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The strange rise of a hatemonger - the growing power of Al Sharpton in NewYork City politics
National Review, March 20, 2000 by Jay Nordlinger
The problem with the alleged New Sharpton is that he is unsettlingly like the old one. In the tradition of Yasir Arafat, he speaks one way to his core followers on the street, and another to the public at large. If he is not yet a full-blown media darling, he is fast becoming one. Reporters get a kick out of him, finding him exciting, personable, and a joy to quote. As the liberal New York Post columnist Jack Newfield has pointed out, he is "dangerous because he is so likable." And only rarely is Sharpton held accountable for his offenses, both past and ongoing. The tendency to forget, or to brush aside, is close to overpowering. The time may be right, then, for a little walk down Memory Lane, as unpleasant as that may be. What manner of man have the brightest lights in the Democratic party come to accept? When they wrap their arms around Al Sharpton, what, really, are they embracing?
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A RECORD OF HATE AND PAIN
No one should suppose that Sharpton is without admirable qualities. He has not attracted thousands of followers on charismatic racism alone. He has daring, tenacity, and a gift for leadership, even if repeatedly abused. He is also an American original-a self-created (and re-created) man; a go-getter; an achiever, of sorts. Born 46 years ago in Brooklyn, he was relatively middle class, until his father walked out, when he became poor. He likes to say that he agitated from the beginning: "I yelled when I was hungry. I yelled when I was wet. I yelled when all those little black bourgeois babies stayed dignified and quiet. I learned before I got out of the maternity ward that you've got to holler like hell sometimes to get what you want."
When he was four, according to the legend, he began to preach. Jesse Jackson, who became a mentor, has described him as "a child prodigy." When he was about 14, Sharpton hooked up with one of the many Jackson operations, and at 16 started the first of his own: the National Youth Movement. He was also drawn to Adam Clayton Powell, the colorful and crooked congressman from Harlem. Shortly before he died, in 1972, he had some final words for young Sharpton (in The Rev's telling): "These yellow Uncle Toms are taking over the blacks in New York. Don't you stop fighting. If you want to do something for Adam, get rid of these Uncle Toms." Later, Sharpton came under the wing of James Brown, the soul singer, who acted as a father to him ("James Brown was my father; Jesse Jackson was my teacher"). When he at last took to full-time rabble-rousing, he did so with a ferocity, lashing out at "faggots," "cocktail-sip Negroes," and even black Marxists-those who carried "that German cracker's book under their arms."
He caught a break in 1984, when Bernhard Goetz, the subway gunman and face of white backlash, shot a gang of youthful muggers. Sharpton campaigned for Goetz's head. He caught a further break two years later, when the incident known as "Howard Beach" occurred: A young black man, Michael Griffith, was chased to death by a gang of white thugs. Sharpton was developing a modus operandi: He would call victims or their families-or defendants and theirs-to offer his services, which included cash, legal counsel, and the like. Sharpton himself would serve as "adviser" and "spokesman." He quickly earned the sobriquet "Reverend 911," responding to any black-white emergency. Accused of being an ambulance chaser, he retorted: "No: I am the ambulance."
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