Black Man's Burden

  V

  When Homer Crawford, Abe Baker, Kenny Ballalou, Elmer Allen andBey-ag-Akhamouk had laughed themselves out, Frederic Ostrander, theC.I.A. operative stared at them in anger. "What's so funny?" he snapped.

  From his seat in the middle of the hall, Pierre Dupaine, operative forthe French Community, said worriedly, "_Messieurs_, this El Hassan isnot amusing. I, too, have heard of him. His followers are evidentlysweeping through the Sahara. Everywhere I hear of him."

  There was confirming murmur throughout the rest of the gathering.

  Still chuckling, Homer Crawford said, a hand held up for quiet, "Please,everyone. Pardon the amusement of my teammates and myself. You see,there is no such person as El Hassan."

  "To the contrary!" Ostrander snapped.

  "No, please," Crawford said, grinning ruefully. "You see, my team_invented_ him, some time ago."

  Ostrander could only stare, and for once his position was backed byeveryone in the hall, Crawford's team excepted.

  Crawford said doggedly, "It came about like this. These people need ahero. It's in their nomad tradition. They need a leader to follow. Givena leader, as history has often demonstrated, and the nomad will performmiracles. We wished to spread the program of the African DevelopmentProject. Such items as the need to unite, to break down the oldboundaries of clan and tribe and even nation, the freeing of the slaveand serf, the upgrading of women's position, the dropping of the veiland haik, the need to educate the youth, the desirability of taking jobson the projects and to take up land on the new oases. But since weusually go about disguised as Enaden itinerant smiths, a poorly thoughtof caste, our ideas weren't worth much. So we invented El Hassan andeverything we said we ascribed to him, this mysterious hero who wasgoing to lead all North Africa to Utopia."

  Jake Armstrong stood up and said, sheepishly, "I suppose that my teamunknowingly added to this. We heard about this mysterious El Hassan andhe seemed largely to be going in the same direction, and for the samereason--to give the rumors we were spreading weight--we ascribed thethings we said to him."

  Somebody farther back in the hall laughed and said, "So did I!"

  Homer Crawford extended his hands in the direction of Ostrander, palmsupward. "I'm sorry, sir. But there seems to be your mysterioussubversive."

  Angered, Ostrander snapped, "Then you admit that it was you, yourself,who have been spreading these subversive ideas?"

  "Now, wait a minute," Crawford snapped in return. "I admit only to thoseslogans and ideas promulgated by the African Development Project. If anyso-called subversive ideas have been ascribed to El Hassan, it has notbeen through my team. Frankly, I rather doubt that they have. Thesepeople aren't at any ethnic period where the program of the SovietComplex would appeal. They're largely in a ritual-taboo tribal societyand no one alleging any alliance whatsoever to Marx would contend thatyou can go from that primitive a culture to what the Soviets callcommunism."

  "I'll take this up with my department chief," Ostrander said angrily."You haven't heard the last of it, Crawford." He sat down abruptly.

  Crawford looked out over the room. "Anybody else we haven't heard from?"

  A middle-aged, heavy-set, Western dressed man came to his feet andcleared his throat. "Dr. Warren Harding Smythe, American Medical Relief.I assume that most of you have heard of us. An organization supportedpartially by government grant, partially by contributions by privatecitizens and institutions, as is that of Miss Isobel Cunningham's Africafor Africans Association." He added grimly, "But there the resemblanceends."

  He looked at Homer Crawford. "I am to be added to the number not infavor of this conference. In fact, I am opposed to the presence of mostof you here in Africa."

  Crawford nodded. "You certainly have a right to your opinion, doctor.Will you elucidate?"

  Dr. Smythe had worked his way to the front of the room, now he lookedout over the assemblage defiantly. "I am not at all sure that the taskmost of you work at is a desirable one. As you know, my own organizationis at work bringing medical care to Africa. We build hospitals, clinics,above all medical schools. Not a single one of our hospitals but is aschool at the same time."

  Abe Baker growled, "Everybody knows and values your work, Doc, butwhat's this bit about being opposed to ours?"

  Smythe looked at him distastefully. "You people are seeking to destroythe culture of these people, and, overnight thrust them into thepressures of Twentieth Century existence. As a medical doctor, I do notthink them capable of assimilating such rapid change and I fear fortheir mental health."

  There was a prolonged silence.

  Crawford said finally, "What is the alternative to the problems Ipresented in my summation of the situation that confronts the world dueto the backward conditions of such areas as Africa?"

  "I don't know, it isn't my field."

  There was another silence.

  Elmer Allen said finally, uncomfortably, "It _is_ our field, Dr.Smythe."

  Smythe turned to him, his face still holding its distaste. "I understandthat the greater part of you are sociologists, political scientists andsuch. Frankly, ladies and gentlemen, I do not think of the socialsciences as exact ones."

  He looked around the room and added, deliberately, "In view of thecondition of the world, I do not have a great deal of respect for theproduct of your efforts."

  There was an uncomfortable stirring throughout the audience.

  Clifford Jackson said unhappily, "We do what we must do, doctor. We dowhat we can."

  Smythe eyed him. He said, "Some years ago I was impressed by a paragraphby a British writer named Huxley. So impressed that I copied it and havecarried it with me. I'll read it now."

  The heavy-set doctor took out his wallet, fumbled in it for a moment andfinally brought forth an aged, many times folded, piece of yellowedpaper.

  He cleared his throat, then read:

  "_To the question_ quis custodiet custodes?--_who will mount guard overour guardians, who will engineer the engineers?--the answer is a blanddenial that they need any supervision. There seems to be a touchingbelief among certain Ph.Ds in sociology that Ph.Ds in sociology willnever be corrupted by power. Like Sir Galahad's, their strength is thestrength of ten because their heart is pure--and their heart is purebecause they are scientists and have taken six thousand hours of socialstudies. Alas, high education is not necessarily a guarantee of highervirtue, or higher political wisdom._"

  The doctor finished and returned to his seat, his face stilluncompromising.

  * * * * *

  Homer Crawford chuckled ruefully. "The point is well taken, I suppose.However, so was the one expressed by Mr. Jackson. We do what we must,and what we can." His eyes went over the assembly. "Is there any othergroup from which we haven't heard?"

  When there was silence, he added, "No group from the Soviet Complex?"

  Ostrander, the C.I.A. operative, snorted. "Do you think they would admitit?"

  "Or from the Arab Union?" Crawford pursued. "Whether or not the SovietComplex has agents in this part of Africa, we know that the Arab Union,backed by Islam everywhere, has. Frankly, we of the African DevelopmentProject seldom see eye to eye with them which results in considerablediscussion at Reunited Nations meetings."

  There was continued silence.

  Elmer Allen came to his feet and looked at Ostrander, his face surly. "Iam not an advocate of what the Soviets are currently calling communism,however, I think a point should be made here."

  Ostrander stared back at him unblinkingly.

  Allen snorted, "I know what you're thinking. When I was a student Isigned a few peace petitions, that sort of thing. How--or why theybothered--the C.I.A. got hold of that information, I don't know, but asa Jamaican I am a bit ashamed of Her Majesty's Government. But all thisis beside the point."

  "What is your point, Elmer?" Crawford said. "You speak, of course, as anindividual not as an employee of the Reunited Nations nor even as amember of my team."

  "Our team," E
lmer Allen reminded him. He frowned at his chief, as thoughsurprised at Crawford's stand. But then he looked back at the rest. "Idon't like the fact that the C.I.A. is present at all. I growincreasingly weary of the righteousness of the prying for what it callssubversion. The latest definition of subversive seems to be any chap whodoesn't vote either Republican or Democrat in the States, orConservative in England."

  Ostrander grunted scorn.

  Allen looked at him again. "So far as this job is concerned--and by thelooks of things, most of us will be kept busy at it for the rest of ourlives--I am not particularly favorable to the position of either side inthis never-warming cold war between you and the Soviet Complex. I havesuspected for some time that neither of you actually want an ending ofit. For different reasons, possibly. So far as the States are concerned,I suspect an end of your fantastic military budgets would mean acollapse of your economy. So far as the Soviets are concerned, I suspectthey use the continual _threat_ of attack by the West to keep up theirmilitary and police powers and suppress the freedom of their people.Wasn't it an old adage of the Romans that if you feared trouble at home,stir up war abroad? At any rate, I'd like to have it on the record thatI protest the Cold War being dragged into our work in Africa--by eitherside."

  "All right, Elmer," Crawford said, "you're on record. Is that all?"

  "That's all," Elmer Allen said. He sat down abruptly.

  "Any comment, Mr. Ostrander?" Crawford said.

  Ostrander grunted, "Fuzzy thinking." Didn't bother with anything more.

  The chairman looked out over the hall. "Any further discussion, anymotions?" He smiled and added, "Anything--period?"

  Finally Jake Armstrong came to his feet. He said, "I don't agree witheverything Mr. Allen just said; however, there was one item where I'llfollow along. The fact that most of us will be busy at this job for therest of our lives--if we stick. With this in mind, the fact that we havelots of time, I make the following proposal. This meeting was called tosee if there was any prospect of we field workers co-operating on afield worker's level, if we could in any way help each other, avoidduplication of effort, that sort of thing. I suggest now that thismeeting be adjourned and that all of us think it over and discuss itwith the other teams, the other field workers in our respectiveorganizations. I propose further that another meeting be held within theyear and that meanwhile Mr. Crawford be elected chairman of the groupuntil the next gathering, and that Miss Cunningham be elected secretary.We can all correspond with Mr. Crawford, until the time of the nextmeeting, giving him such suggestions as might come to us. When he seesfit to call the next meeting, undoubtedly he will have some concreteproposals to put before us."

  Isobel said, _sotto voce_, "Secretaries invariably do all the work, whyis it that men always nominate a woman for the job?"

  Jake grinned at her, "I'll never tell." He sat down.

  "I'll make that a motion," Rex Donaldson clipped out.

  "Second," someone else called.

  Homer Crawford said, "All in favor?"

  Those in favor predominated considerably.

  * * * * *

  They broke up into small groups for a time, debating it out, and thenmost left for various places for lunch.

  Homer Crawford, separated from the other members of his team, in theanimated discussions that went on about him, finally left thefascinating subject of what had happened to the Cuban group in Sudan,and who had done it, and went looking for his own lunch.

  He strolled down the sand-blown street in the general direction of thesmaller market, in the center of Timbuktu, passing the aged, windcorroded house which had once sheltered Major Alexander Gordon Laing,first white man to reach the forbidden city in the year 1826. Laingremained only three days before being murdered by the Tuareg whocontrolled the town at that time. There was a plaque on the doorrevealing those basic facts. Crawford had read elsewhere that the citywas not captured until 1893 by a Major Joffre, later to become a Marshalof France and a prominent Allied leader in the First World War.

  By chance he met Isobel in front of the large community butcher shop,still operated in the old tradition by the local Gabibi and Fulbe,formerly Songhoi serfs. He knew of a Syrian operated restaurant nearby,and since she hadn't eaten either they made their way there.

  The menu was limited largely to local products. Timbuktu was stillremote enough to make transportation of frozen foodstuffs exorbitant.While they looked at the bill of fare he told her a story about hisfirst trip to the city some years ago while he was still a student.

  He had visited the local American missionary and had dinner with thefamily in their home. They had canned plums for desert and Homer hadpolitely commented upon their quality. The missionary had said that theyshould be good, he estimated the quart jar to be worth something likeone hundred dollars. It seems that some kindly old lady in Iowa,figuring that missionaries in such places as Timbuktu must be in direneed of her State Fair prize winning canned plums, shipped off a box oftwelve quarts to missionary headquarters in New York. At that time,France still owned French Sudan, so it was necessary for the plums to besent to Paris, and thence, eventually to Dakar. At Dakar they wereshipped through Senegal to Bamako by narrow gauge railroad which ranperiodically. In Bamako they had to wait for an end to the rainy seasonso roads would be passable. By this time, a few of the jars hadfermented and blown up, and a few others had been pilfered. When theroads were dry enough, a desert freight truck took the plums to Mopti,on the Niger River where they waited again until the river was highenough that a tug pulling barges could navigate, by slow stages, down toKabara. By this time, one or two jars had been broken by inexperthandling and more pilfered. In Kabara they were packed onto a camel andtaken to Timbuktu and delivered to the missionary. Total time elapsedsince leaving Iowa? Two years. Total number of jars that got through?One.

  Isobel looked at Homer Crawford when he finished the story, and laughed."Why in the world didn't that missionary society refuse the old lady'sgift?"

  He laughed in return and shrugged. "They couldn't. She might get into ahuff and not mention them in her will. Missionary societies can't affordto discourage gifts."

  She made her selection from the menu, and told the waiter in French, andthen settled back. She resumed the conversation. "The cost ofmaintaining a missionary in this sort of country must have beenfantastic."

  "Um-m-m," Crawford growled. "I sometimes wonder how many millions uponmillions of dollars, pounds and francs have been plowed into thiscontinent on such projects. This particular missionary wasn't a medicalman and didn't even run a school and in the six years he was here didn'tmake a single convert."

  Isobel said, "Which brings us to our own pet projects. Homer--I can callyou Homer, I suppose, being your brand new secretary...."

  He grinned at her. "I'll make that concession."

  "... What's your own dream?"

  He broke some bread, automatically doing it with his left hand, asprescribed in the Koran. They both noticed it, and both laughed.

  "I'm conditioned," he said.

  "Me, too," Isobel admitted. "It's all I can do to use a knife and fork."

  He went back to her question, scowling. "My dream? I don't know. Rightnow I feel a little depressed about it all. When Elmer Allen spoke aboutspending the rest of our lives on this job, I suddenly realized that wasabout it. And, you know"--he looked up at her--"I don't particularlylike Africa. I'm an American."

  She looked at him oddly. "Then why stay here?"

  "Because there's so much that needs to be done."

  "Yes, you're right and what Cliff Jackson said to the doctor wascorrect, too. We all do what we must do and what we can do."

  "Well, that brings us back to your question. What is my own dream? I'mafraid I'm too far along in life to acquire new ones, and my basic dreamis an American one."

  "And that is--?" Isobel prompted.

  He shrugged again, slightly uncomfortable under the scrutiny of thispretty girl. "I'm a sociologist,
Isobel. I suppose I seek Utopia."

  She frowned at him as though disappointed. "Is Utopia possible?"

  "No, but there is always the search for it. It's a goal that recedes asyou approach, which is as it should be. Heaven help mankind if we everachieve it; we'll be through because there will be no place to go, andman needs to strive."

  They had finished their soup and the entree had arrived. Isobel pickedat it, her ordinarily smooth forehead wrinkled. "The way I see it,Utopia is not heaven. Heaven is perfect, but Utopia is an engineeringoptimum, the best-possible-human-techniques. Therefore we will not have_perfect_ justice in Utopia, nor will _everyone_ get the exactly propertreatment. We design for optimum--not perfection. But granting this,then attainment is possible."

  She took a bite of the food before going on thoughtfully. "In fact, Iwonder if, during man's history, he hasn't obtained his Utopias fromtime to time. Have you ever heard the adage that any form of governmentworks fine and produces a Utopia provided it is managed by wise,benevolent and competent rulers?" She laughed and said mischievously,"Both Heaven and Hell are traditionally absolute monarchies--despotisms.The form of government evidently makes no difference, it's who runs itthat determines."

  Crawford was shaking his head. "I've heard the adage but I don't acceptit. Under certain socio-economic conditions the best of men, and thewisest, could do little if they had the wrong form of government.Suppose, for instance, you had a government which was amilitary-theocracy which is more or less what existed in Mexico at thetime of the Cortez conquest. Can you imagine such a government workingefficiently if the socio-economic system had progressed to the pointwhere there were no longer wars and where practically everyone wereatheists, or, at least, agnostics?"

  She had to laugh at his ludicrous example. "That's a rather sillysituation, isn't it? Such wise, benevolent men, would change thegovernmental system."

  Crawford pushed his point. "Not necessarily. Here's a better example.Immediately following the American Revolution, some of the best, wisestand most competent men the political world has ever seen were at thehead of the government of Virginia. Such men as Jefferson, Madison,Monroe, Washington. Their society was based on chattel slavery and theybuilt a Utopia _for themselves_ but certainly not for the slaves whoout-numbered them. Not that they weren't kindly and good men. A man ofJefferson's caliber, I am sure, would have done anything in the worldfor those darkies of his--except get off their backs. Except to grantthem the liberty and the right to pursue happiness that he demanded forhimself. He was blinded by self interest, and the interests of hisclass."

  "Perhaps they didn't want liberty," Isobel mused. "Slavery isn'tnecessarily an unhappy life."

  "I never thought it was. And I'm the first to admit that at a certainstage in the evolution of society, it was absolutely necessary. Ifsociety was to progress, then there had to be a class that was freedfrom daily drudgery of the type forced on primitive man if he was tosurvive. They needed the leisure time to study, to develop, to invent.With the products of their studies, they were able to advance allsociety. However, so long as slavery is maintained, be it necessary ornot, you have no Utopia. There is no Utopia so long as one man deniesanother his liberty be it under chattel slavery, feudalism, orwhatever."

  Isobel said dryly, "I see why you say your Utopia will never be reached,that it continually recedes."

  He laughed, ruefully. "Don't misunderstand. I think that particular goalcan and will be reached. My point was that by the time we reach it,there will be a new goal."

  * * * * *

  The girl, finished with her main dish, sat back in her chair, and lookedat him from the side of her eyes, as though wondering whether or not hecould take what she was about to say in the right way. She said, slowly,"You know, with possibly a few exceptions, you can't enslave a man if hedoesn't want to be a slave. For instance, the white man was never ableto enslave the Amerind; he died before he would become a slave. Themajority of Jefferson's slaves _wanted to be slaves_. If there werethose among them that had the ability to revolt against slavepsychology, a Jefferson would quickly promote such. A valuable humanbeing will be treated in a manner proportionate to his value. A wise,competent, trustworthy slave became the major domo of the master'sestate--with privileges and authority actually greater than that of freeemployees of the master."

  Crawford thought about that for a moment. "I'll take that," he said."What's the point you're trying to make?"

  "I, too, was set a-thinking by some of the things said at the meeting,Homer. In particular, what Dr. Smythe had to say. Homer, are we surethese people _want_ the things we are trying to give them?"

  He looked at her uncomfortably. "No they don't," he said bluntly."Otherwise we wouldn't be here, either your AFAA or my AfricanDevelopment Project. We utilize persuasion, skullduggery, and even forceto subvert their institutions, to destroy their present culture. Yes.I've known this a long time."

  "Then how do you justify your being here?"

  He grinned sourly. "Let's put it this way. Take the new government inEgypt. They send the army into some of the small back-country towns withbayoneted rifles, and orders to use them if necessary. The villagers areforced to poison their ancient village wells--one of the highest ofimaginable crimes in such country, imposed on them ruthlessly. Then theyare forced to dig new ones in new places that are not intimatelyentangled with their own sewage drainage. Naturally they hate thegovernment. In other towns, the army has gone in and, at gun point,forced the parents to give up their children, taken the children awayin trucks and 'imprisoned' them in schools. Look, back in the Stateswe have trouble with the Amish, who don't want their children tobe taught modern ways. What sort of reaction do you think thetradition-ritual-tabu-tribesmen of the six thousand year old Egyptianculture have to having modern education imposed on their children?"

  Isobel was frowning at him.

  Crawford wound it up. "That's the position we're in. That's what we'redoing. Giving them things they need, in spite of the fact they don'twant them."

  "But _why_?"

  He said, "You know the answer to that as well as I do. It's like givingmedical care to Typhoid Mary, in spite of the fact that she didn't wantit and didn't believe such things as typhoid microbes existed. We had toprotect the community against her. In the world today, such backwardareas as Africa are potential volcanoes. We've got to deal with thembefore they erupt."

  The waiter came with the bill and Homer took it.

  Isobel said, "Let's go Dutch on that."

  He grinned at her. "Consider it a donation to the AFAA."

  Out on the street again, they walked slowly in the direction of the oldadministration buildings where both had left their means oftransportation.

  Isobel, who was frowning thoughtfully, evidently over the things thathad been said, said, "Let's go this way. I'd like to see the old GreatMosque, in the Dyingerey Ber section of town. It's always fascinatedme."

  Crawford said, looking at her and appreciating her attractiveness, allover again, "You know Timbuktu quite well, don't you?"

  "I've just finished a job down in Kabara, and it's only a few milesaway."

  "Just what sort of thing do you do?"

  She shrugged and made a moue. "Our little team concentrates on breakingdown the traditional position of women in these cultures. To get them todrop the veil, go to school. That sort of thing. It's a long storyand--"

  Homer Crawford suddenly and violently pushed her to the side and to theground and at the same time dropped himself and rolled frantically tothe shelter of an adobe wall which had once been part of a house but nowwas little more than waist high.

  "Down!" he yelled at her.

  She bug-eyed him as though he had gone suddenly mad.

  There was a heavy, stub-nosed gun suddenly in his hand. He squirmedforward on elbows and belly, until he reached the corner.

  "What's the matter?" she blurted.

  He said grimly, "See those three holes in the wall above you?
"

  She looked up, startled.

  He said, grimly, "They weren't there a moment ago."

  What he was saying, dawned upon her. "But ... but I heard no shots."

  He cautiously peered around the wall, and was rewarded with a puff ofsand inches from his face. He pulled his head back and his lips thinnedover his teeth. He said to her, "Efficiently silenced guns have beenaround for quite a spell. Whoever that is, is up there in the mosque.Listen, beat your way around by the back streets and see if you can findthe members of my team, especially Abe Baker or Bey-ag-Akhamouk. Tellthem what happened and that I think I've got the guy pinned down. Thatmosque is too much out in the open for him to get away without my seeinghim."

  "But ... but who in the world would want to shoot you, Homer?"

  "Search me," he growled. "My team has never operated in this immediatearea."

  "But then, it must be someone who was at the meeting."