The 1960s racism row that brought Malcolm X calling
Story of visit by controversial American activist to hit the stage in new play
THE racial tension that spawned Malcolm X’s visit to a humdrum back street of the Midlands is now hard to comprehend – but the former Nation of Islam figurehead pulled no punches when he spoke to the local press.
“I have come because I am disturbed by reports that coloured people are being treated badly,” he said.
“I have heard they are being treated as Jews were under Hitler.”
Now the controversial American rights activist’s famed 1965 visit to the Midlands has been turned into a play.
Marshall Street, which begins touring local theatres at the end of this month, focuses on the stories behind some of those who met Malcolm X in Smethwick during the tour.
He visited the Black Country town west of Birmingham on February 12, 1965, following reports of strained race relations, and at the invitation of the Indian Workers Association.
Just nine days later, Malcolm X was assassinated – shot while attending a rally in Harlem, New York.
Marshall Street has been written by Smethwick artist Paul Magson and directed by Jon Morris.
It gets its name from the location of a blue plaque, erected in the street to commemorate the visit.
“I am always shocked that many local people don’t know about this important event in our recent history,” said Mr Magson.
“The politics and issues of the time
have never been more relevant as we grapple with hate crime, Brexit, ‘fake news’ and a whirlwind of politics.
“I hope the play will open up real conversations in local communities.”
in the mid-60s a hateful mantra surfaced in Smethwick: “If you want a n **** r for a neighbour, vote Labour.”
But the sickening slogan was not the anthem of tattooed, far-right tearaways intent on using racism as an outlet for the lager-laced violence that brewed within.
It was uttered by blue-rinsed, middle class women, the kind who railed against ‘nonsense’ plans to ditch golliwogs from jam-jars. The kind who would be mortally offended if dubbed ‘racist’. The kind who penned letters to their newspaper, the delightfully-named Smethwick Telephone, about Asian men ‘clearing their throats’ on pavements.
And to that end, they petitioned their local council to compulsorily purchase properties that came on the
market and let them to white families. That plan gained support at grassroots level, but was eventually scuppered by the Ministry of Housing.
Their paranoia grew with the arrival of every new Afro-Caribbean and Asian family, drawn by the foundries, until Marshall Street – for one fleeting moment in time – became the gaping wound from which the poison of middle-class racism oozed forth.
Malcolm X, a man once committed to total segregation of blacks and whites, did not come to Marshall Street on February 12 as a diplomat.
He came unheralded. He came with an army of black minders who outnumbered the thin ribbon of curious onlookers; he came with his own brand of venom.
When asked what steps should be taken, Malcolm X spat out: “I would not wait for the fascist elements in Smethwick to erect gas ovens.”
During his whistlestop visit, he also
addressed Birmingham University students’ union and the London School of Economics.
They were to be among his last public appearances.
Smethwick’s stream of discontent, which, thankfully, came to nothing, first spluttered into life during the 1964 general election, when Tory Peter Griffiths ousted Labour MP Patrick Gordon Walker by a massive 7.2 per cent swing.
It is accepted that some voters took the baton of racial resentment, and ran with it.
There were accusations in The News Telephone of children chanting the loathsome slogan, as if lisping a rhyme while skipping rope.
Griffiths always condemned the grimy views which stained Marshall Street’s lace curtains.
But he was also incensed by Malcolm X’s arrival, later saying: “To suggest that it is a colour problem is a libel on the people of Smethwick and a gross misunderstanding of the situation.
“It is easy to talk about it as a colour problem, but it is a matter purely and simply of housing.”
As a 20-year-old reporter on the patch, Bob Haywood, then working for The News Telephone, knew someone was needed to change colonial attitudes prevalent in Smethwick. Haywood’s strident socialist views almost cost him his job with the longgone weekly publication.
He is still not sure Malcolm X, Black Power’s most charismatic figurehead, was the man for the job.
“I suppose he would argue they’d tried all the other diplomatic stuff and it hadn’t worked,” says Haywood.
He was there when the militant stepped blinking into the winter sunlight that spread over Marshall Street.
Haywood recalls: “I don’t remember there being many people there, I don’t remember it being announced, to be honest. The general view was ‘Who is he?’.
“He did cut an imposing, intimidating figure. I remember him as a big man, but he probably wasn’t. The memory plays tricks – you never hear of anyone being mugged by someone smaller than themselves.”
“And,” he laughs, “how do you address someone called Malcolm X? Good morning, Mr X?”
Malcolm X was wrong. Gas ovens never came to Marshall Street, which now has a large Asian population.
But there are still painful lessons to be learnt from the racial intolerance that once threatened to tear Smethwick apart.