Malcolm X Bio: Are We Missing the Point?

There's been a great hue and cry over Manning Marable's biography of the slain leader and its assertions about his sexuality. But focusing only on that part of this important book is a mistake.


The fact that no credible writer can write about Malcolm X without referring to the oft-quoted eulogy by Ossie Davis underlines just how central gender and sexuality are to understanding the black experience in America. For indeed, “Malcolm was our manhood.” Manning Marable’s recent and controversial biography of the man of many names, Malcolm X: A Life of Reinvention, does not miss this important analytical framework, even though it seems that many of us in the black community would prefer that it did.

Before the work had even lived under public scrutiny for a week, it suffered attacks on its character. The reason: Somebody heard someone saying something about Brother Malcolm being gay! Of all things, we could take the prostrations of a Malcolm Little under racist paternalism. We could even tolerate the shady dealings and criminality of Detroit Red. But a queer or even a queered Malcolm X who may not have been as faithful to his wife as commonly thought is apparently insupportable.

A few months before Marable’s exhaustive work on Malcolm was published, I came across the letter addressed to Elijah Muhammad in which Malcolm confided his inability to sexually satisfy his wife. This document rocked my image of Malcolm. His autobiography had helped guide me into manhood. Somehow, I just knew that the handsome, aggressive black leader had a lively sex life. Was it a considerable coincidence that my own ideas of black consciousness came from this man who exuded masculinity?  

The few pages of Marable’s book that suggest possible infidelities on the part of our saintly prince Malcolm and his wife, Dr. Betty Shabazz, are not the only sexually related topic that Marable explores. In fact, one could argue that Marable’s achievement is his synthesis of an abundance of historical facts into a narrative sensitive but not beholden to feminist and Marxist perspectives. It is as if Marable used a series of appropriate lenses to turn an overwhelming body of information into a fine, laser-precise beam of light, exposing not just the best approximation of the truth of Malcolm’s life to date but also describing the larger political, social and intellectual movements of his moment.

From the beginning of Malcolm’s life, when he felt betrayed by his mother’s mental breakdown, to his roaring 20s, when he deemed his banishment to jail a result of a white woman’s trickery, he had internalized a sexist, even misogynist, ethic. Accordingly, Malcolm sympathized with Elijah Muhammad’s teachings, which insisted on female inferiority, and was comforted in the homosocial intimacy of the Nation of Islam’s brotherhood.

Nevertheless, Malcolm’s issue with women is not what the book is “about.” Even though the salacious tidbits have made headlines, the treasure chest of revelation is not doing much to break what Marable himself has called the conspiracy of silence around Malcolm by both his enemies and those closest to him. Marable provides evidence that some hope will reopen the case against Malcolm’s killers, which has attracted the attention of the Justice Department.

The most significant, and perhaps overlooked, element of the book is what Malcolm means to the entire world, particularly in an age when political Islam and people of color across the world are contesting the subjugated roles established by the West. In an essay published a few years ago, Marable wrote: “Malcom X was potentially a new type of world leader, personally drawn up from the ‘wretched of the earth’ into a political stratosphere of international power. Telling that remarkable, true story is the purpose of my biography.”

So why hasn’t the popular response to the definitive biography of a central figure of the black freedom movement focused on the global significance of Malcolm?