Jonathan Relevant spread his fingers and slapped G. P.’s hand firmly. “Take five.” He acknowledged the welcome.
“Coffee?” A hot plate had been set up on a bridge table and water bubbled in a Silex. “It’s instant, but what the hey,” G. P. added. “How do you take it?”
“Black is best.”
“B1ack is strong!” G. P. shook his first. “Well, let’s get at it.” He pulled over a typewriter table and sat down across from Jonathan Relevant. “First demand, the Angel Gabriel.” He inserted paper and carbons and touch-typed the heading. “Now let’s see.” He took his fingers off the keyboard. “They got to put it back on its pedestal and promise to keep it there. And with all its equipment intact. We want a guarantee there’ll be no peckin’ away at the pecker. O1’ Gabe goes back and stays with his black manhood where it belongs!” G. P. looked at Eldridge Cleaver for confirmation.
Jonathan Relevant returned his gaze. “This dingus is important ’cause it’s symbolic. That so?”
“Right on. Gonads for Gabriel represent manhood for all black men.”
“But ain’t that symbol pretty much an exaggeration of reality?” Jonathan Relevant inquired.
“Either that, or I have been deprived in more ways than culturally, man.” G. P. grinned.
“Right on. You dig what I’m getting at?” Jonathan Relevant grinned back at him. “Like maybe you’re gonna end up defeating your purpose. You set up Gabe as a symbol, but could be that symbol makes impressionable young bucks like feel inferior. ‘Cause they can’t measure up noways. You read me?”
“Yeah.” G. P. nodded. “But isn’t that a chance we got to take? We’re committed now.”
“Then make the demand. But be primed to negotiate with the mothahs on it,” Jonathan Relevant advised.
“How’s that, Eldridge? These demands gotta be non-negotiable. You know that.”
“Sure. You gotta say that.” Jonathan Relevant nodded. “But you also gotta leave the administration a way to save a little face.”
“Man, how you gonna compromise on Gabe’s joint? Cut half of it off, or what?” G. P. was puzzled.
“No, baby. Leave every mothah’s inch of it right there. But when Whitey looks ready to give in on your other points, you throw him a soup bone. You agree to cover Angel’s cannon—but only if it’s covered with a genuine Swahili loincloth. Like that way you keep your manhood cake ’thout normal-built black men eatin’ their livers for soul food.”
“Man, that is really cool.” G. P. chuckled and started typing. “I won’t put it down here, but I’ll save it for when the right time comes. Now, point number two. . . .”
The following few points were disposed of without much discussion between them. Then G. P. brought up the demand for the establishment of a Department of Afro-American Studies at Harnell. “I want to push for as many genuine African cats to teach these courses as possible,” G. P. explained. “Soul, man! Real Afro soul! That’s what it takes to give black kids the pride of race!”
“Like they should identify with Africans an’ that way they know who they is?” Jonathan Relevant inquired.
“You got it, Brother Cleaver.”
“But they ain’t,” Jonathan Relevant said softly.
“Ain’t what?”
“Ain’t Africans. They’s black Americans—-which maybe ain’t the same as white Americans, but also ain’t like growin’ up in black Africa.”
“Yeah? So?”
“They’s no natural culture bond ’tween American black kids an’ Africa. Too many years an’ too many miles ’tween ’em. You can’t force it. They never gonna fit into that mold. The American black, he’s an American cat. Maybe he gotta tear the country up to get justice, but in his gut he knows he’s a black American, not an African.”
“You saying we should scrap the demand for an Afro study program?”
“Nope. Just that the focus should be on black America, not just black Africa.”
“Like no Swahili? That what you getting at?”
“Nope.” Jonathan Relevant shook’ Eldridge Cleaver’s head. “They’s just as much reason to learn Swahili as there is French or Italian. An’ Swahili makes a lot more sense than Latin or Greek. Shee-it! This world’s two-thirds nonwhite. Time’s come for Americans—black an’ white—- to learn to communicate with these folks.”
“Seems like these courses should be aimed at white students,” G. P. mused. “They need ’em more than we do.”
“Let white kids take Afro courses. But black kids should get preference in enrolling ’cause that’s where it’s at today. Black cats need it more than whites ’cause it’ll give ’em a realistic pride, ’stead of wallowing in the resentment of being the underdog. I mean a pride rooted in who and what they are, what they’ve accomplished, and what their goals are. As American blacks! True pride ain’t arrogant, nor exclusive. Dig?”
G. P. nodded and began typing again. When he stopped, they want on to the next point. And then the next. About an hour later they came to the final demand: amnesty.
“Complete amnesty for all blacks, whether they’re students or not,” G. P. suggested. “No action to be taken against them by the university administration, or the civil authorities.”
“How ’bout the whites who back you?”
“They’ll just be using us for their own thing. SDS or whatever, it’ll be a white fight they’re waging. We’re just giving them the excuse.” G. P. was cynical.
“You can’t sell ’em down the river,” Jonathan Relevant told him. “You gotta groove practical politics. Face up to it, baby. Ain’t enough blacks on this campus to change nothin’ ’thout white support. You need ’em, man. Amnesty’s gonna end up bein’ the big issue. An’ you better believe it. You leave out the whites an’ they just liable to cop out altogether. An’ ’thout ’em you just plain too weak!”
“Okay. Amnesty for all blacks and sympathetic whites.”
“All whites.” Jonathan Relevant corrected him.
“Huh? What about the ones that oppose us? If there’s any rough stuff, you can bet it’ll come from those right-wing Greeks and jocks first. You saying we should ask amnesty for them too?”
“Yep. If you do, you pull the rug right out from under their prejudice from the start. You come on fightin’ for their rights, that makes it damn hard for them to justify fightin’ you to themselves. Shee-it! You just might neutralize some of ’em.”
G. P. might have been listening to Eldridge Cleaver but it was Jonathan Relevant talking.
“Total amnesty.” G. P. X’d out what he’d typed before and reworded the demand. “That does it.” He pulled the last sheet from the typewriter and clipped it to the others. “Would you take these ten demands upstairs to the chancellor and lay them on him, Brother Cleaver?” he asked Jonathan Relevant. “If there’s one man Old Hardlign won’t be able to intimidate, you’re him. What do you say?”
“Right on.” Jonathan Relevant consented.
A short while later, the door to Chancellor Hardlign’s office was opened and G. P. instructed the guards he’d left there to post themselves in the hallway outside. The chancellor looked up from his desk, where he'd been dozing. He blinked the sleep from his eyes and opened them wide as Jonathan Relevant entered alone, closing the door be- hind him.
The chancellor’s eyes conveyed his impression of Jonathan Relevant to Jonathan Relevant. Caucasian, efficient-looking, about ten years the chancellor’s senior, well-mannered, intelligent, and reasonable—that was the man Jonathan Relevant knew he now was. And there was wisdom in the deep lines of his craggy face.