John, an active university revolutionary, learned Steven’s ideas of the world were different from his. Since John liked Steven’s style, his name, his ability to hustle chicks, he set out to educate Steven in revolutionary cause and rhetoric. Steven, he felt, would look good on the barricades.
Steven, however, resisted, insisting against John’s personality. Yet he found himself naturally curious about a worldview of which he self-admittedly knew so little. And so, after a normal time resisting, Steven finally said, “Okay, I’ll go to the next meeting of the collective. I’ve nothing to lose. If there I see that what you believe helps man to become a better man, I’ll accept your arguments and join the movement.”
John, however, when he heard this, far from being delighted, was deeply depressed, saying to himself, If Steven goes to a meeting, sees the inexperience on the faces of the kids, fails to see the humor in the almost inane repetition of all the raps going down, he’ll end up thinking all revolutionary ideas are frauds.
Turning to Steven, he said, “No, man, it’s not a good idea. Just listen to me, read what I have to give you, then think on it.”
“No,” Steven answered, “I want to see for myself.”
A few nights later Steven sat in on a meeting. At first, listening to the dialogues, he formed no opinions. But after a time he began to see the aura of romance about the revolutionaries: the boldest speakers had the best-looking girls. And, as he listened, he formed the conclusion that, without exception, the better speakers were completely certain their viewpoints were right, were morally correct, that contrary to what they were asking for—justice—they condemned all men not on their side as traitors to mankind.
Steven was unhappy with what he saw. He left the meeting quietly, holding his complaints for an encounter with John.
John, quickly scanning Steven’s face, had not the slightest hope of his conversion. They had coffee together and talked of academic affairs, both avoiding any discussion of the movement. Finally, though, John could stand it no longer.
“So,” he asked, “what happened at the meeting?”
“Well,” Steven said, “what I saw was a bunch of guys romantically in love with themselves, and, far from being involved in dreams that would make them better human beings, I only saw the same old shit: cats looking to be admired by their peer group.”
“I thought that would happen,” John said.
“But,” Steven continued, “what struck my imagination was that while the radicals were responding to new ideas in old human ways, it was obvious that the ideas they were trying to express were true and good; ideas that would hasten the end of a competitive society, notions of racial superiority, sound the death knell of the idea of heroes, leaders, supermen; ideas that would change the world for the good and joy of all, if enough people understood them.
“In short, by participating I was converted and freed.”
“Wow,” John said, smiling. He was suddenly the happiest of men. The revolution was working. Rushing Steven up from his seat, he took him across the street to the Id Bookstore and bought him a copy of Mao’s thoughts.
When other revolutionaries heard of Steven’s conversion they quickly became friends, solid friends. And right now, at almost any time of the day, you can go up on the Avenue to the U District and see Steven standing in the street, a red Mao button in his lapel, waiting for the revolution to come.