“Secondly, we want to begin through weekly workshops to politicize the students of this college to parts of the American profile that they don’t see. And finally, in order to raise bail money and other operating expenses for The Movement, we will have parties or what we call ‘freedom highs’ every Friday night. For those of you who decide to join with us in struggle, you should realize that you are not only doctors but also part of the disease. To explain what I mean, Keith McDermott will rap to you.”

A white dude joined Theodore at the front of the room. Long, drawn-out hay dogged his face, except for his eyes, which glared out of his head like dime-sized pieces of sky blue. He stuck his hands in his front pockets up to the knuckles as he spoke, shifting his weight from one leg to the other.

“What Theo means is that serious commitment demands experiencing someone else’s pain. I know it’s impossible for me to really know what a black man feels. So what I must do is get in touch with the pain that whites historically have been estranged from. Once his pain is my own, there should be such outrage in me that it would require that I do something to alleviate that condition.

“As a preliminary step toward feeling the black man’s pain, all whites who wish to work with our group are required to read in one sitting Ralph Ginzburg’s One Hundred Years of Lynching in the presence of Theo or one of the blacks in our group. This should begin to put you in touch with the pain of black people. Reading the details of each atrocity without stopping will be a test of your commitment to The Movement.”

“I’d like to add,” Theo broke in, “that blacks who are joining us are required to read the book, too. But without a witness. If you can put this book down after beginning it, you’ll have to answer to your own conscience… We’ll meet again next week at the same time and discuss your experiences with pain while reading One Hundred Years of Lynching.”

I tried to get through the book but couldn’t. Reading about one atrocity was enough for me. Far from becoming a redcap for every documented lynching in America over a hundred-year period, the cumulative effect of thousands of lynchings left me with no desire to carry the legacy any farther than my knowledge of what had happened. And I felt guilty about being unable to keep my outrage up to the level of the horrors recounted in the book.

At the next meeting, Theo started off by questioning a white chick whose face played peekaboo behind marble cake hair.

“Were you able to experience pain while reading the book?”

“Yes, I was,” she said.

“How did it express itself?”

“I threw up.”

“And did you continue reading?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”