The Nigger Factory by Gil Scott-Heron

Author:Gil Scott-Heron
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Grove/Atlantic, Inc.

18

MJUMBE Mandate

It was a typical early autumn day for southern Virginia. The temperature was in the mid-fifties. A breeze kicked the colored leaves closer to the curb and across the oval. The residents were dressed in sweaters and light jackets. The sun watched from a sky decorated with whipped-cream clouds that floated south with the wind.

The weather was not the reason Earl Thomas was fastening the top button on his light safari jacket. He was chilled with the prospect of being put on the spot at the meeting ahead of him. Each thump of the hollow bell in the auditorium chapel seemed to bang equally hard at the pit of his stomach.

He paused at the auditorium entrance and lit a cigarette. Ben King handed him a copy of a statement from MJUMBE and a copy of The Sutton Statesman which this afternoon was a one-page special that carried a picture of the five MJUMBE chieftains as they had appeared the day before. There was a larger picture of Earl himself. The two articles on the page were both editorials of a sort. One had been written by Ralph Baker. The other was signed by Victor Johnson.

The three entrances to the auditorium were being manned by King, Jonesy, and Cotton. As students or faculty entered they were handed the MJUMBE statement and The Statesman special edition.

‘Let's skip to the john,’ Earl said, nudging Odds.

The three men entered the lobby and cut right, crossing in front of congregating students until they reached the southern corner where they turned downstairs to the lounge area and rest rooms.

‘Bone up,’ Earl muttered once inside the lavatory. He banged the pages across the palm of his hand.

‘Gittin’ tighter,’ Odds noted, making a choking gesture. ‘Ya know what this indicates, don'choo? This sez right here, this picture, that you are down wit’ MJUMBE.’

‘Iss almos’ too hip to be anywhere near Ben King,’ Lawman said. ‘I have dug the whole damn thing an’ there's not one word about you. The whole implication stems from the picture.’

T wasn't even thinkin’ las’ night when I saw Johnson. I wuz damn sure the paper wuz gonna knock me an’ give me a free opportunity to say anything that I wanted.’

‘You still can,’ Odds snapped. ‘Shit! You didn’ call this meetin’ or the one yesterday. This ain’ rilly got nuthin’ to do wit’ you or your office.’

‘I know . . .’

‘But nuthin’. All you gotta do is say what you feel, man. You won the election. You still in a helluva good position.’

‘Say what I feel where? Here? I didn’ call this meetin’, you say? Then what gives me a right to speak?’

‘You the Man! You the Head Man! If you see the studen's headed in the wrong direction you haveta speak up!’

‘What direction do you think they're goin’ in?’

‘No direction yet.’

‘Right. But Baker's gonna play on emotions. If he directs them through this emotion they will not be ready to hear from me.’

There was a loud feedback screech from the level directly above the three men.

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