America 1982-Chapter 329 - 23: The Black Broadcasting Enthusiast Who Loves Learning_2
"I can bring some guys to teach those jerks a lesson, Mr. Hart," said Josh, the youngest son of the Jackson family and the most compassionate star of Africa, when he heard Martin’s words.
Mrs. Jackson emerged from the kitchen, her corpulent body dragging, with a tray in her hands filled with freshly baked pies. She first approached Martin and gestured for him to taste her cooking, while casting a dissatisfied glance at her son Josh: "Listen to Mr. Hart, Josh. Don’t fight and hurt people. Stay by Mr. Hart’s side and learn how to become a high-class individual."
Martin took a piece and bit into it, first praising the old lady’s cooking skills. After Mrs. Jackson, with a proud face, set down the pies and went back to the kitchen to continue preparing other foods, Martin then continued speaking to the group:
"You are not street thugs anymore, Josh, understand? I spent a lot of money to get you guys legitimate certificates. There are several sets of expensive broadcasting transmitter systems on the trucks outside. They are not for you to help me commit arson and murder. Like your mother said, you have to follow me and learn how to be upper-class people."
"Yes, Mr. Hart," Josh seriously nodded after hearing Martin’s words.
Martin, reassured by Josh’s earnest nodding, said: "You are scholars among black people. You’ve been diligently learning about broadcast signal transmission and reception lately. For example, Josh, you’re a kilometer away and Bernard here, your receiver can pick up the picture Bernard is sending. Of course, you can’t practice at home. You have to practice near the broadcasting towers of those TV stations, and practice every day during prime time. That way... it is legal signal interference."
Stanley, the second oldest, was the most composed of the three brothers. Understanding the implication in Martin’s words, he shared his understanding: "Are you saying, with the equipment outside, we could make the viewers of those TV stations see the picture we are sending?"
"Yes, the power and call signs of the transmitters outside are more advanced than those of the TV stations. However, I must reiterate, I gave them to you because you are eager to learn and want to become tech talent in media among black people, not intentionally hijacking those poor TV stations’ transmission signals!" Martin said earnestly as he surveyed the group, swallowing the piece of pie:
"You are here to absorb knowledge! To study broadcasting, to change the television industry in the United State America. You are the promising among black people!"
"How about showing some adult films for free?" Having grasped Martin’s plan, Josh grinned, thrilled, and asked his buddies: "I’m willing to contribute my favorite personal collection, Little Red Riding Hood and The Big Black Wolf, the story of the white girl and her mature grandmother’s battle with the black werewolf man."
Martin frowned: "Broadcasting such adult films is not good. It can easily cause viewers’ disgust, and make people suspect you’re intentionally hijacking signals to air adult films, looking for trouble with the TV stations. My suggestion is to broadcast songs. It is very normal for you and your friends to transmit songs via signal, as you have certificates. The private technical exchange of songs is the most ordinary thing."
"What kind of songs? Black people’s songs?" Hearing he could only broadcast music, Josh’s enthusiasm waned as he thought he could’ve shown his treasured films to the TV audience.
Martin replied: "Considering those TV stations’ main audience is black people, my lawyer, Earl Rash, has carefully selected a few songs about black people for you to play in a loop during prime time."
"Alright, which ones?" Bernard folded the certificates and tucked them into his pocket before asking.
Martin turned to Page: "Mr. Page, introduce the song titles and then hand over the prepared music videotapes to them."
"They are ’Nigger, Nigger,’ ’Move Them Niggers North,’ ’Nigger Hatin’ Me,’ ’Some Niggers Never Die,’" Page began, reading from a box of tapes.
Before Page could finish, Josh and a few other young black men were already infuriated, lifting their T-shirts and cursing: "Old man, you motherfucker are... "
"Don’t get worked up, Josh. These are indeed the names of songs." Stanley immediately intervened to stop his brother, who was about to rage on the spot: "These are iconic songs by the white racist folk singer Johnny Rebel."
"Uh, there’s also one more, ’Who Likes a Nigger?’" Page continued, his expression unchanged, as he read the last title, then finally stopped, disregarding the display from several men ready to explode with guns at their waists.
"Who Likes a Nigger? Who Likes a Nigger? Is this motherfucking a song title?" Josh, lifting his T-shirt to reveal the gun holster at his waist, paced rapidly around the room in a frenzy:
"Are you joking... Why do we have to play these songs? Is your lawyer a motherfucking racist, Mr. Hart?"
"He’s black, and he’s having you disseminate these songs as a reminder to you all that the road to racial equality is long and arduous, to constantly remind yourselves with this white man’s trash music, to stay angry and keep striving," Martin said seriously as he looked at Josh.
Stanley laughed: "Not only will we be angry at these songs -- the black audience of the TV station will probably be furious too, and maybe the next day... the TV station will encounter big trouble."
"That’s none of your business. You just need to understand that small-scale transmission of audio and video between broadcasting signal enthusiasts with licenses is perfectly legal. You don’t intend to hijack the signal. It is just that the TV stations’ transmitters are so lousy that your power drowns them out."
