I’m not sure how I feel about this book. It’s nominal premise is based on a little known meeting in late May 1963 between then Attorney General Robert Kennedy and Black intellectuals, activists and entertainers ranging from James Baldwin to Lena Horne to Lorraine Hansberry. It was a stunning collection of prominent Black cultural figures and Kennedy was meeting was to collect suggestions as to the best course the government should take in pursuit of Civil Rights. It did not go well.
As Dyson writes, (for a far more detailed and frankly more coherent breakdown of what happened on that day I would recommend Taylor Branch’s “Pillar of Fire”) Kennedy seemingly was there to talk and not listen. He bristled at any suggestion that Civil Rights could be achieved quickly, or through any method other than methodical passing of legislation. To put it bluntly, the assembled Black luminaries gave him an earful about what the real racial situation in places in Alabama and Mississippi looked like. Kennedy left the meeting that day upset, and probably with hurt feelings (that he also after the meeting soon approved FBI wiretaps for Martin Luther King and some of his associates is an unfortunate byproduct of this meeting) and believing that “Negroes” were more interested in “witness” than the practical reality on the ground.
This is the jumping off point for Dyson where he defends the importance of practicality but with equal vehemence defends the importance in Black history of witnessing and protest. Through the examples of Malcolm X, James Baldwin, MLK, and some contemporary voices as well, Dyson sees a new generation rising to the challenge thrown down by their predecessors in the 1950’s and ’60’s.
Dyson makes some excellent and impassioned arguments and his writing jumps off the page at times.
The problem for me however was Dyson goes on flights of rhetorical fancy that he is at times, unable to extricate himself from. This is most evident in a long passage he writes about Cornel West and his criticism of Ta-Nehisi Coates and Barack Obama. He accuses West of using personal attacks (to be fair West certainly does get personal but his disagreements with Coates and Obama also have some merit and at the very least deserve to be heard) and then proceeds to pillory West with his own personal attacks. At one point he accuses West of being hyper aware of cameras:
“Is it West’s self-styled resistance to police brutality, evidenced by his occasional willingness to get arrested in highly staged and camera-ready gestures of civil disobedience, such as in Ferguson in the fall of 2014?”
Unless Dyson has a hotline to the soul and inner thoughts of West, this seems to be an irresponsible and somewhat mean spirited charge. The two men have traded nasty barbs back and forth in the past, which is unfortunate, but this book did not seem like the proper forum to inflame what ever grudges these men may have against each other. As West is the only Black figure in the book he excoriates at length, it makes for some very personal and uncomfortable reading. Perhaps Dyson could have taken a page out of the book of James Baldwin when he found himself on the end of a particularly nasty criticism from Eldridge Cleaver who wrote:
“There is in James Baldwin’s work the most grueling, agonizing, total hatred of the blacks, particularly of himself, and the most shameful, fanatical, fawning, sycophantic love of the whites that one can find in the writings of any black American writer of note in our time” Cleaver said. “The case of James Baldwin aside for a moment, it seems that many Negro homosexuals, acquiescing in this racial death-wish, are outraged and frustrated because in their sickness they are unable to have a baby by a white man.”
To which Baldwin responded.
“I thought I could see why he felt compelled to issue what was, in fact, a warning: he was being a zealous watchman on the city wall, and I don’t say that with a sneer” Baldwin said that Cleaver viewed him as “dangerously odd, badly twisted, and fragile reed, of too much use to the Establishment to be trusted by blacks.” Baldwin wrote that Cleaver “uses my public reputation against me both naively and unjustly” and that he had confused Baldwin with “all those faggots, punks, and sissies, the sight and sound of whom, in prison, must have made him vomit more than once” Baldwin admitted, “I am an odd quantity. So is Eldridge; so are we all.”
So are we all.
Lastly, these flights of fancy lead Dyson at various times in the book to compare Barack Obama to Malcom X and Lebron James’s return to his original basketball team after a dalliance with a different team as something:
“Like another King (he is referencing Martin Luther King) from the dim mists of history who preached the redemption of unearned suffering and the power of forgiveness, LeBron James showed us that one can go home again and make it even better than when one left.”
LeBron James by many accounts does a lot for local communities in his hometown, and does occasionally speak up on injustice. I laud him for doing so, but I find even the most strained attempt to link the life and sacrifices MLK endured to the life of LeBron James highly questionable. Not the same people. At. All.
To sum up, there was quite a bit to like in this book. But the need of Dyson to settle personal scores, as well his use of hyperbole that is at best unfortunate, detracts from what could have been something much, much better.