Manjani Excerpt
By the time I reached twelfth grade, I emphatically knew white teachers asked questions they didn’t want the answer to then punished you for answering them anyway. But that was their problem, not mine, so you could depend on an answer from me. I wasn’t there to stroke egos or hold my tongue or be anything like I was taught. I wasn’t respectful. I was extremely disrespectful have them tell it. I didn’t downplay my greatness or pacify my opinions to make people feel comfortable. My Ancestors did enough of that to last the rest of us. I, for one, have always been and will always be free, mentally, physically, and spiritually. Anyone who threatened that was sure to feel the wrath of Manjani.
For that reason, it was blasphemy for me to sit there in the year of his Lord, nineteen hundred and ninety six with my mouth glued shut when I had so much to say in defense of my people. And yes, my mouth had gotten me in trouble on occasion, but it was the mightiest weapon in my arsenal. God gave it to me and told me to use it when and how I pleased, and can’t nobody argue with God. So if people didn’t like my attitude, fuck ‘em. That was their problem, not mine.
“Miss Jackson, we’re waiting,” Mr. Loathe said.
“And?”
“And, if you don’t answer the question, you’re going to receive an ‘F’ for participation today.”
“What was the question again?”
We both knew I had been listening. I was an honor student, which meant I always stayed on point. I only posed these challenges because I was bored. I’d rather be studying something that pertained to me, or at least would help my people.
“Tell me the influence that monotheistic religions have on art, politics, science, and commerce. And please, Miss Jackson, try to keep your comments brief. And don’t stray from the book.”
“All my answers come from a book.”
“I’m referring to the text,” he said, holding up the thick manuscript of deception. He loosened the navy blue tie that dangled in front of his blue and white checkered shirt.
“Only a fool would rely on what’s in there. But anyway,” I rolled my eyes. “I’ll make this quick. Number one, religion is a business, from the sale of Bibles to the sale of Pastors’ Benzes. That’s commerce. Number two, the politics—Michelangelo’s depiction of Jesus was actually a painting of his uncle, which when you do the research, you find out is obvious because Revelations 1:14 describes Jesus as being black. What white man you know got wooly hair and feet that looked like they were burnt in a furnace? With a description like that, Jesus had to be Black.”
“Just like John Hanson, the so-called first President of the United States, right?”
“Yup, and his picture is on the back of this two-dollar bill,” I said, digging my treasure out of my pocket.
“I don’t need to see it.”
“Yes, you do, since you don’t believe me.”
“No, really, Manjani, let’s move on.”
“Well you brought it up!”
“That’s enough lip from you, young lady. I don’t know why you’re so high strung!”
“I’m not high strung! You’re the one who’s high strung! All I did was answer the question and now you have a problem with it! I’ll get an ‘F’ if I don’t participate and an ‘F’ if I do. That’s why I hate this F-ing class.”
“Look, I don’t know what you’ve read that would lead you to believe that God is Black, but we’re not here to debate that.”
“Hold up! First of all, I said Jesus was Black. I ain’t say nothing ‘bout God. Jesus ain’t God.”
“Yes he is,” Henry Atkins said.
“Shut up, nerd!” Turning to Mr. Loathe, I said, “I ain’t the only one who knows Jesus was Black. Even the Pope prays to a Black Madonna, the supposed virgin mother of Christ. How a Black virgin gonna have a white baby? And if you really wanna get deep, Catholicism is really a West Afrikan religion. The same religion people call voodoo!”
“I don’t know where you get these distortions!”
“That’s because you don’t read! Reading is fun-da-mental!” That earned me a few laughs. The puppies that didn’t laugh either had their heads on the desk napping, or were looking out the window.
“Miss Jackson, I believe you have some anger management issues that need to be resolved. Have you thought about seeing Mrs. Eady?”
“Oh, so now I’m crazy because my truth is different than yours? Now I need to see the school psychologist because I identify with a Black Jesus, or as you say, a Black God?”
“I’m not saying you’re crazy, but maybe—”
“Maybe your uppity ass needs a reality check. Maybe you’re the one who’s crazy because your pale ass can’t see past the lies you’ve been taught to ‘teach’—”
“Young lady!”
“That you’re ‘teaching’ me and my classmates right now. Maybe you don’t even need to be a teacher until you go somewhere and learn more. Somebody should revoke your teaching license if you even got one!”
“Manjani!”
“Don’t interrupt me, Mr. Loathe. You had your turn. Before you try to discredit me in front of my classmates, you need to learn about reality. Maybe I should be teaching this hiss story class. Hiss story, written by a bunch of snakes. SSSS! SSSS! SSSS!”
“Manjani Jackson!”
“Smidgeforth Loathe!”
“I will not sit here and let you insult me in my own classroom.”
“Well, I didn’t name ya! Talk to your momma about that!”
“Very funny. But I won’t do it. I will not let you insult me in my class, carrying on as if you and your twisted account of historical facts and world religion, could ever conjecture to teach anything to a group of people, much less your peers, who are already so hideously misinformed. I will not let you insult me today or tomorrow or ever!”
“Well, I won’t sit here and let you insult me in my own classroom, either! My parents pay taxes on this. You don’t even live in my community!”
“One more comment and you’re out of here, Manjani!”
“No need to be hostile in the presence of the truth. I didn’t make this information up and it ain’t hard to find.”
“Manjani!”
“What’s the matter, Mr. Loathe? Can’t handle the truth? All you have to do is pick up a book. B-O-O-K book. There are lots of them in the library. They come in all different shapes and sizes. There are big ones, little ones, fiction ones, non-fiction ones, Black ones, and especially white ones for people like you!”
“Get the hell out of my classroom!” Mr. Loathe boomed.
A circle of sweat shone underneath his sleeve like a full moon when he pointed toward the door. His entire face and neck were red and there were angry tears in his eyes. Tears I had induced. Now it was time to play nice.
“Come on, Mr. Loathe. It ain’t really that deep. I thought we were having a philosophical conversation. You know I’m a scholar! See, I’m not upset. So can I give you my final answer so we can move on, or will I get in trouble for that too?”
“You’ll get in trouble for that too. And after today, you’re never to return to my class.”
He held open the door.
“What’s up, Mr. Loathe?” Isaac Charles poked his head in the door. When he saw me standing at my desk in warrior mode, he shook his head and went about his business.
“Oh come on, Mr. Loathe. You know this ain’t fair. You take everything so personal.”
“It is fair. It’s my classroom.”
“Mr. Loathe, if I don’t pass this class, I won’t graduate in June.”
“You should’ve thought about that before you attacked me with your ridiculous comments.”
“Attacked you? Ridiculous comments? All I did was…never mind. You’re right, I’m wrong, I apologize. Everything I said was ludicrous and uncalled for.”
The intercom sounded, signaling the puppies to rise. Mr. Loathe turned and faced the flag hanging in the corner next to the blackboard—what I called the whitewash—and placed his hand over his heart. That didn’t have shit to do with me so I sat down. Even though Grandpa Mitchell had tried to instill a sense of patriotism in me when I was little, I refused to show Amerikkka an ounce of respect. Not after they exploited so many Afrikans without an apology. Not until we had reparations and were truly free.
“Manjani, you need to stand,” Mr. Loathe said.
“See, you instigating now! You know Manjani don’t stand for the pledge!” I said.
“I pledge allegiance, to the flag, of the United States of America…”
“You’re in my classroom which means you are going to stand.”
“Look, I don’t agree with the pledge. I have a right to remain silent. And seated. I’m not hurting nobody.”
“It’s ‘anybody,’ and I’m asking you nicely to please stand,” he said, approaching my desk.
“I’m sorry, but, Manjani don’t stand for the pledge.”
“Look, you’re making a scene.” He pointed his finger in my face. “Either you get up or I get you up.”
“I dare you.” I crossed my arms. “And if you put that finger near me again, I’m gonna break it off.”
“Manjani, girl, damn! Just stand up! You don’t even have to say nothing,” Nisha said from across the room. Even though she was my homegirl I didn’t agree with her on that. Standing was against my beliefs.
“Nah,” I shook my head. “Besides, it’s over now. See, Mr. Loathe, worrying about me, you missed it for yourself!”
Now, the white girl was doing the announcements. It was nothing I was interested in except the activities of the Black Studies Club but I had been banned from it due to my militant ideology.
“I don’t know why you showing out,” Nisha went on loudin’ me, even though I was done with the whole pledge thing.
“I’m not showing out. I’m just being my divine Self. Doing my job as a revolutionary like the rest of you passive Uncle Toms need to do. You sit here and let this man tell you anything!”
“Well, I’m doing my job too, and right now, my job is to get you out of here. Either you can leave on your own, or I can call security to come get you,” Mr. Loathe said.
When I saw he was serious, I gathered my books from the basket beneath my chair and strolled to the door.
“Now get the hell out of my classroom and don’t return!”
“Whatever, Mr. Loathe. If I hada been the one cussing, I woulda been suspended. See how the system works, y’all?” I asked my classmates. “He can say anything he wants to me but I can’t talk back. Anyway, Mr. Loathe, have a good rest of the day and I’ll see your ass tomorrow!”
“You will not see me tomorrow!”
“Oh, yes, I will!”
To the rest of the class, I bid my signature farewell. With my Black Fist up, and head held high, I simply said, “Manjani!”