’s self determination at its finest. According to the United Nations, self-determination is a fundamental human right. So when we talk about this struggle, we are not talking merely about civil rights. In the words of Malcolm X, the struggle for freedom and justice is a human right, not a civil right. The lives of David Walker, Frederick Douglass, and Nat Turner are manifested in Fifty Cent, Jah Rule and Jim Jones in this freedom fighter’s eyes. Through my conversations with Ben Chavis Muhammed, I learned that Hip Hop artists give back more money, than any other artists in other genres of music. This astonished me, but once again rejuvenated my faith in the movement.

After taking a photo break, Dr. Ben starts talking about one of our favorite topics, sticking it to the man. He and Russell Simmons, through the Hip Hop Summit Action Network, are fresh off contributing to a landmark increase in young voters and successfully winning a lawsuit against the New York State Lobby Commission. I know I’m old, but I believe the kids might call that gangsta. The Lobby Commission ass-kicking was in relation to Dr. Ben and Russell’s fight to repeal the Rockefeller Drug Laws, who’s racially charged mandatory sentences affect youth with minor offenses. Opening his most recent love letter from the commission, he tells me that politicians, “use the court system and police system to drain you, divert your attention and divert your resources.” The HHSAN, under Russell and Ben’s leadership is the only force publicly addressing this danger head on. The fight is in the remix, y’all.

Muhammad feels comfortable working alongside Simmons. “Russell’s the Godfather and I’m the Counselor.” He says, “I’ve found a place where I can learn from young people, hear them speak and I can listen. They don’t think adults listen or care. We must take time to understand the weight that is on youth today." This is why he is such a fan of hip hop culture. He defends the music, confessing that in order to understand the music, you must immerse yourself in it, and accept the good and the bad. His understanding is that a gangster of today may not be a gangster tomorrow. That's the remix. Last night, Dr. Ben attended the funeral of Ol Dirty Bastard. I ask him about Ol Dirty's passing because that week it was on our minds more than turkey and stuffing. Controlling the emotion that feeds his fight, he reminded me that we must embrace our brothers and sisters in struggle and recognize the demons we face individually in our lives. ODB had his demons and instead of helping him, we kept him apart and different. Meanwhile, the brother just wanted to live, love children and make amazing music. All the hype was just that.

Speaking of hype, Dr. Ben snaps me out of my daydream of McGirt's first couple lines of "Shame On A Nigga" to say that we are a blessed generation, being mopped up by law enforcement. "People say this is a cursed generation. That is false. This is a blessed generation." That's probably why we are so hot to def right now. The feds want us, and the world wants us. The good and the bad. "Hut one, hut two, hut three. Hut! Ol Dirty Bastard live and uncut." He reminds me that the youth of the world strive to be like the youth of urban America. That is power we must harness and cherish. That is a blessing and strength we have not yet realized. "Brothers in the rap game are developing at a rapid pace, faster than the labels can handle." Its like the slave master always trying to be up on the next insurrection. When will that next burst of creative energy take the world by storm? And who will lead the charge? And will they make it out the gate before being mopped up by the feds and their hip hop task forces? Taking the energy of the genius in Russell, it becomes Jim Jones, capturing the energy of the young crowd in Newark on the Hip Hop Summitt Action Network bus tour several years ago. It becomes the humility of a rejuvenated D.O.C., who remains active and under the counsel of Dr. Ben. It becomes the pulse that bumps the mic booths and dance floors of America and the world.

The beautiful hybrid that is black America has been kept alive by a beat that redefines itself in soldiers such as Dr. Benjamin Chavis Muhammad. As I leave his offices I imagine Nat Turner sprinting through the woods towards the Travis house the night of November 10, 1831. My mind shifts to the streets of Wilmington and the mirror that sets between the bloody events of 1989 and 1971. I take lessons from Muhammad’s tales of massacres, stories of success at the polls and the burning fire that is hip hop music. I adopt his interpretation of a musical culture on the verge. And I encourage you to join me in the fight, whether you are on your job, with your partner or on your way to church.