1924: Born August 2nd in New York’s Harlem Hospital.
1927: Emma Berdis Jones (Jimmy’s mother) married Reverend David Baldwin (Jimmy’s stepfather). Eight more children followed.
1930’s: Read avidly and began writing. Won numerous prizes from school, church and city for his early efforts.
1938: Began preaching at Fireside Pentecostal Assembly.
1942: Graduated from DeWitt Clinton High School. Renounced the ministry.
1943: His stepfather, Reverend David Baldwin, died.
1946: First book review published in The Nation, on Maxim Gorki. Won a Eugene Saxton Memorial Trust Fellowship.
1948: First short story published in Commentary: “Previous Condition.” Won a Rosenwald Foundation Fellowship. Made first of many trips to France (this time for a four-year stay).
1949: First essay published in Partisan Review: “Everybody’s Protest Novel.”
1952: Finished writing first novel, GO TELL IT ON THE MOUNTAIN, in Loèche-les-Bains, Switzerland.
1953: First novel, GO TELL IT ON THE MOUNTAIN, published by Knopf.
1954: Won a Guggenheim Fellowship. Second novel, GIOVANNI’S ROOM, rejected by Knopf because of its subject: homosexuality.
1955: First collection of essays, NOTES OF A NATIVE SON, published by Beacon. First play, THE AMEN CORNER, produced at Howard University, directed by Owen Dodson.
1956: Second novel, GIOVANNI’S ROOM, published by Dial. Won award from National Institute of Arts and Letters. Began writing third novel, ANOTHER COUNTRY, in Corsica. Won Partisan Review Fellowship.
1957: Made first of many trips through the South (participating in the civil rights struggle, a major preoccupation for the rest of his life). Met Martin Luther King for the first time. Began working with Elia Kazan as a playwright-in-training.
1958: Second novel, GIOVANNI’S ROOM, produced as a play by the Actor’s Studio, with Turkish actor Engin Cezzar in the role of Giovanni.
1959: Won a Ford Foundation grant.
1961: Second collection of essays, NOBODY KNOWS MY NAME, published by Dial. Continued working on third novel, ANOTHER COUNTRY, in William Styron’s guest cottage. Made first trip to Istanbul, where he finished ANOTHER COUNTRY.
1962: Third novel, ANOTHER COUNTRY, published by Dial. Made first trip to Africa.
1963: Best-selling essay, THE FIRE NEXT TIME, published first by the New Yorker, then by Dial (this was the first essay in history to spend forty-one weeks among the top five of the N.Y. Times’ Bestseller List). Won the George Polk Memorial Award. Historic meeting with Robert Kennedy, May 25th. Led civil rights demonstration in Paris, August 19th. Participated in March on Washington, August 28th. Made second trip to Africa.
1964: Finished writing second play, BLUES FOR MR. CHARLIE, in Istanbul. BLUES FOR MR. CHARLIE published by Dial and produced in the Anta Theater by the Actor’s Studio. Won the Foreign Drama Critics Award. NOTHING PERSONAL, a collaboration with photographer Richard Avedon, published by Atheneum.
1965: First collection of short stories, GOING TO MEET THE MAN, published by Dial. Debated William F. Buckley Jr. at Cambridge University, received a two-minute standing ovation. Made first trip to Israel, with European production of THE AMEN CORNER.
1966: Finished writing TELL ME HOW LONG THE TRAIN’S BEEN GONE in Rumeli Hisari, Turkey.
1968: First play, THE AMEN CORNER, finally published by Doubleday. Fourth novel, TELL ME HOW LONG THE TRAIN’S BEEN GONE, published by Dial. Agreed to write screenplay of “The Autobiography of Malcolm X” for Columbia Pictures; moved first to Los Angeles, then to Palm Springs while working on the script. Worked closely with Martin Luther King, Jr., raising funds for the SCLC. Martin Luther King assassinated, April 4th. Not long after King’s death, resigned the Malcolm X screenplay assignment and moved to St. Paul de Vence, France.
1969: Essay on “Black Anti-Semitism and Jewish Racism” published by Barron.
1970: Directed John Herbert’s play, “Fortune and Men’s Eyes,” in Istanbul.
1971: Dialogue between Baldwin and Margaret Mead, A RAP ON RACE, published by Lippincott. Essay, “An Open Letter to My Sister, Miss Angela Davis,” published in the New York Review of Books.
1972: Third collection of essays, NO NAME IN THE STREET, published by Dial. First screenplay, ONE DAY WHEN I WAS LOST: A SCENARIO BASED ON ‘THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF MALCOLM X’ published first by Joseph in London, then by Dial in New York. Conversation with black poet / activist Nikki Giovanni, A DIALOGUE, published by Lippincott. Narrative collaboration with musician Ray Charles performed at the Newport Jazz Festival.
1974: Fifth novel, IF BEALE STREET COULD TALK, published by Dial.
1976: Fourth collection of essays, THE DEVIL FINDS WORK, published by Dial. First children’s book, a collaboration with Yoran Cazac, LITTLE MAN, LITTLE MAN: A STORY OF CHILDHOOD, published by Dial.
1979: Sixth novel, JUST ABOVE MY HEAD, published by Dial. Conducted a month-long lecture series and writing workshop at the University of California in Berkeley. Made first trip to Russia, to participate in a symposium of prominent American and Soviet writers.
1983: Accepted Professorship of Literature and Afro-American Studies at the Five College Network in Amherst, Massachusetts (Amherst, Smith, Mount Holyoke, Hampshire and the University of Massachusetts).
1985: Collected non-fiction, THE PRICE OF THE TICKET, published by Marek/St. Martins. Essay on the Atlanta Murders, THE EVIDENCE OF THINGS NOT SEEN, published by Holt.
1986: Awarded France’s highest honor, La Légion D’Honneur, by President François Mitterand. Made second trip to Russia with group of prominent writers, to meet with Gorbachev and discuss world peace.
1987: Died of stomach cancer in St. Paul de Vence, France. Celebrated by thousands at a funeral service in New York’s Cathedral of St. John the Divine.
AWARDS and HONORS1945: Eugene F. Saxton Memorial Trust Award.
1948: Rosenwald Foundation Fellowship.
1954: Guggenheim Fellowship.
1956: Partisan Review Fellowship. National Institute of Arts and Letters Award.
1958: Ford Foundation Fellowship.
1962: National Conference of Christians and Jews Brotherhood Award.
1963: George Polk Award.
1964: The Foreign Drama Critics Award. Honorary Doctor of Letters Degree, University of British Columbia.
1976: Honorary Doctor of Letters Degree, Morehouse College.
1986: La Légion D’Honneur, France’s highest honor, awarded by President François Mitterand.
MEMBERSHIPS–Congress of Racial Equality.
–National Committee for Sane Nuclear Policy.
–National Institute of Arts and Letters.
1. African-American History - “It comes as a great shock around the age of five or six or seven to discover that the flag to which you have pledged allegiance, along with everybody else, has not pledged allegiance to you. It comes as a great shock to discover that Gary Cooper killing off the Indians, when you were rooting for Gary Cooper, that the Indians were you. It comes as a great shock to discover that the country which is your birthplace, and to which you owe your life and your identity, has not in its whole system of reality evolved any place for you.” - No Name In The Street
I HAVE OFTEN WONDERED, AND IT IS NOT A PLEASANT wonder, just what white Americans talk about with one another. I wonder this because they do not, after all, seem to find very much to say to me, and I concluded long ago that they found the color of my skin inhibitory, This color seems to operate as a most disagreeable mirror, and a great deal of one's energy is expended in reassuring white Americans that they do not see what they see. This is utterly futile, of course, since they do see what they see. And what they see is an appallingly oppressive and bloody history, known all over the world. What they see is a disastrous, continuing, present, condition which men- aces them, and for which they bear an inescapable responsibility. But since, in the main, they appear to lack the energy to change this condition, they would rather not be reminded of it. Does this mean that, in their conversations with one another, they merely make reassuring sounds? It scarcely seems possible, and yet, on the other hand, it seems all too likely.
Whatever they bring to one another, it is certainly not freedom from guilt
The guilt remains, more deeply rooted, more securely lodged, than the oldest of old trees; and it can be unutterably exhausting to deal with people who, with a really dazzling ingenuity, a tireless agility, are perpetually defending themselves against charges which one has not made. One does not have to make them. The record is there for all to read. It resounds all over the world. It might as well be written in the sky.
One wishes that Americans, white Americans, would read, for their own sakes, this record, and stop defending themselves against it. Only then will they be enabled to change their lives. The fact that Americans, white Americans, have not yet been able to do this- to face their history, to change their lives-hideously menaces this country. Indeed, it menaces the entire world.
For history, as nearly no one seems to know, is not merely something to be read. And it does not refer merely, or even principally, to the past. On- the contrary, the great force of history comes from the fact that we carry it within us, are unconsciously con- trolled by it in many ways, and history is literally present in all that we do. It could scarcely be other- wise, since it is to history that we owe our frames of reference, our identities, and our aspirations.
And it is with great pain and terror that one begins to realize this. In great pain and terror, one begins to assess the history which has placed one where one is, and formed one's point of view. In great pain and terror, because, thereafter, one enters into battle with that historical creation, oneself, and attempts to recreate oneself according to a principle more humane and more liberating; one begins the attempt to achieve a level of personal maturity and freedom which robs history of its tyrannical power, and also changes history.
But, obviously, I am speaking as an historical creation which has had bitterly to contest its history, to wrestle with it and finally accept it, in order to bring myself out of it. My point of view is certainly formed by my history and it is probable that only a creature despised by history finds history a questionable matter. On the other hand, people who imagine that history flatters them (as it does, indeed, since they wrote it) are impaled on their history like a butterfly on a pin and become incapable of seeing or changing them- selves or the world. "Unnameable Objects, Unspeakable Crimes"
2. Racism - "This innocent country set you down in a ghetto in which, in fact, it intended that you should perish. Let me spell out precisely what I mean by that for the heart of the matter is here and the crux of my dispute with my country. You were born where you were born and faced the future that you faced because you were black and for no other reason. The limits to your ambition were thus expected to be settled. You were born into a society which spelled out with brutal clarity and in as many ways as possible that you were a worthless human being. You were not expected to aspire to excellence. You were expected to make peace with mediocrity. Wherever you have turned, James, in your short time on this earth, you have been told where you could go and what you could do and how you could do it, where you could live and whom you could marry." Fire Next Time
"The American situation is very peculiar, and it may be without precedent in the world. No curtain under heaven is heavier than that curtain of guilt and lies behind which Americans hide: it may prove to be yet more deadly to the lives of human beings than that iron curtain of which we speak so much-and know so little. The American curtain is color. We have used this word, this concept, to justify unspeakable crimes, Dot only in the past, but in the present. One can measure very neatly the white American's distance from his conscience-from himself-by observing the distance between himself and black people. One has only to ask oneself who established this distance. Who is this distance designed to protect? And from what is this distance designed to protect him?
I have seen this very vividly, for example, in the eyes of Southern law enforcement officers barring, let us say, the door to the courthouse. There they stand, comrades all, invested with the authority of the community, with helmets, with sticks, with guns, with cattle prods. Facing them are unarmed black people--or, more precisely, they are faced by a group of un- armed people arbitrarily called black, whose color really ranges from the Russian steppes to the Golden Horn, to Zanzibar. In a moment, because he can resolve the situation in no other way, this sheriff, this deputy, this honored American citizen, must begin to club these people down. Some of these people may be related to him by blood; they are assuredly related to the black Mammy of his memory, and the black play- mates of his childhood. And for a moment, therefore, he seems nearly to be pleading with the people facing him not to force him to commit yet another crime and not to make yet deeper that ocean of blood in which his conscience is drenched, in which his man- hood is perishing. The people do not go away, of course; once a people arise, they never go away, a fact which should be included in the Marine hand. book; and the club rises, the blood comes down, and our crimes and our bitterness and our anguish are compounded. Or, one sees it in the eyes of rookie cops in Harlem, who are really among the most terrified people in the world, and who must pretend to themselves that the black mother, the black junkie, the black father, the black child are of a different human species than themselves. They can only deal with their lives and their duties by hiding behind the color curtain. This curtain, indeed, eventually becomes their principal justification for the lives they lead. But it is not only on this level that one sees the extent of our disaster. Not so very long ago, I found myself in Montgomery, with many, many thousands, marching to the Capitol. Much has been written about this march-for example, the Confederate flag was flying from the Capitol dome; the Federalized National Guard, assigned to protect the marchers, wore Confederate flags on their jackets..." "White Man's Guilt"
3. Human Rights - “Life is tragic simply because the earth turns and the sun inexorably rises and sets, and one day, for each of us, the sun will go down for the last, last time. Perhaps the whole root of our trouble, the human trouble, is that we will sacrifice all the beauty of our lives, will imprison ourselves in totems, taboos, crosses, blood sacrifices, steeples, mosques, races, armies, flags, nations, in order to deny the fact of death, which is the only fact we have. It seems to me that one ought to rejoice in the fact of death—ought to decide, indeed, to earn one's death by confronting with passion the conundrum of life. One is responsible to life: It is the small beacon in that terrifying darkness from which we come and to which we shall return. One must negotiate this passage as nobly as possible, for the sake of those who are coming after us.” The Fire Next Time"
"The white man's guilt, which he pretends is due to the fact that the world is a place of many colors, has nothing to do with color. If one attempts to reduce his dilemma to its essence, it really does not have much to do with his crimes, except in the sense that he has locked himself into a place where he is doomed to continue repeating them. The great, un admitted crime is what he has done to himself. A man is a man, a woman is a woman, and a child is a child. To deny these facts is to open the doors on a chaos deeper and deadlier, and, within the space of a man's lifetime, more timeless, more eternal, than the medieval vision of Hell. And we have arrived at this unspeakable blasphemy in order to acquire things, in order to make money. We cannot endure the things we acquire-the only reason we continually acquire them, like junkies on a hundred dollar a day habit-and our money exists mainly on paper. God help us on that day when the population demands to know what is behind the paper. But, beyond all this, it is terrifying to consider the precise nature of the things we buy with the flesh we sell." "White Man's Guilt"
5. The Role of Art in Social Change - "The role of the artist and the role of the lover. If I love you, I have to make you conscious of the things you don’t see." from “The Black Scholar Interviews James Baldwin,”Conversations with James Baldwin (edited by Fred L. Standley and Louis H. Pratt)
6. Organized Religion & Faith - "“If the concept of God has any validity or any use, it can only be to make us larger, freer, and more loving. If God cannot do this, then it is time we got rid of Him.” Fire Next Time
7. Expatriation - "There are days, and this is one of them, when you wonder: what your role is in this country, and what your future is in it.” from The Price of A Ticket
8. Human Progress, Hope & Limits - “All of us know, whether or not we are able to admit it, that mirrors can only lie, that death by drowning is all that awaits one there. It is for this reason that love is so desperately sought and so cunningly avoided. Love takes off the masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within. I use the word "love" here not merely in the personal sense but as a state of being, or a state of grace--not in the infantile American sense of being made happy but in the tough and universal sense of quest and daring and growth.” The Fire Next Time
9. Books and Literature - “You think your pain and your heartbreak are unprecedented in the history of the world. But then you read. It was books that taught me, that the things that tormented me the most were the very things that connected me with all the people who were alive, who have ever been alive.” - from the Dick Cavet Show interview 1981
“The role of the artist is exactly the same role, I think, as the role of the lover. If you love somebody, you honor at least two necessities at once. One of them is to recognize something very dangerous, or very difficult. Many people cannot recognize it at all, that you may also be loved; love is like a mirror. In any case, if you do love somebody, you honor the necessity endlessly, and being at the mercy of that love, you try to correct the person whom you love. Now, that’s a two-way street. You’ve also got to be corrected. As I said, the people produce the artist, and it’s true. The artist also produces the people. And that’s a very violent and terrifying act of love. The role of the artist and the role of the lover. If I love you, I have to make you conscious of the things you don’t see. Insofar as that is true, in that effort, I become conscious of the things that I don’t see. And I will not see without you, and vice versa, you will not see without me. No one wants to see more than he sees. You have to be driven to see what you see. The only way you can get through it is to accept that two-way street which I call love. You can call it a poem, you can call it whatever you like. That’s how people grow up. An artist is here not to give you answers but to ask you questions.”
— James Baldwin, “The Black Scholar Interviews James Baldwin,”Conversations with James Baldwin (edited by Fred L. Standley and Louis H. Pratt)
James Arthur Baldwin was born in Harlem, New York City, Aug. 2, 1924 and died on Nov. 30, 1987. He offered a vital literary voice during the era of civil rights activism in the 1950s and '60s. The eldest of nine children, his stepfather was a minister. At age 14 , Baldwin became a preacher at the small Fireside Pentecostal Church in Harlem. After he graduated from high school, he moved to Greenwich Village. In the early 1940s, he transferred his faith from religion to literature. Critics, however, note the impassioned cadences of Black churches are still evident in his writing. Go Tell It on the Mountain (1953), his first novel, is a partially autobiographical account of his youth. His essay collections [Notes of a Native Son (1955), Nobody Knows My Name (1961), and The Fire Next Time (1963)] were influential in informing a large white audience.