Mychal Denzel Smith, a contributing writer for The Nation, among other things, has written an important book. Invisible Man, Got the Whole World Watching — A Young Black Man’s Education held my attention and driving home its central point. We live in a racist society, and no amount of rationalization or picking apart the facts of a particular incident can deny that black people are getting killed by the police at an alarming rate, and that this fact is symptomatic of our racist society.
Smith was in his late 20’s when he wrote his short, intense book. He covers a lot of ground, ranging from the central fact of systemic racism to more unusual themes. He discusses the difficulties black women have endured in a movement that has frequently focused only on the plight and challenges faced by black men. This is something Smith comes to see, just as he begins to appreciate the plight of gay black people. Smith is candid about his experience and points to times when he may have rushed to conclusions or when he faltered in his own life. Smith struggled with depression, and he is candid about his reluctance to seek help and about the value of the help he finally received. Ultimately, Smith projects a remarkable and well-placed confidence in himself and his options.
This book is also a remarkable account of an undergraduate education. Fortunately, his family didn’t give him much choice about attending college. It was assumed he would go and do well. Like a lot of teenage boys I know, Smith doesn’t seem to have given a whole lot of thought to where he would go to school, and he wasn’t a driven student, for the most part. Fortunately, his time at Hampton opened his eyes to a lot of things. The fact that he wasn’t studying for a particular career gave him freedom and the opportunity to experience a number of things. He gratefully notes how at least one teacher had an enormous impact on him, and his adventures and misadventures in running the school paper gave him a practical political education. It is always a good thing to stop and reflect upon the advantages of a liberal arts education and of not having a fixed game plan at an early age.
Nothing undercuts Smith’s anger and bleak assessment of racism. That is the crucial underpinning of this book. He doesn’t try to provide a fix. His willingness to look back and assess himself and others and to adjust his thinking about certain “norms” make this a very illuminating book. Mychal Denzel Smith advances the conversation on race in America. His own willingness to assess and reassess his own assumptions and positions over time set a fine example for the rest of us. I am so glad I read this book. It was often an uncomfortable read, but it kept offering new ways of looking at issues and events. Throughout there was the constant drum beat that until the police killings of black people stop, we have little hope of moving ahead. Given that underlying premise, Smith opens a dynamic conversation.
Leon Stein wrote The Triangle Fire in 1962. Stein, who died in 1990 was the editor of Justice, the official publication of the International Ladies’ Garment Workers’ Union.
The Triangle Fire recounts the horrific story of the 1911 Triangle Shirtwaist fire, when 123 young women and 23 men died in a New York sweatshop that had locked doors and utterly inadequate escape routes. This is a very timely book. This kind of tragedy is what happens when employers of defenseless and desperate poor women ignore fire laws (which weren’t all that great anyway) and lock their employees into their workplace, just to maintain complete control and perhaps make a few more dollars. While industrial accidents are scarcely unknown in this country, they happen regularly and often on a much larger scale in third world countries where so many of our clothes, electronics and other consumer goods are made. (William Greider’s excellent introduction to The Triangle Fire does an excellent job of recounting some of these more recent tragedies.)
Stronger unions, better fire laws and arguably better fire enforcement all ensued after the Triangle Fire, but the fire didn’t need to happen and all those workers certainly didn’t need to die. Ironically, Stein writes that because of the way the owners were permitted to overinsure their buildings, they may well have profited from the fire. The sad fact remains that 146 immigrant women, mostly Jewish and Italians, were killed — many of them by jumping out the windows of the sweatshop to avoid being burned to death.
This book is a strong reminder that workers need protection from their bosses, who cannot be relied upon to put safety first. Safety regulations, effective enforcement and constant vigilance are required to prevent industrial tragedies. Unfortunately the strong anti-government, anti-regulatory fervor that has gripped Washington doesn’t bode well for protecting our workers, and this country’s current leadership has given no indication whatsoever that it cares about the safety of American workers, much less the safety of third world workers who make so many of our products. To the contrary, the focus seems to be on freeing the rich of all those nasty curbs on their freedom to get richer on the backs of everyone else.
This is a relatively short and very clear book. I recommend it because it tells an important story about one of this country’s most disastrous industrial tragedies and because it reminds us how vulnerable this country’s workers still are.
Before it was a successful Disney movie (which I have yet to see), The Queen of Katwe was a book by Tim Crothers. Crothers initially came to Uganda to do a story on Phiona Mutesi, an impoverished teenager from the slums of Katwe who had become a chess champion through an improable series of events. Crothers correctly recognized that Phiona’s story deserved a book, and he has written a fine one. The Queen of Katwe does an excellent job of filling in the back story of Phiona’s family, as well as the story of Robert Katende, her coach and mentor.
Crothers does the research and asks the fundamental questions — how and why does a barely literate young girl from one of the worst slums in the entire world creep into the world of chess and use it to launch a different life? There is no satisfactory answer. Despite Crothers’ diligent interviews of Phiona and the people around her, Phiona remains an inigma. What is clear, however, is that many different people contributed one way or another along the way. There is Katende, who couldn’t get a job as an engineer after he managed to graduate from university but then somehow lucked into a job with a Christian philanthropic community because of his soccer skills and then got the idea to teach a unlikely group of slum kids chess. (Phiona wasn’t the only impoverished, hungry child to benefit from Katende’s inspired decision to teach kids who could barely read the fundamentals of chess.). Phiona’s impoverished family helped, too. Her mother calculated that it was better for her children to attend chess classes and get something to eat there than to earn a pittance in the marketplace. It was also no small thing that Phiona’s brother let her tag along. Fundamentally, at important times, there were people who looked out for Phiona as she learned chess and as her success with chess led to her engagement with the world outside Katwe. The list of helpers and mentors goes on, but ultimately Phiona was the one who decided to follow her brother to Katende’s class and to dig in and learn the game. Other Katwa kids may have been equally diligent, but Phiona had a gift.
This is an inspiring book. Even if Phiona remains an unknowable figure, her story and her unprecedented accomplishments are completely fascinating. I was left wanting to know what happens next in her life. (Wikipedia was moderately helpful here, so we will keep contributing!)
Finally, I really appreciated the author’s ability to take a back seat in his interviews, as well as his diligent efforts to talk to so many people and to keep trying to find out more about Phiona. Also, as Crothers notes, the book could never have happened if Robert Katende hadn’t attended the bulk of the interviews to provide translations skills. So kudos to Katende as well!
Amy Haimerl’s Detroit Hustle – A Memoir of Love, Life & Home is a conflicted book. Haimerl, a journalist who was covering Detroit for Crain’s Detroit Business during Detroit’s protracted bankruptcy, and her husband end up in Detroit. They can’t afford Brooklyn and are oddly taken by the challenge of Detroit. With more guts than common sense, they pay cash for a crumbling house lacking water, power and windows, among other things.
Their aim to support a critically ill city is admirable, but they land in a mass of contradictions. For lots of reasons, buying and rehabbing houses in Detroit, at least at the time of Haimerl’s book, seems impossible for Detroit’s poor residents. As outsiders, with access to cash, Haimerl and her husband can afford to buy a formerly gracious house and fix it up right. They recognize that they are putting more into the house than they are ever likely to recoup, but they fall in love with the process, and are determined to do the job “right,” which in their case means hiring contractors and spending a fortune. On top of all the economic woes, Detroit has an historical commission, so the financial outlay is just crippling. Haimerl and her husband end up with a beautifully restored home in a neighborhood that is increasingly gentrified, and thus increasingly unaffordable for the poor.
The book is well written and keeps your interest, even if you have absolutely no interest in inserting yourself into a local bar scene or living in a construction site for years while confronting major panic about your ability to pay for it. The challenge, as Haimerl recognizes it, is that she and her husband are part of a movement that will make Detroit more beautiful and probably more economically sound, but it is sort of a yuppie fantasy. No matter how much they try to patronize local establishments that predate their arrival, Haimerl and her husband are inevitably part of a recovery that will mostly benefit the middle and upper classes, with the poor being left behind. In the end, this is a bittersweet book that raises lots of questions, but I have to admire the effort Haimerl and her husband make to do the right thing and to be sensitive to some of the less positive effects of their settling in Detroit.