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I guess you could say that Edmund was our slain Chinatown Romeo, sweet prince fallen between many houses. But maybe you could also say that this event was a testimony to the kind of person Edmund had become in a few short years. He was probably not, as they exaggerated, a man of great passion and unwavering commitment to the rights of oppressed people, but he was a young man of uncommon intelligence who used his talents to work daily on behalf of people in need. Why did he choose to do this? There had been endless meetings, strategy sessions, leafleting, articles to write, politicians to approach, folks to interview, statistical research, funding and legal matters, speeches and debates. And Edmund did all this while nominally working on his graduate studies in Chinese political philosophy and history. Chen knew Edmund’s genius and that Edmund, who alone among all his students could leave Chinatown, had chosen to stay. I am not sure if Edmund, had he lived, would not have eventually moved on, but these few years of which we speak were formative in the lives of many. A seed was planted. A moment of awakening.
Although the pivotal moment theory might work for some, it might be overblown. As time drags on, other events step up to the plate, and one begins to wonder why any fork in the road presented the less traveled option. Chen knew his own confused path that, upon review, could not have been changed then and certainly not now. Chen was a man who lived in several exiles. As for Paul, he was still too young to know. Thinking about Paul and Chen, maybe you couldn’t exactly compare pivotal moments, but rather a single desire that united the two men: the desire to write.
The desire to write is linked to the desire to think and the desire to record. You could say it’s all the same thing, but you probably favor something or another. You who think you’re thinking are recording your thinking, but you who think you’re writing are recording your writing. You who think you’re recording are writing your record. It’s all stupidly obvious except for the desire. You could say it’s an obsessive trait, and once it kicks in, you’re stuck with it. The desire is selfish and personal. It has nothing to do with talent or giftedness. That becomes apparent or unapparent in the act, but the desire is an enigma. You say, I want to be famous; I want to be remembered; I want to speak; I want to communicate; I want to imagine; I want to remember. But writing itself is a strange way to accomplish any of that stuff, sitting alone for hours with a pen and paper or typewriter. It’s a complicated desire that becomes mixed up with the self, and Chen and Paul, if forced, would admit that it was a desire stronger than any human relationship, including the one between them.
So that’s how I meet Chen Wen-guang. I call him Wen for short. It’s one a.m., and we’re at the counter side by side at the Cathay. We got the same bowl of noodles, ’cept he’s dressed nice. Madison Avenue’s finest. ’Course by this time of night, he’s got his silk tie stretched out and thrown over his shoulder. Jacket is hanging off the stool behind him. Time was I could afford suits like that, make a killing back of Lucky M and go out and buy me the best. Pinstriped, double-breasted, silk hanky. But that was before my union days.
Wen’s got his eyes closed, concentrating. Then he takes up a slurp of the noodles and gets the texture between his teeth. I look at him, and I say, “Pork neck. Could use a few more.”
He says, “Snout. That would do it, too.”
And I know he knows. It’s the sticky cartilage that gives a soup grip. I’m impressed.
Then he says, “And some more white pepper.”
He nabbed it.
And that’s how it started. I say, “Have you tried Chop Suey House over on Post?” And we meet there the next week, and every week practically we’re on the quest.
cute
I continue, “But it’s more than meets the eye. Complicated. Two cooks can’t live together!”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s true what they say. Too many cooks, you know? Got to be one palate at a time, but like a balancing act. You Chinese say, yin and yang. And each gonna offer the other the most delicious dish possible, but it’s also competition. It gets more intense with each dish. So the gods know what they’re doing. Keep the lovers apart, they get the best possible meal.”
“That’s the moral of the story?”
“I don’t know nothing about morals. What’s the moral about that apple? Don’t go talking to snakes? It’s already too late. It’s like life. You want good sex? You want good food? You gotta go to the trouble.”
But back up, brother. There’s more. So Akagi gets out of the army and takes his G.I. points to college. It’s 1964. Free Speech at Berkeley. Starts reading. Everybody’s reading Marx. What’s this communism he’s been fighting to protect the homeland? Meets up with another old buddy from the days who’s back from the same stint in the military. He’s making use of the G.I. bill too. It’s Bobby Seale. Then there’s David Hilliard. Lived two blocks down. Huey was around Thirty-fourth.
“No shit.” Puffs a donut into the air.
One day, they all check into the Muslim Temple around Third Street and get ready to join up with Elijah Muhammad. But wait, you got to give up smoking, drinking, and women. Can you live on sweet potato pies? Someone says: I could give up women, but not smoking! Brothers reconnoiter. News is, Malcolm’s moving out anyway. Do the Muslim thing minus the religion plus the politics.
Akagi’s at UC Berkeley, so he’s the minister of education. Builds a curriculum. They all got to study up. It’s Marx, Frantz Fanon, Malcolm X, Che Guevara, and Robert F. Williams. But what’s this Cultural Revolution People of China thing? If there’s a black thing, what about a yellow thing? That’s a lotta colored people marching to the revolution. Akagi checks out China Books in San Francisco for some research.
cute
How many Chinatown girlfriends got themselves Panther dates? Whole group of them: Leway Girls. Legitimate Way. Girls cross the bridge to Oakland, and the brothers reciprocate and go Leway. Hang out on Jackson under the shadow of the I-Hotel at their Chinatown pool hall, swapping looks over the soda fountain of long life and trying to beat the odds at pinball. It’s about broadening horizons, taking the Third World to heart. International understanding while they get some sweet satisfaction from those black boys in their black turtlenecks and black jackets. Got to push the fingers through those spongy naturals. Pull away the heavy leather with those Free Huey fist buttons and set aside the weapons. Sweet satisfaction from those radical sisters who set you straight about the Suzie Wong stereotype. Oh yeah, set you real straight. Are you ready to mess with such sweetness? Gingerly. Don’t you know? You dancing slow to “My Guy,” but turns out she’s packing.
cute
Panthers walk on Sacramento; it’s national news on prime time, and overnight there’s forty-three Black Panther Party chapters nationwide. Telegrams come in daily; this one’s from this place called Reed College, wants to form a chapter.
Huey asks, “Akagi, you’re a college man. What’s this Reed College?”
Akagi thinks about it. “College for geniuses, but the crazy John Reed kind.”
“Check it out.”
Reed is honky territory out in Portland, Oregon. Shit. Could be a bunch of black brothers infiltrated behind the lines. How’d they get into Reed? They’re letting colored people into fancy places everywhere. Affirmative action my ass! Could be a hoax. A trap! Akagi gets three of his best men. Drive up to Oregon and do calisthenics and shoot up the desert on the way. Take a pilgrimage detour to Tule Lake and shoot at the leftover guard towers. Get to Reed in prime condition—trained and mean and looking sharp. Field jackets, black berets, shades, rifles. March into the designated coffee shop for the meeting. At attention.
Who walks in? It’s one black dude. Just one.
“Where’re the others?”
“It’s just me.”
“Just you?”
“Just me.”
It’s a chapter of one! A fucking chapter of one! Break my heart!
Akagi could lose it, but stop! He tugs nervously at his leather gloves, then faces Reed off and says, “Name the ten-point program!”
cute
White Russian kid from the Potrero hangs out with Leways like he’s Chinese. Maybe he is. Speaks more Chinese than the ABCs. Friend of RG from his hippy days. Crosses the Broadway/Columbus border daily. Supplies the brothers with sources for quality drugs. Parks his hopped-up ’Cuda on the street and works in the stolen parts. Mechanical genius. Political genius, too. He’s saying, take note, police brutality is under control in Oakland. Got to follow the path of the Panthers. Got to get the police off their backs. Running out of fooling. It’s not about give the lumpen jobs. It’s about organize the lumpen. RG and the Russian put together a plan. Notice when the black brothers come around, the Wah Ching stay at bay. That’s what we gotta do; we gotta join up. It’s a war, anyway. Got to get some R-E-S-P-E-C-T.
Not enough to be Wuxia heroes. One-armed swordsmen. One-armed boxers. Fighting at a disadvantage. And it’s just a lost arm! Check out a history of disadvantages. How many Wuxia heroes promise themselves to a life of nonviolence and have to give it up? It’s an impossible dream. Brutality on the street. The only thing the brothers know is how to fight their way through. The Wuxia got one thing. Got a philosophy about fighting. That’s what the Panthers offer. Study up. Revolution’s coming. Pick up the gun.
Like I say, Akagi stays behind to take care of business. After three years Huey gets free, but there’re dead brothers all across the country. Police raids and shootouts in Oakland, Chicago, L.A., and the Marin County Courthouse. Repression, provocation, conspiracy, purges. Head of the Panthers incarcerated, but the body struggles. By the time it’s over, there’re thirty-four killed and hundreds imprisoned.
Rally round Bryant and Seventh, Hall of Justice and the San Francisco Jail. Everybody represents: Panthers, La Raza, Venceremos, Los Siete, Soledad, Patriot Party, National Committee to Combat Fascism, plus the significant attorneys for the defendants. But back up: Asian American Community is also represented. Hey, where’s the fancy name? Mothers for Mao, Uncle Ho’s Nephews, Godzillas, or East is Red? Where’s the Red Guard Party? RG missing an historic event. Who comes forward? It’s Akagi, surrounded by his guards. Underneath he’s a Panther, but if necessary, he’s the Asian American Community.
lol
Now this is where he’s going to show off his Marxist take, but he wants to bring it down to the level of common understanding. Make it plain to the people. “Now I’m not too intellectual or academic, but I heard that this thing is like where the quantitative change turns into the qualitative change, or where the thesis and the antithesis struggle and therefore make the synthesis.”
But the brother’s got to show his Asian colors, where it’s going to relate to yellow folks. So he says, “Now, philosophically, dig, I just put it one way: when this change comes, it will be when the yin turns into the yang.”
And for the final touches, to prove he’s into Malcolm: “And to put it into the words of the people, dig, this is when we will return the power to its rightful owner, and that rightful owner is the people, and we will get that power by any means necessary! ALL POWER TO THE PEOPLE!”
Asian guard-brothers on stage know the grand finale, and all the fists pump up.
cuuute