An Ethereal Conversation at the Vanguard: Malcolm X and Martin Luther King Jr. on the Weight of a Holiday
There is timeless coffee shop known simply as The Vanguard. It’s not flashy—no neon signs or bustling baristas shouting orders. The Vanguard is a place of quiet strength, a sanctuary for thinkers, dreamers, and change-makers. Its walls are lined with books from every era, its tables marked by the countless discussions of those who sat before, and its air forever thick with the aroma of perfectly brewed coffee and possibility.
This is where Malcolm X and Martin Luther King Jr. meet, time and time again. Not because it’s trendy, but because it’s familiar. Comfortable. Here, at The Vanguard, they sit at the corner table by the window, looking out at an endless horizon of light and opportunity. No need for a menu—they already know their orders.
Malcolm takes his coffee black, no sugar. “It’s justice in a cup,” he says with a smirk. Martin, ever the preacher with a soft spot for sweetness, opts for a mocha with extra whipped cream. “A little sweetness never hurt anybody, brother,” he says with a grin, stirring his cup.
The Vanguard isn’t just a coffee shop—it’s a space of communion, where the past, present, and future blend together like cream in a cup of coffee. The discussions here are endless (don’t let that go over your head), but they’re never idle. Ideas are born, debated, and refined, echoing across the universe, shaping the minds of those still on Earth.
And the best part? The Vanguard doesn’t belong to Malcolm and Martin alone. It’s where every trailblazer stops in after their work is done. Sojourner Truth has a regular seat at the counter, always sipping tea and reminding folks to “stay grounded.” Frederick Douglass pops in from time to time, notebook in hand, to jot down thoughts that still shape destinies. Ida B. Wells? She’s been known to commandeer entire tables for passionate debates.
This is The Vanguard. A coffee shop for the ages. A gathering place for those who lived and died for something greater than themselves. It’s not just a location—it’s a state of mind, a hub of purpose, and a home for truth-tellers. And if you listen closely enough, you might just hear their voices drifting from its doors, still shaping the future over steaming cups of eternity.
Today we find both ministers talking as they usually do but today is special. As always, their dialogue is spirited, filled with a mutual respect that transcends their earthly differences. The topic today? Martin’s holiday—and all the weight it carries.
Malcolm: “Brother, I’ve got to ask you something. Why is your holiday one of the most scrutinized in America? And why does it feel like they celebrate the man but ignore the message?”
Martin: (with a quiet smile) “Malcolm, I’ve thought about that more times than I can count, even here. You know as well as I do, the struggle wasn’t just about me—it was about dismantling the systems that uphold inequality. But some folks would rather polish a statue than challenge their privilege. A holiday is easy to celebrate. Justice, on the other hand, requires work and boots on the ground.”
Malcolm: “True. But you know it’s deeper than that. Your holiday represents a mirror, and they don’t like what they see. To celebrate you fully, they’d have to confront the fact that they’ve done almost nothing to build the Beloved Community you dreamed of. Your message about racism, poverty, and militarism? That wasn’t just radical—it was a direct challenge to everything this country values.”
Martin: (nodding) “And so they cherry-pick, don’t they? They reduce me to ‘I Have a Dream,’ and even that, they misunderstand. They ignore my call for reparations, my opposition to Vietnam, and my belief that true peace requires the redistribution of power. The holiday has become so sanitized that Coretta had to bring Mahalia over to sing to me to calm me down.”
Malcolm: (pleasantly laughing) “Man that woman knows she can sing.”
Martin: (nodding) “Yes lawd.”
Malcolm: “But that’s what I’m saying exactly. They celebrate you, the man, because it lets them off the hook. But if they were honest about what you stood for, your holiday would demand accountability. And you know how this country treats accountability—it avoids it like the plague brother. Probably because they released it. They’ve even weaponized your legacy to silence the rest of us. They pit me against you, paint me as the angry radical and you as the saint of nonviolence, when in reality, we were fighting the same battle from different angles.”
Martin: (smiling warmly) “The Plague? That’s funny on so many levels. But you’re right. You’re always right brother. They’ve tried to divide us in death just as they tried in life. But let me ask you this: why do you think they scrutinize the holiday so much? What’s at the heart of their resistance?”
Malcolm: (pausing for a moment) “Fear. There’s are a couple of brothers and sisters now speaking on White Fragility and White Fear, so I’m going to say fear is the motivation. They’re afraid of what your holiday represents—a reckoning. They know that if people truly embraced your teachings, it would unravel everything they’ve built. Their economic systems, their political dominance, their control over the narrative—it would all come crashing down. Your holiday isn’t just a day off work, Martin. It’s a threat. But our people are lost, dazed and confused.”
Martin: “Perhaps that’s why we keep fighting, even now. The holiday may be scrutinized, but it’s also a seed. A symbol. And symbols, when understood, can spark revolutions.”
Malcolm: “Maybe. But as long as they keep burying the truth—about you, about me, about our people—they’ll keep repeating the same cycles. They’ve been baiting and switching us for centuries. They give symbolic progress while holding back the real thing. Reconstruction, the Civil Rights Movement, Affirmative Action—it’s all the same game.”
Martin: (with resolve) “Then we must keep pushing for the truth to rise, brother. That’s why your voice and mine have to be remembered together. Your fire and my faith—they’re two sides of the same coin.”
Malcolm: (grinning) “Always the preacher. That’s why I loved you then and now. You speak from a place of authenticity. But you’re right. They’ll try to sanitize my message, too, one day. Maybe they already have. That’s why the work matters. It’s why the people must remember—not just the victories, but the struggle. Not just the dream, but the price of it.”
Martin: “And maybe, that’s the power of the holiday. If it’s scrutinized, it means it’s striking a nerve. And if it’s striking a nerve, it means there’s still hope for change.”
Malcolm: “Hope is good, brother. But action is better.”
Martin: (laughing) “Then let’s hope our people can do both.”