The Nigger Factory

by Gil Scott-Heron

  ‘An’ by the time we git somethin’ else t’gether he will have gone through changes with the alumni an’ everybody to show them how wrong we are. It’s jus like I tell people when they ask who’ll win if we have about a week-long nuclear war with Russia: I tell ‘um ain’ gon’ be no war like that ‘cuz whoever slides a bomb on the othuh one first is gonna win. Thass all.’

  There was a minute of silence while each of the three young men became involved with himself. Lawman and Odds had been at Sutton for four years and had seen demonstrations throughout their college careers. The real difference in this one was their involvement. In past years they had been just interested students hoping that something would get accomplished. This time they sat in the SGA office trying desperately to think of something that would make the dark picture of possible success shine a little brighter. Earl Thomas was in his second year at Sutton. He was a transfer student who had turned the entire Sutton political world around when he ran for SGA office and won. He had never seen much done at any of the schools he had attended. He too was searching for a clue. But aside from all that he was searching for his own particular position. He had been thoroughly fouled up by MJUMBE and still had the power to stop the train in its tracks. He didn’t know what he wanted to do.

  ‘Number nine is about the Faculty Review Committee and Interview Committee,’ Lawman snorted. ‘Not a chance. The faculty wouldn’ give the studen’s any kinda say over their jobs.’

  ‘Shit!’ Odds exclaimed. ‘All this shit is dead end!’

  ‘Whuss number ten again?’ Earl asked.

  ‘Ten is the establishing of a Black Studies Program.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Earl hedged. ‘Calhoun sent Parker from the History Department to Atlanta in August for the Black Studies Conference that they held. I don’ figger the firs’ year would have alla this shit in it even if we got some kinda phony Black Studies thing.’

  ‘The school would have a wider appeal if we had the program,’ Lawman added. ‘More students would come here and we’d get more money.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s true. But you gotta find some way to git it accredited first. You also gotta have some professors who know what the hell is goin’ on. Sutton ain’ got but ‘bout three a them.’

  ‘What ‘bout eleven?’ Odds asked impatiently. ‘Thass ‘bout havin’ everybody open their books for an auditor.’

  Earl mouthed a curse. ‘Man, lemme tell you. Calhoun is gonna kill this shit dead. He’s gonna rap that when they had the annual report there were only about forty students there. He’s gonna say if we had been there we would know where our money went. He’s gonna swear up an’ down that there’s nothin’ wrong wit’ the books (which I myself believe), an’ thass gonna be all. He’s gonna rap ‘bout professionalism an’ shit like that. Then he’s gonna say that the SGA has many more things to worry about an’ spen’ their money on.’

  ‘Twelve is the thing about the Medical Service,’ Lawman said disconsolately.

  ‘Thass okay,’ Earl said. ‘All they gotta do is move some beds an’ open up those two rooms in the back. They’ll do that.’

  ‘In othuh words all they’re gonna do is the shit that don’ make any real difference in Sutton University whether they do it or not,’ Odds managed lighting a cigarette.

  ‘Thass the point,’ Earl admitted.

  ‘An’ good ol’ number thirteen says: ANSWER ME BY NOON!’ Lawman said with all the theatrics he could manage.

  ‘Thass next,’ Odds breathed.

  ‘I wishta hell I could git in the faculty meetin’,’ Earl said.

  ‘I wishta hell I wuz runnin’ that bastard!’ Lawman said.

  ‘I wishta hell it wuz over!’ Odds contributed.

  ‘I wishta hell I wuz dreamin’,’ Earl said. ‘All that fuckin’ work down the drain.’ He laughed. ‘There mus’ not be no God.’

  14

  Ten O’Clock Meeting

  It was apparent to Ogden Calhoun that every member of the Sutton faculty and administrative staff had come to the scheduled meeting early. The small auditorium where lectures and forums were held in the rear of the Paul Lawrence Dunbar Library was filled at ten minutes before ten when he entered carrying the black attaché case that held all of his papers.

  There had been whispered speculation all morning as to exactly what the meeting would consider. Many of the older faculty members and administrators looked on it as perhaps the close of an era; the end of the iron hand of Ogden Calhoun. Their thoughts were centered about the fact that in their memories student protest had never detoured the regular academic duties of the institution. Therefore it was quite obvious to them that Calhoun was weakening.

  Calhoun himself looked upon the meeting in quite another light. In many institutions where he had visited for various conferences and meetings he had been told by the presidents that student dissent had not only polarized the administration and students, but the administrators and faculty as well. The net result in these instances had been mergers between all three groups. The faculties on many campuses did not want to be identified with the students, but neither did they want to be considered a part of the administration. The real truth was that most college professors wanted the right to choose whatever side they wanted and make no statement at all on behalf of ‘the faculty.’

  Calhoun did not need another wedge driven between the administrative position and anyone else. The purpose of this meeting was to enable him to identify any members of the faculty who might be easily drawn to the students’ side of the fence and make damaging remarks about whatever stand he took. He had seen the first glimmer of this sort of conflict during the outburst by Arnold McNeil at his home on the night before. In Calhoun’s eyes McNeil was not a man from whom he needed any particular trouble. Not only was the man a leading American historian, but he had considerable influence among the younger members of the Sutton faculty, both Black and white.

  Calhoun waved and nodded as he passed down the right-hand aisle to the small platform at the head of the meeting room. Miss Felch, looking a bit more herself, smiled as he stepped up and informed him that she had coffee coming.

  Fenton Mercer walked up to the platform. His pudgy face was a mask of worry that even his thirty-two teeth could not destroy. He was perspiring freely and batting his eyes furiously as sweat seeped into the corners of his eyes beneath the thick-framed glasses. Calhoun was sitting on a cushioned seat trying to light his pipe.

  ‘How are you?’ Calhoun greeted the vice-president cheerfully.

  ‘I’m, uh, fine,’ Mercer smiled. ‘Is, uh, everything in order?’

  ‘Everything’s always in order ‘roun’ here, isn’t it, Miss Felch?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Miss Felch said as though she had not even heard the question.

  ‘Is everything in order with you?’ Calhoun asked, laughing perhaps a bit too loudly.

  ‘I’ve, uh, just been receiving quite a few calls is all,’ Mercer said. ‘Y’know, mos’ly from parents here in Sutton whose sons an’ daughters came to school t’day an’ found out there were no classes.’

  ‘Well, classes will resume right after our meeting,’ Calhoun assured his right-hand executive. ‘I would’ve waited until tonight to call the meeting but everyone was so insistent that their voice be heard last night . . . well, I mean it wouldn’t have been fair for me to come out with an administrative decision if all of the administrators weren’t up-to-date on the issues.’

  ‘There will be classes this afternoon?’ Mercer asked.

  ‘Certainly. The “re-quests” asked for a reply by noon. I’m sure this meeting will be over by then and I can respond to the paper . . . Miss Felch, did you get copies of this form passed out?’

  ‘They were run off first thing this morning,’ Miss Felch said. ‘Mr McNeil was passing them out . . . oh, here’s your coffee.’ A student set two cups of coffee down on the desk in front of Miss Felch. Calhoun scanned the room. He saw McNeil in the rear of the auditorium smiling at Miss Anderson from the Women’s Phys
. Ed. department and handing her a copy of the student requests.

  ‘Did you put those security guards in front of the door?’ Mercer asked Calhoun.

  ‘Yes. I put them there,’ Calhoun said, lowering his voice as Mercer had. ‘Why?’

  ‘You know that that was a part of the student . . .’

  ‘I know,’ Calhoun said with a smirk. ‘But there are things that are going to be discussed in here pertaining to that question. It hasn’t been decided yet what will be done about the security force. This is not an open faculty-administration meeting. Some of them are and this one isn’t.’

  ‘There have been students out there trying to get in,’ Mercer said worriedly.

  ‘That’s why the damn guard is out there! I knew there would be some there trying to get in.’

  Calhoun straightened his tie and cleared his throat. He pulled a corner of the gray kerchief in his breast pocket up a bit higher. The pipe had gone out again so he pulled out a silver lighter to set fire to the cherry tobacco. The teachers and administrators were finding their way to their seats.

  ‘Before I begin to deal with the reason this meeting has been called,’ Calhoun began, ‘I’d like to apologize to the members of the faculty who were asking questions about why we were having the meeting during their class time and not tonight. The reason has been passed out to you and I speak directly now to the thirteenth point on this paper. It is very clear that some of our more impatient students sought an answer to these questions immediately and therefore a general meeting was in order. I was tempted last night when Mr Earl Thomas brought these demands to my home – and make no mistake about the fact that they are demands – to give an immediate answer to all of them by folding them up and tossing them in the garbage can. I am not a man who likes to be threatened. I'm sure we all feel that way. And there's a certain air of contempt involved when a student comes to you and demands this or demands that . . . I put down my first impulse. I tried to talk to Mr Thomas about these issues on a man-to-man basis, but he seemed to be in quite a hurry at the time. The only thing I could do at that time was to try and call in a few of you and speak quite frankly about the issues that are raised here. During our midnight meeting last night – which might be why so many of us look like we can't open our eyes this morning – we decided that it would be best to call a meeting among all of us and discuss these things and come up with an answer on each and every one of them for the students.’ Calhoun paused to sip some of the steaming coffee.

  ‘What I would briefly like to do is go over these questions one by one and give you the administrative point of view in some sort of detail so that all of our cards will be on the table. If there are any questions that come up, please hold them until later after everything has been done . . . just write them down and we'll have plenty of time for questions.’

  Calhoun paused to finish his coffee. ‘Now, under number one, if everyone will read along, they have: “the Pride of Virginia Food Services be dismissed.” This is by no means the first complaint that we have had against the Food Services and each and every time we have heard a complaint we have called in Mr Morgan from the service to have certain things clarified. The last time this happened, if you will recall, was during Homecoming last year when students started throwing their trays in the cafeteria. I, uh, sent out a piece of literature on that to all the parents. It said, in effect, that for the money the students are paying here they are receiving the best, most professional food service possible. I have no further information regarding just why this issue has been raised again. When I speak with Mr Thomas at noon I will ask him if the established Student Government Food Committee would not like to have another meeting with Mr Morgan about the food.

  ‘Numbers two, three, and four should all be handled in the same light as far as I'm concerned. There are several things that have directly to do with students, such as the food. The hiring and firing of members of the faculty and administrators is strictly not a student matter. If enough complaints are launched against a particular faculty member as was the case two years ago when we had to let Mr Carruthers go, then naturally the institution has to do something. But until we are given further information . . .’ Calhoun paused. ‘I hope you understand that the main point of irritation that I feel about all of these demands is that there is obviously a breakdown in communication somewhere. The students are not giving us any of the real information that we need to deal with these things. Uh, yes, so in reference to two, three, and four nothing will be done until students have given us more to work with than this statement here.’

  Gaines Harper was sitting in the last row. When Calhoun stated flatly that he would not be dismissed, the Financial Aid Officer wiped his sweating face with a damp handkerchief and managed to light a cigarette.

  Harper was his usual disheveled self. The dark blue suit was hanging at an angle from his neck and looked as though it had been slept in. He smelled like a brewery and was sitting in the last row in the hope that the heavy beer odor would not be noticed by any of the others present.

  Professor Beaker and Professor Royce said nothing. They had been friends of Calhoun's throughout his tenure as university president. Royce started taking notes when Calhoun had concluded points two, three, and four. He had something important that he wanted to say.

  ‘Now, point five is another thing that has just been thrown in front of me.’ Calhoun accentuated the word ‘thrown’ by tossing his list of demands onto the desk in front of himself. ‘I wasn't really aware of all the ins and outs of the security routine if you understand me. When I received this note I made sure to set up a talk with Captain Jones this morning and we discussed things. I think that both of us had pretty much the same thing in mind. All of our guards are Black men and the students are all involved in this Blackness program. We felt that considering this it would be clear that a guard making his rounds is looking for thieves and people who are doing things to endanger university property or university people. However, it was agreed that the guards will leave their weapons inside the guardhouse from now on. It seems like splitting hairs to me,’ the president added a bit sarcastically.

  ‘Have you got everything, Miss Felch?’ Calhoun asked. ‘Good . . . for points six, seven, and eight it should be clear that these particular problems would take a lot of legislating and reapportioning of funds. I spoke with Mr Calder, the Comptroller, this morning and we agreed that at this time it is very hard to imagine the Student Government taking on these new responsibilities which call for the proper handling of thousands of dollars when the SGA meetings are scarcely attended and the entire burden is being carried by a very few.

  ‘Number nine is a reasonable idea,’ Calhoun said as though reading it for the first time and talking to himself. He was peering a bit quizzically over the top of his glasses at his audience. The atmosphere of the room was hushed and was becoming more so with the reading and response to each point. ‘Number nine is the suggestion for a Faculty Review Committee and Faculty Interview Committee. The one thing that is quite obviously in need of restating is the part that excludes Professor Beaker and Professor Royce from this committee. I would suggest that this committee consist of the heads of departments, a student representative from each class, and an administrator who could be named at a later date. I would further suggest that the committee meetings start in December so that we can have some idea of its finding by the end of the first semester.’

  Calhoun stopped his monologue at that time to try and light his pipe. Miss Felch used the time to erase notes and catch up with the points that had been handled. Those attending the meeting used the time to whisper back and forth to one another. Gaines Harper got up and left, heading for the Mine, a bar that he frequently visited. He had heard enough. He was going to have a drink and go home. He felt slimy; in spite of the brisk October day his clothes were soaked with nervous perspiration.

  ‘All of us know about the things that were covered in reference to a Black Studies Institute. True, schools are ado
pting a program of this nature all over the country, but we at Sutton will not be ready until we can have all of the classes accredited. I will suggest a series of lectures to start later on in this semester by visiting lecturers in this field. This can be done on a twice-a-week basis and enter our files as a course. However, it will not in any way fulfill the requirements for graduation under any heading. There will be a report in November about the progress that has been made in establishing a Black Studies Institute here next year. I mean, uh, next September.’ Calhoun turned several sheets that he had placed in front of himself. He placed his pipe down in an ashtray.

  ‘Point eleven goes back to points two, three, and four as far as I'm concerned,’ he said as though he were bored. ‘I would never, and I do mean never, ask any of these people to do the things requested on this page. I'm quite sure that performing their duties is job enough and that the state auditors who come in here check on things quite sufficiently.

  ‘As far as point twelve is concerned, both Dr Maxwell and Dr Caldwell agree that if we clear out the two back rooms and realign our stock with a couple of larger cabinets we will be equipped to treat members of the community. I would like to remind everyone that our medical staff has never refused to serve anyone in this area and that most of the community people with the exception of those people who work here at Sutton, all go to the Community General Hospital.

  ‘Are there any questions?’ Calhoun asked. He pulled a tan leather pouch from his inside pocket and started to refill his pipe.

  ‘I'd like to know why there was a deadline on these papers,’ Professor Ingram of Psychology asked. He was a small, balding man in a gray suit.

  ‘From my talk with Mr Thomas last night I must admit that I don't have the vaguest idea what will be done when I respond . . .’