“Other difficulties were manifold. So far as socioeconomics was concerned, African society ran the scale from bottom to top. The bushmen of the Ermelo district of the Transvaal and the Kalahari are stone age people still—savages. Throughout the continent we find tribes at an ethnic level which American Anthropologist Lewis Henry Morgan called barbarism. In some places we find socio-economic systems based on chattle slavery, elsewhere feudalism. In comparatively few areas, Casablanca, Algiers, Dakar, Cairo and possibly the Union we find a rapidly expanding capitalism.
“Needless to say, if Africa were to progress, to increase rapidly her per capita income, to depart the ranks of the have-nots and become a continent of have nations, these obstacles had to be overcome. That is why we are here.”
“Speak for yourself, Mr. Crawford,” the white-haired objector of ten minutes earlier bit out.
Homer Crawford nodded. “You are correct, sir. I should have said that is the reason the teams of the Reunited Nations African Development Project are here. I note among us various members of this project besides those belonging to my own team, by the way. However, most of you are under other auspices. We of the Reunited Nations teams are here because as Africans racially but not nationally, we have no affiliations with clan, tribe or African nation. We are free to work for Africa’s progress without prejudice. Our job is to remove obstacles wherever we find them. To break up log jams. To eliminate prejudices against the steps that must be taken if Africa is to run down the path of progress, rather than to crawl. We usually operate in teams of about half a dozen. There are hundreds of such teams in North Africa alone.”
He rapped his knuckle against the small table behind which he stood. “Which brings us to the present and to the purpose of suggesting this meeting. Most of you are operating under other auspices than the Reunited Nations. Many of you duplicate some of our work. It occurred to me, and my team mates, that it might be a good idea for us to get together and see if there is ground for cooperation.”
Jake Armstrong called out, “What kind of cooperation?”
Crawford shrugged. “How would I know? Largely, I don’t even know who you represent, or the exact nature of the tasks you are trying to perform. I suggest that each group of us represented here stand up and announce their position. Possibly it will lead to something of value.”
“I make that a motion,” Cliff Jackson said.
“Second,” Elmer Allen called out.
The majority were in favor.
Homer Crawford sat down behind the table, saying, “Who’ll start off?”
Armstrong said, “Isobel, you’re better looking than I am. They’d rather look at you. You present our story.”
Isobel came to her feet and shot him a scornful glance. “Lazy,” she said.
Jake Armstrong grinned at her. “Make it good.”
Isobel took her place next to the table at which Crawford sat and faced the others.
She looked at the chairman from the side of her eyes and said, “After that allegedly brief summation Mr. Crawford made, I have a sneaking suspicion that we’ll be here until next week unless I set a new precedent and cut the position of the Africa for Africans Association shorter.”
Isobel got her laugh, including one from Homer Crawford, and went on.
“Anyway, I suppose most of you know of the AFAA and possibly many of you belong to it, or at least contribute. We’ve been called the African Zionist organization and perhaps that’s not too far off. We are largely, but not entirely, an American association. We send out our teams, such as the one my colleagues and I belong to, in order to speed up progress and, as our chairman put it, eliminate prejudices against the steps that must be taken if Africa is to run down the path of progress instead of crawl. We also advocate that Americans and other non-African-born Negroes, educated in Europe and the Americas, return to Africa to help in its struggles. We find positions for any such who are competent, preferably doctors, educators, scientists and technicians, but also competent mechanics, construction workers and so forth. We operate a school in New York where we teach native languages and lingua franca such as Swahili and Songhai, in preparation for going to Africa. We raise our money largely from voluntary contributions and largely from American Negroes, although we have also had government grants and donations from foundations and individuals of other racial backgrounds. I suppose that sums it up.”
Isobel smiled at them and returned to her chair to applause, probably due as much to her attractive appearance as her words.
Crawford said, “When we began this meeting we had an objection that it be held at all. I wonder if we might hear from that gentleman next?”
The white-haired, ramrod-erect man stood next to his chair, not bothering to come to the head of the room. “You may indeed,” he snapped. “I am Bishop Manning of the United Negro Missionaries, an organization attempting to accomplish the only truly important task that cries for completion on this largely godless continent. Accomplish this, and all else will fall into place.”
Homer Crawford said, “I assume you refer to the conversion of the populace.”
“I do indeed. And the work others do is meaningless until that has been accomplished. We are bringing religion to Africa, but not through white missionaries who in the past lived off the natives, but through Negro missionaries who live with them. I call upon all of you to give up your present occupations and come to our assistance.”
Elmer Allen’s voice was sarcastic. “These people need less superstition, not more.”
The bishop spun on him. “I am not speaking of superstition, young man!”
Elmer Allen said, “All religions are superstitions, except one’s own.”
“And yours?” the bishop barked.
“I’m an agnostic.”
The bishop snorted his disgust and made his way to the door. There he turned and had his last word. “All you do is meaningless. I pray you, again, give it up and join in the Lord’s work.”
Homer Crawford nodded to him. “Thank you, Bishop Manning. I’m sure we will all consider your words.” When the older man was gone, he looked out over the hall again. “Well, who is next?”
A thus far speechless member of the audience, seated in the first row, came to his feet. His face was serious and strained, the face of a man who pushes himself beyond the point of efficiency in the vain effort to accomplish more by expenditure of added hours.
He came to the front and said, “Since I’m possibly the only one here who also has objections to the reason for calling this meeting, I might as well have my say now.” He half turned to Crawford, and continued. “Mr. Chairman, my name is Ralph Sandell and I’m an officer in the Sahara Afforestation Project, which, as you know, is also under the auspices of the Reunited Nations, though not having any other connection with your own organization.”
Homer Crawford nodded. “We know of your efforts, but why do you object to calling this meeting?” He seemed mystified.
“Because, like Bishop Manning, I think your efforts misdirected. I think you are expending tremendous sums of money and the work of tens of thousands of good men and women, in directions which in the long run will hardly count.”
Crawford leaned back in surprise, waiting for the other’s reasoning.
Ralph Sandell obliged. “As the chairman pointed out, the problem of population explosion is a desperate one. Even today, with all the efforts of the Reunited Nations and of the individual countries involved in African aid, the population of this continent is growing at a pace that will soon outstrip the arable portion of the land. Save only Antarctica, Africa has the smallest arable percentage of land of any of the continents.