New novel (First draft completed) 8.29.2016

As mentioned, I am working on a new novel, titled “Unravel.”

A synopsis: 

 

Subhash and Naima are middle-class, suburban, white-collar professionals living in central New Jersey, who will do anything to maintain the life they’ve built. They are also young parents to their 6 year old daughter, Tulsi. Both want the best for her, but as they face off against obstacles, they begin to realize that choices must be made and consequences accepted.

 

The final chapters are the following:

Chapter 13 Click here to read.

Chapter 14 Click here to read.

Chapter 15 Click here to read.

Chapter 16 Click here to read.

Chapter 17 Click here to read.

I didn’t include excerpts this time because I think you as the reader will gain more by not knowing what’s to be expected.

Also, as I make clear in each chapter, these are very rough drafts. Unlike other chapters, Chapter 13-17 were left unedited due to life getting in the way and not finding the time or energy just yet.

Either way, the first draft of my novel is completed and I thank everyone for the encouragement and support!

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS

CHAPTER 1

Excerpt:

Naima held on. But once they stepped through, Tulsi squirmed free and ran.

Naima chased, as Subhash followed.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 2

Excerpt:

As the only black reporter, Naima usually relied on what she described to Subhash when they started dating, as her “Spidey sense.” Back then, it was cute, and even something to be proud of, an ability to be conscious of what was around her at almost all times, a skill perfect for her job. But after spending nearly seven years in the same newsroom, and trying her best to get to know everyone who’d come through, even the interns, she realized that her valued “Spidey sense” was tingling more and more often. Everyone was a possible enemy she concluded after a co-worker (who left to be an editor for The New York Times after only a year at the Tribune) complained about Naima’s “demeanor” to the others last summer, claiming that Naima was too “abrasive.” Naima learned her lesson to not let her guard down just yet. It was tiring of course. And on some mornings, she felt like staying in bed and closing her eyes, imagining she was someplace else, somewhere she could laugh as loud as she wanted, or even cry in public. At times like that, she’d tell herself that one day, it would all be worth it. One day, all this would be returned in full.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 3

Excerpt:

“I don’t know what to do,” Rhona said, gasping for breath. “They just came saying they needed to talk to me, and I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know who they were. I told you I wanted to be anonymous. I don’t want to be a part of this anymore.”

“Just stay calm, I’m on my way,” Naima said.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 4

Excerpt:

People fled, tripping and falling across the lawn.

For a moment, Subhash had the urge to jump into the crowd. He took a step forward. Tulsi wrapped her arms around his leg like it was a tree.

Subhash scooped her up into his arms and hustled to the opposite end, disappearing behind the art museum. He moved as fast as he could without losing his grip on Tulsi, as her arms were around his neck.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 5

Excerpt:

Blood trickled over his eyes.

He let the drops land on his shoes and carpet.

“Daddy, are you sick? Did you fall down?”

Soon, Naima arrived and dabbed the wounds, and they went upstairs. He laid in bed as she took off his shirt and wrapped his hands and feet with bandages.

Tulsi crept up the steps as well.

“What’s wrong with Daddy?”

“Nothing, honey. Daddy is just tired.”

“He looks hurt.”

“Just go back and watch your show.”

Naima applied pressure to Subhash’s side and Subhash grimaced.

Click here to read more.

CHAPTER 6

Excerpt:

 

After an assignment interviewing owners of a Italian/Thai fusion restaurant, which was opened in the neighborhood closest to the Holland Tunnel where most of the newer residents lived, the ones who wore sunglasses on cloudy days as well as khakis and sandals, Naima stopped at a C-Town in Journal Square. She was on her way to the office, but feeling thirsty, hungry and her contacts were irritating her eyes. The C-Town was next to a row of apartment buildings and convenience stores, and the aisles were filled with Caribbean and Indian spices. Naima grabbed a Snapple from the freezer and was ready to pop it open on the spot. However, she stepped aside, allowing a family and their shopping cart to get through, and caught a glimpse of a face in the corner of her eye. She quickly hid behind a column of Reese’s Puffs cereal and Ramen noodles.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 7

Excerpt:

Naima rushed down the stairs, her coat flying like a cape. She jumped off the last steps and grabbed the door knob.

“What are you doing?” Subhash said.

“I’m late,” she replied, gasping for breath.

Subhash was at the top landing.

“It’s still out there,” he said.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 8

Excerpt:

 

Suddenly, thunder rumbled, and a bright flash blinded. He collapsed. Struggling to breathe, he dug his nails into the asphalt, unable to break through. The sky was gray, clouds gliding like fumes.

Soon, the sound of tires screaming echoed. And the smell of freshly cut grass disappeared.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 9

Excerpt:

Naima snapped pictures and turned on the car. Suddenly, there was screaming and Tulsi bolted awake.

“What’s going on? Where’s Rhona?”

“Keep your head down.”

Naima picked up speed, finding the nearest entrance to the turnpike. Tulsi turned around, and Naima boomed, “Keep your head down!”

Click here to read more.

CHAPTER 10

Excerpt:

“He smelled like garlic,” Grace said as she grabbed a bag of weed from a drawer and stuffed it into her bra.

After she left, Subhash tickled Naima, until they both were under the sheets, while music and voices from the other rooms reverberated.

Click here to read more.

CHAPTER 11

Excerpt:

Subhash rushed into the hallway, and Naima found him splashing water on his face in the kitchen sink.

“I can’t believe that fucker!”

“Lower your voice…”

“You all remember what that monster did to us right? How he made high-school a living hell!”

Naima took a step forward and Subhash’s breathing slowly returned to normal.

“Let’s finish the meeting.”

“I can’t.”

“Please. This is not helping.”

Subhash turned around and opened the back door that led into the parking lot. Naima paused before returning to the conference room to write notes.

Click here to read more.

CHAPTER 12

Excerpt:

Subhash glowered as he went to the wall. Naima was a few feet away and wasn’t allowed any closer.

“Show me I.D.” the officer said and Subhash handed it to him.

Subhash waited.

The officer asked where Subhash was going.

Click here to read more.

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New novel (updated) 7.30.2016

As mentioned, I am working on a new novel, titled “Unravel.”

A synopsis: 

 

Subhash and Naima are middle-class, suburban, white-collar professionals living in central New Jersey, who will do anything to maintain the life they’ve built. They are also young parents to their 6 year old daughter, Tulsi. Both want the best for her, but as they face off against obstacles, they begin to realize that choices must be made and consequences accepted.

 

Chapters 10, 11, and 12 are the latest that I’ve added and are all from Section II. The first nine chapters are Section I. Section III, which I’ll be working on soon, is the final part.

CHAPTER 10

Excerpt:

“He smelled like garlic,” Grace said as she grabbed a bag of weed from a drawer and stuffed it into her bra.

After she left, Subhash tickled Naima, until they both were under the sheets, while music and voices from the other rooms reverberated.

Click here to read more.

CHAPTER 11

Excerpt:

Subhash rushed into the hallway, and Naima found him splashing water on his face in the kitchen sink.

“I can’t believe that fucker!”

“Lower your voice…”

“You all remember what that monster did to us right? How he made high-school a living hell!”

Naima took a step forward and Subhash’s breathing slowly returned to normal.

“Let’s finish the meeting.”

“I can’t.”

“Please. This is not helping.”

Subhash turned around and opened the back door that led into the parking lot. Naima paused before returning to the conference room to write notes.

Click here to read more.

CHAPTER 12

Excerpt:

Subhash glowered as he went to the wall. Naima was a few feet away and wasn’t allowed any closer.

“Show me I.D.” the officer said and Subhash handed it to him.

Subhash waited.

The officer asked where Subhash was going.

Click here to read more.

 

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS

 

CHAPTER 1

Excerpt:

Naima held on. But once they stepped through, Tulsi squirmed free and ran.

Naima chased, as Subhash followed.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 2

Excerpt:

As the only black reporter, Naima usually relied on what she described to Subhash when they started dating, as her “Spidey sense.” Back then, it was cute, and even something to be proud of, an ability to be conscious of what was around her at almost all times, a skill perfect for her job. But after spending nearly seven years in the same newsroom, and trying her best to get to know everyone who’d come through, even the interns, she realized that her valued “Spidey sense” was tingling more and more often. Everyone was a possible enemy she concluded after a co-worker (who left to be an editor for The New York Times after only a year at the Tribune) complained about Naima’s “demeanor” to the others last summer, claiming that Naima was too “abrasive.” Naima learned her lesson to not let her guard down just yet. It was tiring of course. And on some mornings, she felt like staying in bed and closing her eyes, imagining she was someplace else, somewhere she could laugh as loud as she wanted, or even cry in public. At times like that, she’d tell herself that one day, it would all be worth it. One day, all this would be returned in full.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 3

Excerpt:

“I don’t know what to do,” Rhona said, gasping for breath. “They just came saying they needed to talk to me, and I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know who they were. I told you I wanted to be anonymous. I don’t want to be a part of this anymore.”

“Just stay calm, I’m on my way,” Naima said.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 4

Excerpt:

People fled, tripping and falling across the lawn.

For a moment, Subhash had the urge to jump into the crowd. He took a step forward. Tulsi wrapped her arms around his leg like it was a tree.

Subhash scooped her up into his arms and hustled to the opposite end, disappearing behind the art museum. He moved as fast as he could without losing his grip on Tulsi, as her arms were around his neck.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 5

Excerpt:

Blood trickled over his eyes.

He let the drops land on his shoes and carpet.

“Daddy, are you sick? Did you fall down?”

Soon, Naima arrived and dabbed the wounds, and they went upstairs. He laid in bed as she took off his shirt and wrapped his hands and feet with bandages.

Tulsi crept up the steps as well.

“What’s wrong with Daddy?”

“Nothing, honey. Daddy is just tired.”

“He looks hurt.”

“Just go back and watch your show.”

Naima applied pressure to Subhash’s side and Subhash grimaced.

Click here to read more.

CHAPTER 6

Excerpt:

 

After an assignment interviewing owners of a Italian/Thai fusion restaurant, which was opened in the neighborhood closest to the Holland Tunnel where most of the newer residents lived, the ones who wore sunglasses on cloudy days as well as khakis and sandals, Naima stopped at a C-Town in Journal Square. She was on her way to the office, but feeling thirsty, hungry and her contacts were irritating her eyes. The C-Town was next to a row of apartment buildings and convenience stores, and the aisles were filled with Caribbean and Indian spices. Naima grabbed a Snapple from the freezer and was ready to pop it open on the spot. However, she stepped aside, allowing a family and their shopping cart to get through, and caught a glimpse of a face in the corner of her eye. She quickly hid behind a column of Reese’s Puffs cereal and Ramen noodles.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 7

Excerpt:

Naima rushed down the stairs, her coat flying like a cape. She jumped off the last steps and grabbed the door knob.

“What are you doing?” Subhash said.

“I’m late,” she replied, gasping for breath.

Subhash was at the top landing.

“It’s still out there,” he said.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 8

Excerpt:

 

Suddenly, thunder rumbled, and a bright flash blinded. He collapsed. Struggling to breathe, he dug his nails into the asphalt, unable to break through. The sky was gray, clouds gliding like fumes.

Soon, the sound of tires screaming echoed. And the smell of freshly cut grass disappeared.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 9

Excerpt:

Naima snapped pictures and turned on the car. Suddenly, there was screaming and Tulsi bolted awake.

“What’s going on? Where’s Rhona?”

“Keep your head down.”

Naima picked up speed, finding the nearest entrance to the turnpike. Tulsi turned around, and Naima boomed, “Keep your head down!”

Click here to read more.

New novel (updated)6.26.2016

As mentioned, I am working on a new novel, titled “Unravel.”

A synopsis: 

Subhash and Naima are middle-class, suburban, white-collar professionals living in central New Jersey, who will do anything to maintain the life they’ve built. They are also young parents to their 6 year old daughter, Tulsi. Both want the best for her, but as they face off against obstacles, they begin to realize that choices must be made and consequences accepted.

Chapter 8 is the latest one that I wrote and added. The rest are below, if you are interested and want to check up.

 

CHAPTER 8

Excerpt:

 

Suddenly, thunder rumbled, and a bright flash blinded. He collapsed. Struggling to breathe, he dug his nails into the asphalt, unable to break through. The sky was gray, clouds gliding like fumes.

Soon, the sound of tires screaming echoed. And the smell of freshly cut grass disappeared.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 1

Excerpt:

Naima held on. But once they stepped through, Tulsi squirmed free and ran.

Naima chased, as Subhash followed.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 2

Excerpt:

As the only black reporter, Naima usually relied on what she described to Subhash when they started dating, as her “Spidey sense.” Back then, it was cute, and even something to be proud of, an ability to be conscious of what was around her at almost all times, a skill perfect for her job. But after spending nearly seven years in the same newsroom, and trying her best to get to know everyone who’d come through, even the interns, she realized that her valued “Spidey sense” was tingling more and more often. Everyone was a possible enemy she concluded after a co-worker (who left to be an editor for The New York Times after only a year at the Tribune) complained about Naima’s “demeanor” to the others last summer, claiming that Naima was too “abrasive.” Naima learned her lesson to not let her guard down just yet. It was tiring of course. And on some mornings, she felt like staying in bed and closing her eyes, imagining she was someplace else, somewhere she could laugh as loud as she wanted, or even cry in public. At times like that, she’d tell herself that one day, it would all be worth it. One day, all this would be returned in full.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 3

Excerpt:

“I don’t know what to do,” Rhona said, gasping for breath. “They just came saying they needed to talk to me, and I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know who they were. I told you I wanted to be anonymous. I don’t want to be a part of this anymore.”

“Just stay calm, I’m on my way,” Naima said.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 4

Excerpt:

People fled, tripping and falling across the lawn.

For a moment, Subhash had the urge to jump into the crowd. He took a step forward. Tulsi wrapped her arms around his leg like it was a tree.

Subhash scooped her up into his arms and hustled to the opposite end, disappearing behind the art museum. He moved as fast as he could without losing his grip on Tulsi, as her arms were around his neck.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 5

Excerpt:

Blood trickled over his eyes.

He let the drops land on his shoes and carpet.

“Daddy, are you sick? Did you fall down?”

Soon, Naima arrived and dabbed the wounds, and they went upstairs. He laid in bed as she took off his shirt and wrapped his hands and feet with bandages.

Tulsi crept up the steps as well.

“What’s wrong with Daddy?”

“Nothing, honey. Daddy is just tired.”

“He looks hurt.”

“Just go back and watch your show.”

Naima applied pressure to Subhash’s side and Subhash grimaced.

Click here to read more.

CHAPTER 6

Excerpt:

 

After an assignment interviewing owners of a Italian/Thai fusion restaurant, which was opened in the neighborhood closest to the Holland Tunnel where most of the newer residents lived, the ones who wore sunglasses on cloudy days as well as khakis and sandals, Naima stopped at a C-Town in Journal Square. She was on her way to the office, but feeling thirsty, hungry and her contacts were irritating her eyes. The C-Town was next to a row of apartment buildings and convenience stores, and the aisles were filled with Caribbean and Indian spices. Naima grabbed a Snapple from the freezer and was ready to pop it open on the spot. However, she stepped aside, allowing a family and their shopping cart to get through, and caught a glimpse of a face in the corner of her eye. She quickly hid behind a column of Reese’s Puffs cereal and Ramen noodles.

Click here to read more.

 

CHAPTER 7

Excerpt:

Naima rushed down the stairs, her coat flying like a cape. She jumped off the last steps and grabbed the door knob.

“What are you doing?” Subhash said.

“I’m late,” she replied, gasping for breath.

Subhash was at the top landing.

“It’s still out there,” he said.

Click here to read more.

Appearances

The phone vibrated, while Subhash gazed at the menu above the counter.

“The usual,” he said, and after receiving the order, sat in the corner, hunched over his box of Boston Crème. He chewed and glared.  His phone continued to glow.

Subhash finally answered.

“Where the heck are you?” Liang exclaimed. “You’re an hour late!”

Subhash flicked the crumbs off his pants, and mumbled, “On my way” and before Liang could respond, he hung up.

. . .

            The conference room at the Princeton library ran out of chairs. There was a mix of students and local residents, carrying Subhash’ book, Challenging Whiteness, in their hands.

“The U.S. offers dignity to those who accept its Anglo values,” Subhash read aloud excerpts, “If you accept its whiteness, such as property, you are afforded an increased chance to survive under its oppressive eye.”

Applause. For a moment, Subhash felt like he used to, with his pulse quickening, and his heart pounding like a bass drum. But once he looked up from the podium, and saw the crowd, the drumming stopped.

He signed autographs and posed for pictures. As the voices began to drain, a young girl emerged, the only other brown face in the room. Her name was Indrani, and she was a reporter for the student paper.

“Professor Ganguly,” she asked, wasting no time, “I read that you were once a community activist. What made you become one?”

“My parents were Bangladeshi immigrants, and worked hard but earned little pay,” Subhash explained in a monotone, “Since then, I never liked seeing people being pushed around. So I decided to do something and joined non-profit work after undergrad.”

“Does the activist work you did relate to what you’re writing about currently?”

“Before academia, I was trying to increase the visibility of working-class people and that’s what I hope to be doing with my pen.”

“Do you feel that your work is relevant?”

Subhash paused. “How long have you been at the paper?” he asked.

“Since last week. But my goal is to be editor.”

“That’s a big challenge.”

“I want to change the direction of the newspaper to focus on people of color. To speak up like you do.”

Subhash smiled. He told the girl to let him know when the article would be published and excused himself. Once in his car, he finished eating his donuts. The next day, at the political science department, he downloaded lists of libraries. Liang helped organize, although she asked, “Should I notify the dean about these changes?”

“No,” he said. “Just sprinkle them in and it should be alright.”

Liang found him spots in neighborhoods like Edison and Trenton. But no matter the time or the weather, usually it was only in places similar to Princeton that there was even a sizable audience. A librarian at Trenton explained as they cleaned up, “The last thing people want to do after work is hear someone tell them that whiteness rules their lives. So don’t take it personal.” Subhash thanked him, and didn’t say another word, as the microphone was unplugged and chairs stacked.

One evening, while popping in a new hole on his belt, he saw an update on Facebook, with him tagged. It was the article posted on the campus website. He leaned into the screen. Friends commented on how wonderful his book was, but Subhash focused on his answers. He called Liang.

“Add one more to the list.”

. . .

            The Jersey City library was in a quieter part of the neighborhood, and at first, the event was like the ones in Trenton and Edison, with more empty seats than people. Still, Subhash was prepared to accept the experience as a positive one, and go home to his pizza and soda.

“Hash?” a voice said.

Subhash had been gathering his things but he instantly turned around.

“HOLY SHIT!” the man said, causing the librarians to shush him. “Sorry, sorry,” the man apologized, and chuckled.

Subhash was frozen.

Eventually, he was able to move his lips. “Kanu…?” he murmured.

The man laughed. “Let’s go somewhere less stuffy,” the man responded, and they went to a nearby coffeehouse.

“Dude, even when I saw the flyers I thought it was another person. No way could he come back, I thought, no fucking way.”

Subhash, by then, was more cognizant of his surroundings, taking timely sips of his coffee.

“So, are you some sort of cult leader now?” Kanu smirked.

Subhash laughed, and explained, prompting Kanu to ask, “Does this mean you know about what’s happening?”

Subhash arched an eyebrow. Kanu instructed him to meet in the front. “Gotta run to the bathroom and take a shit first,” he said, before rushing off. Subhash waited on the sidewalk, and soon, Kanu rolled up in his car. Subhash got in, and Kanu drove them deeper into the city.

. . .

            Subhash and Kanu were the first ones working full-time as community organizers for a group dedicated to uniting working-class people of color. At the time, Subhash was living with cousins a town over, but he spent every waking hour on the streets of Newark Avenue and Martin Luther King Drive, trying to spread the word. Long-time residents were especially receptive. But lack of funding was always an issue.

“I was the last let go, but it still stung,” Kanu explained, as he drove past the supermarkets and convenience stores along Journal Square, and into the residential areas, with apartments and rows of homes owned by black Americans and Desis, including Indo-Guyanese.

Subhash was mostly silent as Kanu narrated.

“Companies are buying up abandoned buildings that the city could’ve converted to affordable housing but nope, money is more important than human lives. These developers are now turning them into condos. Dude, we’re becoming Brooklyn.”

Subhash wasn’t yet certain what Kanu was referring to but once they headed downtown, Subhash noticed the Jamaican and Pakistani restaurants disappear and more Asian fusion cuisine and steakhouses on every block. They stopped at the waterfront, with a clear view of the Manhattan skyline shrouded in fog. But Kanu pointed to the buildings surrounding them, each extending into the sky like giant crystals.

“See that one there? Dyer Industries?” Kanu said. “That was started by a hedge-fund.”

Subhash watched the people nearby taking pictures of the skyscrapers across the bay. Most were faces he’d been accustomed to seeing in Jersey City. However, there were others too, such as white and Asian, who clutched their bags when maneuvering through the crowd.

Subhash realized Kanu had stopped talking. He glanced and after waiting, thanked Kanu for the tour.

“But I need to get back to work,” Subhash added.

Kanu still didn’t turn away from the buildings around the waterfront.  “I started something a year ago,” Kanu said. “It’s a group trying to help residents gain their voices back. Since you seem interested in all that, I was wondering if you’d like to help?”

Kanu looked at Subhash.

“Us versus the bad guys. Like old times?” Kanu smiled.

Subhash tried to think clearly. The drumming drowned out the city.

. . .

            Subhash immediately did research on Dyer Industries, and discovered that the company had donated vast sums to every conservative politician in New Jersey, even Democrats who leaned right. Their current CEO was Rajesh Modi, an investor from London.

On the first day of canvassing, Kanu gathered everyone on the corner and told them to knock on as many doors as possible.

“Make sure to get their emails,” he told the two dozen volunteers present, who were mostly black, brown, and white undergrads.

Subhash picked the avenue that was the quietest, with no outside their homes. Occasionally, a person would sneak a glance through the curtains in the window when he’d knock. As he went down the row, a few would open their doors, including an elderly Sikh man who mistook Subhash for a Jehovah’s Witness.

“I don’t need your salvation,” the man said.

Subhash quickly explained who he was, and showed him a pamphlet.

“We are trying to make the city care for all its residents.”

“Nothing will change.”

“Sir, I know I t looks that way. But unless people try – – -”

“Are you from here?”

“No. But – – -”

The man slammed the door.

At the end of the afternoon, Subhash got one email. The rest of the week was similar. He’d teach his classes, attend meetings, and canvass in the evening.

As they finished up most of the area on Broadman, where houses had loose-railings and broken steps, but the walls and grass were kept short and clean, Subhash met one woman he instantly recognized.

“Thank God!” the woman who Subhash knew as Miss Singh cheered and invited him inside for tea.

Subhash was getting used to encountering fragments of the past, but felt especially fortunate to see Miss Singh still in her home. They shared memories, especially of Miss Singh at City Hall, waving petitions.

She shook her head at the table between them, covered with copies of The Nation and Women, Race and Class.

“I’ve heard you’re doing big things now. Are you speaking at NJCU?” she asked.

“No. I’ve actually been working with Kanu,” he said.

Miss Singh narrowed her eyebrows, and Subhash chuckled and told her not to worry.

“We’re building a coalition, us against the bad guys,” he said. “We could use your help on training the volunteers.”

“I just turned 60…”

“So? I never pictured you the type to slow down.”

Miss Singh hesitated. Her hands were on her lap.

“The people need you,” Subhash said.

Miss Singh joked. “I can’t escape them, can I?”

After tea, she went out with Subhash, laughing with the neighbors. Everyone they met scribbled down their emails, and addresses. Subhash even received pats on the back, and Miss Singh explained how proud she was of him. Subhash skipped his meetings at the university, and continued knocking on doors.

. . .

            “Hello? Is anyone there?”

Liang snapped her fingers, jolting Subhash from a daydream.

“What? What happened?”

“Your 2 o’clock with the Dean. That’s what.”

Subhash rolled his eyes, and picked up the plate of salad on his desk.

Liang, however, stood with her arms crossed.

“So, are you going to save the world now? Solve all their problems?”

“Won’t hurt to try.”

“You’re being unrealistic.”

“Maybe I am. But at least I’m being real…”

Liang stopped, and Subhash looked at her. “If I’m fired, I’ll make sure you land on your feet at another Ivory Tower.”

Liang glared. “I care about my family,” she said. “People who need me.”

She stormed out.

Subhash muttered, and tried to work. Yet, he packed up after a few minutes, and left campus, heading to Jersey City.

. . .

            After a month of gathering signatures, Kanu wanted to speak with Subhash, one-on-one. They met at Kanu’s apartment, overlooking a row of abandoned homes. The elevator in the building was cordoned off with police tape so Subhash plodded up the stairs and when he got to the seventh floor, gasping, Kanu was beaming down.

There was one bed and one chair at Kanu’s place. There were also cables sticking out of the wall, and newspaper scattered on the floor. Kanu handed Subhash a bottle of sparkling water and discussed their strategy.

“A protest?” Subhash reacted.

“All we’re gonna do is go down to Dyer Industries, hold up some signs, and move along. This is just step one anyway.”

“Step one?”

Kanu glared. He got up from the bed and walked over to the lone window in the room.

Subhash sighed, and stood up as well.

“I’m sorry,” Subhash said. “This is still fresh to me…”

“Either you’re all in or you’re not,” Kanu snapped. “Tell Miss Singh the plan. Understood?”

Subhash lowly nodded, and finished his water.

At the end of the week, Subhash attended a community teach-in organized by Miss Singh. It was her and a whiteboard in front of the volunteers, all gathered in the living room. Subhash watched as Miss Singh wrote down terms like “agency” and “power” with her red marker. A young man sitting on the carpet, interrupted the session at one point, exclaiming, “How do you know all this?” Everyone giggled, and Miss Singh explained that it was just a matter of “keeping oneself engaged.” Kanu smiled as he saw the expression on the young man’s face, something Kanu hadn’t seen in any of his classes.

Once everyone was trying the jerk chicken Miss Singh made, she approached Subhash, asking why he wasn’t eating. Kanu was texting Liang but stopped, and answered, “Just been looking after myself, that’s all.”

She didn’t reply, and kept peering into his eyes, as if searching.

Subhash chuckled nervously.

Miss Singh, without looking away, sighed, and smiled. She told him to pack something for later, and he murmured he would.

On the day of the protest, Subhash taught morning classes, answered phone calls, and skipped lunch. Since it was the weekend, the highway was empty, and Subhash turned up on the volume on his radio.

. . .

            “Put this in the trunk,” Kanu said, handing Subhash a sign.

After doing so, Subhash sat in the passenger seat as Kanu was behind the wheel, neither uttering another word.

At first, Subhash watched the sights pass by, including the smokestacks in Secaucus. The stench of burned gasoline snuck inside and stung his eyes. The drumming was getting louder. At an intersection, however, as they waited for the light, Subhash arched an eyebrow at the traffic signs. He read them over once more before addressing Kanu.

“Why are we going the opposite way?”

Kanu gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles were red.

Subhash asked what was going on. Kanu drove into a McDonald parking lot, and pulled out a phone.

“It’s me,” Kanu said into the receiver, “I’d like to report a demonstration being planned outside your headquarters.”

Subhash eyes widened.

Back on the road and focused ahead, Kanu explained, “We all got debt to pay.”

“All that work…” Subhash murmured.

Kanu grinned. “Come on dude, don’t be like that. Let’s just grab some lunch, chill, and you can get back to your real friends. You got what you wanted anyway.”

Subhash pictured himself at the podium. The drumming began to fade.

Subhash popped open the door. He could hear Kanu yelling but maneuvered through traffic, and made it to the nearest gas station where he called for a taxi. He was dropped off at his own car, which he drove to the waterfront. He coasted by Dyer Industries, and spotted signs scattered on the sidewalk, and a security guard collecting them. At Miss Singh’s, Subhash peered into the main window. In the living room the tables and chairs were overturned. Subhash ran to the bushes and threw up.

Subhash didn’t tell anyone at work where he’d been. He slept at his desk, woke up, and taught. He went to faculty meetings, attended dissertation defenses, and had lunch with colleagues. Liang was still not speaking to him, and sometimes, it was difficult to focus on his research without thinking of his parents, who’d plod through the living room after work, their nametags dangling and their eyes sunken. But day by day, bit by bit, he’d be in his routine, spending hours in his office and returning home in the evening to eat and sleep.

. . .

            He bit into a donut. It tasted like sandpaper. He scribbled comments on students’ essays, the red ink staining his fingers. The phone glowed. He rolled his eyes, and bumped past customers waiting in line.

At the library, people stood and blocked the entrance. Others opened their books to an empty page with a pen in their hand.

He entered, and they clapped. He did his best to smile as he took his place and opened his own copy, to the page he’d been reading to audiences for the past year.

He stared. The room fell silent.

“Professor?”

He looked up.

“Sir…?”

He glared.

“You’re the ones holding society back,” he said, causing the crowd to gasp.

The drumming returned. He grinned.

“And what did you expect? To be accepted into a struggle that you helped perpetuate? To shed a tear and go to bed? What – – -”

Security grabbed him, and wrestled him to the floor. They dragged him through the aisle.

“You’re doomed!” he laughed, “You’re all doomed!”

. . .

            Starbucks and Chipotle. Craft brewery and a comedy club. Indrani took pictures of the new condos.

“Excuse me?” she asked a man working as a valet outside a restaurant, “Do you live in the neighborhood?”

The man hesitated. “Who wants to know?”

Indrani explained she was a reporter for The Middlesex Times, and writing a story on the recent changes in New Brunswick.

The man smirked. “I grew up here,” he answered. “So far, I’ve seen outsiders moving in and nicer places for them. For the rest of us, rent keeps going up.”

Indrani opened her mouth to ask more but her phone interrupted. It was her editor.

“Where are you?” he bellowed.

“I’m – – -”

“Get to your assignment!”

“Okay, but…”

“NOW!”

Indrani gritted her teeth. She apologized to the man and rushed to her car.

. . .

            The local community college was surrounded by traffic. A group of professors were holding up a banner, reading STOP THE CUTS! Indrani saw them, and bit her lip. The light flipped. A car honked. She held up a middle finger, and took a wide left into the community college parking lot.

The professors explained to Indrani that they were protesting against cuts in state funding. She wrote down their every word, and they thanked her for showing up.

“We must’ve sent a dozen requests to the local papers but no one responded,” their spokeswoman said.

“Not surprised,” Indrani chuckled, “I’m actually supposed to be reporting on some new yoga studio that opened.”

Eventually, the professors returned to their classes, and Indrani could feel her fingers cramping up. She did notice one professor, who remained in the parking lot, hands in his pockets, and watching the cars.

Indrani kept her head buried in her notes. But she couldn’t help glance. The man was incredibly thin. She squinted. She stopped writing.

“Professor?” she said.

The man turned and after seeing her, laughed.

“I didn’t realize it was you,” he said. “I’m assuming you’re still an enterprising reporter?”

“Yes…I graduated a year ago…” she answered, in a daze.

“Good!” he exclaimed, and went back to watching the road.

Indrani didn’t move. She cleared her throat.

“I’m sorry for what happened….”

“Why? I’m still teaching. And the students are good here. The faculty also appreciates my activism.”

Indrani narrowed her eyebrows.

She waited for more, but he smiled at the traffic instead.

She got back in her car, and drove onto the road, her editor calling, and her heart beating against her chest.

The reality of Trump’s America and Critical Race Theory

Like you,  I haven’t been able to escape Donald Trump. Much like Starbucks and gentrification, he’s pretty much everywhere by now.

I’ve done my best to avoid watching him on TV, or even discussing him among friends and colleagues since I don’t want to humor even the thought of someone like him running the country, let alone being Republican nominee. But as mentioned, easier said than done. Despite not buying into his circus-act, I too have seen the videos passed around through social media, such as the one where three young girls are singing some sort of Nazi-esque anthem about America’s greatness at a rally, to the ones where Trump just rambles on and on about nothing and everything at the same time (a feat only him can somehow achieve). And just recently, I was forced to learn from posts on Facebook and our 24-hour news cycle that Trump landed the “coveted” Sarah Palin endorsement. Of course, to me, Palin means nothing more than a crazy person standing on a street corner, preaching a mix of Armageddon and a brand of Christianity that’d make Jesus tilt his head and ask, “Wait, I said that…was I high?” Regardless, she does matter to certain folks, especially the ones hunkered down in their mental bunkers (see what I did there), finding solace in a 1950s America that fortunately, doesn’t exist any longer.

Many of us know how insane this all is. The fact that a billionaire is roaming around the country, calling people losers, and terrorists and able to attract thousands of people to his campaign. It’s almost unthinkable.

But that is why  we’re sooooooooooo wrong.

I understand why you must be watching all this and equating all of it to some dystopia you never thought imaginable, and seeing the similarity between a Trump crowd and a Hitler Youth convention. I agree. It’s jingoism at its finest. White supremacy like white wine, refined and cultured. Yet, the mistake is this: We’re acting surprised.

Honestly, I was also bemused when Trump chose to run, and imagined him to fade out. I didn’t think he’d be successful not because I thought the American people are divine people who would realize the craziness, but instead, I felt that maybe our society has evolved, especially since President Obama’s two-terms in office. I should’ve known then what I know now, and what I had known all along, especially during the Bush years, that beneath the framing of democracy, and liberalism, and justice, is American fascism. This type of rhetoric, like we on the Trump campaign trail isn’t new. If it is to you, then frankly, you’re either ignorant or privileged to the point that you think Ta-Neihisi Coates invented journalism about race (and if you don’t who that is, god save you). Basically, Trump reflects the real America that’s been functioning since the day of its modern birth. Trump is not the aberration. We are.

If you don’t believe me, let’s take a cursory view of American social and political history. When did the U.S. become a democracy? Your answer shouldn’t certainly be 1776. Because I thought having people as slaves and not being able to vote is anti-democratic? Right? I mean, in case you forgot, black Americans were turned into property and made to work in the fields, creating the wealth that many white elites built their success on. So, that’s one part of the American ethos that seems like b.s. already.

How about what happened to the American Indian? Again, it wasn’t the European who came over who suddenly created this new land by stepping foot on its shores. There were already indigenous peoples living here, who created their own societies. They helped the Europeans master the elements in this foreign space, and in turn, the Europeans massacred them and took their ancestral birthplace. That doesn’t seem democratic either.

This process repeated. From the internment of Japanese-Americans to the lynching of Mexican-Americans. To be fascistic and crude is as American as apple and Jim Crow. I’m not the only one who’s basically said Trump is a product of the U.S., not a mere radical on the fringe. Brittney Cooper, a respected professor at Rutgers University and way more awesome than I am, explained in a piece written for Salon “But the GOP should understand Trump’s popularity as a case of their chickens coming home to roost. The modern Republican Party has secured its base by pandering to the worst impulses of white male, working class, and white Christian fundamentalist rage. Only Trump doesn’t use a dog whistle. He barks. And every time he does the GOP base responds by replenishing his poll numbers.”

Ronald Reagan, the one true god for conservatives and arbiter of their wet dreams, used similar tactics to gin up support among white working-class voters. By the time he was running for his first term, already many white Americans had left the Democratic party, upset at the increase in civil rights for people of color. They believed in the zero-sum narrative, that if the black or brown Americans gets more rights and better pay, somehow, the white man loses everything. Reagan, aware of this reality, utilized dog-whistles to let them know he understood their grievances. For example, Reagan spoke of the “welfare queen”, painting this image of a person on welfare cheating the system and living the high-life. Although more white Americans rely on government help, for many white voters, the imagery was obvious to them, and they picked up the racial cues. Reagan even went to places like Philadelphia, Mississippi, where three civil rights activists had been murdered, and spoke of “states’ rights” to a white crowd. Ian Haney Lopez explains this messaging perfectly in his work  Dog Whistle Politics: How Coded Racial Appeals Have Reinvented Racism and Wrecked the Middle Class, where he also includes a quote from Reagan’s adviser, who understood the power of race and how to manipulate it for their advantage:

“You start out in 1954 by saying, ‘Nigger, nigger, nigger.’ By 1968 you can’t say ‘nigger’—that hurts you. Backfires. So you say stuff like forced busing, states’ rights and all that stuff. You’re getting so abstract now, you’re talking about cutting taxes, and all these things you’re talking about are totally economic things and a byproduct of them is, blacks get hurt worse than whites. And subconsciously maybe that is part of it. I’m not saying that. But I’m saying that if it is getting that abstract, and that coded, that we are doing away with the racial problem one way or the other. You follow me—because obviously sitting around saying, ‘We want to cut taxes and we want to cut this,’ is much more abstract than even the busing thing, and a hell of a lot more abstract than ‘Nigger, nigger.’ So anyway you look at it, race is coming on the back burner.”

One could argue that’s changed. But even today, many white Americans continue to believe that their country is no longer theirs, and that it needs to be returned to them. In a study published last year by the Public Religion Research Institute,  “half (50%) of white Americans—including 60% of white working-class Americans—agree that discrimination against whites has become as big a problem today as discrimination against blacks and other minorities, while fewer than three in ten Hispanic (29%) and black Americans (25%) agree.”

It’s evident also in the hate crimes perpetrated against Muslim and Sikh-Americans, and the rhetoric brandished toward Mexican-Americans that such rhetoric of Us v. Them has worked.

Now, even I still don’t believe Trump will win the GOP nomination. But that would still be missing the point. What’s the difference anyway between a Ted Cruz, Jeb Bush or a Trump? One “barks” as Cooper says, while the others “whistle.” Ultimately, we’re left to face a center-right that’s xenophobic, racist, homophobic, and anti-working class as ever. What we should be doing, however, is making sure we show up at the polls, and spreading the word that Whiteness will not go unchallenged any longer.

Most importantly, any sort of attempt at changing the system as is, especially the racism that infects American politics should be based on the truth that this country was created to oppress POC, not to include them, which is an idea explained in Faces at the Bottom of the Well by Derrick Bell.

Bell, although a slight and professorial man, embodied what he wrote. One of the few who truly cared about extending social justice into all walks of life rather than remain complacent with the comforts of academia. He resigned twice to protest the lack of diversity in the higher-ed. In both cases, he did so for women of color (one Asian-American and the other black American). Bell himself was black American and had been a lawyer for the NAACP. Basically, he was a bad-ass, despite again, his glasses and nerdy veneer (gives hope for all of us I guess). Some would argue he was also a critical influence for the young Barack Obama who was attending Harvard at the time when Bell was there.

Bell was a major figure in critical race theory. If you don’t know what that is, it’s okay. That’s why I’m writing this. Critical race theory is pretty much what it sounds like: studying race in the social sciences and law. In essence, making race a key piece of our discussion of politics and society in the U.S. What Bell believed in, as did others in his line of work, that race was socially and politically constructed. Which shouldn’t be too surprising. Through laws passed, such as Jim Crow and decisions made by the Supreme Court, who was considered “black” or “white” was conceived. The “one-drop” rule is an example. Basically, even though you may not “look” black. You can still be considered such just cause someone in your family, even if it was found to be a great-great-great-grandaunt that was African-American. And under the auspices of the system that was functioning in the Deep South, you are, in the words of the Dalai Llama, “fucked.” This last part needs no explanation as to why. Read a history book, if you don’t know. But speaking of race as a political project, I do recommend checking out Whiteness of a Different Color by Jacobson.

In Faces at the Bottom of the Well, Bell uses short stories (yes, short stories) as a brilliant way of explaining what he means with his theories and how he views race in America. At the time, it was the early 90s and we just survived a decade of Ronald Wilson Reagan (666). Right-wing conservatism was on the rise, and white folks acting crazy was in effect once more. Bell argued that racism would never be completely expunged from the American body politic, that in many ways, white America always needed black America as its underclass as to alleviate their own issues around class and gender. So, the way white America was kept together (despite their ethnic differences i.e. Italian v. Irish, religious i.e. Protestant v. Catholic, and class i.e. blue-collar v. white-collar) was through hating their black neighbors and blackness in general. It was what unified them.

Bell called this realization of how things really were in the U.S. as being a “race realist.” Instead of what he probably would’ve described an optimistic and naive sense that somehow, all whites would just learn to love black people and stop being dicks, Bell adopted the “race realist” view and pushed for this perspective as any starting-point for anyone interested in finding solutions. Now, I know this may sound pessimistic, but just remember the decade he was in, and the experiences he had as well. A proper analogy would be the feminist theorist,Simone de Beauvoir, as having survived the horrors of Vichy occupation in France and expressing her somewhat dim view of female and human solidarity post-WWII. You can still criticize the perceptive but be mindful of where it’s coming from.

Groups like BLM and Dream Defenders do comprehend the big picture. That it is not about being tolerated or Trump losing the primary. Real change takes place when the system is forced to change, not accept what it may. To look boldly into the abyss.

Or as the great Bell would’ve put it: “We simply cannot prepare realistically for our future without assessing honestly our past.”

Letter for Assholes

Oregon Militia image
(Image from Google)

Dear Right-Wing,

Look. I get it. You’re mad. You’re upset. Your favorite football team has more than five black players on it.

Okay. Maybe I shouldn’t be joking about any of this.

You folks are legit angry.

About what exactly though, I’m not sure.

As a brown person, I get angsty as well. About every day stuff, you know. Like darn it, the toothpaste on my brush falls into the sink. Or that it’s so cold when I wake up now that I have to will myself to get out of bed, and drag my sheets into the bathroom.

And of course, dealing with people who yell “terrorist” or Paki at me, and having memories of my grandparents getting eggs and bricks thrown at their home, or better yet, assholes who harass my parents for how they look.

So…I know what awful can be. I know what pain is too.

And yet, when I hear you guys complaining about your country falling apart, and your lives being shitty, all I see, frankly, is a bunch of people who don’t want to get their own lives in check and actually understand what’s making them feel this way.

Cause after all, for the last eight years, a lot of you have been complaining that President Obama is too radical, that he hates your culture, yadda, yadda, yadda.

But funny story is, now you’re carrying assault rifles and supporting someone named Trump, who by the way, said most Mexicans are criminals, and even Muslim Americans need not be trusted.

Let’s just be real, okay?

I don’t like Trump. I mean, I thought we reached peak whiteness with Grand Wizard Ronald Reagan, but nope. We now have the Godzilla of Id, stumbling around, and breathing fire on people who are just trying to get through the day.

Still, I hear a lot of you saying, I’m voting against the establishment. The establishment failed me. The establishment politics are bad politics. The establishment. The establishment. The motherfucking establishment.

First question: Where was this rage against the “establishment” when said Reagan was in power, or even Bush (pick one)?

Second: Who the fuck is the establishment? Bro. You’re the establishment. This country was founded by slave owners and men in powdered wigs who believed that Indian land was their land all of a sudden. You are the ancestors of those who led genocide and oppression. Not saying you’re responsible for the actions of your grandpappy. But when you start saying stuff, as a white man particularly, dressed up in your vest made from the same flag that was held up while the Trail of Tears was taking place, it’s difficult to make sense of your indignation. What exactly are you mad at man?

And this is where we return to us being real.

Safe space.

Listen. Just admit you’re not looking for somebody who’s ethical or smart.

Just go out there, wave that flag wrapped around your dick in the middle of the nearest intersection, and proclaim,

“My name is Jeb! I’m a right-wing white male! And I hate black people!”

Don’t ask me why I said Jeb. But those who get it, get it.

But back to the main point.

I’ll never agree with you nor lessen my hatred of everything you all stand for, but once you tell us that you just hate people who aren’t white, then at least, things are on the surface instead of being hidden in dog whistle tactics that have crippled our dialogue and country.

I mean, Trump just said that people in Jersey City was celebrating when 9/11 happened.

I know you can’t see me but insert eye roll here.

He knows, and you all know, that Jersey City has a sizable South Asian American and Arab American population.

Now, I know to all of you guys we’re all the same. And that somehow, anyone who looks like us suddenly supports ISIS.

But guess what mofo? We know what’s up.

Not only do I reject your politics, I’m standing up against this b.s. (See letter that you’re reading in your plump Cracker Barrel hands).

I am American. Muslim Americans are American. Black Americans are American. And like it or not, we’re in this country and we want our rights and our voices to be heard.

And I know that you’re probably put off by what I’m saying but again, I don’t care.

This is directed to those who support right-wing demagogues anyways so I don’t imagine any of you understanding or caring to give a crap.

And I know you’ll say, Man, this guy is anti-white.

Correction: I’m anti-racist. I’m anti-homophobia, and anti-sexist. I’m anti-injustice.

There are plenty of white folks I know who also hate the right-wing. I’ll be happy to pull the race card and be like, I got plenty of white friends.

And I do.

And I love them like I love anyone who I consider part of our growing community of diverse peoples.

I love my black, brown, and Asian brothers and sisters.

So just letting you fascists know, we see you. Our united force of black, brown, and white knows what’s going on. With racists coming out and attacking innocents folks in Minneapolis.

We’re done with that ish.

We’re putting a stop to all that noise. Now.

We. Are. Awake.

 

Sincerely,

The Beast from the East (and if you think I mean The “East”/ The “Orient” instead of the East Coast, you just proved my point)

Race: The Beating Heart of U.S. Democracy

 

Reagan
Ronald Reagan (Image taken from Google)

INTRODUCTION

When my parents arrived in New York City from India, all they knew were the basics: the President at the time (Ronald Reagan), what year the country was founded, and that the U.S. was a land of opportunity (based on what they heard from friends). They first lived in an apartment in Brooklyn, along with family. It was cramped but felt normal to them, since back home, people usually stayed with relatives and large non-nuclear units. My dad’s plan was to study for his PhD at Columbia, but once I was born (in the U.S.) he left the program to start a business instead, so he could better provide for my mom and me. The business, which was focused on making copies and faxes for customers, eventually failed, and my dad had to start over. Fortunately, my grandfather was able to help, and my dad managed to become an engineer. Everyone stuck together and saved and saved, until able to afford our own home in Queens. My parents took the next logical step when I was old enough to go to school, and became citizens. Rudy Giuliani was mayor of the city, and neither of my parents were fans. In fact, once gaining their citizenship, my parents always voted Democrat. It was only recently that I finally asked them how they chose which political party to support.

My mom’s answer was as follows: “Democrats are smart. They’re also nice. They’re kind and respectful to people like us.”

My dad’s response was also fascinating:

“When I first came here, I didn’t know much about the political system. I would read the newspapers and watch TV to learn. And I realized that in the Republican Party, it was all white. The Democrats had black people. So, I decided to become a Democrat.”

I’m aware that this is just the perspective and experiences of my parents. I understand that obviously not every person of color (certainly not every immigrant) would arrive at that same conclusion as did my mom and dad. Still, I began with this anecdote because A) jumping into the swamp of facts and data can be numbing and B) political science is about people most of all, especially when dealing with issues around voting and political participation. Finally, this mini-story/anecdote provides me with an ideal way to state my main theory, which is: Race is at the heart of how Americans decide who to vote for and why, and which political party they should fall in line with. Political psychology must do more to research and investigate the relationship between a person’s race/ethnicity and their political views and level of participation in order to provide an accurate perspective as to how our nation functions as a developing democracy.

FROM SLAVOCRACY TO MODERNITY: CONTEXT MATTERS

            The United States was a country built on caste, and racial hierarchy. When the U.S. was officially founded, most black men and women toiled as slaves, and indigenous lives were constantly devalued, as white European settlers moved further and further inland, removing them from their ancestral homes. The U.S., at its best, can be described as an oddity, and at its worst, a slavocracy. It is true that many white Europeans enjoyed expanded freedoms and liberties after immigrating to the U.S. Yet, it is also apparent that if you were black, brown, or had a dark complexion, you were automatically condemned as not deserving of the American Dream.

Alexis de Tocqueville, a name synonymous with the study of early American democracy, witnessed the U.S. forming its multi-tiered system of rights and privileges. White workers themselves, who would’ve benefited from uniting with the black and brown masses, refused to do so, and in fact, took joy in their relative superiority. During his journeys through the southern states, Tocqueville was astounded at how the white workers adopted the set of beliefs and behaviors of the elite whites (the planter class) had toward the black slaves, willingly accepting man-made divisions and believing that even though they were also poor and without much power, that they were somehow special because of the color of their skin.[1]

 

KKK
Ku Klux Klan (Image taken from Google)

“Tocqueville’s ‘Three Races’ chapter clearly illustrates that he was aware of the role that property rights in whiteness and white privilege played in American political development,” Alvin B. Tillery, Jr. writes in his study of Tocqueville’s observations on race. “In other words, he saw both the state and the federal governments as fundamentally committed to passing laws that created and sustained both property rights in whiteness and generalized white privilege in the Jacksonian republic.”[2]

Not surprisingly, this privilege allowed white men, and eventually, women, the right to buy homes wherever they wanted, to work better jobs, and to participate in their government. Their voices could be heard just by going to a town hall, or stopping by their local mayor’s office. There was no palpable fear of being humiliated and treated less than a human being. This is not to say that all white Americans were treated absolutely fairly, especially in the political world. Many European immigrants who arrived in the early 20th century suffered abuse and prejudice from those who had already been in the U.S. for decades. None of us should be shocked by the old pictures of signs that read “No Irish Apply” for jobs in local stores, or reading about the manner in which the KKK would also focus their terrorism on Italians and those they considered loyal to the Papist regime (a.k.a. the Catholic Church). Bigotry is American as apple pie. Yet, for those white Europeans, who decided to take that chance and begin a new life, they were allowed to change their names, to learn the language, to pass on their earned whiteness to their children. Whiteness, for Europeans, could be achieved, and unlocked, so long as they understood that people of color, especially black Americans, were not to be treated fairly or accepted as equals.[3]

Slavery ended through a bloody and necessary civil war. Reconstruction offered hope, as black representatives were finally elected into office, and black citizens in general, felt more enthused about belonging in the country they built.[4] However, white privilege reared its head, and soon, Union troops were removed from the south, leaving its minority black population defenseless against attacks by the state and its terrorist arm, the KKK. Before the civil rights struggle won landmark legislation for black Americans, black Americans spent decades placed in disadvantaged positions as compared to their white counterparts. Black Americans were never encouraged by the white establishment to read or write. Knowledge was literal power, and so, black Americans were always degraded as being unfit for intellectual passions, and therefore, their schools were underfunded, and for those who could even make it through, elite universities refused admissions.

Since the Civil War and during apartheid, the Democratic Party was seen as representing white privilege. But once Lyndon B. Johnson signed the Civil Rights Act and Voting Rights Act in the 1960s, he and everyone around him knew that the white votes their party relied on were up for grabs. Candidates such as Barry Goldwater sensed this as well, and pandered to the disaffected white voter in the South, by stating his opposition to the civil rights bills that were passed, and expressing his support for “state’s rights.” Such statements are better known as “dog-whistle politics.”[5] As the country’s political mainstream no longer tolerated the usage of derogatory epithets against black people (i.e. the N-word), its white politicians, mostly on the right-wing, found new ways to connect to their base of supporters, by cueing certain imagery through less overt forms of language. Dog-whistle politics was effective in getting out the message that civil rights for black people was horrible for the country, and that the white population was losing their privileges and rights. As explained best in Ian Haney Lopez’s recent work about this strain of political messaging, “‘States’ rights’ was a paper-thin abstraction from the days before the Civil War when it had meant the right of Southern states to continue slavery. Then, as a rejoinder to the demand for integration, it meant the right of Southern states to continue laws mandating racial segregation—a system of debasement so thorough that it ‘extended to churches and schools, to housing and jobs, to eating and drinking . . . to virtually all forms of public transportation, to sports and recreations, to hospitals, orphanages, prisons, and asylums, and ultimately to funeral homes, morgues, and cemeteries.’ That’s what ‘states rights’ defended, though in the language of state-federal relations rather than white supremacy. Yet this was enough of a fig leaf to allow persons queasy about black equality to oppose integration without having to admit, to others and perhaps even to themselves, their racial attitudes.”[6]

Anti-busing protestors in Boston
Anti-busing protests (Image taken from Google)

Prior to the enfranchisement of black Americans, the South was dominated by the Democratic Party, which claimed 77% of southern voters in 1952. However, once the Democrats tried to make amends for their racial past, Republicans gained ground. By 1984, only 37% of southern voters were Democrat. That number continued to plummet during Reagan’s administration as he too played on the fears and paranoia of the white electorate. The term “Reagan Democrat” soon came into vogue, as many former white Democrat supporters, even those who were pro-Union and held economic views dissimilar with the GOP, voted for Reagan instead. Only 28% of southern white males identified as Democrat during Reagan’s first run for the executive office.[7]

Reagan’s chief advisor, Lee Atwater, understood the power of race and how to manipulate it for their advantage. Atwater, himself, admitted to their race-based strategy:

“You start out in 1954 by saying, ‘Nigger, nigger, nigger.’ By 1968 you can’t say ‘nigger’—that hurts you. Backfires. So you say stuff like forced busing, states’ rights and all that stuff. You’re getting so abstract now, you’re talking about cutting taxes, and all these things you’re talking about are totally economic things and a byproduct of them is, blacks get hurt worse than whites. And subconsciously maybe that is part of it. I’m not saying that. But I’m saying that if it is getting that abstract, and that coded, that we are doing away with the racial problem one way or the other. You follow me—because obviously sitting around saying, ‘We want to cut taxes and we want to cut this,’ is much more abstract than even the busing thing, and a hell of a lot more abstract than ‘Nigger, nigger.’ So anyway you look at it, race is coming on the back burner.”[8]

In his 1980 campaign, Reagan went to places like Philadelphia, Mississippi, which was infamous for the murder of three civil rights activists. Once there, Reagan voiced his support for state’s rights to an all-white crowd who knew exactly what he meant. During his presidency, Reagan continued using phrases like “welfare queen” to portray an image of the no-good-for-nothing, lazy, parasite. And that image for white voters was usually, a black man, or black woman.[9] To believe in small-government was wrapped up, throughout our history, in race, and perceptions of people that have been historically oppressed, and stereotyped.[10] And those on either side of that racial divide know this reality all too well. Senator Daniel Moynihan stated that the Democratic Party, especially by the 1980s, “was now seen by national voters as primarily one for minority voters.”[11] Even Democratic pollsters found that white Democrats (the ones who’d vote for Reagan) disliked black Americans and those feelings bled into their ideas of politics. To them, “blacks constitute the explanation for their vulnerability and for almost everything that has gone wrong in their lives; not being black is what constitutes being middle class; not living with blacks is what makes a neighborhood a decent place to live.”[12]

Reagan supporter
Reagan supporter (Image taken from Google)

In a study done which used data of black Americans from the presidential elections of 1984 and 1988, the goal was to find out what inspired them to vote. Black Americans were motivated by their disapproval of the Reagan and Bush administration (Bush was running in 1988), and also buoyed by Jesse Jackson’s first attempt for the presidency in 1984. Black Americans who held especially negative views of Republicans voted in both elections. “The Reagan administration helped create a political climate in which blacks felt that the political stakes involved in 1984 were perhaps greater than in previous elections.”[13]

Fast-forward to 2008, when Barack Obama became the country’s first black leader. Pundits and so-called intellectuals were calling it a post-racial age, where the color line and discrimination were suddenly negligible. But as I’ve described in my brief history of race in this country, party politics, often assumed by researchers to be the major cleavage within American society, has been wrapped up in racial coding. It is no wonder that if you are a person of color, you will often vote Democrat, even if you may have conservative leanings. And that if you are a white working-class male, your choice will often be a Republican, despite the fact that their financial policies goes against your own vested economic interests. Barack Obama’s election may have changed some hearts and minds, but overall, those same divisions remain, oftentimes glowing like hot ores.

 

 

BARACK HUSSEIN OBAMA

            There were definitely reasons to be excited about Obama’s election. My own parents viewed Obama’s win as transformative. “Be a lawyer like Obama,” they’d tell me, “If you be like him, you can also become president someday.” Ignoring the fact that I am never going to be in charge of the Harvard Law Review, there was at least precedence for us, a face we could point to in our textbooks, a memory we could bring up whenever feeling isolated and angry: an image of a black man and his family occupying the most powerful house on the planet. That being said, the enthusiasm and optimism for what was possible and for what the elections meant were overstated.

In both elections, Obama still lost the white vote to the Republican candidate. What helped Obama wasn’t more white voters changing their minds but actually, being able to turn out more people of color, and the changing demographics of the country. He received for the 2008 election, 95% of the black vote, 67% of the Latino vote, and 62% of the Asian vote. In contrast, 90% of John McCain’s support was from white voters.[14] In 2012, Obama improved upon his track record among people of color, but only garnered 39 percent among white voters, which was the same percentage that Bill Clinton received in 1992.[15] Those on the right-wing used dog-whistle tactics against Obama. Conservatives regarded Obama as the “affirmative action” candidate and questioned Obama’s background at Harvard, implying that he wasn’t intellectual or competent. These were of course baseless claims but in context of race in the U.S. it did fire up the white masses in the South, which had become a stronghold for conservative Republicanism. Even right-wing pundits claimed that once Obama would get elected, whites would be the ones to experience discrimination.[16] One can scoff at such a suggestion but that wouldn’t negate how real this apprehension is among many white Americans, who once more, view Obama and Democratic policies, through a racial lens. In a report published this year, white Americans were surveyed on a list of questions about race. “Half of white Americans — including 60 percent of the white working class — told researchers that discrimination against whites has become as big a problem today as discrimination against blacks and other minorities.”[17] That’s a segment of the population that will suffer from perceived threat as has been studied in regards to why people become authoritarian right-wing ideologues, the type of people who protested against school busing in the 1960s and 1970s, thinking their worlds were about to end.[18]

Obama 1
President Barack Obama (Image taken from Google)

In “How Explicit Racial Prejudice Hurt Obama in the 2008 Election”, data from the 2008 American National Election Studies time series survey illustrates the connection between racial stereotypes about black Americans and feelings toward Obama. According to the study, around 45% of white respondents rated blacks as lazier than whites, and also 39% believed that blacks were less intelligent. These are sizable portions, and not mere fringe. What Piston ultimately discovered was that prejudice toward black Americans affected Obama more than even his white counterparts in the Democratic Party, such as Joe Biden and Hillary Clinton.[19] One can suggest that this proves little since it doesn’t connect with how a person actually voted. But the numbers stated earlier do parallel Obama’s overall support among whites, and therefore, such conclusions cannot be dismissed when the outcomes were so similar to how respondents felt.

Similarly, how white respondents felt about affirmative action predicted their support or lack thereof for Obama. Ironically, if a white respondent was against affirmative action, that feeling would manifest in how negative they viewed Obama. However, if a white respondent was in support of affirmative action, it wasn’t necessarily true that person would even support Obama. Even among white Democrats in the survey, race was salient. Those who ranked race/ethnicity as high as third on a list of issues important when picking a candidate, and who opposed affirmative action, showed very low support for Obama.[20]

Remember that in 2008, there was a heated primary among Democrats, with Obama as the only black candidate. Before Obama and Clinton mended their divide with photo-ops and gestures, tensions were high between both camps. Clinton supporters were upset that Obama was derailing what many assumed would’ve been a rubber-stamped Hillary against whomever the Republican Party picked. It was a time of great optimism, given that in the end, whoever would win the Democratic primary would be the country’s first to do so. Still, that goodwill gave way to deep-seeded animus and race-baiting instead. The issue of Rev. Wright surfaced, and opponents derided Obama as being “Muslim,” implying that only a certain type of Christian were suitable to be president.  Again, the notion that their country was being taken away was palpable for certain white populations. That same fear that’s been driving white Americans to the polls to vote for conservative Republicans and therefore, against what they view as a Democrat Party sympathetic to black and brown people was once relevant to their final decision that year. And that fear can be heightened to a such a degree that for some, it can blind them to other more pressing issues, such as which candidate speaks toward their economic interests and values. White respondents, according to a study, were affected even by the size of the black American population in their district, which adds more evidence to the role of perceived threat in terms of race. Apparently, whites who lived in districts with more than 10 percent black Americans (which isn’t a huge number) were predicted to vote for McCain.[21]

Black voters and people of color in general, also responded to Obama’s run for office based on race. Yes, it’s true that black Americans are considered a solid voting bloc for the Democratic Party. But again, this didn’t happen overnight. It was a process that took centuries and was aided by the inclusion of more black Americans into the liberal wing of the Democratic Party. Black Americans understood that their interests, once served by the Republicans, would now be better reflected in the modern iteration of the Democratic Party instead.[22] To remove this context, would be on par with removing words from a book and leaving behind an empty page.

THE (OBVIOUS) PIECES: BLACK AND BROWN PEOPLE

There has been much done on the psychology of the American voter and most of it has been valuable. From understanding the limit of the (ideal) rational voter to figuring out how people effectively use their cognitive abilities to vote for the candidate that best reflects what they perceive as their needs, we’ve learned a great deal about the individual and their relationship to the group and society in how they decide one of democracy’s most important decisions: who and what to vote for.

However, we’ve barely scratched the surface in terms of race, and how people of color behave politically. Before we move onto other interesting theories concerning genetics, or what formal model to fit our worldview into, we must continue to focus on communities of color as well. As mentioned, black and brown communities only gained their full civil rights (under the law) in the late 1960s and 70s.  Anything done before then about the American public and voter shouldn’t be discounted, much like we shouldn’t burn the Declaration of Independence because it was written by slave-owners. Knowledge is always essential, and knowledge grows, instead of simply being replaced in a vacuum. Therefore, we must do more to understand how the American democratic system functions and to do so without a clear-eyed determination on exploring race among black and brown Americans is like trying to scuba dive without first learning how to swim. This means moving ahead with studies that actually include a representative sample of black and brown Americans from different backgrounds, such as Asian and Latino too. So far, many samples, even those concerning racial attitudes, place emphasis on white Americans and their feelings and perceptions instead of also, their counterparts in other ethnic communities. And it’s imperative to place into context how groups of color experienced their history in the U.S.  It has been argued “that developing a distinct African-American political psychology begins with understanding that the historical and contemporary political, social, and economic structure of the United States has shaped Black life and that these structures have limited the life chances of African-Americans.”[23]

Protests 1
Protesters against police brutality

 

Protests 2
Protests against police brutality

For instance, black Americans voted at an all-time high (65.2%) in 2008. Obama received a net gain of over 3 million black voters as compared to what John Kerry received in his 2004 bid against George W. Bush. Also, 62% of those who didn’t consider themselves regular voters chose to express themselves through the ballot box that year. Black churches and black social organizations helped to increase voter turnout.[24] Most importantly, how race plays a role in elections overall is more complex than simply a black or brown person seeing someone who looks like them and automatically, supporting them, irrespective of political party (which is also based on race and context). Race is a construct and connected to group consciousness. When Bobby Jindal decided to run for president (although short-lived), he didn’t receive an outpouring of support from South Asian Americans. My own parents despised Jindal. They viewed him as someone who would take away healthcare, which is very important to communities of color, and harm them with his Islamophobic beliefs. Through the prism of history, my parents and others perceived Jindal and Ben Carson as siding with political forces and the white status quo that want to oppress them and curtail their civil rights. Although racial appeals alone do not increase black voter turnout, black candidates who “reach out to the black community enjoy higher levels of black support than their post-racial black counterparts.”[25] Black candidates who “outline the benefits they provide to the black electorate or demonstrate their connection to the black community can count on almost unanimous black support.”[26]

Obama understood this delicate balance of appealing to black supporters and energizing them while not scaring off white voters in the process. He probably understood he wouldn’t receive a majority of the white vote but losing a significant chunk would’ve greatly damaged his candidacy. Obama did the small but crucial things like attend events at black churches, to show his connection to the history of the black community. Throughout American history, black churches served as a focal point for organizing against systemic injustice, even among black Americans who are not as religious. Obama’s candidacy still suffered bruises along the way, and he couldn’t simply avoid race as an issue.[27] But unlike Carson and Jindal, who do want to avoid talking about race, Obama did the opposite and tackled the issue head-on. When the Rev. Wright controversy was at its peak, Obama delivered what many have since called his More Perfect Union speech. It was a positive racial appeal that discussed the legacy of racism in the U.S., and also the hope he saw in moving forward. Although white respondents in surveys showed no change in how they viewed Obama (maybe they didn’t pick up the racial cues toward people of color), black Americans increased their support for Obama after the speech. Latino-Americans were also encouraged by what Obama had said. Before the More Perfect Union speech, Obama was polling at around 37 percent among Latinos, but that number soared to 50 percent afterwards. Throughout the campaign, Obama continued to distance himself from figures like Wright, but never abandoned talking about issues important to the black American community.[28]

Jindal
Piyush “Bobby” Jindal (Image taken from Google)

Therefore, it’s not just the image of the candidate that can elicit reactions based on race, but the topics as well, such as welfare and equity. Picture all of this as a system of Russian dolls. You remove the layers from each other, such as class, gender, political I.D. and ideology, until you reach the core, which is race. For example, there has been evidence that on issues like food stamps and the Iraq War, explicit racial cues play a big role influencing black Americans in their perception as opposed to white Americans who respond more effectively to implicit ones.[29] But those cues when activated can make a person vote or feel about an issue in a certain way than just mere ideology or party I.D. Religiosity is also affected by race and history. Religion is an important part of the American political arena, as different parties oftentimes try their hardest to prove how much they pray and go to church (and try to avoid talking about mosques, Hindu temples, or perhaps even synagogues if they actually want to win an election). The Christian Right, since the 1980s, is a major influence on the GOP, while Democrats are seen as the party for socially liberal and more secular values. This doesn’t wipe away the religiosity of many black Americans. Many black Americans share similar views with white Christians concerning gay rights. But on other issues like welfare, black Americans perceive these religious cues differently than their white counterparts.[30] So, even though, a black American can be against gay marriage, he or she would still interpret that as less of an issue for them and vote Democratic, a party that supports the LGBTQ community.

Asian-Americans and Latino-Americans are two of the fastest growing populations within the U.S., and studies show that they too respond to issues and candidates based on race. I cannot provide a historical overview of both groups like I did with black Americans (albeit a very brief one and should not be taken as comprehensive), I stress the value of understanding the political background and context for Asian-Americans and Latino-Americans as well.

Political scientists comment again and again on how there has been low turnout among Latino-Americans during elections. Even though Republicans seem to be losing the Hispanic vote and Democrats are gaining it, there hasn’t been a complete tapping in of this voting potential. But this is proof of how race does play a bigger factor, at least among certain groups, that party identification alone doesn’t sway voters of color. Data shows that non-Latino support for Latino candidates can fluctuate. Therefore, a Latino-American running for office cannot rely on non-Latino support and must fight for it. However, if he or she is Latino-American in a heavily Latino district, he or she can expect overwhelming support from the local Latino-American population.[31] Sometimes, it isn’t the candidate’s ethnicity that drives Latino-Americans to the poll, but the fact they live in a district that would be described as “majority-minority” (a phrase I hate but will use since it was included in the study). “Residing in majority-Latino districts serves as a disincentive to turn out among non-Latinos but appears to have a generally more positive effect on majority-Latino districts.”[32] This can tie into the group consciousness theory of how people who feel close to those who are like them and share similar experiences will feel motivated to act politically. Mexican-Americans, specifically, exhibit more voting participation when he or she has experienced discriminatory or prejudicial behavior towards them.[33]

Asian-Americans are currently more of a complex group to deal with. Not enough research has been done on Asian-Americans and their numbers have just become substantial. In-group identification based on race is essential but it’s not as simple as asking an Asian-American whether they identify with a politician because that person is also Asian-American.[34] After all, Asian-Americans constitute a large number of people, from varying linguistic, ethnic, and religious backgrounds. A person, who is first-generation Pakistani-American, born and raised in the suburbs of New Jersey, will have a different experience of the U.S. compared to someone whose parents arrived from Japan generations ago. Like Mexican-Americans, perhaps South Asian-Americans in general, will be more politically active when they too feel a sense of being discriminated against or profiled. Speaking from personal experience, for many people who looked like me and my parents, experiences of racial profiling and anti-Muslim sentiment, which damaged everyone from the ordinary Muslim-American to the Sikh-American mistaken for the Taliban, were prominent in the U.S.[35] My friends who were East Asian American did face prejudice as well, but not to the same degree as did South Asian Americans and Arab Americans did. My parents remember being taunted by neighbors, and being called “Paki” (which is a slur) and “foreigner.” With this in mind, they realize that things can be unfair, and that race plays a significant factor in how things are done in the U.S. The Asian-American experience is not just one thing but a myriad.

Despite the complications, race/ethnicity can be the common driving force behind electoral and non-electoral participation, since even as Asian-Americans, we are not in control of how we are viewed racially. “Like blacks, racial categorization for Asian Americans persists, and is readily identifiable on face value,” Junn and Masuaoka state in their study of Asian-American identity, “In this sense, racial group membership is not a choice, and categorization as a race other than ‘white’ will always be there and will always play a role. Yet, this racial distinction also means that the formation of Asian American racial group consciousness depends on the particular context.”[36] Race plays a role but the contours of what it is must be better defined and broken down by ethnicity instead.

Civill Rights Icon, Yuri Kochiyama
Civil rights icon, Yuri Kochiyama (Image taken from Google)

 

WHAT’S LEFT UNSAID    

            W.E.B. Du Bois, a giant among intellectuals, once declared in his seminal work The Souls of Black Folk that “For the problem of the Twentieth Century is the problem of the color line.”[37] Although much has changed since Du Bois was around causing trouble for the racist elites, that statement rings true, even today. We can pretend that when someone answers a question about welfare, that person is dealing with that issue based on facts about social services. We can pretend that when someone sees a candidate and doesn’t trust them, it’s because of how they smiled. We can pretend that groups of people operate simply because of deterministic behaviors, and not because of past lessons taught by the harshness of reality. Or, we can begin to take into account how at the heart of our political participation are our perceptions of and about race.

Du Bois
W.E.B. Du Bois (Image taken from Google)

I would like to also add that it should be important to dig deeper into the psychology of black and brown peoples as well. Again, Du Bois explains this best:

“Whatever we may say of the results of such contact in the past, it certainly forms a chapter in human action not pleasant to look back upon. War, murder, slavery, extermination, and debauchery, —this has again and again been the result of carrying civilization and the blessed gospel to the isles of the ea and the heathen without the law. Nor does it altogether satisfy the conscience of the modern world to be told complacently that all this has been right and proper, the fated triumph of strength over weakness, of righteousness over evil, of superiors over inferiors. It would certainly be soothing if one could readily believe all this; and yet there are too many ugly facts for everything to be thus easily explained away. We feel and know that there are many delicate differences in race psychology, numberless changes that our crude social measurements are not yet able to follow minutely, which explain much of history and social development.”[38]

Different writers bring up these “delicate differences” in every generation. James Baldwin wrote in The Fire Next Time, which was conceived as lessons told to his nephew growing up as a black male in the U.S., “In a society that is entirely hostile, and, by its nature, seems determined to cut you down—that has cut down so many in the past and cuts down so many every day—it begins to be almost impossible to distinguish a real from a fancied injury.”[39] Ta-Nehisi Coates’ work Between the World and Me, relays the message of how being black in the U.S. is a world of its own, separate from what we try to understand in terms of “mainstream” society and American life. “The nakedness is the correct and intended result of policy, the predictable upshot of people forced for centuries to live under fear,” he writes to his son, “And now, in your time, the law has become an excuse for stopping and frisking you, which is to say, for furthering the assault on your body. But a society that protects some people through a safety net of schools, government-backed home loans, and ancestral wealth but can only protect you with the club of criminal justice has either failed at enforcing its good intentions or has succeeded at something much darker. However you call it, the result was our infirmity before the criminal forces of the world.”[40]

These “delicate differences” must be further explored, in terms of how race manifests in issues and voters’ minds, how race is perceived by emerging groups, such as Latinos and Asian Americans, and finally, how race can motivate people to go against their own interests (i.e. Donald Trump supporters). We’re not living in 1950s America anymore. We’re not even living in the 1990s for that matter, when Democratic and Republican strategists were only fighting over the white voting electorate, and leaving black Americans in the dust.[41] No. We are in a new age where people of color are holding the power, but only if they’re motivated and inspired by the correct cues and appeals. Political psychology can help make them feel like they matter by including their perspectives, and in the process, making our democracy real for everyone.

[1] Alvin B. Tillery, Jr., “Tocqueville as Critical Race Theorist: Whiteness as Property, Interest Convergence, and the Limits of Jacksonian Democracy,” Political Research Quarterly 62 (2009): 639-652.

[2] Tillery, Jr., 645.

[3] Matthew Frye Jacobson, Whiteness of a Different Color: European Immigrants and the Alchemy of Race (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1998).

[4] W.E.B. Du Bois, The Souls of Black Folk (New York: Signet Classics, 2012), 17-39.

[5] Ian Haney Lopez, Dog Whistle Politics: How Coded Racial Appeals Have Reinvented Racism & Wrecked the Middle Class (New York: Oxford University Press, 2014), ebscohost.

[6] Lopez, 16.

[7] Merle Black, “The Transformation of the Southern Democratic Party,” The Journal of Politics 66, Nov. 4 (Nov. 2004): 1001-1017.

[8] Lopez, 57.

[9] Michael Omi and Howard Winant, Racial Formation in the United States: From the 1960s to the 1990s (New York: Routledge, 1994).

[10] Lopez, Dog Whistle Politics.

[11] Paul Frymer, Uneasy Alliance: Race and Party Competition in America (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1999), 112.

[12] Frymer, 112-113.

[13] Katherine Tate, “Black Political Participation in the 1984 and 1988 Presidential Elections,” The American Political Science Review 85, No. 4 (Dec. 1991), 1159-1176.

[14] Thomas Edge, “Southern Strategy 2.0: Conservatives, White Voters, and the Election of Barack Obama,” Journal of Black Studies 40, No. 3 (Jan. 2010), 426-444.

[15] Chris Cillizza and Jon Cohen, “President Obama and the white vote? No problem,” The Washington Post, Nov. 8, 2012, accessed Dec. 1, 2015, https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/the-fix/wp/2012/11/08/president-obama-and-the-white-vote-no-problem/.

[16] Edge, “Southern Strategy 2.0”

[17] Janell Ross, “White Americans long for the 1950s, when they didn’t face so much discrimination,” The Washington Post, Nov. 17, 2015, accessed Dec. 1, 2015, https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/the-fix/wp/2015/11/17/white-americans-long-for-the-1950s-when-they-werent-such-victims-of-reverse-discrimination/.

[18] Frymer, Uneasy Alliances.

[19] Spencer Piston, “How Explicit Racial Prejudice Hurt Obama in the 2008 Election,” Political Behavior 32, No. 4 (Dec. 2010), 431-451.

[20] Brian F. Schaffner, “Racial Salience and the Obama Vote,” Political Psychology 32, No. 6 (Dec. 2011), 963-988.

[21] Todd Donovan, “Obama and the White Vote,” Political Research Quarterly 63, No. 4 (Dec. 2010), 863-874.

[22] Frymer, Uneasy Alliances.

[23] Tasha S. Philpot and Ismail K. White, edited., African-American Political Psychology: Identity, Opinion, and Action in the Post-Civil Rights Era (New York: 2010), Introduction.

[24] Tasha S. Philpot, Daron R. Shaw and Ernest B. McGowen, “Winning the Race: Black Voter Turnout in the 2008 Presidential Election,” The Public Opinion Quarterly 73, No. 5 (2009): 995-1022.

[25] Christopher T. Stout, Bringing Race Back In: Black Politicians, Deracialization, and Voting Behavior in the Age of Obama (Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2015), 69.

[26] Stout, 69.

[27] Stout, Bringing Race Back In.

[28] Stout, 86-95.

[29] Philpot and White, African American Political Psychology, 71-97.

[30] Philpot and White, 135-146.

[31] Matt A. Barreto, “Si Se Puede: Latino Candidates and the Mobilization of Latino Voters,” The American Political Science Review 101, No. 3 (August 2007): 425-441.

[32] Matt A. Barreto, Gary M. Segura and Nathan D. Woods, “The Mobilizing Effect of Majority-Minority Districts on Latino Turnout,” The American Political Science Review 98, No. 1 (Feb., 2004), 65-75.

[33] Pei-te Lien, “Ethnicity and Political Participation: A Comparison between Asian and Mexican Americans,” Political Behavior 16, No. 2 (June 1994), 237-264.

[34] Jane Junn and Natalie Masuoka, “Asian American Identity: Shared Racial Status and Political Context,” Perspectives on Politics 6, N. 4 (Dec. 2008), 729-740.

[35] Moustafa Bayoumi, How Does It Feel To Be A Problem? Being Young and Arab in America (New York: Penguin Group, 2008)

[36] Junn and Masuoka, 736.

[37] Du Bois, The Souls of Black Folk, 17.

[38] Du Bois, 140-141.

[39] James Baldwin, The Fire Next Time (New York: Vintage International, 1962), 68.

[40] Ta-Nehisi Coates, Between The World And Me (New York: Spiegel & Grau, 2015), 17-18.

[41] Frymer, Uneasy Alliances