You Know Moses Was Black, Right?

(Disclaimer: I am black. In order to reach the realism with my black characters, I will have some of them speak with the words and dialect I grew up with. View at your own discretion.)

Dante was a lot of things. An athlete, college student, bit of a whore. One thing he wasn’t, was a revolutionary. He wasn’t really connected to the roots, as one would say. He just played ball. His cousin, however, was the exact opposite. Roy Jackson led NBLP, spearheaded by the teachings of one Albain, or L'homme de la libération. Back in the early noughties Albain was a revolutionary in Africa, spearheading the Black Liberation Party to repel American troops in Zora. Now, Roy seeks to do the same, one day. He held near daily sermons after free lunch and before community dinner. Roy gained a reputation for being a fiery speaker, for better or for worse.

Dante arrived late to one of these meetings, while Roy stood on his stage. The meeting was held at a church, with the flag representing the NBLP, a red background with a simple black star. The church had seen better days, as most historically black places are. The pews were scuffed, with the wood fading and cracked despite the buffing and other patch jobs they tried on them. The carpet was a fading wine red, with the foot markings of a bygone era. Maybe even older.

Roy was in the center of it all. His dreads were hanging low, defiant and proud. Much longer and not tied like Dante’s twists. They were only brushed back via bandana to keep from his eyes while he ranted away. He slammed his fist into the pulpit, the crowd of mixed faces cheering him on. Dante sat at the back to not disturb the energy.

Roy let the crowd chant as he geared for his next sentence. “I was on the news last week. Mhm, y’all saw that. Shit was funny to me at least. For those who are under a rock, lemme fill y’all in. The mayor, yes, Mr. Coleson himself, called us, and especially ME, a fucking terriorist!” The crowd rambles in annoyance at Coleson’s comment. “A terrorist. A threat to New York as we fucking know it. Listen, I don’t care that they made me an enemy. I knew when I put this patch on my jacket, when I made these speeches, I was going down a path. And this path would lead me to hate. Death threats. Calls for my head. For daring to speak out against the injustice that MY people face on a daily basis! I know where my path will end up.” He puts two fingers on his temple, imitating a gun. “A bullet to the dome when I least expect it.”

Everyone looked a bit intimidated at his words. Roy laughed, very used to his talks of mortality. He pulled out an old book, titled Liberation. He scanned through till he reached his part. “Albain told me many things when I went to Africa. He told me to be strong. Be unmovable, and most importantly, be self-aware. I will not let my future dictate how I will act in the present. And you folk best do the same. This is no movie. Those white folks will do everything in their power to make us the devil. We must be united, as the people, to overthrow this fascist, rotted, corrupt system!” He puts his fist in the air, the rest follow. “Defend yourself!”

The crowd chants back “By any means!”

Roy yells “Black power!”

The crowd follows back with “Fuck the pigs!”

“Black power!”

“Fuck the feds!”

“Black power!”

“Fuck the system!”

“They say I’m a devil. Bitch, I’m black Moses!”

The crowd clapped at his speech, chanting, wiled up as he smiled and looked on. He glanced at Dante in the back and gave him a small nod. Donte gave one back.

After a bit of the post discussion mummering, Roy walked over and dapped up his cousin. “Dante motherfucking Florist.” He said, laughing as they went for a deep hug. “Mister big shot. What brings you over to our humble church?”

Dante sucked his teeth at his words. “Why you say it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Nigga, don’t play.”

Roy laughed as he leaned against a pew. “I come over, I discuss what’s goin’ on in the city, and you look bored out your fucking mind.”

“Look man, I just wanna smoke and play 2K sometimes! Can you blame me?”

“Sometimes?” Roy scoffed and shook his head, glancing at his cousin. “This every time I mention the NBLP. Plus you never wanna come to the meetings. I invited you all the time. What’s the change? Finally see the light?”

Dante rolled his eyes. “No, you third eye woke ass nigga. A coworker went here one time, and asked me to give it a chance.”

“And who’s this coworker?”

“Jackie White.”

Roy hummed as the name generated a memory. “I know him. White dude who visited a few times. Got that wild ass look in his eye,” He said as he began walking to the back to meet the members. The smell of dinner got stronger.

“What you mean?” Dante asked.

“You ain’t see it? I know that motherfucker been in the military. I won’t tell his story but… That nigga been through it.” Roy opened the door, letting the both in as they entered the mess hall that connected through the church.

Dante followed Roy as he grabbed an apple as a quick snack, not to waste food as he didn’t need it. “Hm. I thought you would’ve hated him. He went to Zora.”

“I know,” Roy responded. “I know what his heart is like, we talked for a bit. The military is just another business, and Jackie just fell for the advertising. Anyone who’s willing to defend our people is a friend of mine. White or black.”

“What made him stop coming over then?” Dante asked as they took a seat at a busy table, a few friends of the movement chatting about the last Knicks game.

Roy leaned forward as he sat, resting his hands on his chin, thinking back to the insane man he met all those months ago. “Shit, like I know,” He finally answered. “We talked. Had a deep conversation. Brother just felt out of place. I can’t stop that feeling. I told him he could come back.”

Dante listened, his back against the table, a relaxed pose. “Hm. Ain’t that something?”

“Yup. You know what’s funny?”

“What?”

Roy returned to his normal posture. “I’ve been asking you to come over for three years, white man did it in one day.”

Dante laughed out. “Fuck you, nigga.”

The cousins chattered as they always did, roasting each other and sharing a bond that few share in this broken city. Roy always wondered deep down if his cousin lost his way at NYU. He always suggested going to a HBCU, but Dante wanted to play in the NCAA, potentially making money beyond his years in the NBA. He had a chance. But Roy saw sharks in the water. He swore to himself he’d protect his cousin, no matter what. Dante was none the wiser that he had an angry, black, vengeful prophet on his side. And his name was Roy Jackson, Black Moses.