Anthills of the Savannah - Chinua Achebe [68]
How then, he asked himself, how can he partake of this source of stability and social meaning? Not (again as the romantics would have him do) by pretending to be like the poor; by wearing specially and expensively aged and patched jeans in mockery of their tatters. Why should he add to the insults they already bear? How then?
What about renouncing my own experience, needs and knowledge? But could I? And should I? I could renounce needs perhaps, but experience and knowledge, how? There seems no way I can become like the poor except by faking. What I know, I know for good or ill. So for good or ill I shall remain myself; but with this deliberate readiness now to help, and be helped. Like those complex, multivalent atoms in biochemistry books I have arms that reach out in all directions—a helping hand, a hand signalling for help. With one I shall touch the earth and leave another free to wave to the skies.
Aha! Come to think of it, that might explain the insistence of the oppressed that the oppressor must not be allowed to camouflage his appearance or confuse the poor by stealing and masquerading in their clothes. Perhaps it is the demand of that primitive integrity of the earth… Or, who knows, it might also be something less innocent (for the earth does have its streak of peasant cunning)—an insistence that your badge of privilege must never leave your breast, nor your coat of many colours your back… so that… on the wrathful day of reckoning… you will be as conspicuous as a peacock!
HIS EXCELLENCY was pacing agitatedly like a caged tiger in the confined space between his desk and the far wall, his hands held tensely behind him, right fist gripped in left palm. He motioned Chris to sit and continued to pace for what seemed like a full minute more before he spoke:
“At last! But God knows I did not ask for it. It’s you, my oldest friends, you and Ikem who swore for reasons best known to you to force a show-down. What more can I say except: So be it… While investigations continue into Ikem’s link with the Abazon agitators he cannot continue to edit the National Gazette. But I must still do things properly and constitutionally no matter the provocation. That’s why I have sent for you. I want you as Commissioner for Information to issue a formal letter suspending him with immediate effect.”
“Hold it, Your Excellency. I don’t understand. What exactly is he supposed to have done?”
“Are you serious? You really don’t know?”
“I am afraid no.”
“Well, let’s not waste time by getting into who knows what, now… Intelligence reports have established that he was involved in planning the recent march on this Palace by agitators claiming to come from Abazon. In fact they were found on careful investigation to be mostly motor-park touts, drug pushers and other criminal elements right here in Bassa.”
“I am sorry but I can’t believe that.”
“In this job Chris, beliefs are not my primary concern. I am no bishop. My concern is the security of this state. You should know that; you are Commissioner for Information. Anyhow, let me assure you there is incontrovertible evidence that Ikem was in contact with these fellows in the quadrangle right here and later drove to a hotel in North Bassa to hold a secret meeting with them. How’s that? Well, you seem to be in a sceptical mood; what will you say then if I tell you that the security agents shadowing him actually arrested him for a minor traffic offence outside the hotel as he was about to leave? Just to make sure no alibis are invented… Good, isn’t it, to know that some organs of government still perform effectively in this country.”
“Can I speak with him?”
“How do you mean? Have you not been speaking with him? Oh, I think I see what you mean. He isn’t in custody or anything of the sort. Not yet. So I certainly think you should see him. But first of all