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Malcolm X and Martin Luther King Jr. talk after the Georgia civil rights leader’s press conference at the U.S. Capitol in 1964.
It’s in the low 70s and partly cloudy in Washington when members of the Senate gather on March 26, 1964. There are two motions on the agenda this Thursday morning. The first is a noncontroversial one: to call up the civil rights bill that has recently been passed by the House of Representatives. The second is less predictable: Should the Senate refer the bill to the Judiciary Committee for a ten-day review?
The Civil Rights Act of 1964 has had a bit of trouble moving forward, due to filibusters from several Southern senators, including the notoriously long-winded Strom Thurmond, a South Carolina Democrat. One week ago, Thurmond held the floor for nearly six hours. And just two days ago, Thurmond spoke for nearly three hours, with just a few senators in the chamber listening to his denunciations of the bill. During these drone-fests, senators often read newspapers or sifted through their mail, nodding from time to time as others sipped their drinks.
The only way to stop these filibusters is through cloture—a two-thirds majority of senators would need to agree to limit the hours of debate—but with conservative opposition, the votes aren’t there. Thanks to these maddening filibusters, the general public has largely given up on attending.
This morning is different.
Malcolm X wants to see a filibuster. More than that, he’s hoping to establish himself as a leader independent of Elijah Muhammad, his former longtime spiritual mentor. Malcolm officially parted ways with the Nation of Islam (NOI) in early March, but he’s been upset with the NOI and Muhammad for years. Besides Muhammad’s extramarital behavior, Malcolm remains dissatisfied with Muhammad’s failure to respond to the wrongful death of NOI official and Korean War veteran Ronald Stokes two years earlier. Los Angeles police had raided an NOI mosque and killed the unarmed Stokes, and Malcolm wanted justice for his fallen brother.
Without ever working together, Malcolm’s and King’s ideas complement each other. Despite this symbiosis, the media can’t help but describe them as opposites working against each other.
Starting a new civil rights–minded organization hasn’t been easy. The NOI is furious at Malcolm for embarrassing Muhammad and the organization. Many Americans consider Malcolm and his volatile rhetoric a menace. Malcolm’s base is in Harlem, and he has set up his new religious organization, Muslim Mosque, Inc., on the second floor of the Hotel Theresa. His support in Harlem is strong, but still there are gaps. For a mid-March story on Malcolm, journalist Dick Schaap asked a few Harlem residents for their views on the man. The answers ranged from Malcolm being a “genius” to a “creation of the white press” and a “phony.”
On that Thursday morning, Malcolm flies from New York to Washington, D.C. In one week, he is set to give a speech in Cleveland, so on the short flight he may have been working on crafting his message. After reaching the Capitol, Malcolm heads to the office of Adam Clayton Powell, who represents Harlem in the House of Representatives. A small group of his supporters, including James 67X, meet Malcolm near Powell’s office, where they pick up Senate Gallery visitor’s passes. Around 9 a.m., Malcolm grabs a seat on one side of the visitors’ section in the gallery. Sitting far across from him is a familiar face, a man he’s never met in person.
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As he sits in the gallery, his brother Philbert X is holding a press conference in Chicago. Unknown to Malcolm, Philbert, under pressure from Elijah Muhammad, denounces his younger brother’s defection from the Nation of Islam. Malcolm has his loyalists, but they are unorganized and few, especially compared to the man sitting across from him, a Baptist preacher who grew up in a segregated Atlanta, just two hours north of Reynolds, Georgia, where Malcolm’s father was born and raised.
Martin Luther King Jr. doesn’t need to see a filibuster. He’s been surrounded all his life by so-called “Dixiecrats,” so whatever they want to say, he’s most likely heard versions of it in Georgia or Alabama. King has traveled to D.C. to attend two meetings and hold a press conference. The first is a gathering with around two dozen Black ministers. King wants to strategize how the Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC) can help propel the civil rights bill past the stalling Southern senators. He knows, as do the other ministers, that the opponents are just warming up and that they need to instill a sense of urgency among their supporters in Congress.
Before King takes a seat in the visitors’ gallery, he meets with Minnesota Sen. Hubert Humphrey, who’s been attempting to rally enough senators around a cloture vote. With other supportive senators nearby, King reiterates that he wants “the strongest possible bill,” but the priority is “a bill that can get through” the Senate. Humphrey agrees. His meetings finished, King takes his seat with other SCLC members: Ralph Abernathy, his best friend and the group’s vice president; the Rev. Fred Shuttlesworth; and D.C. bureau director Walter Fauntroy. No doubt he sees Malcolm X seated across the way.
Speaking days earlier to a reporter, King said that Malcolm’s decision to start a new organization “won’t get to first base—if we continue to make progress in civil rights.” But, he continues, if the bill doesn’t pass, it will cause all “the irresponsible, violent forces to take over.” King doesn’t mention Malcolm, but the implication is clear.
But after numerous delays in the past week, the Southern senators decide not to filibuster. Instead, the first vote begins—to officially call up the civil rights bill. By 9:21 a.m., this bill passes by a quick, effortless vote, 67 to 17. It’s not a stretch to think that, with two of the most important Black leaders in the balcony, Sens. Thurmond and Richard B. Russell of Georgia, the other leading segregationist, may have been leery of using their standard tactic. Filibusters are chock-full of offhanded comments just to kill time, and the last thing these senators want to do is provide talking points for King or Malcolm.
Still, the perpetual filibustering by the Southern contingent concerns both Black leaders. Malcolm feels that a more aggressive approach is necessary, such as envisioning the mobilization of a “black nationalist army,” like Marcus Garvey’s uniformed Universal Negro Improvement Association members in the early 20th century. According to historian David Garrow, FBI wiretaps in March found King discussing a possible “hunger strike” with his strategist, the Rev. Wyatt Walker. The longer the filibuster, the longer King would go without food.
Without ever working together, Malcolm’s and King’s ideas complement each other. Despite this symbiosis, the media can’t help but describe them as opposites working against each other. Robert Boyd, writing in the Detroit Free-Press, states that Malcolm and King are “as far apart in their thinking as the pro-civil rights Senator Hubert Humphrey (D., Minn) and the anti-civil rights Senator James Eastland (D., Miss.).”
The second vote—to send the bill to the Judiciary Committee for ten days—takes longer. During this interlude, King’s press conference is set to begin in a nearby room. A few reporters spot Malcolm and they surround him before King’s event begins.
King gets an entire room—Malcolm, a huddle. He expresses mixed feelings about the bill, a “con game,” he calls it. “[I am] willing to support anything the Negro believes will help solve his problem … but I can tell you right now this bill won’t solve it. You can’t legislate good will … if this bill is passed, it will never be enforced. Enforcing it would bring a civil war to the South and a race war to the North.”
A reporter asks Malcolm about the potential for violence. “A Negro never initiates violence,” Malcolm says, “he only defends himself.” He adds, “A Negro is within his right to use any means to remove these injustices.” Malcolm gets another question about the November presidential election. How important is the Black vote for the Democrats? On this, Malcolm is clear and direct: “If the Democrats don’t get the Negro votes in the North, they will lose the election.”
He’s asked about the Jacksonville, Florida, riots touched off by the threatening remarks of segregationist mayor Haydon Burns, whose decision to jail people protesting peacefully against segregated hotels, theaters, and other public places caused hundreds of young Black residents to rebel. Malcolm doesn’t denounce the violence. Instead, he calls the Black Jacksonville rioters “victims defending themselves against their attackers.”
Wikimedia Commons
Malcolm X waiting for the March 26, 1964, press conference
Malcolm and James 67X enter the room and sit on a sofa between two chandeliers bolted to the walnut back wall. At least two dozen members of the media are seated in chairs around two long tables in the middle of the room. Papers and notes are scattered across the tables as King walks up to the podium.
King tells the press that he’s had a “most fruitful conference” with Sen. Humphrey and makes sure to mention that there is bipartisan support for the civil rights bill. And if there’s a delay? His answer showcases his ability to express strong opinions without inflaming white sensibilities. After six years at Crozer Theological Seminary and Boston University, King has mastered the semantic nuances of white intellectuals. So, unlike Malcolm’s “civil war” and “race war,” King navigates a narrow path between passivity and aggression.
“If there is a prolonged filibuster,” King says, “it will be necessary to engage in a creative direct-action program to dramatize the blatant injustice to Negroes. At first, we will try to persuade with our words. If we cannot persuade with our words, we will try to persuade with our deeds.”
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Another reporter asks King what he’ll do if the bill doesn’t pass. Again, King is poised and careful: “Realism impels me to admit that if this civil rights bill is not passed it will be more difficult for us who believe in non-violence to keep the demonstrations non- violent.” Then, he says, “my philosophy is non-violent. I think violence in our struggle would be impractical and immoral.” Asked if he’ll be content if the bill passes. “Oh no, we will not be content,” he says, “we cannot stop until we have absolute and full freedom.”
Later, when told about King’s comments, Thurmond seethes with annoyance: “King’s comments prove the futility of trying to appease lawless mobs. We were told we had to pass the civil rights bill to get the demonstrators out of the streets. Now King says the legislation will put them back in the streets.”
The press conference ends and the two men leave through two different doors. Neither man attempts to seek the other, but perhaps James 67X sees an opportunity to introduce the two. James 67X, according to Malcolm X biographer Manning Marable’s interview, guides “his boss around a marble column until he and King suddenly stood facing each other.”
Both men are surprised.
King speaks first and holds out his hand. “Well, Malcolm, good to see you.” “Good to see you,” Malcolm says. They shake hands and walk slowly up the corridor, photographers around them. “I’m throwing myself into the heart of the civil rights cause,” Malcolm says. They shake hands again as flashbulbs go off. Malcolm leans in to King’s ear and says with a sly grin: “Now you’re going to get investigated.” This comment produces broad smiles from both men.
His clear, uncomplicated words cut through the chains on black minds like a giant blow-torch.
Eleven months later, on February 21, 1965, Malcolm is shot and killed in Harlem’s Audubon Ballroom. He leaves behind his wife Betty, pregnant with twins, and four daughters.
On February 26, Betty Shabazz receives a telegram from Dr. King. Even though he and Malcolm “did not always see eye to eye on methods to solve the race problem, I always had a deep affection for Malcolm and felt that he had the great ability to put his finger on the existence and root of the problem."
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Malcolm X, 1964
According to King biographer David Levering Lewis, the brief meeting between the two men had plenty of “civil rights propaganda value” but “represented little in the way of intrinsic collaboration.” Yet Malcolm’s message of individual empowerment complements King’s “beloved community.” King does all he can to connect with urban African Americans; but Malcolm’s spiritual ties to them are stronger. In death, Malcolm achieves the influence he’d sought while alive, empowering a new generation of young Black men. Julius Lester, writing in August 1966 for Sing Out!, describes Malcolm’s impact: “His clear, uncomplicated words cut through the chains on black minds like a giant blow-torch.” But many ignore Malcolm’s several attempts to reach out to King and instead hold on to his fire and anger.
In a 2017 interview with Al-Jazeera, the late Rev. Dr. James H. Cone, the founder of Black liberation theology and author of Martin & Malcolm & America, spoke about their lasting influence on Black Americans: “Each of us,” says Cone, “has a little bit of Martin and a little bit of Malcolm in us.” King, he says, embodies Black Americans’ “desire to get along with everybody, including whites,” and “to create a society for all people, defined by nonviolence, love and care,” while “Malcolm represents that blackness in us, that sense that we don’t want white people messing with us. Malcolm represents that fire, that fight, that refuses to let anybody define who we are.”
