The Muslim can tell when his quarry is ready to be shown that the way for him to quit dope is
through joining the Nation of Islam. The addict is brought into the local Muslim restaurant, he may
occasionally be exposed to some other social situations-among proud, clean Muslims who show
each other mutual affection and respect instead of the familiar hostility of the ghetto streets. For
the first time in years, the addict hears himself called, genuinely, "Brother,""Sir" and "Mr." No one
cares about his past. His addiction may casually be mentioned, but if so, it is spoken of as merely
an especially tough challenge that he must face. Everyone whom this addict meets is confident
that he will kick his habit.
As the addict's new image of himself builds, inevitably he begins thinking that he can break the
habit. For the first time he is feeling the effects of black self-pride.
That's a powerful combination for a man who has been existing in the mud of society. In fact,
once he is motivated no one can change more completely than the man who has been at the
bottom. I call myself the best example of that.
Finally, vitally, this addict will decide for himself that he wants to go on cold turkey. This means to
endure the physical agonies of abruptly quitting dope.
When this time comes, ex-addict Muslims will arrange to spend the necessary days in around-
the-clock shifts, attending the addict who intends to purge himself, on the way to becoming a
Muslim.
When the addict's withdrawal sets in, and he is screaming, cursing, and begging, "Just one shot,
man!" the Muslims are right there talking junkie jargon to him. "Baby, knock that monkey off your
back! Kick that habit! Kick Whitey off your back!" The addict, writhing in pain, his nose and eyes
running, is pouring sweat from head to foot. He's trying to knock his head against the wall, flailing
his arms, trying to fight his attendants, he is vomiting, suffering diarrhea. "Don't hold nothing back!
Let Whitey go, baby! You're going to stand tall, man! I can see you now in the Fruit of Islam!"
When the awful ordeal is ended, when the grip of dope is broken, the Muslims comfort the weak
ex-addict, feeding him soups and broths, to get him onhis feet again. He will never forget these
brothers who stood by him during this time. He will never forget that it was the Nation of Islam's
program which rescued him from the special hell of dope. And that black brother (or the sister,
whom Muslim sisters attend) rarely ever will return to the use of narcotics. Instead, the ex-addict
when he is proud, clean, renewed, can scarcely wait to hit the same junkie jungle he was in, to
"fish" out some buddy and salvage him!
If some white man, or "approved" black man, created a narcotics cure program as successful as
the one conducted under the aegis of the Muslims, why, there would be government subsidy, and
praise and spotlights, and headlines. But we were attacked instead. Why shouldn't the Muslims
be subsidized to save millions of dollars a year for the government and the cities? I don't know
what addicts' crimes cost nationally, but it is said to be billions a year in New York City. An
estimated $12 million a year is lost to thieves in Harlem alone.
An addict doesn't work to supply his habit, which may cost anywhere from ten to fifty dollars a
day. How could he earn that much? No! The addict steals, he hustles in other ways; he preys
upon other human beings like a hawk or a vulture-as I did. Very likely, he is a school drop-out, the
same as I was, an Army reject, psychologically unsuited to a job even if he was offered one, the
same as I was.
Women addicts "boost" (shoplift), or they prostitute themselves. Muslim sisters talk hard to black
prostitutes who are struggling to quit using dope in order to qualify morally to become registered
Muslims. "You are helping the white man to regard your body as a garbage can-"
Numerous "exposes" of the Nation of Islam have implied that Mr. Muhammad's followers were