Category Archives: Race

Black Lives Matter

I still haven’t been able to watch the video of George Floyd’s life slipping away all the way through. I don’t know if I ever can. As we lament Floyd and Ahmaud Arbery and what happened to Christian Cooper, what I do know is how familiar this should sound to us. Before there was Tamir Rice and Sandra Bland and Eric Garner and Amadou Diallo, there was Lydia.

Her story is probably unfamiliar because as a slave, she wasn’t even given the dignity of a last name. When she started running from a punishment, the man renting her out from her master shot her in the leg. His behavior was so outrageous that a North Carolina jury in the 1820s convicted him of battery. But then Justice Ruffin, a slaveholder himself, reversed the conviction. With a candor that part of me appreciates, he declared that “The power of the master must be absolute, to render the submission of the slave perfect.” He admitted that this necessarily followed from a slave system that sought to preserve a master’s power over his human property.

This past semester, I taught this case to a seminar on how race has shaped our legal system to flabbergasted law students. They all worked hard, and more importantly, they all cared about racial justice. I started to ask myself, what does it say about us that we have chosen not to pass down such knowledge? That question tore into me throughout the semester when student after student thanked me for offering the class and told me that they had never read an interview with a slave, read how states themselves explained why they were seceding from the Union during the Civil War (spoiler alert: it was slavery and they said so, not me), heard about debt peonage that echoes into our time, or read research about how segregated our schools still are today.

Many of them were surprised to learn that complaints about police brutality and the criminal justice system didn’t start with Black Lives Matter, the ’94 crime bill, the War on Drugs, or even the Civil Rights Movement. No, so many of us have had an instinctive fear of the police and distrust of the legal system for centuries, and those attitudes have passed from generation to generation. America’s very first prison, the Walnut Street Penitentiary, saw disparities between blacks and whites in the 1780s and 90s. Delegates to Texas’s 1868 constitutional convention found that instead of solving crimes against black citizens, police officers were participating in them. It noted that one county’s sheriff was, as the same time he was sworn to enforce the law, “the head of certain desperadoes who have committed numerous outrages, including murder, on the loyal whites and blacks of the county.” The sinking feeling that so many black Americans feel when they hear “the police are coming” has been a long time in coming. And when authorities did prosecute in Texas after the Civil War? In one case where a black man had been assaulted with intent to kill, the jury actually found the defendant guilty. They fined him a penny.

As a black man and a legal scholar, I can’t wave a wand to end the wealth gap between blacks and whites or change police practices. But what I can do, what maybe I’m uniquely positioned to do because of my life experience and my scholarly interests, is give you things to read. One of the most heartening things I’ve seen come out of this is people really taking education about our country’s legacy of racial injustice seriously. I want to encourage you to be a part of this if you have not been already.

Let me warn you: this list is long. It could take years to get through. But in a way, that represents the journey we will have to take if we want to end our racial inequalities. The black struggle for freedom and dignity has gone on for centuries. It will not end with one tweet or one Facebook post or one march or one election. It will take dedicated effort over time.

Some of what you read will sadden or enrage you. You’ll be angry that Cornelia Andrews was whipped so hard as a child for dropping dishes that she had scars more than 60 years later and that she grew up in a time and place where people who looked like her whispered in hushed tones about which slave had been beaten to death recently. You’ll be angry hearing W.L. Bost talk about having to look on as a child while a slave was whipped until his back was “cut to pieces,” had salt rubbed into the wounds, was made to lie in the scorching sun, and then was whipped again until he died. Your heart will break hearing about the women raped by their masters who “knew better than to not do what he say.” You’ll be chagrined to hear that slavery so reduced one mother’s view of humanity that she was thankful her master wasn’t as mean as the others because he didn’t sell her children away from her. There were no cameras to record their suffering, and there was no me-too movement to let them hold their perpetrators accountable. The problem wasn’t that people didn’t believe them. It was that they believed it appropriate to treat them this way. For the millions of slaves like them, no one will ever say their name.

You will probably be shocked to learn that Indiana once made it a crime for blacks even to set foot in the state, or that the Massachusetts Supreme Judicial Court upheld segregation in City of Boston v. Roberts nearly 50 years before the Supreme Court did so in Plessy v. Ferguson. Some of you will view assertions that we can’t judge slaveholders by modern standards in a new light when you read Quakers petitioning for an end to slavery in the 1600s or Thomas Jefferson lamenting that “The whole commerce between master and slave is a perpetual exercise of the most boisterous passions, the most unremitting despotism on the one part, and degrading submissions on the other” even as he couldn’t summon the will to act on that conviction and free his own slaves. It is scary to think that so many people could be exposed to truth, know that truth, and still turn away. And for those of you who’ve had the privilege to get lots of education, it should make you reflect. It’s easy to picture a racist as a poor southerner with a drawl who has little education. But the reality is that some of the worst offenders when it comes to participating in or sanctioning racial bigotry are the most educated. A college or graduate degree might confer prestige and increased earning power, but it does not confer racial enlightenment.

You’ll be nervous reading about just how precarious racial progress is when you dig into reconstruction. Many younger Americans have lived with the assumption that racial progress is inevitable, that the black freedom struggle can be represented by one line going up all the time. It probably looked that way in the late 1860s and early 1870s, just a few years after the Civil War. Black men participated in writing state constitutions, went to Congress, became judges, and helped establish bona fide public school systems for the first time in some states. The  picture they painted of what true multi-racial democracy could look like became only a vanishing glimpse. Some Americans participated in a wave of terrorism, voter suppression, and coercion to put blacks back where they belonged. Others who knew better turned their backs. In a historical nanosecond, the fruits of abolition and reconstruction disappeared. In many places, blacks became just as bad off as they had been in slavery. The movement for racial equality is always one backlash away from ending.

But there is more. I hope the list leaves you with the insight that it’s not enough to be anti-police violence or even anti-racism. For people who want to be allies to the black community, it’s not enough to feel sorrow for us. You need to be pro-black. I have seen lots of people criticizing white supremacy and expressing disgust with whites that don’t “get it.” The key in this moment, though, is not to think worse of white people. It’s to think better of black people.

You need to take authentic pride in the contributions we have made. Our experience is not just one of being victimized, it’s one of succeeding even though we were set up to fail. I want you to be grateful for the priceless literary and intellectual inheritance black authors have left us with for centuries. To that end, I’ve included some novels and poetry that have been meaningful to me. I want you to be inspired by Jackie Robinson and Ella Baker and Arthur Ashe and Ida B. Wells, so I have included some biographies. Even as a child, I knew how important it was for blacks to know these stories and to take pride in our achievements. What has become apparent is how important it is for everyone else. Even though the circumstances of the black experience are often to be pitied, we’ve left contributions to be envied.

We live in an era where people talk about wokeness a lot. Sometimes as an epithet and sometimes as a badge of honor. But if to be woke means to be actually enlightened about the racial issues that still plague us, it is something to aspire to. There are a lot of ways you could measure that. You could look at your friend group. You could look at the entertainment you consume. If you’re in a position of authority, you could look at who you hire and promote. You could look at what your house of worship’s demographics are like. One really important question so many of us have overlooked: what’s on your bookshelf?

Take a look at these materials. Read them. Reflect on them. Discuss them with friends and family. You won’t be the same after you do. And then remember that what I have suggested here is but a drop in the ocean of the materials we could read.

General Historical Books

The Warmth of Other Suns by Isabel Wilkerson

A Brave Black Regiment by Luis Emilio

The Souls of Black Folk by WEB DuBois

America’s Unfinished Revolution by Eric Foner

I’ve Got the Light of Freedom: The Organizing Tradition and the Mississippi Freedom Struggle by Charles Payne

From Jim Crow to Civil Rights by Michael Klarman

Biographies

Ella Baker: A Leader Behind the Scenes by Andrew Young

Malcolm X: A Life of Reinvention by Manning Marable

Days of Grace by Arthur Ashe

Jackie Robinson: A Biography by Arnold Rampersad

12 Years a Slave by Solomon Northrop

A Sword among Lions: Ida B. Wells and the Campaign Against Lynching by Paula Giddings

Bearing the Cross: Martin Luther King, Jr., and the Southern Christian Leadership Conference by David Garrow

Black Judas: William Hannibal Thomas and The American Negro by John David Smith

Articles

“Segregation Now” by Nikole Hannah-Jones in the Atlantic

The Birth of Race-Based Slavery” by Peter Wood in Slate Magazine

“The Free Black Experience in Antebellum Wilmington, North Carolina: Refining Generalizations About Race Relations” by Richard Rohrs in the Journal of Southern History

“The Negro in Indiana Before 1881” by Earl McDonald in Indiana Magazine of History

“From Slavery to Freedom in Mississippi’s Legal System” by James Currie in the Journal of Negro History

“The Continuing Evolution of Reconstruction History” by Eric Foner in the OAH Magazine of History

“Numbers That Are Not New: African Americans in the Country’s First Prison” by Leslie Patrick Stamp in the Pennsylvania Magazine of History

“Slavery Revised: Peonage in the South” by N. Gordon Carper in Phylon

“Red Shirt Violence, Election Fraud, and the Demise of the Populist Party” by James M. Beeby in the North Carolina Historical Review

“The Sexual Abuse of Black Men under American Slavery” by Thomas A. Foster in the Journal of the History of Sexuality

“The Ku Klux Klan During Reconstruction: The South Carolina Episode” by Herbert Shapiro in the Journal of Negro History

Novels/Poetry

Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston

Book of Negroes by Lawrence Hill

Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison

Wench by Dolen Perkins Valdez

Middle Passage by Charles Johnson

Sula by Toni Morrison

The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes

Primary Sources

Interview with Cornelia Andrews, Ex-Slave Stories (pages 28–31); Interview with W.L. Bost, Ex-Slave Stories (pages 139–146). The Works Progress Administration interviewed many slaves during the New Deal. For a full list of interviews, go here. For the specific interviews, go to volume 11, part 1. You would do well to go through as many of them as you can.

Transcript of 1868 Texas Constitutional Convention, Report from the Committee on Lawlessness and Violence.

1688 Quaker Petition Against Slavery

Query XIV and Query XVIII of Notes on the State of Virginia by Thomas Jefferson

Transcript of Arkansas’ 1868 constitutional convention, pages 490–512

Southern Declarations of Secession

Court Decisions

Brown v. Board of Education, 347 U.S. 483 (1954)

Dred Scott v. Sanford, 60 U.S. 393 (1857)

Roberts v. City of Boston, 59 Mass. 198 (1850)

Plessy v. Ferguson, 163 U.S. 537 (1896)

The Civil Rights Cases, 109 U.S. 3 (1883)

Clark v. Board of School Directors, 24 Iowa 266 (1868)

State v. Mann, 2 Dev. 263 (N.C. 1829)

Reconstructing Cancel Culture

I hope you all are taking care of yourselves while we shelter in place. Hopefully, this post gives you a way to pass the time.

In the last few years, we’ve heard a lot about cancel culture. Celebrities, politicians, and regular people have been “cancelled,” though it’s often unclear what that means. The best definition might actually come from Urban Dictionary. It defines “cancelled” as meaning “if you or anyone does something that’s considered ‘bad’… no one would look at you in a good way anymore, no respect, etc.” The consequences could include losing business, twitter followers, or votes.

For many, cancel culture is something woke young people have invented recently. Merriam-Webster claims “The idea of canceling—and as some have labeled it, cancel culture—has taken hold in recent years due to conversations prompted by #MeToo and other movements that demand greater accountability from public figures.” It then credits black Twitter users for the term.

This semester, I’ve taught a seminar on how race has shaped the legal system. It’s been an eye-opening experience. As we studied the aftermath of the Civil War, I was struck by a phenomenon that looks a lot like cancel culture, except on steroids.

Former rebels didn’t take their defeat on the battlefield lying down. They unleashed violence and terrorism on their supposedly victorious enemies that spurred the creation of a committee on lawlessness and violence at Texas’ 1868 constitutional convention, three years after the Civil War. The committee observed that, “multitudes who participated in the rebellion, disappointed and maddened by their defeat, are now intensely embittered against the freedmen on account of their enfranchisement, and on account of their devotion to the Republican party, and against the loyal whites for their persistent adhesion to the Union…that it is their purpose even by desperate measures to create such a state of alarm and terror among Union men and freedmen as to compel them to abandon the advocacy of impartial suffrage or fly from the State…”

People often worry about cancel culture suppressing free speech. A 2018 study found that 54% of college students felt “intimidated in sharing your ideas, opinions, or beliefs in class because they were different than those of your classmates or peers.” And to be sure, there have been worrying incidents. When a Bryn Mawr student posted on the school’s ride-share Facebook page looking to see if anyone would be interested in going to a Donald Trump rally, several posters called her racist while others threatened her physically. The harassment led her to drop out of college.

But this threat to free speech is not new, as Texas’ experience shows. In 1868, the committee on lawlessness and violence noted that “There is absolute freedom of speech in very few localities in Texas.” Rather, “Union men dare not generally avow their political convictions” because “the dominant rebel element will not tolerate free discussion.” In fact, things were so bad that “hundreds of loyal men, to our knowledge, are at this time forsaking their homes in Texas, fleeing from the assassin, [and] forced away by rebel intolerance.”

Former rebels admitted to things like firing guns into a black church, murdering black officials in cold blood, and whipping black women “to compel the negroes to give up Loyal Leagues, and to get satisfaction out of them for supporting Yankees.”

Cancel culture was real in in Texas after the Civil War in a way that puts today’s debate over it in perspective. Texans with unpopular opinions (you might even say politically incorrect ones) were not at risk of being called out or being shamed. They were at risk of having their very lives cancelled. What were those politically incorrect opinions? Believing in black equality and supporting the Union. Many celebrities who get “cancelled” these days wind up just fine.

Still, Texas gives us two cautionary lessons about cancel culture, but not in the way many critics suppose. First, we should really worry about cancelling when majorities do it to vulnerable minorities. The consequence of being cancelled for those at the margins of society are likely to be real in a way they aren’t for wealthy celebrities.

Second, before cancelling people, we should ask ourselves an uncomfortable question: is the person whose opinion we find repugnant actually right? Could they be getting at a truth we’ve overlooked? The former rebels who cancelled loyal Unionists surely thought their cause was righteous. They were wrong. Today, many of us look back and ask, how could anyone have thought about cancelling people for advocating loyalty to the government and black equality? Before we cancel people today, we would do well to ask ourselves if future generations will react similarly. Are we really trying to eliminate injustice, or will future generations see that we instead enabled it?

If nothing else, Texas’ experience should make us think twice before we exaggerate cancel culture, or engage in it.

Would Nazis Have Been Any Worse For Blacks Than Jim Crow?

The question of what life in America would have looked like under Nazi rule continues to fascinate us. In 2019, shows like Man in the High Castle are still popular. The show’s three seasons, set in 1960s America, are plenty-thought provoking, but given that it makes only oblique references to race at a time the civil rights movement would have been blooming historically, it left me wondering what a Nazi-ruled America would have looked like for blacks.

Nazi Racial Ideology

Racism was core to Nazism. In Mein Kampf, everything good was associated with Aryans, the alleged master race. Hitler declared that “[a]ll the human culture, all the results of art, science, and technology that we see before us today, are almost exclusively the creative product of the Aryan.” Blacks were inferior. For Hitler, in fact, they were part of a Jewish plot to degrade Germany: “[i]t was and it is Jews who bring the Negroes into the Rhineland, always with the same secret thought and clear aim of ruining the hated white race by the necessarily resulting bastardization, throwing it down from its cultural and political height, and himself rising to be its master.”

These attitudes influenced Nazi policy. The few blacks in Germany found it impossible to become German citizens; their passports eventually read “stateless negroes.” In 1941, they were kicked out of German public schools. They were the focus of forced sterilization efforts.

Historian Eve Rosenhaft suggests that a 1942 survey of blacks in Europe was done with the intent of rounding them up. That never happened. But during the war, the Nazis used blacks as propaganda to stiffen the German people’s’ spines. Take a look at these pictures:

Ironically, the Nazis later targeted black soldiers in their propaganda efforts during the war too. Leaflets targeting black soldiers bragged “there have never been lynchings of colored men in Germany. They have always been treated decently.” Others claimed that “colored people living in Germany can go to any church they like. They have never been a problem to the Germans.”

But black soldiers would have seen this for the lie it was. Black newspapers drew parallels between Jim Crow and Nazism before the U.S. even entered the war. In 1938, the New York Amsterdam News reported that “[t]aking a leaf from United States Jim Crow practices against the Negro, German Nazis plan to Jim Crow Jews on German railways…” More ominously, it noted that “[t]he Nazis, in declaring their intentions of Jim-Crowing Jews within the Reich, specifically cited American Jim Crow customs against its Negro citizens…” Walter White of the NAACP even went so far as to ask Jesse Owens and other black athletes to boycott the 1936 Olympics because it was being held in Nazi Germany.  He warned that “if the Hitlers and Mussolinis of the world are successful it is inevitable that dictatorships based upon prejudice will spread throughout the world, as indeed they are now spreading.”

Nazi obsession with racial purity ultimately led to the holocaust where more than six million Jews were murdered. Other groups such as gypsies, gays, and slavs suffered grievously too.

Life for Blacks under Nazi Occupation

Given their propensity for genocide, what would the Nazis have done if they had taken over America and its millions of blacks? Surely nothing good. Man in the High Castle hints at this. At one point, Joe Blake, one of the main characters, reads the Adventures of Huckleberry Finn to a child. After reading a passage about Jim, the child asks “how can he be good–he’s black!” At which point his mom notes that the Nazis banned the book. We can infer that when they took over America, the Nazis’ propaganda targeted blacks. In the show, one of the most important resistance fighters, Lemuel Washington, is black, and so are several others. So we can infer that whatever remained of the black community perceived the Nazis as a sufficiently serious threat that it was preferable to risk death in the resistance.

The book makes these implicit racial dynamics explicit. The Nazis reinstituted slavery in the United States. This outcome is so horrifying because it is so believable. Slavery legally ended with the 13th amendment. But it continued in all but name with things like peonage, sharecropping, and chain gangs. Well into the 20th century, an outside observer could look at the lives of many blacks and conclude they had not improved since slavery. Nazi occupiers could have used blacks (and other disfavored minorities) as slave labor to power their war effort the way they used slave labor in Europe. And Nazi slavery might have been even worse than American slavery. During the antebellum period, slaves had the hope–however distant and difficult–of running the underground railroad to freedom in the North. But with Nazis occupying all of America, where would they have gone?

An even more horrifying possibility could have greeted blacks when Nazis arrived: extermination. We know the Nazis viewed blacks as inferior, and we know from the holocaust that they were willing to commit genocide against groups they despised. The logical conclusion of these attitudes would be death camps. And just as Poles and Ukrainians aided Nazis in their persecution of Jews, we can imagine some racist Americans doing similarly. This would have made blacks especially likely to resist Nazi occupation. So in the video game Wolfenstein: the New Collosus, when a black woman was a key resistance leader, I was unsurprised. All Americans would have lost freedom and dignity under Nazi rule, just as those living in conquered European nations had. Blacks could have faced wholesale genocide. The resulting calculus would have been something like “I could die if I do resist, but I will die if I don’t.” As an aside, Wolfenstein surprisingly offers a more thoughtful look at race relations in Nazi-occupied America. A scene in the game features KKK members and others welcoming Nazi rule with open arms, grateful to be rid of blacks and Jews. It acknowledges the backwards racial attitudes too many had when, in a flashback, the protagonist’s father punishes him for befriending a black girl.

Perhaps the most horrifying possibility is that things would have stayed the same under Nazi rule. Blacks would have attended separate and unequal schools, drank from separate water fountains, been denied the ability to live in particular neighborhoods, and faced widespread lynchings…just like they did under Jim Crow. The reason I say this is perhaps worst of all is because it means the Nazis–some of the most evil people in history–would have said “black people were already oppressed enough before we got here.”

This possibility was reflected in Jesse Owen’s experience. At the 1936 Olympics, Owens put the lie to Nazi racial ideology by winning four gold medals. There was a persistent story that Hitler refused to shake Owen’s hand. But Owens wryly noted, “I wasn’t invited to shake hands with Hitler, but I wasn’t invited to the White House to shake hands with the President, either.” He later reflected that “after all those stories about Hitler and his snub, I came back to my native country and I couldn’t ride in the front of the bus…I couldn’t live where I wanted. Now what’s the difference [between Nazi Germany and Jim Crow]?” At a reception in his honor at the Waldorf Astoria, he was relegated to the service lift instead of the regular one reserved for whites. The sad truth is that for Owens, there was no difference between Nazi ideology about blacks and Jim Crow ideology about blacks.

All of these possibilities are frightening. But there is a more uplifting one. It’s hard to imagine a people who rebelled against a king submitting to Nazi rule. I’m confident that there would have been widespread resistance. The only way for any resistance movement to succeed would have been to unify across racial and ethnic divides. And there is hope that even racists resisting the Nazis would have had reason to reconsider their prejudices. The more self-aware ones would have been able to draw parallels between Jim Crow and Nazi racial policies.

The trailer for season four of the Man in the High Castle looks promising when it comes to race. Lots of black resistance fighters are portrayed. And I hope the show will explore in more depth what racial dynamics look like in Nazi-occupied America.

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About the Confederate Flag Representing Southern Heritage

Memorials to confederate soldiers have become a point of contention in the past several years. This is something I welcome. The Civil War shook our country up in ways nothing else has. And even after all this time, we haven’t arrived at a consensus about how to remember it. Nothing puts a finer point on this than the confederate memorials. Should they stand to commemorate valiant southern soldiers or brilliant strategy from confederate generals? Or is their existence an affront of the worst order: a celebration of treasonous men who tore the country apart and fought for a cause that would have denied freedom to millions of blacks?

Free State of Jones provided an intriguing perspective on these questions. It is often said that the confederate flag and confederate memorials merely represent southern heritage that we should honor. But, the movie suggests the answer is more complicated. It follows Newton Knight, a southern farmer opposed to slavery who deserts after losing his nephew in the war.

When he gets back to Mississippi and sees the confederate home guard pillaging supplies from civilians, he decides to lead a rebellion of his own–against the rebels. Working with escaped slaves and other deserters, he fights guerilla style for years. At one point, he even tries to work with Union General William Tecumseh Sherman.

Ironically, a confederate memorial stands in in Ellisville, Mississippi, which was “ground zero” for the rebellion in Jones County. The real-life version of Knight supported the Union just as strongly as the fictional version did. He so undermined the tax system in Jones county that the confederacy sent two regiments to take him out. They failed. After the war, he was an ally to blacks, ensuring that masters freed their slaves and fighting the Klan.

Knight was hardly the only white Southerner opposed to the confederacy. By some estimates, in fact, over 100,000 white Southerners fought for the Union. These men were just as “southern” as the men who fought for the rebels. But if you could transport them to today, would we seriously think that men who carried the American flag into battle would consider the confederate flag as representing their heritage?

Holding up the confederate flag as the symbol of southern heritage has always been in tension with the historical record. As you might suspect, it leaves out the 90,000 former slaves who fought in the Union army. Would a Mississippi slave who fled his master to join the Union army really regard the confederate flag as representing his heritage? Would he feel honored that monuments and public places fly it?

The Civil War echoes into our time. The things we were fighting about–racial equality, the proper role of the federal government, etc–are things we still are. As we grapple with how to remember the conflict, I hope we will do so with nuance. On that score, there is no better place to start than recogizing that the oft-overlooked southern unionists are an important part of southern heritage.

Read Book of Negroes

I recently finished Book of Negroes by Lawrence Hill. It was phenomenal.

The story follows Aminata Diallo, a Muslim growing up in Western Africa when her parents are killed and she is captured and sent to the New World. The story documents the harrowing trip on a filthy slave ship where the captives launch a failed slave revolt. She then lives on Robinson Appleby’s harsh South Carolina plantation for years where an overseer secretly teaches her to read. She marries Chekura, who came with her on the ship, but their child is sold away from them.

Eventually, she is sold to Solomon Lindo in Charleston, who provides further tutoring in reading and math so she can be his secretary. Lindo is kinder than Appleby, and Aminata comes to have genuine affection for him and his wife. Still, she struggles being separated from her husband and baby and chafes at being a slave.

So when she visits New York with Lindo, she escapes. After doing work for the British during the American Revolution, she becomes responsible for writing down the names of black loyalists in the “Book of Negroes” so they can leave with the British to Canada. Of course, Canada turns out to be no better. The blacks face the same discrimination and hardship they were fleeing from in America. She loses her husband at sea, and the daughter they had while living together in New York is taken from her.

Finally, Aminata helps found a colony for freedmen in Sierra Leone funded by English abolitionists. The slaves are just as dependent on the abolitionists as they were on their masters, and the colony struggles for life. To make matters worse, on a visit back to the village she was taken from, the men guiding her scheme to sell her back into slavery.

The story is on pace to be a tragedy until Aminata goes to London to advocate for ending the slave trade and is reunited with the daughter taken from her so many years ago. She ends up supporting a school and writing her life’s story.

It’s honestly one of the best novels I’ve read in years for a few reasons. First, Hill presented us with a rigorously researched, believable world. Lots of small details demonstrate this. He took the time to dig into the languages someone like Aminata would have spoken and the process for making indigo in the 1700s. These details made the book something I could learn from. For example, a sizeable proportion of African captives practiced Islam, which plantation owners consciously suppressed. It’s a good reminder that Islamophobia predates 9/11.

Second, it has such a nuanced portrayal of betrayal and hypocrisy. We see the Africans selling each other into slavery and placing profit over the rights of their fellow human beings–the same evil the white plantation owners and ship captains are committing. We see the abolitionists committed to blacks’ wellbeing demonstrating the same paternalism when they insist on telling Aminata’s story for her or running the colony for freedmen that underlies slavery itself.

Finally, the story was ultimately an uplifting one. Aminata’s story will help abolitionists end Britain’s slave trade. And at the end of her life, Aminata is reunited with the daughter taken from her earlier. Her life was difficult in a way few of us could imagine. But in the end, she can take comfort in her daughter’s love and in the fact that she’s played a major role in fighting a grave injustice.
Book of Negroes is well worth your time.

Wakanda’s Foreign Policy Conundrums Are A lot Like America’s

Wakanda’s foreign policy is a mess by the end of the movie. After spending most of it simply trying to keep prying eyes away from his kingdom, T’Challa starts an outreach center in Oakland and promises to share Wakanda’s knowledge with the rest of the world. Unintentionally (I think), the movie provides a valuable window into the competing strands of American foreign policy over its history.

Killmonger may be the movie’s villain, but in some ways he stands in for idealists who want America to promote freedom. He wants to use Wakanda’s military might to liberate blacks from their oppressors all over the world. It would be wrong, according to him, to have Wakanda sit idly by when it could instantly make things better for marginalized peoples.

He reminds me of Woodrow Wilson, in both flattering and unflattering ways. When asking Congress for a declaration of war, Wilson said the “world must be made safe for democracy.” In his 14 points further explaining America’s war aims, Wilson demanded an “absolutely impartial adjustment of all colonial claims, based upon a strict observance of the principle that in determining all such questions of sovereignty the interests of the populations concerned must have equal weight with the equitable claims of the government whose title is to be determined.”

So both men wanted to use their countries’ might to further their moral crusades. But both men had blind spots. I found it interesting that Killmonger focused on the plight of blacks around the world, but not other groups such as Asians or Latin Americans who have been victims of European colonization. In fact, he never even acknowledges that other groups have suffered. In this, his vision of liberation appears to be an exclusive one. That is, he only wants to liberate the world’s blacks, but would leave other unjust structures firmly in place.

Wilson may have wanted to make the world safe for democracy, but he refused to make his own country safe for blacks. He presided over the resegregation of federal government departments. He approvingly screened “Birth of a Nation” in the White House, which celebrated the Ku Klux Klan. At the Paris peace conference after World War one, Wilson opposed a proposed clause in the Versailles treaty stating “The equality of nations being a basic principle of the League of Nations, the High Contracting Parties agree to accord as soon as possible to all alien nationals of states, members of the League, equal and just treatment in every respect making no distinction, either in law or in fact, on account of their race or nationality.”

Interestingly, it is no answer to say Killmonger or Wilson were simply men of their times. In 2018, it strikes me that a Naval Academy graduate as motivated to fight oppression as Killmonger—and someone who had seen much of the world as a CIA operative—would be aware that colonialism and racism affected groups other than blacks. And yet, despite this knowledge, Killmonger’s vision of racial liberation is not universally inclusive.

It might be tempting to say that Woodrow Wilson held racist views as someone who grew up in the South during the 19th century, and that, although we should not excuse them, we should understand his racism in light of the time and place he grew up in. But Japan’s proposal for racial equality received majority support at the Versailles conference. So, a majority of Wilson’s contemporaries—who would have internalized racial stereotypes as leaders of countries colonizing Africa and Asia—were able to recognize that nations should not be treated differently because of race. It’s true that many Americans were racists when Wilson allowed the federal government’s resegregation or screened “Birth of a Nation.” But few had the opportunities to receive the extensive education he did or gain exposure to men like WEB Dubois, who could have easily disproven their stereotypes. The sad fact is that if any man had the chance to rise above the racism of his time, it was someone like Wilson.

Both Wilson and Killmonger were idealistic men who failed to follow their ideals to their logical conclusion.

T’Challa represents a strand of American foreign policy seeking to keep the rest of the world at a distance. It’s a tradition going all the way back to the early republic, when George Washington urged his countrymen to avoid entangling alliances with other nations. In his farewell address, Washington argued that America’s “detached and distant situation”—with an ocean separating it from European powers—would allow it to “defy material injury from external annoyance.” He defended staying out of a war raging in Europe.

America managed to stay mostly to itself during the 19th century. But the turn of the 20th saw increased American involvement in international affairs. Almost as if on cue, the American Anti-Imperialist League formed to oppose annexing the Philippines in the aftermath of the Spanish American war. Charles Lindberg, the pilot who made the first transatlantic flight, barnstormed the country arguing that America should stay out of World War two. Prominent congressmen opposed President Franklin Roosevelt’s efforts to provide arms and other aid to the British as the Germans attacked. But in general, interventionists have won over the last century. Think of American involvement in the world wars, the Marshall plan, the Korean war, Vietnam, and Afghanistan and Iraq today.

Early in the movie, T’Challa says nothing when a friend claims “[w]hen you let in refugees, they bring their problems with them.” And he opposes Killmonger’s attempts to use Wakandan military might to liberate blacks around the globe. Later, of course, he does offer to share Wakanada’s knowledge with the rest of the world.

In both cases, the hesitancy to get involved in foreign affairs reflects (in part) beliefs that America and Wakanda are exceptional. Because both countries are special, engaging with the world will only bring polluting influences. America’s isolationists would say that it is a city on a hill that should float above the rest of the world. Wakanda’s would stay the same. And in both cases, the impulse to spread their ideals to the rest of the world stems from that same belief.

At the end, Wakanda prods itself to take a difficult middle course. One where it maintains its security, but lives up to its ideals. It is a path America is still trying to navigate.

T’Challa and Killmonger Aren’t Martin and Malcolm No Matter How Much We Want Them To Be

T’Challa and Killmonger have been compared to Martin Luther King and Malcolm X. This is an unsurprising lens to view the relationship between black leaders given their distinctive philosophies and hold on the popular imagination. The idea is that both have noble goals, but that while one goes about his in a gracious, loving way, the other is a violent radical.

But I’m convinced this analogy is not particularly helpful for two reasons. First, it reduces them into caricatures bearing little resemblance to who they were in real life. Today, Dr. King has a national holiday and is a revered figure. But “gracious” and “loving” were not terms often used to describe him during the Civil Rights movement. Gallup never showed him with more than a 45% favorable rating in his lifetime. In fact, by 1966, 63% of Americans viewed him unfavorably. He was apt to be called a demagogue and a Communist. He died leading a poor people’s campaign that could get him accused of class warfare.

This shouldn’t be surprising. He was unpopular to so many precisely because he challenged so many popular attitudes about black people. In his own way, he was a radical. He admitted as much himself. The purpose of his demonstrations in Birmingham, he wrote in a famous letter from its jail, was “to create such a crisis and foster such a tension that a community which has constantly refused to negotiate is forced to confront the issue [of racism].” He had no patience for self-described moderates. In fact, he had “almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro’s great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen’s Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to ‘order’ than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice.”

Malcolm X is usually remembered as an angry racist. And understandably so. He referred to whites as “white devils.” He argued that blacks should not identify with America because it was a “white man’s country,” and asserted that identifying as Americans was akin to “the ex-slave who is now trying to get himself integrated into the slave master’s house.” When a white college girl asked how she could help, he turned her away.

There was more to the story. In 1964, he went on his obligatory once-in-a-lifetime pilgrimage to Mecca. What happened there changed his views. He had “eaten from the same plate, drank from the same glass, slept on the same bed or rug, while praying to the same God…fellow Muslims whose skin was the whitest of white, whose eyes were the bluest of blue, and whose hair was the blondest of blond…” He went onto say that this “was the first time in my life that I didn’t see them as ‘white men.’” So before he died, Malcolm X had renounced the views that comparisons to him draw upon.

If we really wanted to compare Killmonger and T’Challa to Malcolm X and Dr. King, we would need to compare them to Malcolm X and Dr. King as they actually were, not necessarily as we now remember them.

Second, even if we caricature the two, I don’t see how either Killmonger or T’Challa resembles them. If we insist on remembering Dr. King only as a kindhearted man who preached love, then neither Killmonger nor T’Challa fits the bill. Killmonger for obvious reasons; he’s a murderer who’s willing to cause a civil war and use Wakanda’s military to cause destruction around the world. T’Challa for his part might not be violent, but he certainly doesn’t advocate universal love. He says nothing when a man argues for excluding refugees from Wakanda because they bring problems. And for most of the movie, he refuses to use Wakanda’s knowledge to improve the lot of nearby countries, or the rest of the world. You wouldn’t say he dreams that Wakandans will be able to sit down with citizens from other countries at the table of brotherhood.

Neither resembles Malcolm X. Killmonger might seem like he does because of his violence and hatred. But there are important differences. Malcolm X’s religious beliefs were core to who he was. We have no indication that Killmonger has any. Where Malcolm X was eventually able to question his hatred and move past it, Killmonger never does. And while T’Challa doesn’t appear to care about anyone else but his own people, he never harbors the resentment that continues to characterize how people see Malcolm X.

So I don’t see Malcolm X or Dr. King as a useful analogy in this movie. I will say, though, that Killmonger calls to mind another important 20th century black leader: Marcus Garvey. Founder of the United Negro Improvement Association, Garvey wanted to see blacks unite, become self-sufficient, and ultimately go back to Africa and found an independent nation. Killmonger wants Wakanda to become that nation.

To advance his vision, Garvey met with Ku Klux Klan leader Edward Clark; he thought he could work with the KKK because both organizations advocated racial purity. Killmonger worked as a CIA operative for a country he regarded as an imperialist oppressor of blacks to gain the knowledge and skills he would ultimately use to take over Wakanda. Both men were willing to work with whites they detested to further their causes.

Garvey’s ideology lived on after he died. Killmonger is his heir.

Reflections on Martin Luther King Day

Today, Martin Luther King is arguably the closest thing we have in this country to a national saint. What I mean is, most of us think of him as someone who produced a miracle in achieving civil rights. He’s someone that all Americans feel like they can rally around. Politicians from both parties routinely quote him. A snippet from one of his speeches is supposed to settle debates by itself.

I’m sure this adulation would surprise Dr. King. I’m reminded of that when I read his letter from the Birmingham jail. I’ll never get over what a remarkable document it is—he produced something more cogent and more knowledgeable from a jail cell than many of us could do with a computer and internet access and unlimited time. The letter quotes from the Bible, theologian Reinhold Niebuhr, Abraham Lincoln, Thomas Jefferson, and Socrates. Anyway, at the time, clergy in Birmingham criticized Dr. King’s actions as untimely and called them extreme. That view didn’t disappear when Dr. King died in 1968. During the congressional debate over whether Dr. King should have a national holiday, Jesse Helms accused him of “action-oriented Marxism,” and claimed he harbored “radical political views.” The result (according to Helms) was that Dr. King’s “very name itself remains a source of tension, a deeply troubling symbol of divided society.”

What Dr. King did in his letter, among other things, was take on the idea that moderation was the highest good, unity the most important consideration. The ministers who had attacked him didn’t want him to rock the boat too much or cause too much division. They used the word “extreme” as an epithet to undermine his cause. No one wants to be seen as extreme, after all. But Dr. King reminds us that the same Jesus his clergy critics professed to worship gave his followers an extreme definition of love: that they were to love their enemies. He goes on to quote Lincoln’s admonition that America could not remain a nation half slave and half free, and Thomas Jefferson’s claim that all men were created equal, ideas that many saw as radical at one time.

After recounting our heartbreaking experience with slavery and the daily indignities racism inflicted on blacks, Dr. King demonstrated that the black community stood at a crossroads. For those who wanted change, there were those “who have lost faith in America” and “have concluded that the white man is an incorrigible ‘devil,’” and those in King’s movement. The question Dr. King posed is “not whether we will be extremists, but what kind of extremists we will be.” That is a question that should stay with us.

Dr. King teaches us that there is never a good time to demand justice. Frequently, calls for a more just society will strike those in power as “extreme.” Today, most of us take for granted that amusement parks shouldn’t close their doors to blacks and that blacks traveling should not be denied lodging at hotels because of their race. And yet those ideas were well outside the mainstream for much our history.  So for those working towards a more just society, I hope Dr. King’s example gives you heart. If you’re willing to persist in the face of criticism, you may find that what is radical today will be conventional wisdom tomorrow.

Retire the Term Uncle Tom

You’re probably familiar with the term “Uncle Tom.” It’s a synonym for a black sellout, someone who works against the interests of his own race. I’m not a big fan of the term, since it’s often applied to people who merely have different views about political and policy questions facing the black community. Be that as it may, the term definitely has a certain bite. That’s why I was so surprised when I read through Uncle Tom’s cabin.

In the book, Uncle Tom is exposed to a level of cruelty most of us could never imagine. His master in Kentucky sells him, but not before holding out false hope that he will buy him back. Another master in Louisiana promises to free him but dies just before fulfilling the promise. Sold yet again, he finds himself working for an exceptionally mean master.

The novel spends a great deal of time exploring Uncle Tom’s faith. He is constantly reading his Bible and professing it to others, even his master at one point. And he is a man of principle. When he sees a slave struggling to pick enough cotton, he dumps some of his into her sack and is hit for it. Not to be deterred, he dumps cotton in her sack again after the overseers leave. At the end of the day, his sadistic master orders him to beat the woman, but he refuses. He even goes so far as to tell his master to his face that beating her is wrong. For that, two overseers (who were also slaves) beat him nearly to death.

This episode is even more significant than it appears at first. At the time, slave owners often used the Bible to instruct slaves about their duties to honor and submit to their masters. Although they probably didn’t say it in so many words, masters suggested that their slaves’ biblical duty to obey them superseded any duty to follow their consciences. In refusing to obey his master, Uncle Tom showed that he rejected this twisted view of Christianity and that he would think for himself.

Afterwards, when Cassy comes to bandage his wounds, he tells her that God loves her and listens empathetically to her plight of having children sold away from her even as he is in agonizing pain himself. In short, far from selling fellow blacks out, he is a man who risked his life to help them.

In his own way, I see Uncle Tom as a rebel. No, he never tried to get all the slaves on his plantation to rise up. But he defied the prevailing notions at the time of what it means to be black. Slave owners and many others looked on blacks as beasts to be controlled, animals without a moral sense or the ability to reason. But in standing by his faith and acting upon it, Uncle Tom demonstrated that blacks were equal to whites in every way. Intellectually, they could understand how the Bible required them to behave and see past the attempts slave owners made to use it to justify oppression. Far from being cowards, they could be brave and live out their principles even when it might cost them their lives. Slavery did its best to strip Uncle Tom of his humanity. It failed.

Uncle Tom is best seen as a Christian apologist whose example called on Americans to follow the golden rule and treat blacks right. I certainly think that’s what Harriet Beecher Stowe intended when she wrote him. He deserves better than to be a racial epithet.

Should We Remove Confederate Monuments?

This summer showed how much the Civil War still echoes into our time. After Charlottesville, there were renewed calls to remove monuments to prominent confederate generals. That never appeared to command majority support. The question I don’t think ever got resolved was what the monuments’ purpose was. The answer should heavily inform whether removal is the best course.

One reason to keep the statues is as an acknowledgement of how important the Civil War was in our history. It was our bloodiest war, and one that led to profound shifts in our constitutional system—the 13th, 14th, and 15th amendments, to name only a few. Seeing the statues reminds us that a terrible war was needed to produce this progress. But if this is truly the reason to support keeping the monuments, we’re left with crucial questions. First, is the story these statues are telling a complete acknowledgment of our history? In many public places, we see only confederate generals with statues. That ignores that even in the South, many fought for the Union. As you might suspect, that includes many black men who ran from their masters to fight for freedom for themselves and their loved ones. As you might not suspect, it also includes many white men from the South who fought for the Union. If we’re serious about acknowledging our history in public places, wouldn’t we also need to include these stories?

Moreover, was acknowledging our history really the reason the statues were built in the first place? For example, many of the statues were built in the early 1900s and 1960s. Was there a renewed interest in General Lee’s tactics at Cold Harbor or General Jackson’s campaign in the Shenandoah at these times? Or is the best explanation the implementation of Jim Crow laws and massive resistance to desegregation taking place during these times?

A second and related reason not to remove the statues is to acknowledge the very racism that led to their construction in at least some cases. A person could say, yes, many of the statues were built to celebrate white supremacy and as a signal of defiance to the burgeoning civil rights movement in the 1960s. And perhaps that is precisely their value. They remind us that the movement’s gains faced fierce opposition and that our society once openly celebrated men who owned slaves and fought a federal government which they then saw as uprooting the racial hierarchy they knew.

Third, you could support keeping the statues because you think the men should be celebrated. Maybe you think the generals memorialized were wrong to support slavery or secede from the Union, but that they were skillful soldiers and honorable men on the whole. Or maybe you think the statues stand in for many of the confederate foot soldiers who did not own slaves and thought they were fighting to defend their homes. Whatever their flaws, they are people we should look up to and the statues are reminders of that. That line of thinking raises another question. Suppose a group of black men had taken up arms against the federal government and attempted to overthrow it because they found it oppressive. Suppose too that they had killed thousands of people and held racist attitudes toward whites. Would such men be given statues? Would we care that they demonstrated bravery while fighting, or would we unequivocally condemn them?

Fourth, you could support the statues as an effort at national reconciliation. As Shelby Foote noted in the Civil War diaries, losing the Civil War gave (white) Southerners a sense of defeat that Americans from other parts of the country had never experienced. For the sake of unity, we needed to welcome them back with open arms. One way to do that was to honor the soldiers and Generals who fought for the South and celebrate their tenacity and bravery. One question is whether the absence of such monuments in 2017 would cause white southerners to feel the same sense of alienation from the rest of their countrymen that they did after Appomattox.