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Sweet Black Ass

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As a photojournalist on assignment, I had traveled to this militant housing compound just outside Detroit, Michigan. It housed nearly three hundred Islamic Afrikan Americans whose recent political antics had begun to invite national media interest, and I was there to try to get to the crux of their furor.

The Movement was headed by some 38-year-old, would-be prophet, who wanted drastic social change in America. His credo was that a horrendously catastrophic occurrence had to take place in
America before any kind of valid, wholly beneficial social/cultural/political change for β€œall people” could be realized. And he was loudly declaring that he was β€œa vehicle” sent to precipitate that catastrophe.

At the outset, their protests had been the usual outcry against racial/social injustice and a demand for equality. But lately there seemed to have been some radical Islamic infiltration with the movement, which resulted in a bit of newsworthy insurgencies. So I was there to ferret out to what degree that radical Islamic influence was; and to what degree they had planned to travel with their revolutionary premise.

I spotted Khashdar. He was carrying a several books as he stepped out of a corner grocery store. I waved Hello and he came bounding over. He is a magni
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