The Nigger Factory

by Gil Scott-Heron

  ‘I agree,’ Mrs Gilliam said. ‘How're your grades? I bet you don't have a point in none of ‘um. When was the las’ time you wrote yo’ mother? I bet she don't know nothin’ ‘bout this foolishness. You still ain’ been to see Dr Bennett about that tooth I gave you that stuff for . . . you see what I mean? Neglectin’ yo’ own good for a bunch that won't even help you. I know that Sutton crowd. They always have upper-class students who're too lazy to work.’

  ‘Middle-class niggers,’ Zeke said. ‘The Deltas an’ A.K.A.’s an’ Alpha niggers who wouldn’ know a job if it bit ‘um. Thass the kind you wastin’ yo’ time on.’

  ‘I don't agree,’ Earl said. He lit another cigarette as he got up. ‘You know when you get a job what it entails. You know that a great many students don’ know anything about the campus politics an’ that most of the res’ don’ care. You take on the job ‘cause you have a certain set of ideas that you'd like to implement for the good of the community.’

  ‘An’ what if the community won’ help you?’

  ‘Thass not the point. They do somethin’ when they elect you.’

  ‘Write a X nex’ to yo’ name on a piece a paper. I think . . .’

  ‘I don't agree,’ Earl said cutting in brusquely. He was standing with his back turned to Zeke and Mrs Gilliam watching more of the red and brown leaves being added to a small fire in the middle of the back yard. He always felt he was watching something beautiful when he saw Old Man Hunt putter around in the yard. At that moment the warm glow of the fire illuminating the old man's face seemed to disclose some secret pleasure that was causing a smile to creep across the burnished wrinkles. ‘I know that this talk was staged to make me feel better or somethin’, but I don't feel the same way.’

  ‘It wasn't meant that way at all,’ Zeke said. He met Mrs Gilliam's questioning glance with a quieting gesture indicating that he would handle it. ‘I'm quite sure that Miz Gilliam an’ I would need a whole lot mo’ facts befo’ we started to tell you what to do, but we've been watchin’ you go through these months of work an’ school an’ we'd been talkin’ about how wrapped up you get in the things you feel need to be done.’

  ‘The people at Sutton elected me to do a job,’ Earl reminded them. ‘Anything else is a cop-out.’

  ‘It's good to be committed to yo’ race,’ Zeke said. ‘Miz Gilliam will tell you that as ol’ as I am I wuz right out there wit ‘um in Selma in sixty-four. I was doin’ all I could with the NAACP right here . . . an’ one a the things that held me back in terms of maybe leadin’ in the community was the fact that I didn’ have much education. Both of us feel that you can be a great man in terms of helpin’ our people an’ that the thing you really need is yo’ diploma.’

  Earl turned around very quickly. Somehow he had been missing the point all through his conversation with the handyman. He was amazed to see why Zeke had been so persistent and had not let the subject drop. Zeke had seen the news. He had heard about the closing and the readmission program. He and Mrs Gilliam would easily see that if this were carried out that he would not be admitted. Zeke was asking him to back down.

  ‘You can't think I'd go to Calhoun,’ Earl said.

  ‘No,’ Zeke said, taking up the cup of coffee that Mrs Gilliam placed before him. ‘I didn't think you would. But you should. I believe you should.’

  ‘Earl's response to that was cut off by the jingling of the phone in the hallway. He waved Mrs Gilliam away and moved through the hall to answer it, discarding his sweater as he went.

  ‘Mrs Gilliam's,’ he said. ‘Earl Thomas speaking.’

  ‘Earl, this is Sheila,’ the SGA secretary announced into the receiver. ‘I've got a problem. We've gone into the limit for emergency funds. I've given out almost two hundred and twenty dollars. I'm sure there are more people coming in too. Especially after dinner.’

  ‘Cut into some of those dance allowance funds then. It doesn't matter because all the money has to be paid back. It's jus’ for gettin’ students home in bad situations. Keep a good record.’

  ‘Okay,’ Sheila said. That should have been the end of the conversation but Sheila stayed on the line.

  Earl felt embarrassed. He told himself that his conversation with Zeke and his experiences over the past twenty-four hours had made him hypersensitive.

  ‘It doesn't matter now,’ he said into the receiver. ‘I know what's gone on, but it doesn't matter now.’

  ‘I feel like an ass,’ Sheila said. ‘I feel like I ruined everything. I could sort've see it when you got up at the meetin’ in the auditorium at twelve o'clock when the strike was called.’

  ‘It's all over now,’ Earl said.

  ‘Not really. I wanted to tell you something when you came in and asked for me to distribute this emergency money, but I didn't know what to say. I was embarrassed.’ There was a long pause. ‘Did you know all the time?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you know that that key was probably the only reason he went out with me?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Earl, what's gonna happen tuhmaruh?’

  ‘You've got me,’ Earl breathed heavily. ‘You have got me.’ The SGA president laughed. ‘Who knows? Ask Head Nigger . . . Hey! How long you gonna be on campus?’

  ‘'Til tomorrow afternoon,’ the secretary replied.

  ‘Well, man the station ‘til I get there. It's about six thirty? I'll be out there by quarter-to-eight. That letter that I left out on my desk needn't be touched ‘cause it's already useless since Calhoun closed school. I'm comin’ out to do another one that I'll run off myself. Me an’ Odds or somebody'll be out there tuhmaruh also, so leave the checkbook where I can find it.’

  ‘Okay . . . what's the new letter gonna say an’ to who?’

  ‘It'll be to the faculty at this meetin’ if we have it. I have no idea what it's gonna say. Prob'bly: Help!’ Earl laughed feebly. ‘Later on,’ he said.

  ‘Good luck,’ she said.

  ‘You eatin'?’ Mrs Gilliam asked when she heard the phone being returned to its hook.

  ‘Yes, ma'am,’ he called. ‘Do I have time to get a shower?’

  ‘I make time fo’ musty men to get showers befo’ they set at my table,’ Mrs Gilliam assured him loudly. ‘You go ‘head.’

  Earl hurried into the shower and lathered himself under the hot spray. He felt the tension being soaked away and realized for the first time all day that he was bone-weary. For Earl, being bone-weary was quite different from being tired. It was a state in which he found himself after having to do a great deal of work in a short period of time. After stretches like this when the work was completed his bones turned to lead and his muscles to rubber. He needed to sit down. He found when he stood he was sure that his bones and organs would slip into fatty pouches and vacuum caves within his frame and be dragged into a bed and allowed to redistribute themselves. He was sorry that there would be no bed waiting for him within the next few hours.

  The shower completed, Earl stepped from behind the dripping curtain and dried himself with the rough-grained towel. He then slipped into his house robe and brushed his teeth, gargled, and flip-flopped back out into the hall. The downstairs cuckoo was chiming. Earl counted. Seven bells.

  Before he could get to his room Zeke poked his head out of his doorway.

  ‘There's two professors here to see you,’ he said seriously. ‘The coach and another man.’

  ‘Where are they?’ Earl asked.

  ‘Downstairs. You know Miz Gilliam wuzn’ gonna let ‘um up here ‘til you said it was okay.’

  Earl nodded and walked to the banister that overlooked the first-floor alcove and sitting room. Below, Coach Edmund Mallory and the head of the History Department sat discussing something between themselves.

  ‘Hello . . . how are you?’ Earl said, attracting their attention. ‘Come on up. I was in the shower . . . Mrs Gilliam never lets people into anyone's room.’

  The two men smiled uneasily. They picked up their coats and walked up the thirteen spiraling stair
s to the second floor.

  ‘Won't you come in?’ Earl asked, showing the faculty members into his room. ‘I'm not really prepared to handle a great deal of company, but I do have a couple of chairs.’

  ‘That's fine,’ Coach Mallory said warming a bit. ‘We don't want to take up a great deal of your time, but we received the notes that you put in the faculty boxes this afternoon, and we have been tryin’ to get in touch with you or MJUMBE all day . . .’

  ‘I was a little hard to catch up to,’ Earl admitted.

  ‘Well, we were curious about this meeting,’ Mallory continued. ‘Because we don't think that the proper thing's bein’ done. The truth is, we wanted to do somethin’ constructive befo’ we even learned that Calhoun was closin’ school. What can we do?’

  Earl smiled as he thought the question over and lit up a cigarette. There was a bit of comedy to be felt in the scene. The ever-serious football Simon Legree posing a sensitive question; the quiet, studious history professor sitting bolt-upright in a disheveled brown suit, sporting a red nose that indicated a taste of too much whisky. Mrs Gilliam had probably smelled it too. That meant a night of phone calls to inform all of the neighbors that McNeil had visited Earl drunk. He would have to ask her not to mention to anyone the fact that McNeil and Mallory had come to see him. Because of their jobs, he would say.

  ‘I don't suppose you could do anythin’,’ Earl finally said, sucking on the cigarette. ‘I had planted those notices before Calhoun announced that school was closin’.’

  ‘But the meetin’ was called . . .’ McNeil began.

  ‘To find out if the faculty as a separate entity thought our demands were unfair,’ Earl supplied.

  ‘Some of us don't,’ McNeil said. ‘A few of us are in positions where to agree or disagree means little because we are the head of a department,’ he tapped his own chest, ‘or a coach with a winning record for eight straight years an’ a Sutton alumni.’ Mallory was indicated. ‘There are others, mostly the young white members, who also agree, but I'm afraid it's really not enough of the cross-section that you would need to make a big impression.’

  ‘Yes,’ Mallory grunted. ‘Your agreers are all either political radicals or Phys Ed teachers who aren't supposed to have a brain in their heads.’ He laughed without humor at the thought.

  ‘Then there'll be no meeting,’ Earl said with finality.

  McNeil set fire to a cigar. ‘We'll go ‘round an’ get some signatures in the mornin’,’ he said, puffing to make sure he was lit. ‘If there is anythin’ to say, come to the meetin’. Otherwise, we'll just know that nothin’ positive has happened.’

  ‘What will the signatures be for?’ Earl asked.

  ‘MJUMBE has issued a statement referring to slanted reports being made to distort the facts to parents. They insist that the parents could help the student cause if the students were not being type-cast as hoodlums an’ thugs. Our letter will back up their earlier notes and statements, and perhaps some literature of yours, and be sent to the parents. This might include a plea that school not be reopened without a community hearing to discuss what punishment, if any, your group and MJUMBE should receive.’

  ‘What punishment, hell,’ Earl snorted pulling on a T-shirt. ‘We won't be allowed back fo’ a hearin’.’

  ‘What I'm sayin’ is that it should be petitioned or added to the list of demands. Something like: “No punitive measures shall be taken against the students who participate in this strike.”’

  ‘Calhoun would laugh at somethin’ like that if he laughs at the things we have down there now,’ Earl said without enthusiasm. ‘But there's a long way to go befo’ we get to that.’

  ‘Howzat?’ McNeil asked.

  ‘Befo’ Calhoun can keep us off of Sutton's campus,’ the SGA president said, ‘he's got to get us off.’

  28

  Destruction

  The Strike Communications Center on the third floor of the fraternity house issued a six-thirty plea to all female students. It read as follows:

  Dear Sisters,

  The members of MJUMBE, Ralph Baker, ‘Speedy’ Cotton, Fred Jones, Ben King, and Abul Menka are not certain at this time what measures of force will be used to make members of this community leave before the six o'clock deadline for tomorrow. We understand the concern exhibited by both our sisters and our brothers over this issue and we too are concerned. We ask that all sisters who are asking their parents to pick them up notify their parents of a proposed three o'clock meeting in the auditorium where we can explain the student side of the issue. As usual the administration has bottled up the media so that students appear to be nothing more than trouble-making hoodlums. We hope you will convey this message and we ask that you all be present.

  ASANTE, Brothers of MJUMBE

  This particular statement was used by Ogden Calhoun to bolster his position when shortly after eight p.m. violence erupted on the campus of Sutton University.

  There had been meetings within all fraternal organizations, both male and female, to draw up statements pledging varied degrees of support to the student leaders. On the way back to the dormitories both men and women said that they were harassed by members of the Sutton police force who were patroling the campus area. The reply to this harassment was unleashed fury in the halls of the dormitories where windows were smashed, lounge furniture was thrown through doors and windows, and public address equipment and telephones were ripped from the walls.

  Calhoun received a phone call at his home where he was relaxing, dressed for bed.

  ‘Excuse me, sir,’ the speaker began, ‘but they've gone crazy out here on the campus. They're tearin’ up everything.’

  ‘Who? Who has done what?’ Calhoun asked sitting bolt upright.

  ‘This is Captain Jones. I don't really know what brought any of this on. My men were on foot patrol an’ the police from town were cruisin’ in their cars. I was near Sutton Hall an’ I heard all this glass breakin’ an’ people shoutin’ an’ yellin’. I run down to Washington Hall in time to see a lounge chair gittin’ pitched outta the winda.’

  ‘What have the police done?’

  ‘Nothin’ but locked they cars, sir, but they scared.’

  ‘Tell them . . .’

  ‘This is Earl Thomas,’ a second voice cut in. ‘We're in the guardhouse in the parking lot. Call off the damn cops!’

  ‘Thomas? What's goin’ on?’

  ‘The police are goin’ on. They provoked everything. You're gonna have a real riot if you keep them here.’

  ‘Where is Chief Connors?’

  ‘He's not here, I don't think,’ Earl said.

  Calhoun muttered a curse. ‘I'll be there. See what can be done. Put Jones back on the line . . . Jones! Do somethin’.’

  ‘Yes, sir. You comin'?’

  ‘I'll be right there!’

  Before Captain Jones had thoroughly replaced the receiver Earl was already galloping across the campus to his car where the P.A. system remained intact.

  Sounds of crashing glass were still echoing across the oval and lights in the dormitories were being flashed off and on. Earl thought that the flashing lights might be signaling an S.O.S. His car almost backed into the school ambulance being driven by one of the security guards toward Sutton Hall. He paced himself and entered the back half of the oval directly behind a cruising patrol car. He turned the P.A. system up as loud as he could.

  ‘Brothers and sisters. This is Earl Thomas. I have notified the president of the university about the harassing tactics used by members of the Sutton police force and he is on his way to the campus. I am askin’ all of you to cease the destruction of our own property.’ Earl's drive was interrupted by the opening of his car door on the passenger side. For a moment his heart seemed to stop. He felt sure that it was a member of the Sutton police. It was Abul Menka, carrying a .22 caliber rifle with a box of bullets in his hand.

  ‘Keep drivin’ an’ talkin’,’ Abul breathed.

  ‘Brothers and sisters. This is Earl Tho
mas. I am askin’ for peace. Please stop tearin’ up our homes. Please do not respond to the police by destruction an’ vandalism. We can hurt no one but ourselves that way. I am askin’ too that the Sutton police drive over to the Administration Building and wait for further orders from their superior. I am askin’ for peace.’

  ‘You layin’ to get a piece a lead from one a these devils,’ Abul said lighting a cigarette. ‘Man, who you think you are? Martin Luther King? Talkin’ all this peace shit . . . these devils baitin’ the brothers an’ sisters, jus’ doin’ they damndest fo’ an excuse to shoot yo’ people down!’

  ‘Our people,’ Earl reminded Abul.

  ‘Yours if they crawl on their bellies!’ Menka snapped. ‘I'm down here to defend.’

  ‘Hi many can you defend wit’ one .22?’

  ‘Hi many guns did we have at Jackson State? If we'da had one .22 Black people might not a been the only ones that died.’

  ‘Or mo’ Black people mighta died,’ Earl said. ‘Brothers and sisters.’ The SGA president turned his attention back to the P.A. Abul was silent.

  ‘At leas’ turn yo’ light out so you won’ be such an easy target,’ Menka said.

  Earl doused the lights. They watched two patrol cars pull up in the driveway next to Sutton Hall. There were still two more somewhere.

  On their third turn around the oval the sound of breaking glass and screaming had subsided. Outlines of people were stretched across the screens in the windows of the dormitories.

  ‘Please turn off yo’ lights an’ stay away from the windows,’ Earl said, continuing to drive slowly with his lights off. ‘Stay away from yo’ windows an’ keep yo’ lights off.’

  All four patrol cars were accounted for. The only people seen walking out in the open were the security guards. Earl's car was caught in a blaze of headlights as he started his fourth cycle. Both Earl and Abul recognized the car as the Lincoln belonging to Ogden Calhoun who sat stiffly behind the wheel. Calhoun passed by them as though he had not seen the Oldsmobile. Earl sighed his relief.