The Name of a State, The History of a Nation

You learn something new every day. I thought my middle and high school history classes glossed over the stories of minorities in America, those considered other. When we learned about the states, being forced to learn the names of them and their capitals, I did not think too much about what the names meant unless they had names not native to the English language, Florida and Tallahassee for instance. But to find out that Rhode Island is the nickname of the state rather than its birth name came as bit of a shock. This is especially so after finding out the state’s full name: Rhode Island and Providence Plantations. Abby Goodnough, in her article in The New York Times editorial section, highlighted the story in an article entitled “Rhode Island Weighs Using Shorter Official Name.”

The article highlights the efforts of Joseph Almeida, a Democratic State Representative from Providence. Almeida, working with those outside the political realm but with influence in it, has pushed forward a bill to be considered that will shorten the official name of the state to just Rhode Island and leave the “and Providence Plantations” in the past, literally and figuratively.

One question that came to mind was how frequent are occurrences like these, both hidden and unveiled. I know of two. I thought about Florida. There is a city called Plantation not too far north of Miami. Plantation High School is home to the Colonels. Homestead, Florida is an equal distance from Miami in the opposite direction. Before going off to school, I never thought about these names before because they were taken for granted, just part of growing up in Miami. I wonder how prevalent are such loaded names across the South, the thirteen colonies more generally, and, naturally, the rest of the nation. This is not just for references back to slavery. As historians love to skate over minority groups, I wonder what are the Latin@, Chican@, and Native American parallels. To be clear, what I refer to is not places named after or with the influence from other the different ethnic groups that make up the United States of yesterday and today. Rather, I refer to racially and culturally loaded names that minimize, or to put it honestly, degrades and/or ignores the significance of a people’s history while pardoning the actions of others.

Goodnough reports that

“Defenders of the [full] name say that the word “plantation” did not have a negative connotation when Rhode Island was founded in 1636, and that it referred to the state’s farming settlements. But the state’s early economy did thrive on the slave trade, with Rhode Islanders distilling rum from molasses, trading it in Africa for slaves and then trading the slaves in the West Indies for more molasses.”

Same story, different day. They are right though. Plantation did not have the negative connotation when Rhode Island was founded. The problem, however, is that only one group had the “rights” to do the defining and “connotating.” Thus the selective memory or opportunistic amnesia of the defenders is even more troubling. To posit that no connection exists is tantamount to take a revisionist approach to history (negationism). Ironically, however, this “labeling as revisionist” position is the argument put forth by the defenders against those advocating for the change. Dare I say it? Is this the pot calling the kettle black?

Though the article made me think about this larger issue in connection with official names given to bounded regions that we call cities, counties, and states, Goodnough misses the mark. The article was promising but towards the end, she drops the baton just before crossing the line.

Instead of taking such a change as real, Goodnough automatically relegates the push to change the state’s name to the symbolic realm as if the symbolic dimensions of life do not impact life in real ways. Since when is the symbolic not real? This is the question that the following quote brings to mind:

“The change would be largely symbolic, since the state’s formal name is so rarely used. It appears on some state stationery and on many documents, like elevator inspection certificates and marriage licenses. The official name also appears on the state seal, which is imprinted on the floor of the Statehouse Rotunda and elsewhere around the building.”

Marriage licenses are very real. When one signs on that dotted line one is entering a covenant with one’s partner “till death do you part.” Official documents from the state, in many instances, are as real as real can get when they are connected to one’s livelihood and well-being. Everything from bills to birth certificates, warrants to wills can have the state name on them as they are official documents. Those seven syllables have more than just symbolic meanings. Moreover, whenever you go the statehouse you still have to encounter "Providence Plantation."

I think the change, although no change in how we speak of the state in casual conversations, would mark the unmarked as the saying goes in white studies. The actions of Almeida and others could serve as a prime example of making the invisible visible.

At least BET got ONE thing right (And I do mean one)

Rarely do I watch BET. Growing up, I thought it just wasn’t a good network, mediocre at best. The news show was sub par, the reporting even worse. And the selection of shows, personally, I thought were lacking in substance and often times talent. As time progressed, and ownership changed hands, it slipped even further into the back of my mind as a station to watch only if, emphasis on the only, they were showing The Color Purple, Harlem Nights, or some other movie of merit. When Aaron McGruder’s "Hunger Strike" Boondocks episode depicted his thoughts on BET was banned I thought that it was censorship taken too far as the episode was, albeit sensationalized in a way that portrays McGruder’s wit and critical tongue, accurate.

Last night, I watched the BET Awards, not to support BET, but to see how they would (mis)handle the death of Michael Jackson. I was not mistaken in my initial skepticism of how they would incorporate the death of Michael Jackson into the makeup of the show. A friend said that it felt as if Michael’s death was used more as a hook to get a larger audience than anything else. In many ways, I agree. I will not touch on that here because the point of this post is to reflect on at least (and sadly at most) one positive thing that I saw at the BET Awards last night: the time taken to honor those whose life story and work deserves more attention that it receives.

I salute those at BET who insisted on including those segments of the show to pay homage to members of the Black community outside of the music and entertainment industry. Jamie Foxx introduced Mayor-Elect James Young who will serve as mayor of Philadelphia, Mississippi, site where three Civil Rights workers were killed in 1964 and a site where tumultuous, racial tensions persist—in other words, a place where the KKK was once truly king. We, as a nation, heard about those individuals who started and maintain Food from the Hood (FFTH), a community based organization that serves to educate (in the larger sense of the word) others outside the classroom yet still within the community. We heard about how this community based organization is able to provide scholarship moneys for youth to go beyond the boundaries of their neighborhood or city for school. We, as an audience, as a collective body, were also reminded of the three friends—Sampson Davis, George Jenkins and Rameck Hunt—who beat the odds to become successful doctors and how they then, with their new positions in life, work to help others follow in their footsteps. So, I say, kudos to BET. I also encourage all to look up some of the work of these individuals as it is important to not only be aware of their work but also be cognizant of the work being done.

Rarely are minority groups, especially Blacks, able to control their image. Rarer still do minorities have a medium through which to show our “better half,” our “better side,” for these moments are usually relegated to spaces with smaller audiences and narrower ranges. This is especially true when there is no dancing or singing involved (which is also a topic for discussion). The media harks on the dark side, the side some of wish to forget, to disassociate from: the crime, the desolate living conditions that “the poor” caused to fall upon themselves, the crime, the high dropout rates, and the crime. This small glimmer of light in an otherwise dismally dark show made enduring it worthwhile. I say again, kudos to BET.

Emasculating Environmentalism

During this past election cycle, it was a bit surprising to see environmentalism embraced by both John McCain and Barack Obama. Of course, this wasn’t the classic form of environmentalism. Indeed, the rhetoric of global warming was all but abandoned as they couched their campaign promises of “going green” in terms of economic recovery plans and a growing fear of “dependence on foreign oil.” It tends to be Democrats that hold a monopoly on eco-conscious policy, but this election cycle suggested that a new era of environmentalism was underway. It’s important to note that it seemed like most of the general public was behind it, particularly when the issue was framed as an anti-terrorism measure. As President Obama continues his economic recovery plan, environmental sustainability and energy concerns remain at the forefront of public policy discussions.

This is a marked shift from previous characterizations of environmentalism. Far too many folks have associated the title “environmentalist” with stereotypical images of weak, overly sensitive, excessively emotional, and self-aggrandizing tree hugging liberals. To be eco-friendly, particularly among men, was to reject rugged individualism and other standard images of American masculinity. In other words, it meant accepting an emasculated identity.

I assumed the political rhetoric of equating eco-friendly policy with national security concerns would shift our national consciousness toward more left-leaning environmental policy. Judging from Volkswagon’s newest national TV ad spot, I think I was very, very wrong. Note the explicit, sexualized imagery, as the hybrid owner's limp hose is juxtaposed with the erect basketball hoop looming over the Volkswagon:



In the ad, the owner of the hybrid is ridiculed as less of a man based on the sound of his car’s engine. I know that this is a basic marketing strategy—I mean, just watch any Ford F-150 ad in the last twenty years. Still, I find this stereotype—measuring a man’s masculinity by the virility of his car—to be a little tired. I’m not sure what’s masculine about carbon emissions. Nor do I understand what’s masculine about global warming. And I just don’t see what’s masculine about overconsumption. I’d never try to dictate what kind of car another man drives, be it a truck, SUV, sedan or sports car. That’s fine. But what I won’t do is challenge a man’s masculinity based on how much gas his car does, or does not, waste. Why is environmental inefficiency a mark of masculinity?

Look, I can be a critic of many eco-friendly efforts, especially when they detract from more pressing concerns related to unemployment, housing, and access to public transit. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to mock an initiative to, say, plant gardens in urban neighborhoods. When I disagree with certain “green” policies (such as urban “shrinkage), it’s because I think they will have a negative effect on the lives of average Americans. When I refer to environmentalism as “political white privilege,” it’s because I think many environmentalists fail to acknowledge the privilege inherent in living eco-friendly lifestyles. While they debate the best way to get to work, far too many Americans—disproportionately of color—are without employment altogether.

But what I do not do is scoff at environmentalists for their lack of masculinity. Volkswagon has the freedom to make wasteful and environmentally damaging cars, but that doesn’t mean they can mock folks that choose alternative methods of transportation. To bask in your own wastefulness and wonton disregard for the healthy lives of others—as Volkswagon does when they mock hybrid owners—is to display a tremendous arrogance and selfishness.

I don’t think I’ll be buying a Volkswagon any time soon.

Taking Mainstream Liberals To Task

Anti-racist public intellectual (and all-around fascinating guy) Tim Wise is beginning research for a new book scheduled for release in the summer of 2010. He plans to analyze colorblindness and the rhetoric of "post-racial" America on three levels: public policy, private practice, and personal aspirations. While much has been written on the Conservative embrace of colorblind rhetoric, Wise is specifically gunning for mainstream liberals that have avoided discussions of explicit racism in their analyses of racial inequality. He will posit an argument that "universal" policies—such as college affordability or job training programs that target all races—do little to offset racial inequalities. Instead, Wise will argue that a universalistic framework merely perpetuates inequality by failing to address the underlying racism embedded in American institutions.

Here's a description, lifted from his Facebook page:

In April 2009, in his first full press conference, President Barack Obama was asked what, if anything, he planned to do to address the particular hardships being faced by African Americans as a result of widespread economic downturn. In response, the President answered that his economic recovery efforts—such as expanded unemployment insurance and health care coverage, as well as stimulus dollars flowing to job creation and retention—would disproportionately assist people of color, as they are to be found in larger numbers and percentages among the poor and struggling. [...]

While some were shocked at the President’s apparent dodging of the race-specific injury experienced by people of color in general and African Americans in particular, others saw his comments as careful political posturing, reminiscent of his campaign, during which he had deftly avoided racism as a persistent national issue, and sought to build cross-racial unity by “transcending race,” personally and politically. Yet in truth, the President’s position is neither a new, nor merely political calculation. Instead, it is part of a longstanding tradition within mainstream American liberalism; a tradition that has been given new voice and strength by this President precisely because he is a man of color; and a tradition that, unless critiqued forcefully, may only worsen racial disparities and race relations in the United States.

For over thirty years (and really going back even further, to the New Deal) certain voices on the liberal-left have advocated a retreat from color-conscious public policies (such as affirmative action), and even from open discussion of racism as a key factor in the perpetuation of racial inequity in the United States. Rather, they have argued that the barriers faced by black and brown Americans are largely divorced from racism, and that these stem, instead, from economic factors such as deindustrialization, capital flight from the cities, spiraling health care costs and inadequate funding for education, jobs programs and other programs of social uplift. From this starting point, they contend that “universal” programs intended to uplift the poor and working class, are the best means for narrowing the racial inequalities with which the nation is still plagued.

Beginning with William Julius Wilson in the late 1970s, and continuing to the present, otherwise liberal commentators, scholars, and politicians have sought to steer clear of race—as an explanation for deep inequalities in the nation, and as a category to which we must attend in order to eliminate those inequalities—in the hopes that the public (read, the white public) would be more inclined to support progressive policy if it were first divorced from an anti-racist rationale.

Yet in truth, universalism, or what could be called the post-racial public policy consensus, has not markedly impacted public support for liberal efforts. In large measure this is because such efforts have been so thoroughly racialized already—and thus linked in the white imagination with race-targeted uplift for the black and brown—that decoupling them now without a direct challenge to the racist thinking behind the linkage is nearly impossible. Likewise, historically, universal programs of economic uplift have failed to improve the station of persons of color dramatically, or when they have, they have only done so at a slower pace than for whites in the lower economic strata: thus, such efforts have tended to widen racial inequity, even as they may provide some improvement in the absolute status of blacks, Latinos and others of color.

Today, attempts to improve health care availability, public education, housing and job opportunities for all—though clearly warranted and necessary—cannot possibly lessen the racial divide as some claim, for reasons this volume explores. First, the injuries suffered by persons of color in these various realms are not themselves race-neutral. Rather, they are directly related to racism, both in the past and present. To address race-specific injury without addressing the racial motivator or cause for the injury is to misdiagnose the disease, so to speak, and fail in our efforts to cure it. In this volume, I will lay out the evidence of race-specific injury, and explain why it requires a race-targeted response. [...]

As usual, Tim Wise provides some thought provoking and provocative arguments. I actually discussed the highlighted portion of this passage with Tim yesterday over email. In Wilson's new book, More Than Just Race, he does in fact argue for racially-targeted public policy-i.e. policy aimed at a specific racial group, such as better healthcare options in minority communities. Moreover, he has never "steered clear" of race; in fact, he has always taken racial inequality head on. Where Tim and Wilson differ is in their respective diagnoses of contemporary inequality: Wilson argues that impersonal changes in the economy and political institutions has further marginalized vulnerable minority populations, whereas Tim points to latent racism inherent in many public policies. Wilson also points to the ecological components of racial inequality (such as spatially concentrated poverty), whereas Wise focuses more on overarching white supremacy and racist ideology. The main thrust of the book, then, is to push folks like Wilson (and me) further, forcing us all to take a close look at the racist underpinnings of racial inequality. In his own words, Tim plans "to go off on mainstream liberals this time out." This should be interesting.

It wouldn't be fair for me to comment on this synopsis, but I certainly have quite a few thoughts on these issues. Regardless of any quibbles I may have with his ultimate analysis, Tim provides a vital voice in our continued battle against racial inequality. Even when we differ, I firmly believe that these are healthy conversations to have.

Nationwide Urban “Shrinkage” and the Pittsburgh Paradox

This may be one of the few times that Flint, Michigan provides a model for U.S. domestic policy. Unfortunately, it’s kind of a dubious model. According to the UK Telegraph, the Obama administration plans to replicate Flint’s “urban shrinkage” concept throughout the nation, demolishing vacant homes and replacing them with open green space.

I wrote about the general premise of urban shrinkage a few weeks ago. The basic idea is that neighborhood blight (in the form of vacant homes) spreads like an infectious disease. It’s kind of like a tipping point; after a few houses become vacant and deteriorate, the rest of the block declines like a series of dominoes. Of course, there isn’t a whole lot of empirical evidence on exactly how the process works, but it’s pretty intuitive. Continued population decline, particularly in the Rust Belt, is only making this pattern more common. As a result, many civic leaders are shrinking urban landmass in order to offset dramatic population decline and increasing blight.

Genesee County in Michigan—containing the city of Flint—has established the Genesee County Land Bank Authority (GCLBA) to oversee the shrinking of Flint and other urban areas. The “land bank” approach targets areas comprised solely of vacant homes and other empty lots. The GCLBA then goes through a lengthy process of acquisition that hands ownership of foreclosed properties over to the land bank. The homes are demolished, and the resulting empty lots are “redeveloped, handed to neighbors, or returned to nature,” according to the head of the GCLBA. The dominant trend, however, is to return the vacant areas into undeveloped land and thus reduce the size of the city’s populated landmass.

Admittedly, I was a little flippant when I initially wrote about this issue (though, when am I not just a touch irreverent?). I’ve thought about it more, and I’m willing to give the Obama administration the benefit of the doubt—for now, at least. The plans for acquisition and redevelopment are so vague that it would be premature to levy any judgments. Part of me wants to see the rehabilitation and revitalization of existing homes and neighborhoods, but another part of me recognizes the utility of starting over. The real debates will occur over what to do with the newly empty green spaces. If—and only if—we can specify a clear vision of redevelopment, I might be able to get on board with urban shrinkage. If the plan follows a community-based approach, similar to the Dudley Street Neighborhood Initiative’s successful bid for eminent domain here in Boston in the 1990s, I may support the policy.

Still, I have some reservations. The Telegraph reported that the Obama administration has their eyes on shrinking 15 urban centers, including Syracuse, Cleveland, Baltimore, and Pittsburgh. The inclusion of Pittsburgh is slightly troubling. It’s just a little paradoxical to include a city in this economic recovery plan that supposedly has one of the strongest performing metropolitan economies (according to a recent report by the Brookings Institution). Pittsburgh has certainly suffered incredible population decline; in 1950, Pittsburgh was ranked number 12 among U.S. cities in total population, but plummeted to number 52 by the 2000 Census. That said, you'd think that one of the strongest metropolitan economies would be able to redevelop existing land on their own.

The “Pittsburgh Paradox,” so to speak, points to my underlying uneasiness with urban shrinkage. How can Pittsburgh—the supposed model for Rust Belt resurgence—require urban shrinkage? Either the Brooking Institution’s measurement of economic vitality is faulty, or urban shrinkage is a haphazard band-aid for urban decline. If shrinkage is part of our economic recovery plan, why does one of our nations strongest metropolitan economies need the help? Something’s not right here. I'm just a little weary of an economic recovery policy applied applied indiscriminately in cities with both weak and strong performing economies. If Pittsburgh requires urban shrinkage, other cities must require a lot more.

I expressed optimism yesterday in my discussion of the interagency Partnership for Sustainable Communities—a new federal initiative that coordinates economic, transportation, housing, and environmental policies in a single, unified effort. Yet “urban shrinkage” looks like the regressive counterpart to the Partnership’s progressive goals and proposals. Shrinking landmass without a clear plan for redevelopment just seems like a hasty, reactionary response to a much larger problem. We don’t build stronger communities by trimming the fat and pretending like it never existed. No, we create economically sustainable communities and metropolitan regions with innovative policy that builds urban neighborhoods. Demolition (read: shrinkage) can be a start on the path to economic recovery, but that can’t be where we stop.

Metropolitan policy isn’t a zero-sum game; we don’t need to destroy some neighborhoods just to preserve others.

The Genius of Interagency Metropolitan Policy

The Obama administration took metropolitan policy in an incredibly innovative direction last week. In what may prove to be a groundbreaking meeting, the administrator of the Environmental Protection Agency and the secretaries of Transportation and Housing & Urban Development all appeared together to discuss the future of American economic, environmental, and transit policies.

These leaders came together at a Senate Banking Committee hearing, working out the skeleton for an exciting new partnership. They set three important—though admittedly broad and slightly vague—proposals to govern a new, unified vision of metropolitan policy. First, they established “livability principles” related to transportation choices, affordable housing, economic competitiveness, and stronger communities and neighborhoods. In effect this “proposal” was less of an actual initiative and more of a basic mission statement for the new partnership—a pretty solid mission statement if you ask me.

The next two proposals were far more specific, and far more impressive. First, they set an agenda to integrate transportation, land use, and economic development plans to account for future metropolitan growth. This may prove to be a massive anti-sprawl initiative. Land-use zoning is a major contributor to suburban sprawl, as zoning regulations delineate where residential and commercial spaces are located. Suburban zoning patterns typically establish swaths of land for commercial-only use (which generally become strip malls) and others for residential-only use (which generally become dead-end cul-de-sacs). This creates car-dependent communities that are neither environmentally efficient nor walkable. Nor are they economically sustainable, a fact that is becoming increasingly clear as former exurbs transition into vacant wastelands. A more economically sustainable option includes metropolitan transit systems and mixed-use zoning. Indeed, this points to (arguably) the best aspect of New Urbanism and Smart Growth; mixed-use land zoning is an incredibly effective way to counteract the inefficiencies of suburban sprawl. This coordinated effort would increase mass transit across metropolitan regions, and facilitate walkable urban design so as to preserve a “community” aesthetic.

The final proposal was a plan to redefine “affordable housing” based on transportation availability and energy costs. This makes so much sense I almost can’t believe they came up with it on their own. Far too many “affordable” housing developments are disconnected from reliable transportation, thus negatively influencing their actual affordability. Moreover, many of these homes are incredibly energy inefficient, again affecting their actual affordability. The impact of this small policy change may prove dramatic: If energy costs and transportation access are figured into the cost of living, many so-called affordable housing developments may lose that government distinction. If this happens, the government would be faced with two options: They can either construct more affordable housing, or they can increase transportation availability and reduce energy costs. You can’t really go wrong with either of these choices, and I suspect they would take the smart route and do both.

In many respects this is scary "big government;" just another big federal agency looking to institute sweeping, nationwide policy. But this partnership also counteracts the inefficient communication networks inherent in most bureaucracies. Call it the paradox of big government: Sure, it’s government consolidation and heavily bureaucratic, but it also facilitates information transmission between departments with unprecedented efficiency. They’re coordinating their efforts, which is really the best way to make a substantial impact.

In my opinion, this is government at its best. With one unified, coordinated effort, they are planning to improve access to affordable housing, offer more transportation options, and lower transportation costs while simultaneously protecting the environment. They recognized a problem in metropolitan America, tied it to our continued economic recovery plans, and are taking steps to institute national policy. I can sum up my thoughts on this ambitious project with one word: Wow. It’s nice to have a former community organizer in the White House.

Public Space and Civic Dilemmas: Lessons From The Wire

“But the corner is, it was, and it always will be the poor man’s lounge.” – Major Colvin

In this scene from Season 3 of The Wire, Major Colvin speaks at the police department’s daily ComStat meeting. The previous night, Officer Dozerman was shot during a failed drug sting. Dozerman had a simple task: ride up to some corner boys selling dope, and buy a few vials. His fellow policemen, waiting nearby, would swoop in for the subsequent arrest after the sale was complete. Yet, the corner boys were wise to the plan, and Dozerman was shot before the sale was made.

In the clip, Colvin discusses a fictional interaction between the Baltimore police and the corner boys—a “great moment of civic compromise,” as he recounts. This compromise involved a simple message from the police to the neighborhood drunks: Put your beer and liquor in paper bags while drinking in public. As long as the alcohol was covered with a paper bag, the corner boys could drink in peace, and the police could “do real police work.”

Later, Colvin would apply the paper bag policy to the city’s drug trade, concentrating all drug trafficking to an area called Hamsterdam. The entire force looked on as Baltimore’s drug dealers moved weight out in the open. Hamsterdam—where drugs were “legal”—became the modern day compromise between drug dealers and the police. All in the name of civic unity and peace.

Major Colvin realized that public space is a highly valuable public good, and battles over the use of public space are a major civic concern. The public drug trade, like public drinking, competes with other routine community activities for control over public space. To diffuse conflict and avoid this competition, Colvin attempted to privatize a public behavior. The paper bag (and the hoarding of the drug trade into an area invisible to the general public) is a way to take a public activity and disguise it as a private act. In short, it’s a compromise.

Middle class folks, with the luxury of private space, are constantly trying to legislate the use of public space. They fail to share Colvin’s wisdom that “the corner is, it was, and it always will be the poor man’s lounge;” poor folks simply don’t have the same access to private space. Middle class people rarely understand why poor folks fix up cars in the street. Or why they barbeque on public green space. Or why they sit on lawn chairs, chatting and conversing in front of the corner store. The need for public space, access to public space, and control over public space are constantly negotiated in mixed income and multi-racial communities.

I wrote about this public/private divide in perceptions of criminality last week, both in relation to drug decriminalization and violence in pro sports. But this also relates to Omar Edwards—the black, plainclothes police officer murdered by a fellow (white) officer that “mistook” him for a criminal.

In light of the murder, NAACP President Benjamin Todd Jealous discussed the changing nature of race and racism on CNN. He noted that perceptions of black inferiority drove racism sixty years ago. Back then, most racists thought blacks simply weren’t smart enough to be coaches, quarterbacks, or presidents. That’s not the case anymore, at least not to the same extent. Today, according to Jealous, racism and racial prejudice centers on perceptions of black criminality.

Unfortunately, contemporary racism runs much deeper than a simple association between race and criminal behavior. Indeed, it is political struggles over public space and our subsequent perceptions of “proper” uses of space that drive many racial prejudices. It’s a collusion of four factors—race, class, criminality, and public space—that influences contemporary racism and inequality. Edwards was shot, in part, because of the problematic, racialized way we view public space and criminal behavior. The media and blogosphere were both quick to mention that Edwards probably wouldn’t have been shot if he were white. This is a perfectly valid point. But, Edwards also probably wouldn’t have been shot if he were “caught,” say, committing online bank fraud. This private act of criminality does not carry the same racial baggage associated with public criminality.

See, public space and private acts are an important part of the equation. The difference between smoking a joint in your parents’ basement and rolling a blunt on your front stoop centers not on the morality of drug use, but on the perception of the “proper” use of public space. Public space is the poor man’s private sanctuary, and our general perceptions (and stereotypes) of race and class are a reflection of this structural reality. So when Brent Staples of the New York Times writes about the continued danger of “driving while black,” he has only identified part of the story. Laissez-faire, free market racism adds new dimensions to existing racial stereotypes that go beyond simplistic assumptions of black criminality. It’s not just about being black, but more about being black in a public, uncontrolled setting.

Major Colvin’s brilliant speech in this scene from The Wire underscores the importance of public space embedded in civic dilemmas. As we think about racial inequality and racism in this country, it might do us some good to pay attention to Colvin’s lesson.

Reflections on Privilege, Guilt, and Identity

This post is slightly different from my usual contributions to Social Science Lite. Nonetheless, this post is as real as the others. I receive versions of the comments anyone posts on our blog via email whether the comment is for Jeremy’s post or my own. His recent posts on white privilege/white guilt (“This is Where White Guilt Comes From”/"The White Privilege of Anti-White Activists") sparked me to write this “reply post” instead of individual comments on each post so as to explain my position and think about the larger issues at play. I think Jeremy’s comments are honest, well reasoned, and well-argued. I think that activists and scholars like Tim Wise can learn something from Jeremy as he relays his personal experiences and effectively places them in a larger context rather than going for sound bites that, to be colloquial for a minute, grinds people’s gears.

My thoughts on the recent posts on white privilege/white guilt are in part agreement with Jeremy. Let me elaborate and be more specific on what Jeremy has alluded to with respect to my comments on being Black and my (learned) reluctance to “argue” my point with “passion” and also the guilt that sometimes ensues from such inactivity on my behalf. I must say that I do not speak to the experiences of all Blacks, let alone all minorities, but do believe that what follows holds some familiarity with many people of color. To put it simply, I can’t show passion for it will be taken as aggression. I always have to hold back and (try to) be the cool, calm, and collected co-participant in debates or even casual conversations otherwise I am painted as the one who shows emotion with physically expressed enthusiasm about my theoretical findings or just my plain old opinion about the most mundane, quotidian things that populate out lives. For reasons rooted in vicious stereotypes, menacing prejudices, and negative external definitions of Blacks (especially Black males), people equate my bark with my bite. I think this is what Jeremy was getting at when he mentioned the conversations we had backstage about me feeling unable or my hesitance to articulate responses when racist comments are made.

But, sometimes, thankfully, I am more than my race. I will be the first to say that I occupy different social spheres of social dominance and subornation. I too feel a guilt of sorts when around other minorities (and sometimes whites) when racist comments are made. When my friend told me about the “Puerto Rican shower,” referencing when one tries to hide the smell of weed with Axe cologne, I knew the comments that followed could not be good. I am male so when I don’t stand up against sexist comments made against males or females, even when made by women, I feel a little twinge in the pit of my stomach. Though more spiritual than religious, when people make prejudiced statements about those from other religions, I feel that pain as well. I actually felt guilty when I didn’t say anything when Nick Cannon, in his zeal to be savior of all those dark and female, inadvisable and deleteriously employs the female gender as a tool to ridicule Eminem by calling him “Miss.” I am heterosexual and insidious, homophobic comments simply piss me off.

The underlying thing that we get out of talking about privilege and guilt is this false bifurcated world between those with and those without, as I have mentioned before. I think we need to be conscious of the multiple identities which make up who were are. Patriarchy is, in many ways, as dangerous as racism, sexism as dangerous as homophobia, depending on the person (or people in question) and especially the ways in which these prejudices as reinforced by structural factors via the job market, housing, and the like.

However, I recognize that this reality is only* in public. As I told my friends, the public Anthony is PC and docile compared to the more private Tony. And with that said, I argue that the private sphere offers a more complex realm of interactions, both real and symbolic.

I say that the private sphere is more complicated because it usually serves as a safe space where things are said without the worry of being held up to public scrutiny. As we used to say back home, one is not held susceptible to social crucifixion. This is for all races, sexes, creed, classes, and colors. Where I believe the differences are purged is the unique experience of certain populations in this country. Some individuals, because of their phenotypic construction, chromosomal make-up, sexual orientation, know the true meaning behind the old saying, “You got to laugh to keep from crying.” The pains of being Black in America, a woman in America, a non-white, non-middle class, non-male… to be an “other” in America is painful and sometimes we laugh at and make jokes about instances that cause us pain in the public sphere when we retreat to the private sphere just to make it to the next day. A close friend of mine in our cohort talked to me about why she considers drug use as a mental health and not a criminal justice problem for inner city Blacks, for instance. I think about Ntozake Shange's insightful play, For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow Is Enuf. I think about what does it mean when life becomes such a battle that it forces Sam Cooke to say that “It’s been too hard living but I’m afraid to die, Cause I don’t know what’s up there beyond the sky”? I think back to that prolific prophet Malcolm X when he responds to Plato and says, “the examined life is painful.” And who else is under the panoptical gaze of society more than those considered “other”?

This is why it is hard for me to talk about guilt: the private sphere and the public sphere; what is said and where; what is said and why. I appreciate those who attempt to outline the ways in which privilege works to continue the subordination of others but caution us all not to focus on one variable, one component of who were are. It is important that honest, open, and more comprehensive conversations be had.

Teach for America, Teacher Corps, and (Dis)Trust(?)

I would like to say that this is not a dig at those who dedicate part of their lives serving the most disadvantaged as teachers in some of the most destitute schools that are almost universally situated in impoverished, inner-city neighborhoods. I commend those individuals who opt to serve as educators via the "teaching/teacher corp" programs across the county. I received a phone call today from a friend who is with a number of Amherst alumni and current students who have chosen such a path; they are now enduring both the long days of teaching summer school and Mississippi's sweltering heat. With that said, however, this post expands upon a question that has stayed with me since my graduate seminar, Social Structure and Culture in the Study of Race and Urban Poverty (which has helped me crystallize my thoughts on a number of issues), with Sociologist William Julius Wilson this past semester: what are the unintended consequences of these programs on the populations which they were created to serve and empower?

My co-blogger, Jeremy, was in the class as well and we had some pretty heated discussions about some of the books we read as this survey course touched on topics on urban poverty from cultural continuities and the lasting impact of slavery (Orlando Patterson's Rituals of Blood) to the underground economy of poor neighborhoods (Sudhir Venkatesh's Off the Books). The one book that spawned the lasting thought that pushed me to write this post that I just cannot shake is Columbia University scholar Kathryn Neckerman's Schools Betrayed: Roots of Failure in Inner-City Education. In Schools Betrayed, Neckerman, analyzing historical data on Chicago public schools from 1920 – 1960, aims to highlight the ways in which schools themselves—taken as individual institutions—were betrayed by intermediary actors—school board officials alongside education policies drafted at the state level but carried out blindly by local actors. She shows that these race-neutral policies enacted did not have race-neutral outcomes: the dovetailing of school policy and ecological conditions sowed the seeds for the then and present-day deplorable conditions of inner-city schools. The installment of tracking or dual time programs in schools, for examples, were not race-based but the implementation of such policies had negative effects on students' academic preparation and future employment prospects, especially Black students because of the schools they attended.

Ok, so why do I bring up Teach for America, The Mississippi Teacher Corp, and the many others across the nation? It was because of Neckerman's particular analysis of the impact of teacher placement on the students, family, school, and community as a whole. Of the policies that she outlines, I believe that one of the most detrimental consequences from these policy changes was that which caused teachers to cycle in and out of certain classrooms and certain schools, principally those which served predominately Black and low-income communities. Trust is an understated factor in schooling. And the way in which policy was carried out severely weakened the trust between teacher and student, teacher and parent, teacher and school, and even the trust between teachers themselves. In other words, after these teachers "did their time," they could transfer to "better" schools and leave their troubles (and the troubled) behind. This is what made me think of the present state of programs like Teach for America and other like organizations. To put it bluntly, this book made me further question the efficacy of programs like Teach for America and the like: the inexperienced teachers (inexperienced with respect to years of teaching experience not intellect or drive), short-term contracts, and location of placement. Some point to the cultural differences between college students and those from inner-city schools. I believe that, although one barrier to be sure, it would be a bit short-sighted to stop there. As I stated above, the cycling of new faces in the classroom via these programs is what concerns me the most.

Clearly there are many success stories for those on the rosters of such organizations. The teacher of the year for Miami-Dade Public Schools is a Teach for America placement. For continued excellence, let us not forget the Teach for America alumni who started the KIPP (Knowledge Is Power Program) schools where economically disadvantaged students are performing on par with their middle class counterparts. But while we celebrate the success, we must not forget the number of people who stop after a month, a week, or those who make it only one day. I do not have the statistics on this; I just have anecdotal evidence from my interviews with Teach for America representatives before I was offered a position in Miami (I did not accept the position because similar thoughts passed through my mind then).

I bring up this point to caution us to think of the consequences of the short term contracts of Teach for America and like organizations. These programs are so appealing to college students, some of whom use Teach for America as life "pit stops" or use such programs to pad resumes or "give back" without exactly knowing the lion's den they about to enter into. Nevertheless, the students in the schools see eager faces one moment and then look around the next and that face is gone. I am not saying that we are better without these programs. Surely Not! I just do not want to be ignorant of the disappointment of being let down when that the legal contract ends or when that "social" contract runs its course. But, the question becomes, what's the alternative? I would appreciate any comments on the issue brought up here or any thoughts on such programs.

The White Privilege of Anti-White Privilege Activists

The feedback from my post on white guilt has been both empowering and depressing—empowering because it seems to have touched many folks in a very positive way, but also depressing because so many people seem to find themselves in similar situations. The post has spawned some great conversations, for which I am thankful.

It may come as a surprise that I had a lot of trouble writing the post. Each word I typed brought up memories of that moment of injustice. Each sentence reminded me of my own silence that night in Ohio. And each paragraph reinforced my anger—anger directed at the racial arrogance of others, and anger directed at myself. I even had a physical reaction as I wrote: My shoulders tensed up, my jaw clenched, and my right leg started bouncing up and down. I was fired up.

As an undergraduate, I was known for speaking my mind in class. Sometimes this won me new friends, while other times it elicited a few dirty looks. In graduate school, one of my professors has even nicknamed me “the polemicist”—a title that apparently means “a person that puts forth controversial views” (I had to look it up). I’m not sure if this is intended as an insult or not, but even if it is, he’s right: If I feel strongly about a topic, you’ll know. I don’t—and I won’t—hold back.

My girlfriend refers to my angry rants as “passion”—passion for my work, passion for my studies, and passion for social justice. I just get caught up in he heat of the moment, letting myself go. It’s actually quite similar to the scene in Old School when Will Farrell’s character debates James Carville. Something just clicks in Ferrell, and he launches into a tremendously coherent, eloquent, and forceful position. He wins the debate by a landslide, turns to his teammates and asks, “What happened? I blacked out.” Now, I don’t exactly blackout during my diatribes, but you get the idea.

In part, I model my irreverence after some of my favorite progressive activists. Anti-racist activist Tim Wise, for example, is a fiery speaker. David Simon, creator of The Wire, is probably one of the most charismatic—and hilariously insolent—people I have ever heard speak. Both are tremendous educators on privilege and systemic inequality, both relay their messages with incredible ferocity, and both happen to be white. The connection between their race and the forceful tone in their tirades is not coincidental; they are allowed to be outspoken, angry, and polemic because of white privilege.

See, when I launch into a tirade against inequality in the criminal justice system or discriminatory land-use policies, my audience doesn’t really feel uncomfortable or scared. I can be loud without being threatening. When I get into my rants, my audience probably just thinks I’m passionate. As long as I’m not yelling, and my message is clear, people will listen. No one will write me off, make any negative assumptions about my background, or fear physical harm just because my tone was forceful or condemnatory.

Yet a person of color is not afforded the same privilege. Indeed, a black man with similar credentials and intellect would undoubtedly be viewed differently if he spoke in a domineering tone. Even if they are among friends, there is a fear—a fear I do not share—of being labeled “angry” and fulfilling centuries-old stereotypes of black masculinity. I will never suspect that people are afraid of me as a person; the thought won’t even cross my mind. As whites, we’re far less likely to be labeled “erratic,” “crazy,” or “out of control” than folks of color who relay the very same messages in the very same powerful tone. I never worry about fulfilling stereotypes of being loud, angry, or “ghetto”—stereotypes that might cause my audience to misinterpret or ignore my message. And that’s white privilege.

This isn’t really an abstract concept to grasp—just think back to the months leading up to Barack Obama’s election. Folks on the Right desperately tried to paint Barack and his wife Michelle as “angry” black separatists, while his campaign managers desperately tried to mitigate these stereotypical images. The attacks on Michelle Obama were particularly viscous, and particularly racially charged. Put simply, those same stereotypes of erratic, irrational anger do not apply to me. But the question is not whether all whites enjoy some degree of racial privilege (we do). Instead, we need to ask ourselves, is this a bad thing? Or, better yet, how can we use this for good?

I discussed this issue with shani_o, one of Postbourgie’s many excellent bloggers. She offered some great advice: “I think the key is being loud about the right things, acknowledging privilege, and not getting too far away from the people you're talking about.” There was something about those words that just spoke to me in a way I desperately needed to be spoken to.

Ironically, it is the most virulent, outspoken critics of white privilege that successfully employ that very same privilege they hold with such contempt. But if we follow shani_o’s advice—acknowledging our privilege, getting loud when we need to, keeping the folks we talk about close—there’s no reason to feel guilty. I’m privileged, and there’s not much I can do about it. Nor should I, as long as I use my privilege to educate others and promote a progressive agenda.

France's Urban Utopia

For those that don’t really follow urban spatial arrangements the same way I do, you might not know that metropolitan Europe has an entirely different spatial pattern than metropolitan America. In the United States, most suburban development occurred as a result of middle-class exodus from central cities. The general pattern in Europe is almost exactly the opposite; the poor live in the ‘burbs, while the central city typically houses the bourgeois class. Paris, for example, is like the anti-Detroit: Imagine Bloomfield Hills as a sprawling slum, and downtown Detroit as home to Michigan’s most wealthy.

In Europe, like America, poverty tends to be isolated from areas of employment, role models of behavior, social services, and other rudimentary, daily needs. This social and physical isolation may change in Paris in the next few years, however. Nicolas Sarkozy, President of France, has recently employed the services of an international team of urban planners and architects in the hopes of fundamentally changing metropolitan Paris. There are plenty of ideas being thrown around, most captured in this excellent New York Times piece. The most genius idea being discussed, however, involves a metropolitan transit system connecting the city of Paris to its poor suburbs.

I recently wrote about the failures of the American public transit system, far too often focusing on levels of density than on the needs of poor folks without access to other means of transportation. I mean, this whole idea that our transportation system needs to be environmentally sound is great, but we can’t forget why we have public transportation: to transport the public. More importantly, a focus on alleviating density ignores the great social need for sound transit in isolated urban and suburban communities with already low levels of traffic. Our transit system should respond to the needs of our most marginalized citizens.

The plan in Paris takes both of these considerations into account. With one carefully planned transit system, Paris’s poor suburbs could become “greener” and less isolated:

Isolated neighborhoods, which now have little green space, would be intimately woven into the city’s fabric. And the parks would link to a vast new greenbelt defining the city’s edge.

In a phrase, this is urban policy at its finest. Sarkozy and his architects are cognizant of the social, ecological and environmental concerns of metropolitan Paris—and they’re actually going to respond to these needs. Novel idea, I know. If Sarkozy is able to implement his plan, it will be the most ambitious reinvention of an urban metropolis in our generation—an innovative plan that may serve as a model for re-envisioning urban America.

Multi-Racial Coalitions – Lessons From Malcolm X Part 4

Given my past writings on this blog, it should as no surprise that I’m a proponent of multi-racial progressive political coalitions. It’s pretty simple really: I believe in greater social equality, and I think coalition building is an important mechanism for amassing the political power necessary to enact progressive policy. I’m just idealistic like that.

Most high school level history texts don’t exactly portray Malcolm X as sharing these sentiments. And that’s probably because most high school level history texts aren’t very good. For as much as we learn about Malcolm’s intellectual engagement with blackness, so too was he absolutely obsessed with whiteness. I mean, every few pages or so he’s referencing “the white man” in some capacity. But what’s left out of far too many textbooks is an open and honest discussion of Malcolm’s intellectual growth over time—particularly in regards to race, whiteness, and multi-racial coalition building.

When Malcolm made his pilgrimage to Mecca in 1963, he encountered a colorful cadre of Muslims, all expressing their collective allegiance to Allah. He specifically notes how he developed “true brotherhood” with white-skinned Muslims, an experience that forced him to re-think many of his previously held assumptions about whiteness. For the first time in his adult life, he acknowledged the existence of “well-meaning” white folks.

Malcolm internalized these experiences from his pilgrimage, and altered his message and teachings in subsequent speeches:

“We had to approach the black man’s struggle against the white man’s racism as a human problem…[B]oth races, as human beings, had the obligation, the responsibility of helping to correct America’s human problem. The well-meaning white people, I said, had to combat, actively and directly, the racism in other white people."

Malcolm also outlines a specific task for whites that believe in racial equality:

“The first thing I tell [sincere white people] is that at least where my own particular Black Nationalist organization, the Organization of Afro-American Unity, is concerned, they can’t join us. I have these very deep feelings that white people who want to join black organizations are really just taking the escapist way to salve their consciences. By visibly hovering near us, they are “proving” that they are “with us.” But the hard truth is this isn’t helping to solve America’s racist problem. The Negroes aren’t the racists. Where the really sincere white people have got to do their “proving” of themselves is not among the black victims, but out in the battle lines where America’s racism really is—and that’s in their own home communities; America’s racism is within their own fellow whites. That’s where the sincere whites who really mean to accomplish something have to work.” [emphasis added, p. 383-384]

Malcolm—with the underlying logic of this passage—offers a few interesting thoughts on the future of progressive political action. First, he suggests that racial equality in America should be framed under the more inclusive rhetoric of human equality. His use of the words “obligation” and “responsibility” is also telling; he frames the issue of equality as both a civic responsibility and a democratic obligation. In other words, it’s our duty as Americans, living in a democracy, to strive for equality.

There’s also an emphasis on localized, “safe” spaces for oppressed or otherwise marginalized peoples. I think this is where the label of “Black Separatist” is wrongly applied to Malcolm; indeed, he argues that racially homogenous spaces are necessary to hash out certain issues, but only as part of a larger structure—a larger multi-racial structure—focused on battling racism. It’s not like he wanted his organization to go at it alone; he needed whites and other racial groups to complement his efforts, just in their own communities.

Ideally, we can imagine these different groups working both separately and in tandem. I’m not willing to give up on my vision of multi-racial coalitions, but I can understand where Malcolm is coming from. See, Malcolm recognized that starting with interracial coalitions often leads to white co-option. This happens more frequently than we’d like to admit in progressive circles. You know, like when some well-meaning white parents join a PTA in a “majority-minority” public school, and within a couple years the white parents are calling all the shots. Still, there’s a danger in trying to push for social change with disjointed groups: How do we develop a cohesive message and agenda? How do we balance working together, while we work apart?

Had Malcolm lived just a little bit longer we might have a few answers to these questions and concerns. I guess we’ll just have to do the best we can, with the lessons we have. Or, better yet, maybe someone else can pick up where Malcolm left off—someone with charisma, someone that likes to think, someone willing to grow intellectually—and help move our nation toward great racial equality.

Thoughts on Pixar's Up: Race Makes (Scripted) Appearance

Quick Snippet: Up: Beta, Alpha, and the Rest of the Dog pound

I went to see Up last week with my youngest niece. Rather, I paid for her to take a nap in the AC after traveling to the movies in Miami heat. First and foremost, I agree with the majority of America: Up is an incredible movie all the way around. I am not sure it is a children’s movie because some of the concepts are beyond the attention span of the typical 4 or 5 year old but it is great nonetheless. I loved laughing at Carl, the lovable grumpy old man who attempts to take a “solo” trip with Ellie on a magical ride to Paradise Falls, Russell, Dug, and the rest of the gang. Squirrel. (If you saw the movie you get the joke, if you didn’t, what are you waiting for?)

Okay, by now you know that this is not just me writing about how much I enjoyed Up. Jeremy and I are both graduate students trained to overanalyze everything, pick up on the smallest details, and make explicit the implicit. When watching the movie, though, something stood out to me that I couldn’t put my finger. It wasn’t until I searched IMDB that I realized what it was. Did anyone else notice that Beta, the Rottweiler, was Black? He is “played” by Black actor Delroy Lindo who some of you may remember from Romeo Must Die (he was Aaliyah's Dad). I had to laugh because of all the main dogs in the movie the Rottweiler was black. What is more, in looking at the credits, it appears that out of the dogs, Lindo is the only real actor. The rest already work for Pixar as sculptors, writers, or directors like Jerome Brandt, Bob Peterson, and Josh Cooley. In other words, they actually sought out Lindo to play Beta but stayed in house (and white) for the rest of the dog of note in the movie.

If anyone is familiar with the association between dog ownership and race, certain breeds of dogs are “racialized” and even classed in the media and in print. I am not claiming statistical fact. What I am saying, however, the representation of the association between race and certain breeds of dog is slanted in public forums. When you look at MTV Cribs, what race of individuals always showcase their Rottweilers in large cages or running around the sprawling green pastures of their multimillion dollar homes? Given the recent conviction of Michael Vick (and even before that), dog fighting (although not exclusively Black), is also tied to certain breeds of dog (in this particular case, pit bulls) and certain races.

A similar but more direct criticism of this kind was made, as many of you will remember, against Star Wars character Jar Jar Binks. People argued that his dialect, behavior, and even appearance—to put it differently, his entire being—parodies those of slave and blacks soon after emancipation. I bring up Jar Jar Binks and the debate over how he parodies a particular time period of African American culture as a parallel. I do not, however, call foul on Pixar for casting Lindo for the voice of Beta though I think it important to bring up. I must say that I liked Beta in the movie; he has some good lines that make you laugh too. Again, I thought this was interesting to point out. Am I being too forgiving of Pixar on this one because I liked the movie?

One last thing that I cannot begin to write on intelligently right now is why my gender studies sense perked up with Alpha. Why did his voice have to sound “girlish” because of his broken collar? Why did he not sound like a robot or like an announcer on a bad radio? Just as they purposefully sought out Lindo, they made the decision to make Alpha’s voice the way it was. I know it was for comedic effect. Personally, I think the “contrast” between his voice and body is what was supposed to be funny to us and all. But this has some assumptions about masculinity (more generally) that I am just not quite ready to buy.

When in Doubt (or Looking to Deceive), Blame Darky

Miami Herald Journalist Leonard Pitts, Jr. wrote, what I consider, an open and honest piece (“You Don’t Really Know Me”) in response to the recent incident of what I’m going to call blackusation: blaming Blacks for crimes uncommitted. This is not a case of seeing a liquor store being robbed and two tall, muscular figures running from the store with hoodies and Blacks are the first group to be blamed. No, this is even worse. This is a case of literally blaming Blacks for a fabricated crime that, from the details of the case, neither happened nor could have ever happened (as she was at the airport during the attack).

For those who have not heard about the deplorable actions of Bonnie Sweeten, a White woman from Pennsylvania, you should definitely Google her and see the surprisingly single take—by reporters and bloggers—on her story. As the many articles report, Sweeten told police that two Black men forced her into a Cadillac (yes, a Caddy) and drove away with her scared for her life in the trunk. From her extravagant story and reported seven calls to the police, they discovered that there was no Cadillac, no black men, no abduction whatsoever. She made the whole thing up.

My co-blogger Jeremy, who is more adept at finding these types of things, passed along Pitts’ article to me. I had already read the Miami Times ’ take on the story though it was far less reflexive. I, at first, did not know what to make of the whole thing. Surely, anger was my first response. Second, I thought this person has to be crazy. I mean, who sits there and says to themselves, “I think I’ll tell the police I was kidnapped blacks in a Cadillac all the while about to board a plane.” Clearly, there is something wrong with this person.

People have pointed out more recent incident of blackusation like Charles Stuart and his 1989 insurance fraud scheme or Ashley Todd and her McCain bumper sticker “attack” last year. But I thought (way) back to one incident that sparked the literal and figurative death of Rosewood, Florida that occurred in January of 1923. This entire massacre resulted from the unfounded accusation of a single White woman who said that she was beaten and raped by a Black man. The picture is just a snapshot of the damage than ensued. If one remembers John Singleton’s 1994 depiction, she comes out the house screaming, “He was big. He was black.” In reality, evidence suggests that it was her attempt to hide the abuse she received from her husband and also to exact revenge for said abuse. It saddens me that more than 80 years later we are still susceptible to same finger pointing. What is worse, there is no financial or “social” reimbursement or compensation the same way there is for the descendants of Rosewood as Florida became the first state to recognize and make financial repayment for crimes due to racial violence (awared over two million dollars and scholarhsip benefits though this still is not enough in my mind). There is no way to make “payment” for or undo the damage done to the already precarious and troubled image and social status to Blacks, especially Black males.

Pieces like those by Pitts and the Miami Times are responses to the events. They are marginalized and often do not make front page or headline news the same as the original story not because of quality but because of timing and the choice of editors who say they are trying to stay current and not dwell in the past. In other words, one has to follow the work of journalists like Pitts (or the blogosphere) to come across articles like these. But, how many people are we talking? If 100 people read the front page or watch the 7:00 news when incidents like this are first announced, only about 10 of either group are going to follow up or even hear about how the case turns out. The damage has been done.

I am a fan of the TV show Law and Order . In one episode, a man has his wife killed in New York to cover his debt back home (he is from somewhere in East Asia but cannot remember the exact country). He blames a fictitious Black man as the killer. It is an episode worth watching for in trying to solve the case, District Attorney Arthur Branch authorizes the use and city-wide publishing of a fictitious, and quite stereotypical, depiction of a young, Black male, to get the guilty husband to come back to the New York voluntarily (because they could not extradite him). The best part of the episode is when Lieutenant Van Buren pulls Branch aside to tell him how wrong he is because of the social repercussions of attaching an innocent Black face to such a heinous crime. She goes on to say that they both knew the retraction would be buried somewhere in the op-ed section and given far less space. Again, the damage is done.

Sadly, this is not surprising. After being jailed for leading the Children’s March in 1963, legendary comedian and social activist Dick Gregory said that the greatest problem Blacks face is the inability to control their image. Speaking directly to the issues and in the language of the times, he argues that the Southern Negro has been told about themselves “to the extent that [we] have finally decided to believe it.” He goes on to say that others have made the Southern Negro think they are criminals because every time you turn on your TV and they are talking about crime, you see a dark face. I think Gregory pulls up short in showing the efficacious and viral nature of the portrayal of Blacks. These negative images affect both how Blacks see themselves and also how whites see Blacks.

Although speaking about media portrayals of Black versus those of Whites more generally, I think the same principles apply here. In many ways, Blacks are no more able to control their image in today’s society than yesterdays.’ Take one my classmates for instance. In doing a project on weed consumption amongst Harvard students he states, in class, that he wouldn’t ask the kids who hang in front of the T stop because “they don’t look like Harvard students.” First, what the hell does a Harvard student look like? Could one of the Harvard students be the 6’7 Black guy with the growing fro and the 14K chain with horseshoe charm? Well, my ID says I’m a Harvard student. Do I look the part? The sad part, in talking to him about the same project he asks me about “insights” into smoking weed. Again, as if I smoke weed. He did not ask me “Tony, do you blaze.” He simply asked me about the ins and outs of getting high at Harvard as if I would know.

Even though the images have changed, the underlying meanings behind those images are still alive and well. For how would Sweeten know to add the detail of Cadillac as the type of car if it had not been from how Blacks are portrayed in pop culture, the media, and society as whole? To use that old adage, the devil is in the details. It is from this unchanging base that unfounded accusations such as those launched throughout history against Blacks more generally are not only able to made but also work to reinforce the image these false accusations attempt to build off of.

Blacks and Jews – Lessons From Malcolm X Part 3

When I was growing up, I always thought that Jews and blacks were kindred spirits. I was taught that Jews were major allies to blacks during the Civil Rights Movement and were virulent integrationists. Jews knew oppression and racism firsthand; of course they would lend a helping hand to another oppressed racial group. This particular slant in my early education may have had something to do with the fact that I am, well, Jewish.

As I developed a deeper understanding of urban history, I had to reject most of my preconceptions. Blacks and Jews, at least in America, have had a very interesting relationship. Sure, Jews were often the only folks to sell houses or rent to blacks, but they were also the urban slumlords. Many Jews were often the most vocal proponents of civil rights, but that didn’t mean some weren’t racist. Jews were fine with opening shops in urban ghettos, but that often meant the gross exploitation of black, urban residents. They provided goods to the community, but often with exorbitant mark-ups.

In his autobiography, Malcolm X recounts a conversation he had with a Jew, summarizing his thoughts on the relationship between Jews and blacks:

“I told him that, yes, I gave Jew credit for being among all other whites the most active, and the most vocal, financier, “leader” and “liberal” in the Negro civil rights movement. But I said at the same time I knew that the Jew played these roles for a very careful strategic reason: the more prejudice in America could be focused upon the Negro, then the more the white Gentiles’ would keep diverted off the Jew. I said that to me, one proof that all the civil rights posturing of so many Jews wasn’t sincere was that so often in the North the quickest segregationist were Jews themselves…

And an even clearer proof for me of how Jews truly regard Negroes, I said, was what invariably happened wherever a Negro moved into a neighborhood that was thickly Jewish. Who would lead the whites’ exodus? The Jews!” [p. 380]

Last week, I wrote about casual, recreational racism among Jewish friends. That situation pales in comparison to the following video of American Jews in Israel. After President Obama’s speech to the Muslim world in Cairo last week, a film crew asked a group of drunk Jews partying in Israel for their reactions. Ta-Nehisi Coates has written a few interesting posts on this topic, which are worth checking out. But, I think the video speaks for itself:



Jews and blacks have…well…a complicated relationship. Historical tensions fuel contemporary animosities and add to the contradictory relationship between the two groups. Friends and foes, allies and enemies. A simultaneous contradiction, of sorts.

Now, Malcolm X certainly had some questionable and problematic views when it came to Jewish folks. But he does challenge us to rethink the simplistic paradigm of black-Jew solidarity—another one of his lasting lessons.

Kansas City Club Owner Hates Rap Music (And Black People)

Hip hop legend DJ Jazzy Jeff was slated to perform last Saturday night at Kansas City’s KC Live, a club in the city’s Power & Light District. For those that live under a pop culture rock, DJ Jazzy Jeff won the first rap Grammy with Will Smith in 1988 and later co-starred with him on The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. The legendary DJ’s show in Kansas City was free to the public, sponsored in part by VH1’s Save The Music Foundation.

On Saturday night, everything seemed to be going well until Jeff started spinning hip hop music. I know what you’re thinking: Who would expect a legendary hip hop DJ to play hip hop at a paid club performance? Trust me, I was shocked too. Well, the club owners weren’t having it, and the bouncers Uncle Philip Banks-ed him out of their club. Cruel, cruel irony.

The back story proves much more serious—and much more problematic. Apparently, the owner of KC Live has been on some sort of a crusade against gangs, baggy pants, and rap music. And, by extension, black people.

David Cordish, chairman of The Cordish, Co., owns KC Live and controls much of the Power & Light District. In October of 2008, Cordish demanded greater police presence against “gangs” in the Power & Light District. He accused the police of being “soft” on gang violence, and demanded they enforce a zero tolerance policy. But how many robberies, muggings, or assaults in the Power & Light District occurred at the hands of gangs? More importantly, how many robberies, muggings, or assaults occurred at all? No one knows, including Cordish. And that’s the problem—what makes Cordish suspect gang violence? Could he be referring to Kansas City’s young black population, many of whom frequent the Power & Light District? See, in contemporary American vernacular, “gang” is a loaded—and racialized—term. Where others see African-American partygoers, Cordish sees potential gang members.

A racially charged pattern emerges when we take a close look at KC Live’s oddly and suspiciously specific dress code. Look, I’ve heard of dress codes at clubs before, most along the lines of “No tennis shoes” or “No hats.” I guess that’s fine—you know, maybe the club wants to appear upscale or classy. But Cordish and KC Live ban “Shorts below the calves,” “White t’s” and…wait for it…“Towels.” Yes, towels. Sandals, a blue t-shirt and jeans? No problem. Timberland boots, a white t-shirt and a towel? Find another club.

There are a few things going on here. First, Cordish is taking the “No shirt, no shoes, no service” policy to the racial extreme. It’s as if he surveyed Kansas City’s large black population, made a list of their major fashion trends, and then slapped the list on the front door of his club under a “Not Allowed” banner. Second, the club is marketed as a “Top 40” establishment, yet prohibits hip hop. Check out any Top 40 list from the past 15 years—hip hop is well represented. This contradiction in music policy is a not-so-subtle, yet still implicit message that blacks (and their cultural forms) are not welcome at KC Live. Indeed, that was the exact reason DJ Jazzy Jeff was booted from the stage: He played Biz Markie’s famous hip hop ballad “Just a Friend.” Yes, the same Biz Markie song you can hear playing in Heineken’s most recent national TV ad spot.

Critics of The Cordish, Co. have called the club’s policies racist—and they’re right. Power & Light District? Try Power & White District, as many folks have started referring to the area. It’s obvious which racial group the company is targeting, and it has apparently exacerbated pre-existing racial tensions throughout the city.

Banning baggy jeans, like banning hip hop, is a clever way to enact racist policy under the guise of “race-neutral” codes and guidelines. It’s the contemporary, “color blind” variant of Jim Crow-era legislation of black bodies. Hip hop music doesn’t incite violence, and black t-shirts are no more acceptable than white ones. The message from Cordish is loud and clear: No black music, no black fashion trends, no black cultural forms. No blacks allowed.

Tokens and Mascots – Lessons From Malcolm X Part 2

I first learned about the Civil Rights Movement when I was in the fourth grade. It was Black History Month, and my teacher included a lesson on Martin Luther King, Jr. and Rosa Parks. I remember going home, and asking my mother—a college professor—to teach me more about these leaders. Her excitement was palpable; many of these folks influenced her work as a student activist in the 1970s, and she was impressed with my interest.

I took her teachings to heart, and began referring to Paul Robeson and Jackie Robinson as my “heroes” and “role models.” I actually still have an art project from that year which puts this watershed moment in perspective: We were asked to list one person we “look up to.” Most of my classmates listed one of their parents. I listed W.E.B. Dubois.

Yet, the idea of civil rights and racial equality was still just that: an idea. My hometown of Binghamton, New York includes seven public elementary schools. While the district-wide student population is currently about 25% black, my elementary school contained only a handful of minorities. Needless to say, I had pretty limited interaction with folks of a different race. That is, until fifth grade when Daanyaal transferred to Thomas Jefferson Elementary.

I don’t really remember Daanyaal’s background, and I’m not sure what ended up happening to him. What I do remember, however, was my excitement at the dinner table later that night. “Mom, I think I have a new friend—a black friend!” Boy, was I proud! A bona fide black friend!

There’s an entire chapter in The Autobiography of Malcolm X that addresses this kind of token “friendship.” Entitled “Mascot,” the chapter detailed Malcolm’s early childhood in Michigan and his experiences with his white foster family. He writes:

“What I am trying to say is that it just never dawned upon them [Malcolm’s foster parents] that I could understand, that I wasn’t a pet, but a human being. They didn’t give me credit for having the same sensitivity, intellect, and understanding that they would have been ready and willing to recognize in a white boy in my position. But it has historically been the case with white people, in their regard for black people, that even though we might be with them, we weren’t considered of them. Even thought they appeared to have opened the door, it was still closed. Thus they never did really see me.” [emphasis in original, p. 28]

We see discussions of tokenism in political discourse, from analyses of Colin Powell to Clarence Thomas to Barack Obama. We also see discussions of tokenism in academic discourse, as scholars have analyzed the effect of token hires in corporate America on racial inequality.

Yet the best, most poignant commentaries on tokenism are found in pop culture. The one black character on Comedy Central’s South Park is aptly named “Token.” Countless films under the “coming of age” motif generally have a minor black character, if only for superficial racial diversity. Columbia Pictures’ Not Another Teen Movie contains arguably the best tongue-in-cheek depiction of token black characters in film. In the movie, a black character named Malik enters a high school party filled with white youths. He heads to the kitchen to get a drink, and sees another black character by the keg. Malik motions to the other black guy, asking, “What are you doing here?” The other black teen responds quizzically, “What do you mean?” Malik answers, “I’m supposed to be the only black guy at this party.” The black guy apologizes, the two embrace, and he leaves the party.

As I read Malcolm’s thoughts on being a racial mascot, I thought about Daanyaal. Reflecting on Daanyaal makes me feel uncomfortable, and there’s a reason for this: I never saw Daanyaal as Daanyaal; rather, he was just “the cool black kid.” I treated him with the same paternalism and condescension that Malcolm faced as a child. It should go without saying that I have matured since fifth grade, especially in my critical understanding of race and inequality. But that doesn’t change the past, nor should it. Tokenism is highly problematic, especially in progressive circles. For that very reason, we need to be aware of it—and prepared to deal with it.

Recognizing and rejecting this tokenism is yet another important lesson we can learn from Malcolm X.

Lessons From Malcolm X - Part 1

During my freshman year at the University of Michigan, I took a seminar entitled “Malcolm X, Black Power, and the Practice of History.” Taught by Center for African-American Studies professor Stephen M. Ward, the course challenged us to critically analyze Malcolm’s life and words. We closely studied the evolution of his thoughts and beliefs, while also learning how to evaluate historical documents. I often reflect back on my stellar, thought-provoking undergraduate education; it seems like all of my ideas—in this blog, in my studies, and in my life—emerged from the careful cultivation of past teachers and mentors.

Five years later, as my first year of graduate school came to a close, I decided to take Malcolm’s autobiography down from my shelf, brush the dust off, and give the book a thorough second reading. I found the perfect setting to sit down and read through the book: a bench on the Charles River, with Harvard’s John F. Kennedy School of Government prominently towering over my back.

There’s really nothing like reading Malcolm X’s words—detailing his teenage years in Boston, his burglary hideout in Cambridge, and his eventual lectures at Harvard—as I sat in this bastion of privilege and entitlement. It was a taxing experience to say the least. Seriously. If you really want to challenge the way you think about race in America, read Malcolm X’s autobiography on Harvard’s campus.

Re-reading the autobiography reminded me of Malcolm’s brilliance as well as his flaws (his views on women are especially problematic). What follows is a selection of my favorite passages from the book, illustrating some of Malcolm’s most profound thoughts.

Malcolm on gambling, cheating, and systematic racial privilege:

“This was my first lesson in gambling: if you see somebody winning all the time, he isn’t gambling, he’s cheating…It’s like the Negro in America seeing the white man win all of the time. He’s a professional gambler; he has all the cards and the odds stacked on his side, and he has always dealt to our people from the bottom of the deck.” [p. 16-17]

While meeting with a white ambassador to an African country, Malcolm discussed race in America:

“I told him, ‘What you are telling me is that it isn’t the American white man who is a racist, but it’s the American political, economic, and social atmosphere that automatically nourishes a racist psychology in the white man.’ He agreed.” [emphasis in original, p. 378]

Malcolm recounting a life lesson on winning arguments from Elijah Muhammad:

“One day, I remember, a dirty glass of water was on a counter and [Nation of Islam leader Elijah Muhammad] put a clean glass of water beside it. ‘You want to know how to spread my teachings?’ he said, and he pointed to the glasses of water. ‘Don’t condemn if you see a person has a dirty glass of water,’ he said, ‘just show them the clean glass of water that you have. When they inspect it, you won’t have to say that yours is better.’” [p. 209]

Malcolm, reflecting on his “white devil” thesis:

“Unless we call one white man, by name, a ‘devil,’ we are not speaking of the individual white man. We are speaking of the collective white man’s historical record. We are speaking of the collective white man’s cruelties, and evils and greeds, that have seen him act like a devil toward the non-white man.” [emphasis in original, p. 273]

Finally, my two favorite quotes from the autobiography. First, Malcolm on the “ingredients” that make us who we are as human beings:

“But people are always speculating—why am I as I am? To understand that of any person, his whole life, from birth, must be reviewed. All of our experiences fuse into our personality. Everything that ever happened to us is an ingredient.” [p. 153]

I’ll end this post with my all time favorite Malcolm X quote. After his pilgrimage to Mecca, Malcolm began to reevaluate his personal ideas as well as the teachings of the Nation of Islam. From 1963 until his assassination in 1965, he radically reformulated his views on whites, women, and racism, adding tremendous nuance and complexity. Malcolm sums up his intellectual journey, and his continued pursuit of truth:

“You may be shocked by these words coming from me. But on this pilgrimage, what I have seen, and experienced, has forced me to re-arrange much of my thought-patterns previously held, and to toss aside some of my previous conclusions. This was not too difficult for me. Despite my firm convictions, I have always been a man who tries to face facts, and to accept the reality of life as new experience and new knowledge unfolds it. I have always kept an open mind, which is necessary to the flexibility that must go hand in hand with every form of intelligent search for truth.” [emphasis in original, p. 347]

Simply remarkable. Malcolm X continues to teach us important lessons, 44 years after his premature death.