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By Tom Teague On a Saturday morning in January, Vibert White Jr. and I planned to drive to Pittsfield for a meeting of the New Philadelphia Association, which seeks to recreate the first American city founded by a black man. But the season's first heavy snowfall had surprised the area overnight. The streets were solid white. The state police hotline reported that 75 percent of the highway between Springfield and Pittsfield was packed with snow and ice. I thought about calling Dr. White and asking how badly he wanted to go to this meeting. Just then he called me. "Let's leave early," he said. His father was born in Costa Rica, his mother in Haiti. But White's family name comes from Jamaica, a former British colony, where his father's father lived before seeking work on banana plantations in Central America. His first name, a Caribbean word for trickster, belies an earnest, straightforward approach to life that has taken him from the inner circles of the Nation of Islam to the rolling prairie of Pike County, Illinois. A little snow wasn't going to slow him down today. Although both were from Latin America, Vibert White's parents met at a popular dance hall in New York City. White's father was studying to be an Episcopal priest. His mother, Loraine, was a member of the African Methodist Episcopal Church. Before parting for the evening, Loraine invited her future husband to church the next morning. "They took a liking to him," Vibert Jr. said. "The minister said, 'Listen son, when you finish your schooling, come be a pastor of our church.' My father was very much impressed with this. It was the first time he'd heard or seen of an all black denomination. So he joined the AME Church and became a minister. "My grandfather did not like that so much. He was Episcopalian, a hard-nosed Jamaican. He did not understand it. He did not like it. It took him about 20 years to accept that my father was an AME pastor and not an Episcopal priest." The younger White remembers moving often as a child. His father organized and built AME churches in Pennsylvania, Delaware, Florida, the Caribbean and Central America. But the family returned to New York frequently on vacations. It was on these visits that White first became acquainted with the Nation of Islam. "My parents enjoyed Chinatown and Harlem particularly," White said. "Father liked being around 116th and Lenox, where the Muslims congregated. As if they were shopping for an automobile, my parents would choose which Muslim brother to buy the newspaper Muhammad Speaks from. As a young boy in the 1960s, I found this tremendously exciting. Malcolm X tried to recruit my father to teach Islam in Central America. But my father said he was too independent. My mother observed how the brothers always looked good, but the women dressed like maids wearing potato sacks. They did, however, cook great meals at their local restaurant."
Embracing Islam After high school. White enrolled at Bethune-Cookman College in Daytona Beach, Florida. It was there that he would embrace the doctrine of the Nation of Islam. "Although it was a United Methodist school, Bethune-Cookman was known as the Little Mecca of the South," White said in Inside the Nation of Islam, a book he's written about his Muslim experience. "There I became friends with a karate expert, Sam Savage, who was a Black Muslim. Brother Savage had a wonderful way of sliding through traffic to sell his materials. Yet he was strictly about business, making money, keeping in shape, promulgating the religion. He represented the strong black male image of the Nation." White practiced karate with Savage, but it would take him longer before he adopted the mans faith. Although he studied Islam, he continued to take Sunday communion at the Episcopal church near campus. Afterwards, he would walk over to the 6 ILLINOIS HERITAGE AME church and attend its service. In part because it did not require converts to discard their native cultures, Islam had spread early and widely among the black peoples of Africa. But among slaves in America it was forbidden because owners feared it could influence rebellion. By the mid Nineteenth Century most slaves had lost understanding of their original faith and converted to Christianity. Not until more than two generations after the Emancipation Proclamation would Islam again surface among African Americans. And when it did it was often more of a call to racial pride and nationalism than a call to prayer. In 1913 in New Jersey, the Moorish Science Temple became the nation's first Black Muslim religious group. Its founder, Noble DrewAli, published his own version of the Quran. By 1928, the Moorish Temple in Chicago had 1,200 members. But during the Depression the Moorish movement's eminence was eclipsed by a new organization in Detroit. The new movement grew from one man's search for faith and another's zeal to foster it. The first man, Elijah Poole, was born in Georgia in 1897. As a boy, he saw a deacon in his father's church lynched. In his early twenties he moved to Detroit where he became a Pullman porter. He attended several Moorish Temple lectures and found hope in Marcus Garvey's Back to Africa movement and its concepts of black pride, self help, and separation of the races. But when he met the second man, Wallace Fard Muhammad, he found God. Fard sold household products and silk clothes from door to door in Detroit's black community. Whenever he could, he also spread the word of Allah. Sometimes he even offered to clean a family's house for free in order to get a captive audience. When he had that audience, he spoke of Africa's greatness in the realms of art, culture and science. He said that his silks were like what their ancestors had worn in Mecca. And he preached that all blacks were good and whites were devils.
Elijah was enamored. A man who worked for free must be speaking the truth. Soon after meeting Fard, he joined the latter's Nation of Islam in the Wilderness of North America. He changed his last name to Muhammad. He adopted a Muslim diet. And when Fard disappeared without word or trace in 1934, he became the Nation's leader. Fard was God and Savior; Elijah was his last prophet. Through personal charisma, militant anti-white oratory and occasional alleged violence, he led the movement until his death in 1975. When his young disciple, Malcolm X, began to challenge him in leadership and popularity, Elijah expelled him from the Nation. And when Malcolm converted to a mainstream form of Islam and renounced his past racism, many people believed that Elijah orchestrated his assassination in 1965." When Elijah died, his son Wallace Muhammad succeeded him. A friend of Malcolm X, Wallace disbanded the nation's paramilitary group, the Fruit of Islam, and promoted traditional and nonracial Islamic tenets. These changes brought a decline in mosque membership and also heated rivalries within the organization. Among Wallace's most outspoken opponents was a former Malcolm X protege, Louis (Walcott) Farrakhan. Embracing Farrakhan Farrakhan was an Episcopalian and a calypso singer until a friend invited him to a 1957 address by Elijah Muhammad. He was so impressed by the elderly Muhammad that he joined the Nation that evening. Several months later he met Malcolm X outside a Boston nightclub. Soon he started attending Malcolm's temple in Boston and became his dedicated student. The new convert rose quickly to become captain, then minister of the mosque. A gifted orator, he Farrakhan preached thrift, honesty, race solidarity and that whites were devils. He added music and theatrics to his services. By decade's end, he had the Nation's fastest growing temple. A loyal disciple of Elijah Muhammad, he proved ready and willing to criticize Wallace Muhammad's departure from his father's doctrine. It was during the height of the Farrakhan/Wallace Muhammad feud that Vibert White would join the Nation of Islam. "In the 1970s there was a rebirth of the black culture of pride," he said. "A lot of college students like myself wanted to get involved, to do something for race. We wanted to fight and destroy racism, create an egalitarian society. There weren't many good groups on the horizon. We thought the NAACP was out of touch. Jesse Jackson was still living his dream with King. CORE and SNCC and the SCLC had died. So therefore came this guy, Louis Farrakhan, preaching aggressive rhetoric on all the campuses of the country." White did not immediately ILLINOIS HERITAGE 7
subscribe to the new firebrand. In fact, he actually blamed Farrakhan and Wallace Muhammad together for "destroying the potential of Elijah Muhammad's work." But as a student leader and member of the track and karate teams, he found himself sitting next to Farrakhan when he spoke at Bethune-Cookman. White said the lecture was "brilliant and stunning," but he remained unimpressed. During the question and answer session that followed, he thought he could do some impressing of his own. "Minister Farrakhan," he asked, "what's the big issue with you and Wallace Muhammad?" "The question cut through the crowd," White remembers in his book. "In an angry tone Farrakhan replied, Yes, we have problems. But don't you or anyone else get involved with our issue. This is a damn Muslim affair— leave it alone!'" At first White was taken aback. But for the next two years he attended virtually all Farrakhan lectures in Florida. In his remaining two years at Bethune-Cookman, he read the works of Elijah Muhammad and other Muslims. Ala Farrakhan, he wore dark suits and bowties. He referred to blacks as brothers or sisters and to whites as devils. He graduated from Bethune-Cookman with a history degree in 1980, but would not formally join the Nation until his graduate school days at Purdue University. There he came under the tutelage of Professors Harold Woodman and Darlene Clarke-Hine. "Woodman taught me how to separate intellectual inquiry from emotional feelings about the Nation," White said. Clarke-Hine's counsel was similar in content, but delivered quite differently. "During spring break. Professor Clarke-Hine and her husband held a party in their apartment," White said. "In the midst of the dancing, drinking, eating and general good time, I put a Farrakhan record on the stereo. The professor emotionally responded, 'Not that Muslim stuff again. We're having a party!'" Years later in Ohio when he was a teacher himself, White would react the same way to his Muslim students. But at Purdue his enthusiasm for the Nation of Islam continued to grow. A trip to the Nation's Savior's Day celebration proved to be a turning point. Savior's Day commemorates the birth of Fard Muhammad, and the work of Elijah Muhammad. Although it had been an annual event, this celebration was the first held since Elijah's death five years before. Farrakhan delivered a four-hour address. In it he implied that the White House, Senate, Congress, Jews, Israel, Arabs, Communists, Uncle Tom blacks and even Elijah's family conspired to murder Elijah. "But according to Farrakhan, they missed the mark," White said. "Even though they injected the Messenger with a serum to cause congestive heart failure, Elijah Muhammad escaped death. Farrakhan said Elijah had rejected death because he was indeed the risen Christ and that he was as alive as anyone in the group. " I jumped up immediately, looking for Elijah to walk onto the stage. I left with a renewed dedication to become an activist for Farrakhan's Nation of Islam." White joined the Nation at its storefront mosque, Number Seventy-Four, in Indianapolis. The commitment would last 16 years. While still at Purdue, the new convert sold the movements Final Call newspaper in Indianapolis. He verbally harassed people to attend a Farrakhan lecture. As a member of the revitalized Fruit of Islam, he had to attend every Farrakhan lecture within a 500 mile radius. Shortly after receiving his masters degree in history, White moved to Chicago. There he worked for the Nation out of its headquarters at 79 and Emerald. He taught a history class to Fruit of Islam members that was duplicated at mosques throughout the country. He taught kickboxing. He studied Farrakhan's audiotape series Respect for Life. In time, although he already had misgivings about his calling, he became a minister in the Nation. White's faith was briefly revitalized, however, in 1984 when he enrolled at Ohio State University to pursue a Ph.D. in 20th Century American history. He started attending the Columbus mosque and by 1985 was its minister. In that position, he organized security escorts through gang-infested neighborhoods for elderly blacks. When women in his congregation complained about unequal treatment, he organized a black-tie appreciation dinner for them. 8 IILLINOIS HERITAGE
After objections from some members, he held a dance and skating party for Muslim youth. He encouraged members to enroll in college. He struggled to keep the mosque's finances on an even keel when most of its members' contributions were going to national headquarters in Chicago and none were coming back. He endured the sometimes violent disruption of mosque meetings and the destruction of his automobile. Confronting Disillusion Finally White had to confront his disillusionment. "The rhetoric that was being taught—that's all it was," he said. "No one knows the real Farrakhan. His followers say he's a prophet, Jesus, even a Christ. Critics say a Hitler, a Jim Jones, a disciple of evil. The objective viewer sees an even more confused man, unsure if he wants to be a preacher, politician, race advocate, family man or corporate magnate. At this point, I do not think that even Farrakhan knows who he is...because he has never taken the time to identify himself and the objective of the Nation. "I believe that you join an organization from within. Even though it may be reactionary, there may be signs within the organization that it can change for the good of the people. So you stay and you work. You try to educate and promote an idea that would be good for the group. I was always hoping that the leadership of the organization would come face to face with their inequalities and contradictions and hypocrisy and change. When Farrakhan used to tell me, 'Well, we're working on this' or 'Brother Vibert, work on this problem and bring it to me and we can change it,' I believed him. Ultimately I realized that neither he nor anyone else within the top brass wanted to change anything because they had too good a thing going. And that good thing was making money. "So I had to make a way out. I had to. But I had to be very cautious. As the West Indians say, don't jerk if your hand is in the lion's mouth. If I wasn't careful, I could have become a target for physical harm. If you're a white man in the black ghetto, the safest place for you is to walk past a Nation of Islam temple. They have guards, but if anything the guards will protect you. However, they will attack their own membership. If there is a black Mafia in the United States, the Nation is like that. Once you're in, you're in for life." White finished his doctorate and began serious pursuit of his academic career. He taught at the University of Cincinnati. He curated exhibits for the Ohio Historical Society, the National African-American Museum and the National Park Service, among others. He published widely in academic journals and popular magazines. As a sideline, he started a travel agency, Destinations of the Diaspora. And although he did not renounce the Nation, he continued to distance himself from it. "I elevated my assistant to the ministry," he said. "Then I started traveling more—I started getting lost. They'd ask me to come to Chicago and I'd find a way to be out of the country. "As long as there is racism and bigotry in the United States, the Nation will have an audience. But will the Nation feed these people practical skills and an education that will enhance their lives? The answer is a dismal 'No.' In 1990 I came fully to terms with the fact that the doctrine I had followed was divisive and destructive to the overall development of African-American society."
Making the Break White might have made his final break from the Nation even sooner had it not been for the Million Man March in Washington in 1995. He calls this event "the greatest black march demonstration in American history." He believes no one else but Farrakhan could have pulled it off. Still, it led to greater disillusionment for him. "I spent many hours and days in Chicago having meetings with Minister Farrakhan and the whole group," he said. "But in reality that was nothing but a show. They wanted to give the impression that the Million Man March was going to represent various ideas in the black community. But that was all they had—an idea. They would not tolerate any questions regarding the cost of the event or its specific agenda." Still, White hoped for the march's success. Through his travel agency, he arranged bus travel to and from Washington for men in Ohio, West Virginia and Michigan. And on October 16, he stood with his brothers and listened to Farrakhan's two-hour address. But when the Minister had ILLINOIS HERITAGE 9 the venue to give his own "I Have a Dream" speech, White believes he squandered the moment. "By most accounts it was the worst speech he had ever delivered to a black audience," White said in his book. "It even lacked personal enthusiasm." Soon after the march Farrakhan left on an extended trip to court support among Muslim countries. Finally it was time for White to leave, too. He applied for and won the position as chair of the African-American studies program at the University of Illinois at Springfield (UIS). When he left Ohio in 1996, he also left the Nation of Islam. But his anger toward Farrakhan remained. "I'll probably be angry until the day I die," White said. "He's exploiting poor people—people who come to him to be told which way to go. People who are making twelve, fourteen, fifteen thousand a year. People who are giving 50 percent of their income. People who are selling their homes, getting second mortgages, selling their cars, shaking down drug pushers and selling the drugs themselves. You don't hear anything about that." Through Inside the Nation of Islam, White has given voice to those stories and many more. Subtitling it A Historical and Personal Testimony by a Black Muslim, he wrote much of the book in Springfield. In the academic world, the byword is "publish or perish." For White, his friends feared it might be "publish and perish." Farrakhan invited him to Chicago one last time and asked to read the manuscript prior to publication. But White refused. He was telling his story. The University Press of Florida published Inside the Nation of Islam last year. The subject of Farrakhan and the environment that created him cannot be well understood with just one book. But Inside is primary documentation presented with masterful style. The line "Farrakhan's militant language increased with each inhalation" must have made White soar. It certainly helped the book rise to the academic bestseller list. Newspapers from Brazil to Jerusalem to Chicago have reviewed it favorably. And there have been no repercussions from the Nation or Minister Farrakhan. Embracing New Philadelphia Now White is focusing on an entirely different aspect of African-American history—the movement to recreate New Philadelphia. The town's founder, Francis "Free Frank" McWorter, was born a slave in South Carolina in 1777. While in his forties, he purchased freedom for his wife and himself. A decade later, he bought 80 acres of land in Pike County about 65 miles west of Springfield and platted it into 144 lots. From their sale, reports his great-great granddaughter, Juliet Walker, he planned to purchase the freedom of other family members. In this spirit of brotherly love, he incorporated the settlement as New Philadelphia. Before he died in 1854, he'd purchased freedom for 15 additional kin. How many other blacks may have passed through town on their way to freedom is a subject for further study. The Underground Railroad, however, was quite active in Quincy and nearby settlements. New Philadelphia's population peaked at about 60 before the Civil War. Residents came from as far away as Boston and England. A dozen were white. But when the railroad bypassed it in 1869, the town dwindled away. Today only a few foundation remnants remain. Juliet Walker, now a history professor at the University of Texas, formed a foundation in 1990 to recreate the village. When the foundation was unable to buy the site, she decided to focus on restoring the nearby cemetery where Free Frank is buried. Meanwhile, a group of Pike County residents formed the New Philadelphia Association in 1998 to work toward the same general goals. Its president, Griggsville farmer Phil Bradshaw, recruited White to join the project. White, in turn, persuaded UIS to put up $50,000 in seed money to aid the effort. With part of those funds, he's holding an invitational conference in this spring. Scholars from all over the country will be asked to attend and discuss the possibilities. "Once this project becomes known, scores of organizations and individuals will want to take it and develop it," White said. "It's a great find. It's a historical project, but it also aligns with anthropology, sociology and other schools of thought. And it will definitely have an impact on tourism. New Philadelphia came at a time when people like David Walker were saying that blacks should rebel against slavery. Nat Turner and others were starting their rebellions. But this was a black town that tried to be self sufficient in a time of racial strife and misunderstanding. It was based on self help ideas—on Americanism—and ultimately it became an integrated community. I'm sure we'll place Lincoln there." "You can't end racism," White would say later. "It's a visceral issue. Basically you have to force yourself, you have to commit yourself to loving your neighbor as yourself and wanting for your neighbor as yourself. You have to treat people equally and with sensitivity." Perhaps that will be part of the lesson of New Philadelphia. Embracing Springfield A study by Sangamon State University, UIS's predecessor, found that people who live in a town for seven years are likely to stay there a lot longer. Although White did not plan a long stay in Springfield, he's been here nearly six years now. He and his wife are expecting their second child. They're looking for a house. He's trying to convince UIS to expand the African-American studies program into one that examines all ethnic groups that comprise our society. Among other places, he worships at the Baha'i Center. He's a member of Rotary International and attends Republican Club meetings. He thinks about running for elective office someday. And on February 12 at the Abraham Lincoln Association symposium, he was commentator for a panel whose members included Lerone Bennett Jr., an early icon. Springfield: it's not just a job—it's a community. And now Vibert White is part of it. Will the rest be history? 10 IlLLINOlS HERITAGE |
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