You Know Who I Am.......

Inspired by the “Essence 25” speech delivered by Oprah Winfrey, written
by Khephra Burns


Man, look at me! Not even one month old
and calling for a revolution. Truth be told,
I was a revolution.

I'm 53 now. A man of my time. A product of
my own generation. I know who I am.

I was conceived in the struggle, when Black
Power and the Freedom Movement
mated in a hotbed of social unrest.

When I was born in the dawn of the new
decade I cried,''Black is beautiful!
Brotherhood is powerful!'' I had emerged full-grown,
the real Adonis. And had a nine-inch
Afro to prove it.

Fact is, I was fine, and for the first time,
I knew it. Knew that I was stunning in all my
licorice-black, cocoa-brown, caramel and
cafe'-au-lait skin tones.

I turned 400 years of pain into pride as for
the first time I was loving the soft contours
of my African nose, my full, luscious lips
and the ample, round behind that Black women
call my onion `cause it brings tears to their
eyes. Said I had more English in the small of
my back than Webster had in the dictionary.

But never mind English. Habari Gani, sister.
Habari Gani, brother. In the `70's we had
decided to speak Swahili. . .and you were going
to liberate some of this good lovin' in the
name of the revolution. But then, when I
turned to wage the struggle on the gender
front, the revolutionary fire and rhetoric
just went right out of you. Mmm hmm. It's all
right here in the book. My diary for the last 53 years.

Oh, I know you loved me. How could you help
yourself, when I was too beautiful to be
ignored, too determined to be denied, much
too outspoken to be seen and not heard, and
otherwise just too marvelous for words?

Back then they called me Martin Luther King,
Malcolm X and Cassius Clay. That was
me who marched into Atlantic City and told
the Democratic Convention I was sick and
tired of being sick and tired. I had a
history of tired in my bones. Not the kind of
tired that makes you want to sit down, but
makes you want to get up.

I was the voice of the Black revolution. I
was a Black candidate for president
too. They called me a nervy so-and-so, a
troublemaker, a subversive. Reverend Jesse Jackson.

I've been called a lot of things lately --
congressman, surgeon general,
secretary of energy, mayor and more.
At 53 I'm a Renaissance man, already a
legend in my prime.

Forgive me if I boast a bit, but I am an
Emmy-winning, Oscar-copping, Grammy-grabbing,
Pulitzer Prize poet and Nobel Laureate,
beloved. My word, yes, I'm bookish. On
everybody's bestseller list. Seems like all
my best conjure comes out in words. Words
that cast spells like the songs of Solomon,
like jazz. Words that possess the secret of joy.

I know you know me. I was that sass-mouthed
colored boy on Broadway who couldn't just
sing a nice somewhere-over-the-rainbow song.

I spoke for the tree and the rock and the
river when morning dawned and a rallying
pulse kept hope alive in America.

My byline alone would fill a volume or two.
I'm Langston Hughes and Gregory Hines. I’m Harry Belefonte and
Bill Cosby. Look me up sometime, I'm in the book.

I've gone from Motown to Tinseltown, but I've
never forgotten where I came from. I went
from lead singer supreme to Hollywood's first
leading man in a big-screen Black love story. I’m Billy Dee.
But I haven't forgotten that
back before my time Bill Robinson could only dance in the movies.

I've given my own talent a two-thumbs-up,
`cause 53 years of raves right here say
brother acts, in Raisin in the Sun and Sounder, Malcolm X
and The Color Purple. You saw my name when
the credits rolled. I'm Sidney Poitier, Brock Peters, and
Wesley Snipes and Denzel Washington and Danny Glover.
I’m Blair Underwood and Robert Townsend. I'm Spike Lee.

I'm a Hollywood mogul and an entertainment empire.
I'm Puff Daddy. I’m Kanye West.

I've had to orchestrate my own fanfare for 53
years, so forgive me if I toot my horn for
another chorus or two. But from R&B to pop,
from rap to rock, everything I touch turns to
gold. I've battled my way into the opera
houses. I sing jazz. I am jazz. And my song
is simply unforgettable.

You know me. But just for the record, I'm
Nat King Cole and Ray Charles, Jackie Wilson and Eddie Kendricks, Prince and Michael Jackson. I'm Bobby Short, Marvin Gaye
and Donny Hathaway. And oh, by the way,
I run the company now, too. Say you didn't
catch my name? I'm Berry Gordy, Jr.

Olympic in stride and epic in my progress, I
have triumphed in every field of endeavor.
I'm the fastest man in the world, the
president of a Fortune 500 company and a
space-shuttle astronaut. I'm Michael Jordan, Mr. Johnson, thank you, and your friendly Superman.

Like an Afro-American Express card,
I'm everywhere you want to be.

I stole the runways of Paris and redefined
fine as a tall, breathtaking, dark-skinned silouette.
I am a fashion statement. Here's my book. I'm Kristian Alexis Perry.

And my look? 53 years ago, my `do was all
picks and `fros and Afro-puffs. But today you
might see me straightened, braided, bald,
twisted, dyed or locked in a
dreadful headful, all woolly woven down
around my strong brown shoulders. Yeah Baby.

Just so there's no mistaking my identity,
I am free, Black and 53, independent of mind
and centered in the spirit. I know who I am.
I'm only telling you `cause I think you
should know who you're dealing with.

But mine is an open book, a public diary.
I didn't write it to read you. I love you.
Say, brother and sister, look here, you've even got your own
page, to tell me what's in your heart.
I tell you what's in mine.

Over the last 53 years I have soared and
stumbled, but always forward. I'm only 53,
but I've been around, and I've been
there. . . for you, my sister, and for you,
my brother, all along. You know me, I'M BLACK, AND I'M BEAUTIFUL.