It was brought to my attention by Rolfe Commissiong that a missing chapter in our lexicon of historical thought is related to my generation, specifically those born in the postwar years.

So, I would like to share my thoughts and perspective on those who were my contemporaries. As the astute would know, the environment within one’s set has a great influence on how one acts or reacts to the environmental situation.

I was born during the days of segregation, when schools, restaurants, public places such as theatres and even churches were segregated. I was born into that rejection with a natural propensity to be free of such subjugation, as were all those of my time.

If freedom and equality are the natural state, then we can call any other state a vortex. All my contemporaries were non-free; therefore, they were either passive or active resisters to subjugation. The active were either moderate or radical activists, but all were included in the spectrum of resistance.

I recall as a young person being first introduced to direct resistance and activism by the Church, particularly the AME Church and the Reverend Vernon Byrd, of St Paul AME. My first hero was the Reverend Martin Luther King Jr, who was considered a pacifist. I became a lay youth preacher at the Vernon Temple AME Church, which was a pillar of Black activism and set the pace for achievement at the time. They were the founders of the Provident Bank. I began as an advocate of gaining a proper education, holding on to one’s moral integrity, and gaining equality through hard work and diligence.

I was also raised in a family whose background understood and respected self-determination, independence and ingenuity. Therefore, I was surrounded by persons who were self-employed and believed the market was where the road to freedom began. That indeed was the pillar of my philosophy.

The late 1960s tested activism and the question of whether passive resistance or a more aggressive and radical approach was more appropriate. The era of Malcolm X, Stokely Carmichael and H. Rap Brown began to pervade the conversations of Black youth at the time.

I recall working on an island in Hamilton Harbour as a carpenter and meeting a young man named Deon “Bobby” Bassett, who was studying to be an electrical engineer. His intellect was fascinating. I had never met a young man as intently driven and purposeful.

During this period, I argued vehemently against many students of the newly formed continuing education centre at the former Bermuda Technical Institute. They were reading Soul on Ice and similar books, while I was trying to convince them to pursue education and deal with the politics later. I recall the student sit-in at The Berkeley Institute led by Ottiwell “Otti” Simmons Jr. They were protesting that no Black history was being taught in schools. All of this activism was a ripple effect emanating from the highly impactful Black Power Conference of 1968 at PHC Stadium, which was promoted by Roosevelt Brown (Pauulu Kamarakafego) — after which the dashiki dress and the infamous Afro hairstyle surged in popularity.

Soon thereafter, groups of young men in my neighbourhood, some of whom were known to be rough, had changed their lives and had become Black Muslim, which I rejected. I even threatened to fight against them. To prove them wrong, I agreed to attend their meeting held on Court Street in the Bassett Building, which was next door to the headquarters of the Black Berets.

I came prepared to argue or fight.

Although I was not totally convinced ideologically, I believed right away that it was a good message for the condition of Black people in general. The Nation of Islam, through Minister Byron X, preached self-reliance, a message that resonated with everything I had known.

It would be almost a year before I joined. I recall the Black Berets, next door, most notably persons such as Mel Saltus, Jerome “Jessie” Perinchief, Bobby, and several others, including women. The Black Berets of the United States was a radical offshoot of the Nation of Islam. Like an independent paramilitary arm, however, the two groups were not related in any way, except that they both had a similar focus.

The NOI was the larger of the two worldwide, with close to a million followers. Locally, too, the Nation became more visible with bakeries, steak-n-take restaurants, landscaping crews and businesses in several locations in Hamilton, North Shore, Shelly Bay, Somerset and St George's. These were clean-shaven men known also for their influence on martial arts through sensei Moses Powell.

After the murders of the Governor (Sir Richard Sharples) and the Commissioner of Police (George Duckett), the Black Berets’ ranks were decimated — and many were pursued as suspects, including Erskine “Buck” Burrows, who was hanged for the murders of the Governor and his aide-de-camp (Captain Hugh Sayers). Buck Burrows wasn’t a Black Beret, but was loosely associated. He had been imprisoned around the same time Bobby Bassett was imprisoned, taking the rap for burning the flag.

Soon thereafter, and in the vortex of the dismantling of the Black Berets, came the emergence of the Hebrew Israelites, led by Amial and Alayasu “Mel Saltus” (formerly a Black Beret). Given we are now talking about the mid-Seventies, I was known then as Imam Khalid Bin Waleed. I had left the Nation and, similar to Malcolm X, became closer to traditional Islam in thought.

By then, we had the full participation of numerous members of the various social-action fronts. Most of them in some way were either formerly or at the time connected to the Progressive Labour Party — Dale Butler, Glenn Fubler, Phil Perinchief, Mel Saltus, the list is endless, with many having now passed on. Those were some of the men, but there were many women, too — Michelle Khaldun, LaVern Furbert, Maxine Esdaille and others. Many of these loosely federated activist groups became united by a group called the United Cultural Committee, assisted greatly by the efforts of Gladwyn Simmons.

Dale Butler was born and raised within one or two blocks of everything that happened of significance in Bermuda between 1963 and 1980. Whether it was the 24th of May half-marathon, the riots or the squabbles that saw persons hanging out of the windows from PLP headquarters in the early Sixties, he was there.

He was there when I swore at Dame Lois Browne-Evans for rejecting involvement in Dockyard planning, and for my leaving the PLP. I was angry because she was dismissive of what I considered the best opportunity for our economic advancement. I literally walked out of her office and went straight to the office of Sir David Gibbons with the same Dockyard idea. If anyone can write this story, it is Dale.

Glenn Fubler is a character who is very interesting at this stage of his activism. I do not doubt his activism in the Black Berets, but I knew him more for his socialist drive within the PLP. I recall the near anger and anxiety he displayed in the call by him and others for the party to cut the pretence and come clean on a socialist agenda — to the extent that he removed himself and for a while formed a separate socialist party.

I would remember this because I was never truly socialist: I believed in trade and commerce, but also believed in the role of government to ensure education, health, housing and equal opportunity in the marketplace.

During the mid-Seventies, there was a young adult movement that called for the PLP hierarchy to get off the stage. The feeling then was that the MPs were just filling the chairs with no real ideological push, while the movement for the greater good of the people was lost and in desperate need of enthusiasm.

No one expressed that more than persons such as Phil Perinchief and Glenn Fubler, latterly joined by the voice of Julian Hall, who had defected from the United Bermuda Party. Needless to say, none of that call for the baton to change hands was heeded. That generation missed its day, only to return for a brief period during the era of Ewart Brown.