Barry Barkan

Maybe the overground media will learn from the people.

Der Fuhrer unleashed his vituperative and narrow Goerbels to whip the media into presenting only what the government wants the people to know.

The networks and the newspapers tripped over their own feet in an effort to shuffle into line. Like their liberal counterparts of a previous generation, the managers of the media crumpled, cringed and quickly rearranged their objective reality to oblige the rightwing fanatics of the government.

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One time Muhammad Ali and I sat sipping grapefruit juice at the snack bar of a hotel on Richmond, Virginia’s Second Street—the busy, shabby artery which before “integration” had been the Woodward Avenue of that city’s black bourgeoisie.

This was the street Muhammad Ali gravitated to. With its hangers out and hustlers and pimps and junkies and small business men and kids getting ready to drop out and pool halls and barber shops and soul food restaurants and illegal whiskey houses, and shoe shine parlors... this was the street where Muhammad Ali’s people were.

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