380 PART V The Economics of Race, Class, and Gender
Chart 2: Students of Color Get Less: States with Largest P er-S tudent
Funding Gaps, and U.S. Average
$10,000
$8,368 $8,152
State and local revenues $8,000 $7,262 $7,272
available per student (2000)
$6,335 $6,418 $5,777 $5,868 $6,446 $6,684
$5,378 $5,782
$6,000
$4,000
$2,000
0 New York Wyoming Nebraska Kansas Texas U.S.
Districts with highest minority enrollment Districts with lowest minority enrollment
Source: Department of Education and U.S. Census Bureau.
Strategies like New Jersey’s and Oregon’s help explain the narrowing funding gap, and
could be models for other states.
Rebell notes, however, that s tate-level remedies are fundamentally limited: among
states, they are “complex and uneven,” and nationally, they leave millions of students
unaffected. A more powerful solution might be for the federal government to fund
the public school system directly, as governments do in Canada, Japan, and most
social democratic countries of Western Europe. Today, the U.S. government does
channel money to poor districts through Title I, the largest single federal investment
in education. But Title I funds are not intended to equalize funding within states:
the federal government leaves that responsibility to state and local authorities, who
plainly do not comply.
The needs of students would be justly served by federally guaranteed funding,
but current state and federal policies guarantee something very different. As Jonathan
Kozol explained a decade ago, “The present system guarantees that those who can
buy a $1 million home in an affluent suburb will also be able to provide their children
with superior schools.” The U.S. public school system is still rigged in favor of stu-
dents from richer, whiter districts; and as Rebell remarks, the United States remains
“the only major developed country in the world that exhibits this shameful pattern
of educational inequity.”
8 Feldman / “Savage Inequalities” Revisited 381
RESOURCES
Jonathan Kozol, Savage Inequalities: Children in America’s Schools (Crown Publishers, 1991).
Educational Leadership, December 1, 1993 interview with Jonathan Kozol.
Available at: www.ACCESSednetwork.org
“The Funding Gap: Low-Income and Minority Students Receive Fewer Dollars,” The
Education Trust, Inc. Available at: www.edtrust.org
9 The New Face of Hunger
Tracie McMillan
On a g old-g ray morning in Mitchell County, Iowa, Christina Dreier sends her son, Kea-
gan, to school without breakfast. He is three years old, b arrel-c hested, and stubborn,
and usually refuses to eat the free meal he qualifies for at preschool. Faced with a dwin-
dling pantry, Dreier has decided to try some tough love: If she sends Keagan to school
hungry, maybe he’ll eat the free breakfast, which will leave more food at home for lunch.
Dreier knows her gambit might backfire, and it does. Keagan ignores the school
breakfast on offer and is so hungry by lunchtime that Dreier picks through the dregs
of her freezer in hopes of filling him and his little sister up. She shakes the last seven
chicken nuggets onto a battered baking sheet, adds the remnants of a bag of Tater Tots
and a couple of hot dogs from the fridge, and slides it all into the oven. She’s gone
through most of the food she got last week from a local food pantry; her own lunch
will be the bits of potato left on the kids’ plates. “I eat lunch if there’s enough,” she
says. “But the kids are the most important. They have to eat first.”
The fear of being unable to feed her children hangs over Dreier’s days. She and
her husband, Jim, pit one bill against the n ext—the phone against the rent against
the heat against the g as—trying always to set aside money to make up for what
they can’t get from the food pantry or with their food stamps, issued by the Supple-
mental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP). Congressional cuts to SNAP last fall of
$5 billion pared her benefits from $205 to $172 a month.
On this particular afternoon Dreier is worried about the family van, which is on
the brink of repossession. She and Jim need to open a new bank account so they can
make automatic payments instead of scrambling to pay in cash. But that will happen
only if Jim finishes work early. It’s peak harvest time, and he often works until eight at
night, applying pesticides on commercial farms for $14 an hour. Running the errand
would mean forgoing overtime pay that could go for groceries.
It’s the same every month, Dreier says. Bills go unpaid because, when push comes
to shove, food wins out. “We have to eat, you know,” she says, only the slightest hint
of resignation in her voice. “We can’t starve.”
•••
Chances are good that if you picture what hunger looks like, you don’t summon
an image of someone like Christina Dreier: white, married, clothed, and housed,
even a bit overweight. The image of hunger in America today differs markedly from
Depression-e ra images of the g aunt-faced unemployed scavenging for food on urban
streets. “This is not your grandmother’s hunger,” says Janet Poppendieck, a sociologist
at the City University of New York. “Today more working people and their families
are hungry because wages have declined.”
McMillan, Tracie/National Geographic Creative
382
9 McMillan / The New Face of Hunger 383
In the United States more than half of hungry households are white, and two-thirds
of those with children have at least one working adult—typically in a full-time job.
With this new image comes a new lexicon: In 2006 the U.S. government replaced
“hunger” with the term “food insecure” to describe any household where, sometime
during the previous year, people didn’t have enough food to eat. By whatever name,
the number of people going hungry has grown dramatically in the U.S., increasing to
48 million by 2012—a fivefold jump since the late 1960s, including an increase of
57 percent since the late 1990s. Privately run programs like food pantries and soup
kitchens have mushroomed too. In 1980 there were a few hundred emergency food
programs across the country; today there are 50,000. Finding food has become a central
worry for millions of Americans. One in six reports running out of food at least once
a year. In many European countries, by contrast, the number is closer to one in 20.
To witness hunger in America today is to enter a twilight zone where refrigerators
are so frequently bare of all but mustard and ketchup that it provokes no remark, in-
spires no embarrassment. Here dinners are cooked using m acaroni-a nd-c heese mixes
and other processed ingredients from food pantries, and fresh fruits and vegetables
are eaten only in the first days after the SNAP payment arrives. Here you’ll meet hun-
gry farmhands and retired schoolteachers, hungry families who are in the U.S. with-
out papers and hungry families whose histories stretch back to the Mayflower. Here
pocketing food from work and skipping meals to make food stretch are so common
that such practices barely register as a way of coping with hunger and are simply a
way of life.
It can be tempting to ask families receiving food assistance, If you’re really hungry,
then how can you b e—a s many of them a re—o verweight? The answer is “this par-
adox that hunger and obesity are two sides of the same coin,” says Melissa Boteach,
vice president of the Poverty and Prosperity Program of the Center for American
Progress, “people making trade-o ffs between food that’s filling but not nutritious and
may actually contribute to obesity.” For many of the hungry in America, the extra
pounds that result from a poor diet are collateral d amage—a n unintended side effect
of hunger itself.
•••
As the face of hunger has changed, so has its address. The town of Spring, Texas,
is where ranchland meets Houston’s sprawl, a suburb of curving streets and shade
trees and privacy fences. The suburbs are the home of the American dream, but
they are also a place where poverty is on the rise. As urban housing has gotten more
expensive, the working poor have been pushed out. Today hunger in the suburbs is
growing faster than in cities, having more than doubled since 2007.
Yet in the suburbs America’s hungry don’t look the part either. They drive cars,
which are a necessity, not a luxury, here. Cheap clothes and toys can be found at
yard sales and thrift shops, making a m iddle-c lass appearance affordable. Consumer
electronics can be bought on installment plans, so the hungry rarely lack phones or
televisions. Of all the suburbs in the country, northwest Houston is one of the best
places to see how people live on what might be called a m inimum-w age diet: It has
384 PART V The Economics of Race, Class, and Gender
one of the highest percentages of households receiving SNAP assistance where at least
one family member holds down a job. The Jefferson sisters, Meme and Kai, live here
in a four-b edroom, two-c ar-g arage, two-b ath home with Kai’s boyfriend, Frank, and an
extended family that includes their invalid mother, their five sons, a daughter-in-law,
and five grandchildren. The house has a rickety desktop computer in the living room
and a television in most rooms, but only two actual beds; nearly everyone sleeps on
mattresses or piles of blankets spread out on the floor.
Though all three adults work full-time, their income is not enough to keep the
family consistently fed without assistance. The root problem is the lack of jobs that
pay wages a family can live on, so food assistance has become the government’s—a nd
society’s—w ay to supplement low wages. The Jeffersons receive $125 in food stamps
each month, and a charity brings in meals for their bedridden matriarch.
Like most of the new American hungry, the Jeffersons face not a total absence
of food but the gnawing fear that the next meal can’t be counted on. When Meme
shows me the family’s food supply, the refrigerator holds takeout boxes and bever-
ages but little fresh food. Two cupboards are stocked with a smattering of canned
beans and sauces. A pair of freezers in the garage each contain a single layer of food,
enough to fill bellies for just a few days. Meme says she took the children aside a few
months earlier to tell them they were eating too much and wasting food besides. “I
told them if they keep wasting, we have to go live on the corner, beg for money, or
something.”
Jacqueline Christian is another Houston mother who has a full-time job, drives a
comfortable sedan, and wears flattering clothes. Her older son, 15-year-o ld Ja’Zarrian,
sports bright orange Air Jordans. There’s little clue to the family’s hardship until you
learn that their clothes come mostly from discount stores, that Ja’Zarrian mowed
lawns for a summer to get the sneakers, that they’re living in a homeless shelter, and
that despite receiving $325 in monthly food stamps, Christian worries about not
having enough food “about half of the year.”
Christian works as a home health aide, earning $7.75 an hour at a job that requires
her to crisscross Houston’s sprawl to see her clients. Her schedule, as much as her
wages, influences what she eats. To save time she often relies on premade food from
grocery stores. “You can’t go all the way home and cook,” she says.
On a day that includes running a dozen errands and charming her payday loan
officer into giving her an extra day, Christian picks up Ja’Zarrian and her seven-y ear-
o ld, Jerimiah, after school. As the sun drops in the sky, Jerimiah begins complaining
that he’s hungry. The neon glow of a Hartz Chicken Buffet appears up the road, and
he starts in: Can’t we just get some gizzards, please?
Christian pulls into the d rive-through and orders a combo of fried gizzards and
okra for $8.11. It takes three declined credit cards and an emergency loan from her
mother, who lives nearby, before she can pay for it. When the food finally arrives, fill-
ing the car with the smell of hot grease, there’s a collective sense of relief. On the drive
back to the shelter the boys eat until the gizzards are gone, and then drift off to sleep.
Christian says she knows she can’t afford to eat out and that fast food isn’t a healthy
meal. But she’d felt too stressed—b y time, by Jerimiah’s insistence, by how little
9 McMillan / The New Face of Hunger 385
money she h as—n ot to give in. “Maybe I can’t justify that to someone who wasn’t
here to see, you know?” she says. “But I couldn’t let them down and not get the food.”
•••
Of course it is possible to eat well cheaply in America, but it takes resources
and know-h ow that many low-income Americans don’t have. Kyera Reams of Osage,
Iowa, puts an incredible amount of energy into feeding her family of six a healthy
diet, with the help of staples from food banks and $650 in monthly SNAP benefits. A
s tay-a t-h ome mom with a high school education, Reams has taught herself how to can
fresh produce and forage for wild ginger and cranberries. When she learned that SNAP
benefits could be used to buy vegetable plants, she dug two gardens in her yard. She
has learned about wild mushrooms so she can safely pick ones that aren’t poisonous
and has lobbied the local library to stock field guides to edible wild plants.
“We wouldn’t eat healthy at all if we lived off the food-b ank food,” Reams says.
Many foods commonly donated to—o r bought by—food pantries are high in salt,
sugar, and fat. She estimates her family could live for three months on the nutritious
foods she’s saved up. The Reamses have food security, in other words, because Kyera
makes procuring food her full-time job, along with caring for her husband, whose
disability payments provide their only income.
But most of the working poor don’t have the time or know-h ow required to eat
well on little. Often working multiple jobs and night shifts, they tend to eat on the
run. Healthful food can be hard to find in s o-c alled food d eserts—c ommunities with
few or no full-s ervice groceries. Jackie Christian didn’t resort to feeding her sons fried
gizzards because it was affordable but because it was easy. Given the dramatic increase
in cheap fast foods and processed foods, when the hungry have money to eat, they
often go for what’s convenient, just as better-o ff families do.
•••
It’s a cruel irony that people in rural Iowa can be malnourished amid forests of
cornstalks running to the horizon. Iowa dirt is some of the richest in the nation,
even bringing out the poet in agronomists, who describe it as “black gold.” In 2007
Iowa’s fields produced roughly o ne-s ixth of all corn and soybeans grown in the U.S.,
churning out billions of bushels.
These are the very crops that end up on Christina Dreier’s kitchen table in the form
of hot dogs made of corn-raised beef, Mountain Dew sweetened with corn syrup,
and chicken nuggets fried in soybean oil. They’re also the foods that the U.S. gov-
ernment supports the most. In 2012 it spent roughly $11 billion to subsidize and
insure commodity crops like corn and soy, with Iowa among the states receiving the
highest subsidies. The government spends much less to bolster the production of the
fruits and vegetables its own nutrition guidelines say should make up half the food
on our plates. In 2011 it spent only $1.6 billion to subsidize and insure “specialty
crops”—the bureaucratic term for fruits and vegetables.
Those priorities are reflected at the grocery store, where the price of fresh food
has risen steadily while the cost of sugary treats like soda has dropped. Since the
386 PART V The Economics of Race, Class, and Gender
early 1980s the real cost of fruits and vegetables has increased by 24 percent. Mean-
while the cost of nonalcoholic b everages—p rimarily sodas, most sweetened with corn
s yrup—has dropped by 27 percent.
“We’ve created a system that’s geared toward keeping overall food prices low but
does little to support healthy, h igh-q uality food,” says global food expert Raj Patel.
“The problem can’t be fixed by merely telling people to eat their fruits and vegetables,
because at heart this is a problem about wages, about poverty.”
When Christina Dreier’s cupboards start to get bare, she tries to persuade her kids
to skip snack time. “But sometimes they eat saltine crackers, because we get that from
the food bank,” she said, sighing. “It ain’t healthy for them, but I’m not going to tell
them they can’t eat if they’re hungry.”
The Dreiers have not given up on trying to eat well. Like the Reamses, they’ve
sown patches of vegetables and a stretch of sweet corn in the large green yard carved
out of the cornfields behind their house. But when the garden is done for the year,
Christina fights a battle every time she goes to the supermarket or the food bank. In
both places healthy foods are nearly out of reach. When the food stamps come in,
she splurges on her monthly supply of produce, including a bag of organic grapes
and a bag of apples. “They love fruit,” she says with obvious pride. But most of her
food dollars go to the meat, eggs, and milk that the food bank doesn’t provide; with
noodles and sauce from the food pantry, a spaghetti dinner costs her only the $3.88
required to buy hamburger for the sauce.
What she has, Christina says, is a kitchen with nearly enough food most of the
time. It’s just those dicey moments, after a new bill arrives or she needs gas to drive
the kids to town, that make it hard. “We’re not starved around here,” she says one
morning as she mixes up powdered milk for her daughter. “But some days, we do
go a little hungry.”
10 “I am Alena”: Life as a Trans
W oman Where Survival Means
Living as Christopher
Ed Pilkington
At 8pm on Sunday, Alena Bradford will settle down like millions of other Americans
in front of her TV set for the start of I Am Cait, the reality show following the gender
transition1 of Olympic gold medalist Caitlyn Jenner. The e ight-p art series on the E!
channel will tell a story, as Jenner puts it, “about getting to be who you really are.”
It promises to be a gripping viewing experience, given the controversial and deeply
personal nature of its subject matter. But there will be few people across the country
who will be watching quite as intensely as Alena.
If Jenner has become today’s figurehead for an elite gender transition, in her case
from sporting male hero to female pin-u p on the cover of Vanity Fair,2 Alena rep-
resents those who have been left behind. To her family and associates in her south
Georgia town she is Christopher, an African American man with a round face, pro-
nounced cheekbones and short black hair.
But that isn’t who she is at all.
“I am Alena,” she says in an unconscious echo of the title of Jenner’s TV series. “I
may not be externally, but I am Alena. Unfortunately, I live as Christopher.”
Alena is one of tens of thousands of trans people across the United States still
forced to live in the gender they were assigned at birth, stuck in a h alf-life in m id-
transition. It’s a lonely and dangerous place to be, as Caitlyn Jenner pointed out3 in
her ESPY awards speech4 last week. “They’re getting bullied, they’re getting beaten
up, they’re getting murdered and they’re committing suicide. The numbers are stag-
gering, but they are the reality of what it’s like to be trans today.”
Alena’s reality is that through a combination of her mother’s disapproval, the threat
of violence in her deep south community, joblessness and an almost complete lack
of medical care, she finds herself at the age of 21 still living in a male body that she
considers nothing but a “shell.”
“Nothing in me feels like Christopher,” she says. Yet she dresses as a man, answers
to the name of Christopher and plays a role that feels—day by day, hour by hour—to
be existentially wrong. “It’s hard trying to be something you’re not in order to please
people around you. I’m trapped,” she says.
She lives in Albany, Georgia,5 a town of about 70,000 in the far south of the state
where every street corner appears to boast an evangelical church, with prevailing
social attitudes to match. “This is a Bible belt city,” Alena says. “People are supposed
to live by the Bible here, so it’s different.”
Copyright Guardian News & Media Ltd, 2015
387
388 PART V The Economics of Race, Class, and Gender
Until six months ago, Alena lived in Atlanta, Georgia’s capital. She moved there
when she was 18 after her mother kicked her out of the house having discovered that
Alena—C hristopher to her—w as transgender. She came across a vial of hormone pills
that Alena was taking at the start of transition, and the realization dawned on her.
Alena had known she was sexually attracted to men from a young age, about six
years old she thinks. But it wasn’t until high school where she made friends with a
trans girl named Coco that she made the connection.
“I’m curious, so I asked Coco what being transgender was and she explained, and
that was the moment I realized I wasn’t a gay male, I was trans. I finally had a word
for it. I knew what I’d always been feeling.”
After her mother cast her out, Alena made a journey familiar to many trans people
in the deep south—to the north. Eighteen months in the big city put Alena well on
the road to achieving Caitlyn Jenner’s challenge: getting to be who she really is. In
Atlanta’s more permissive environment she began to build a life as a woman. She had
a job working in a call center, rented her own small apartment, and acquired a small
circle of trans friends who encouraged her to present herself outwardly as Alena.
They did her makeup, told her to be strong, to be true to herself. She was amazed
by her own transformation in Atlanta. “I didn’t realize how whole living as a woman
made me feel, dressing up and going out that way. I may not have been the cutest
thing, but I felt at peace. I felt this is me.”
Then last year she lost her job as a result of company cutbacks, and the whole
edifice instantly crumbled. No job meant no apartment. Desperate to cling to her new
life, she began sleeping in her car, but there was only so long she could go without
a regular meal or shower. A month into her nomadic lifestyle, she realized she had
to decide: continue living in a car as Alena, or go home to Albany as Christopher.
“I was saying I would never go back home, never, but God has a funny way of
making you eat your words and swallow your pride. Here I am back at my mom’s—
one of the conditions of staying here is that she will not allow me to live as Alena. I
want somewhere to stay? Then I live as Christopher.”
And that’s how it is. When we meet she is dressed in a pair of a rmy-style cam-
ouflage pants and a tank top, a black headscarf covering up her hair that she finds
distressingly male.
“It has broken my heart,” she says about her return to Albany. “I feel defeated.”
Two Names, Two Lives
In the small apartment she shares with her mother and younger brother, Alena keeps
only male clothes. When she first started buying women’s clothes her mother got
mad and threw them in the trash can. Alena bought replacements, only to have her
mother throw those away too. “We went back and forth for a bit until I got sick of
arguing about it,” she says.
The irony is that Alena sees her mother as her role model, as the woman she wants
to become. “Though we have a very up and down relationship, she’s my biggest
10 Pilkington / “I am Alena” 389
inspiration, she is the person I aspire to be. My mother raised two boys on her own
without ever complaining. I want to be strong like her.”
Alena has told this to her mother. “She’s flattered, and she isn’t. She’s flattered that
I want to be like her, but isn’t that I want to be her.”
Alena’s mother declined to be interviewed by The Guardian.
Alena has no illusions now: she won’t persuade her mother to change. So to avoid
another fight she keeps her women’s clothes at the house of the person she calls her “gay
mom”, a drag queen called Nakia who acts as her mentor and guide. She has a couple
of dresses and wigs and some h igh-h eeled shoes stashed away in Nakia’s cupboard.
Most of the time, Alena has to make do with knowing who she is inside while
everyone else around her thinks she is the opposite. She runs two separate Facebook
pages, one sanitized version as Christopher for her n on-a ccepting family, the second
as Alena where she posts her more personal thoughts.
Even when she’s with Nakia she won’t go out in public dressed as a woman. She
knows that having only partially completed hormone treatment, she still looks like a
man, or as she puts it: “My shoulders are too broad, my breasts aren’t big enough for
the size I am. The way I am now, I look like a football player walking down the road
in a dress, and that’s not a great idea in Albany.”
Her mother’s disapproval—in part inspired by her religious upbringing—is not
unusual in these parts. It’s the norm, Alena suggests. “It’s how pretty much every-
body thinks in south Georgia. If you’re born a man you should stay a man, if you’re
a woman you should stay a woman.”
The few times she did venture out on to the street as a woman it ended badly. “I
got cat-c alled. They hollered as I walked down the street: ‘Faggot! You’re a faggot!
[If] I had my gun I would shoot you.’ It made me not want to come out dressed like
that any more.”
Living as Themselves, and Living in Fear
The n ame-c alling Alena can cope with. But it’s more than that. It’s life-threatening.
At least 10 trans women,6 most of them black,7 have been murdered this year and
transgender rights groups describe the epidemic of violence and sexual assault as a
national crisis. Caitlyn Jenner raised the issue at the ESPYs, talking about Mercedes
William, a 17-year-o ld trans girl whose body was found riddled with stab marks in
a field in Mississippi last month. This week, India Clarke, a trans woman in Tampa,
Florida, was found dead with signs of blunt force trauma8 on her torso; police have
launched a murder investigation.
Dee Dee Chamblee, a member of the Transgender Law Center’s Positively Trans
project who lives in Atlanta, said: “In the country towns of south Georgia there are a
lot of trans women whose lives are in danger every day. They are having to hide their
identity, knowing that if their community finds out they become the target.”
Alena herself knows from experience how dangerous it is in Albany to be visibly
transgender. She is scared that if she gets discovered when she is out in the street she
390 PART V The Economics of Race, Class, and Gender
will find herself in a n ear-d eath or fatal situation. A few years ago she made a rare
foray out into the town as Alena and was set upon by a group of men.
“I put on a dress and wig and some heels and accessories, and went out. A guy
tried to talk to me in a bar. As soon as he started hitting on me I told him, I’m not
what you’re looking for. But he got mad, and he and his friends jumped on me.”
She says the experience has left her wary of appearing in public. “You don’t know
how far these people are going to go. At that moment I truly understood why trans
women are so scared—I didn’t trick him and he jumped on me because he hated the
fact that he was attracted to me. That’s terrifying.”
The attack has also made her determined to become “passable”—that is, to come
across so convincingly as a woman that no stranger would be able to tell she is trans-
gender. That’s the only way she will ever be able to live as Alena, she believes, without
forever looking over her shoulder.
But to be able to pass, she requires a steady, affordable supply of prescription
hormones—something impossible to come by in Albany.
Alena finds herself in a d ouble-b ind that makes securing affordable prescrip-
tion hormones for transition virtually impossible. She is one of 600,000 Georgians
who have been left uninsured for healthcare9 as a result of the Republican state’s
refusal to expand Medicaid under Barack Obama’s Affordable Care Act10—a hard-
ship that she shares with low-income citizens in 19 other states mainly across the
deep south.
Even if she were entitled to Medicaid, Georgia—along with 15 other states—
specifically excludes health coverage for transition-related treatment, so she
wouldn’t get anything anyway. A further 26 states have no policies at all regard-
ing transgender health, rendering the system a minefield to negotiate, while only
eight states plus Washington DC have reformed the rules to ensure that services are
p rovided.
The state of play is little better with private insurance schemes—10 states plus DC
require private policies to cover treatment for transition, the remaining 40 are mute
on the subject.
Kellan Baker, a senior fellow at the Center for American Progress, pointed out that
“many states exempt Medicaid from treatment for gender dysphoria, ignoring the
overwhelming evidence of the medical needs and the psychological impact. That sets
up an insurmountable barrier for low-income trans people—and trans people have a
very low average income, with surveys showing11 they suffer twice the unemployment
rate of the general population with one in six living on an annual income of $10,000
or less—to finding help from the medical system.”
‘There’s nothing here for me in Albany. Nothing’
Alena is theoretically able to obtain prescription hormones on her mother’s insurance.
But having scoured Albany and surrounding towns over many months, she has been
unable to find a doctor willing to take her on as a patient. She does have a physician
in Atlanta, but without Medicaid to pay for the bus, and having traded in her car, she
can’t afford the 200-mile journey.
10 Pilkington / “I am Alena” 391
“This is a messed-u p situation,” Alena says with understatement. “I know that
r esources are out there, that people are willing to help me, but I just can’t get to them.
There’s nothing here for me in Albany. Nothing.”
And so, like many transgender individuals, Alena gets her hormones rough-a nd-ready
through the internet. She buys bottles of estradiol, a female sex hormone, for $30
once a month, supplemented when she has the money with Perlutal, a female con-
traceptive in liquid form that she injects into her muscles.
Sometimes when she needs the drugs quickly she will buy them from other trans
women prepared to sell them on the buzzing black market for hormones. No figures
exist to indicate the scale of black market hormones in the US, but to those like Dee Dee
Chamblee who are active in the community, evidence of the trade is not hard to find.
“It’s rampant. Trans women are taking half their hormones and selling the rest on.
They are getting all kinds of stuff, taking just about anything to transition their bodies
to match up with their minds.”
Alena is aware how perilous such do-it-y ourself treatment can be, administered
entirely in the absence of medical supervision, with scant knowledge of the origins
and strengths of the drugs, and with at best intermittent supply.
“I know I don’t take hormones like I should. I take a shot when I can get it, and
when I have it I take it in double doses, and when I run out I stop taking it. I know
that’s unhealthy.”
Recently, she was present when a trans friend fell sick having injected herself with
oestrogen from Mexico. “I was with her when she took the shot. The next day she
was in the hospital. I knew then I wasn’t taking any more of those shots. How do we
know those are human hormones? We don’t.”
The dangers of bad drugs or medicating yourself at the wrong doses are self-
evident. But foregoing the drugs can also carry mortal risks. In addition to the threat
of being assaulted on the street because you are not “passable”, there is also the
danger of self-h arm.
A study last year12 by the National Transgender Discrimination Survey found that
the stress and depression associated with failure to transition fully has a terrible
cost—the prevalence of suicide attempts is 41% within the trans community, vastly
more than the 4.6% of the US population as a whole.
One of the 41% is Alena, who tried to kill herself when she was 15. “It was around
the time that I realized I was trans. I felt that my parents would never accept me, that
I would never get to live like a woman, and at that point I would rather end my life
than have to live like this.”
Shedding Her Skin
Today, Alena is arguably no further towards her goal of transition than she was six
years ago. What has changed, though, is the clarity of her thinking and her iron-c lad
determination to transition. She sees it as just a question of time.
On the second day we spend with her, we take Alena clothes shopping so that she
can be fully herself just for an hour or two. She buys a $20 red-a nd-w hite chiffon
dress and a $30 black wig, courtesy of The Guardian.
392 PART V The Economics of Race, Class, and Gender
Back at the hotel she puts on her new wardrobe, adding a little lip gloss and
mascara. A lena-a s-C hristopher transforms in front of our eyes into Alena-a s-Alena.
“I haven’t felt like this in a long time,” she says standing in front of the mirror,
stroking her long black hair like an adored cat. “I really feel like Alena now. I really do.”
She pauses, and then says: “I feel beautiful.”
Before she climbs back into her Christopher uniform and we drop her back at her
mother’s, we ask Alena if she’d be OK taking a walk in her new female clothes, to give
us a more intimate sense of the challenges she faces in public.
No, she says gently. She couldn’t do that. “I’m not brave enough to endure what
would be thrown at me. Not now.”
Alena is not there yet. She hasn’t got to be who she really is.
But she will. She will get there, she’s certain of that. She has it all planned out. First
she’ll get a job. Then she’ll start saving for a security deposit on a home of her own.
Finally, when she’s ready, she’ll leave her mother and shed her male skin.
“As soon as I have the money, I’m gone,” she says. “And the minute I’m gone,
Christopher is gone.”
NOTES
1. Holpuch, A. (2015, June 3). “I Am Cait: Caitlyn Jenner’s reality series set to premiere
in July.” The Guardian.
2. Bissinger, B. (2015, July 1). “Caitlyn Jenner: The Full Story.” Vanity Fair.
3. Gambino, L. (2015, July 16). “Caitlyn Jenner: transgender people ‘shouldn’t have to
take’ bullying.” The Guardian.
4. Daily News Staff. (2015, July 16). “Transcript: Caitlyn Jenner’s ESPYs acceptance
speech.” Daily News.
5. The Associated Press, Gainesville, GA. (2015, September 5). “Black couple turns to
fair housing law to sue neighbor and city over racial slurs.” The Guardian.
6. Pilkington, E. (2015, July 4). “LGBT activists call for new focus on violence against
transgender community.” The Guardian.
7. Pilkington, E. (2014, August 1). “Fear and violence in transgender Baltimore: ‘It’s
scary trusting anyone.’” The Guardian.
8. Stafford, Z. (2015, July 22). “Florida transgender woman beaten to death is 10th US
trans murder in 2015.” The Guardian.
9. Families U.S.A. (2015, July). “A 50-State Look at Medicaid Expansion.” Available at:
familiesusa.org/product/50-state-look-medicaid-expansion
10. Siddiqui, S. (2015, July 1). “Barack Obama to Republican states: ‘open your hearts’
and expand Medicaid.” The Guardian.
11. The National Center for Transgender Equality and the National Gay and Lesbian
Task Force. (2009, November). “National Transgender Discrimination Survey.” Available at:
www.thetaskforce.org/static_html/downloads/reports/fact_sheets/transsurvey_prelim
_findings.pdf
12. Haas, A. P., Rodgers, P. L., and Herman, J. L. (2014, January). “Suicide Attempts
among Transgender and Gender Non-Conforming Adults.” The Williams Institute. Available at:
williamsinstitute.law.ucla.edu/wp-content/uploads/AFSP-Williams-Suicide-Report-Final.pdf
11 Cause of Death: Inequality
Alejandro Reuss
Inequality Kills
You won’t see inequality on a medical chart or a coroner’s report under “cause of
death.” You won’t see it listed among the top killers in the United States each year.
All too often, however, it is social inequality that lurks behind a more immediate
cause of death, be it heart disease or diabetes, accidental injury or homicide. Few of
the top causes of death are “equal opportunity killers.” Instead, they tend to strike
poor people more than rich people, the less educated more than the highly educated,
people lower on the occupational ladder more than those higher up, or people of
color more than white people.
Statistics on mortality and life expectancy do not provide a perfect map of so-
cial inequality. For example, in 2002, the life expectancy for women in the United
States was about five years longer than the life expectancy for men, despite the
many ways in which women are subordinated to men. Take most indicators of so-
cioeconomic status, however, and most causes of death, and it’s a strong bet that
you’ll find illness and injury (or “morbidity”) and mortality increasing as status
decreases.
Among people between the ages of 25 and 64, those with less than a high school
diploma (or equivalent) had an a ge-a djusted mortality rate more than three times
that of people with at least some college, as of 2003. Those without a high school
diploma had more than triple the death rate from chronic noncommunicable diseases
(e.g., heart disease), more than 3½ times the death rate from injury, and nearly six
times the death rate from HIV/AIDS, compared to those with at least some college.
People with incomes below the poverty line were nearly twice as likely to have had an
asthma attack in the previous year (among those previously diagnosed with asthma)
as people with incomes at least twice the poverty line. Poor people were over 2½
times as likely to suffer from a chronic condition that limited their activity and over
three times as likely to characterize their own health as “fair” or “poor” (rather than
“good” or “very good”), compared to those with incomes over double the poverty
line. African Americans have higher death rates than whites from cancer (¼ higher),
heart disease (1⁄3 higher), stroke (½ higher), diabetes (twice as high), homicide (more
than 5 times as high), and AIDS (more than 8 times as high). The infant mortality
rate for African Americans was, in 2002–2003, over twice as high as for whites. In
all, the lower you are in a social hierarchy, the worse your health and the shorter your
life are likely to be.
From Dollars & Sense, May/June 2001. Reprinted by permission of Dollars & Sense, a progressive
economics magazine, www.dollarsandsense.org.
393
394 PART V The Economics of Race, Class, and Gender
The Worse Off in the United States Are Not Well Off
by World Standards
You often hear it said that even poor people in rich countries like the United States are
rich compared to ordinary people in poor countries. While that may be true when it
comes to consumer goods like televisions or telephones, which are widely available
even to poor people in the United States, it’s completely wrong when it comes to health.
In a 1996 study published in the New England Journal of Medicine, University of
Michigan researchers found that A frican-A merican females living to age 15 in Harlem
had a 65% chance of surviving to age 65. That is less than the probability at birth of
surviving to age 65 for women in India, according to 2000–2005 data. Meanwhile,
Harlem’s African-A merican males reaching age 15 had only a 37% chance of surviv-
ing to age 65. That is less than the probability at birth of surviving to age 65 for men
in Haiti. Among both A frican-A merican men and women, diseases of the circulatory
system and cancers were the leading causes of death.
It takes more income to achieve a given life expectancy in a rich country like
the United States than it does to achieve the same life expectancy in a less affluent
country. So the higher money income of a low-income person in the United States,
compared to a m iddle-income person in a poor country, does not necessarily translate
into a longer life span. The average income per person in African-A merican house-
holds ($15,200), for example, is about three times the per capita income of Peru. As
of 2002, however, the life expectancy for African-A merican men in the United States
was about 69 years, less than the average life expectancy in Peru. The infant mortality
rate for African Americans, 13.5 per 1000 live births, is between that of Uruguay and
Bulgaria, both of which have per capita incomes around $8,000.
Health Inequalities in the United States Are Not Just
About Access to Health Care
Nearly one sixth of the U.S. population below age 65 lacks health insurance of any
kind, private or Medicaid. Among those with incomes below 1½ times the poverty
line, over 30% lack health coverage of any kind, compared to 10% for those with
incomes more than twice the poverty line. African Americans under age 65 were
about 1½ times as likely as whites to lack health insurance; Latinos, nearly three
times as likely. Among those aged 55 to 64, uninsured people were about 2⁄3 as likely
as insured people to have seen a p rimary-c are doctor in the last year, and less than
half as likely to have seen a specialist, as of 2002–2003. Among women over 40,
about 55% of those with incomes below the poverty line had gotten a mammogram
in the last two years, compared to 75% of those with incomes over twice the poverty
line, as of 2003. Obviously, disparities in access to health care are a major health
problem.
But so are environmental hazards; communicable diseases; homicide and acci-
dental death; and smoking, lack of exercise, and other risk factors. These dangers all
11 Reuss / Cause of Death: Inequality 395
tend to affect l ower-income people more than higher-i ncome, less-e ducated people
more than m ore-e ducated, and people of color more than whites. A frican-A merican
children between the ages of 3 and 10 were nearly twice as likely to have had an
asthma attack in the last year as white children, among those previously diagnosed
with asthma. The frequency of attacks is linked to air pollution. Among people be-
tween ages 25 and 64, those without a high school diploma had over five times the
death rate from communicable diseases, compared to those with at least some col-
lege. African-A merican men were, as of 2003, more than seven times as likely to fall
victim to homicide as white men; A frican-A merican women, more than four times as
likely as white women. People without a high school diploma (or equivalent) were
nearly three times as likely to smoke as those with at least a bachelor’s degree, as of
2003. People with incomes below the poverty line were nearly twice as likely to get
no exercise as people with incomes over double the poverty line.
Michael Marmot, a pioneer in the study of social inequality and health, notes that
so-c alled diseases of a ffluence—d isorders, like heart disease or diabetes, associated
with high-c alorie and h igh-fat diets, lack of physical activity, etc. increasingly typical
in rich societies—a re most prevalent among the least affluent people in these societ-
ies. While recognizing the role of such “behavioral” risk factors as smoking in produc-
ing poor health, he argues, “It is not sufficient . . . to ask what contribution smoking
makes to generating the social gradient in ill health, but we must ask, why is there a
social gradient in smoking?” What appear to be individual “lifestyle” decisions often
reflect a broader social epidemiology.
Greater Income Inequality Goes Hand in Hand with
Poorer Health
Numerous studies suggest that the more unequal the income distribution in a coun-
try, state, or city, the lower the life expectancies for people at all income levels. A
1996 study published in the American Journal of Public Health, for example, shows
that U.S. metropolitan areas with low per capita incomes and low levels of income
inequality have lower mortality rates than areas with high median incomes and high
levels of income inequality. Meanwhile, for a given per capita income range, mortality
rates always decline as inequality declines.
R.G. Wilkinson, perhaps the researcher most responsible for relating health out-
comes to overall levels of inequality (rather than individual income levels), argues that
greater income inequality causes worse health outcomes independent of its effects on
poverty. Wilkinson and his associates suggest several explanations for this relationship.
First, the bigger the income gap between rich and poor, the less inclined the w ell-o ff
are to pay taxes for public services they either do not use or use in low proportion to
the taxes they pay. Lower spending on public hospitals, schools, and other basic ser-
vices does not affect wealthy people’s life expectancies very much, but it affects poor
people’s life expectancies a great deal. Second, the bigger the income gap between rich
and poor, the lower the overall level of social cohesion. High levels of social cohesion
396 PART V The Economics of Race, Class, and Gender
are associated with good health outcomes for several reasons. For example, people in
highly cohesive societies are more likely to be active in their communities, reducing
social isolation, a known health risk factor.
Numerous researchers have criticized Wilkinson’s conclusions, arguing that the
real reason income inequality tends to be associated with worse health outcomes is
that it is associated with higher rates of poverty. But even if they are right and income
inequality causes worse health simply by bringing about greater poverty, that hardly
makes for a defense of inequality. Poverty and inequality are like partners in crime.
“Whether public policy focuses primarily on the elimination of poverty or on reduc-
tion in income disparity,” argue Wilkinson critics Kevin Fiscella and Peter Franks,
“neither goal is likely to be achieved in the absence of the other.”
Differences in Status May Be Just as Important
as Income Levels
Even after accounting for differences in income, education, and other factors, the life
expectancy for African Americans is less than that for whites, U.S. researchers are
beginning to explore the relationship between high blood pressure among African
Americans and the racism of the surrounding society. African Americans tend to suffer
from high blood pressure, a risk factor for circulatory disease, more often than whites.
Moreover, studies have found that, when confronted with racism, African Americans
suffer larger and longer-lasting increases in blood pressure than when faced with
other stressful situations. Broader surveys relating blood pressure in African Ameri-
cans to perceived instances of racial discrimination have yielded complex results,
depending on social class, gender, and other factors.
Stresses cascade down social hierarchies and accumulate among the least em-
powered. Even researchers focusing on social inequality and health, however,
have been surprised by the large effects on mortality. Over 30 years ago, Michael
Marmot and his associates undertook a landmark study, known as Whitehall I, of
health among British civil servants. Since the civil servants shared many character-
istics regardless of job classification—a n office work environment, a high degree of
job security, etc.—the researchers expected to find only modest health differences
among them. To their surprise, the study revealed a sharp increase in mortality with
each step down the job h ierarchy—e ven from the highest grade to the second high-
est. Over ten years, employees in the lowest grade were three times as likely to die
as those in the highest grade. One factor was that people in lower grades showed a
higher incidence of many “lifestyle” risk factors, like smoking, poor diet, and lack of
exercise. Even when the researchers controlled for such factors, however, more than
half the mortality gap remained.
Marmot noted that people in the lower job grades were less likely to describe
themselves as having “control over their working lives” or being “satisfied with their
work situation,” compared to those higher up. While people in higher job grades
were more likely to report “having to work at a fast pace,” lower-level civil servants
11 Reuss / Cause of Death: Inequality 397
were more likely to report feelings of hostility, the main stress-related risk factor
for heart disease. Marmot concluded that “psycho-s ocial” factors—the psychological
costs of being lower in the hierarchy—p layed an important role in the unexplained
mortality gap. Many of us have probably said to ourselves, after a trying day on the
job, “They’re killing me.” Turns out it’s not just a figure of speech. Inequality k ills—
and it starts at the bottom.
RESOURCES
Health, United States, 2005, with Chartbook on Trends in the Health of Americans, N ational
Center for Health Statistics, www.cdc.gov/nchs.
Health, United States, 1998, with Socioeconomic Status and Health Chartbook, National
C enter for Health Statistics, www.cdc.gov/nchs.
Human Development Report 2005, UN Development Programme, hdr.undp.org.
Human Development Report 2000, UN Development Programme, hdr.undp.org.
World Development Indicators 2000, World Bank.
Lisa Berkman, “Social Inequalities and Health: Five Key Points for P olicy-M akers to
Know,” February 5, 2001, Kennedy School of Government, Harvard University.
Ichiro Kawachi, Bruce P. Kennedy, and Richard G. Wilkinson, eds., The Society and Popu-
lation Health Reader, Volume I: Income Inequality and Health. New York: The New Press, 1999.
Michael Marmot, “Social Differences in Mortality: The Whitehall Studies,” in
Alan D. Lopez, Graziella Caselli, and Tapani Valkonen, eds., Adult Mortality in Developed
Countries: From Description to Explanation. New York: Oxford University Press, 1995.
Michael Marmot, “The Social Pattern of Health and Disease,” in David Blane, Eric Brun-
ner, and Richard Wilkinson, eds., Health and Social Organization: Towards a Health Policy for
the T wenty-F irst Century. New York: Routledge, 1996.
Arline T. Gronimus et al., “Excess Mortality Among Blacks and Whites in the United
States, The New England Journal of Medicine, 335(21), November 21, 1996.
Nancy Krieger, Ph.D., and Stephen Sidney, M.D., “Racial Discrimination and Blood
Pressure: The CARDIA Study of Young Black and White Adults,” American Journal of Public
Health, 86(10), October 1996.
12 I nequality Undermines
D emocracy
Eduardo Porter
Americans have never been too worried about the income gap. The gap between the
rich and the rest has been much wider in the United States than in other developed
nations for decades. Still, polls show we are much less concerned about it than people
in those other nations are.
Policy makers haven’t cared much either. The United States does less than other
rich countries to transfer income from the affluent to the less fortunate. Even as the
income gap has grown enormously over the last 30 years, government has done little
to curb the trend.
Our tolerance for a widening income gap may be ebbing, however. Since Oc-
cupy Wall Street and kindred movements highlighted the issue, the chasm between
the rich and ordinary workers has become a crucial talking point in the Democratic
Party’s arsenal. In a speech in Osawatomie, Kansas, last December, President Obama
underscored how “the rungs of the ladder of opportunity had grown farther and
farther apart, and the middle class has shrunk.”
There are signs that the political strategy has traction. Inequality isn’t quite the top
priority of voters: only 17 percent of Americans think it is extremely important for
the government to try to reduce income and wealth inequality, according to a Gal-
lup survey last November. That is about half the share that said reigniting economic
growth was crucial.
But a slightly different question indicates views have changed: 29 percent said
it was extremely important for the government to increase equality of opportunity.
More significant, 41 percent said that there was not much opportunity in America,
up from 17 percent in 1998.
Americans have been less willing to take from the rich and give to the poor in part
because of a belief that each of us has a decent shot at prosperity. In 1952, 87 percent
of Americans thought there was plenty of opportunity for progress; only 8 percent
disagreed. As income inequality has grown, though, many have changed their minds.
From 1993 to 2010, the incomes of the richest 1 percent of Americans grew
58 percent while the rest had a 6.4 percent bump. There is little reason to think
the trend will go into reverse any time soon, given globalization and technological
change, which have weighed heavily on the wages of less educated workers who
compete against machines and cheap foreign labor while increasing the returns of
top executives and financiers.
From The New York Times, March 21, 2012. © 2012 The New York Times. All rights reserved. Used
by permission and protected by the Copyright Laws of the United States. The printing, copying,
redistribution, or retransmission of this Content without express written permission is prohibited.
398
12 Porter / Inequality Undermines Democracy 399
The income gap narrowed briefly during the Great Recession, as plummeting stock
prices shrunk the portfolios of the rich. But in 2010, the first year of recovery, the top
1 percent of Americans captured 93 percent of the income gains.
Under these conditions, perhaps it is unsurprising that a growing share of Ameri-
cans have lost faith in their ability to get ahead.
We have accepted income inequality in the past partly because of the belief that
capitalism can’t work without it. If entrepreneurs invest and workers improve their
skills to improve their lot in life, a government that heavily taxed the rich to give
to the poor could destroy that incentive and stymie economic growth that benefits
everybody.
The nation’s relatively fast growth over the last three decades appeared to sup-
port this view. The United States grew faster than advanced economies with a more
egalitarian distribution of income, like the European Union and Japan, so keeping
redistribution to a minimum while allowing markets to function unimpeded was
considered the best fuel.
Meanwhile, skeptics of income redistribution pointed out that inequality doesn’t
look so dire when it is viewed over a lifetime rather than at a single point in time.
One study found that about half the households in the poorest fifth of the population
moved to a higher quintile within a decade.
Even though the wealthy reaped most of growth’s rewards, critics of redistribu-
tion noted that incomes grew over the last 30 years for all but the poorest American
families. And in the 1990s, a decade of soaring inequality, even families in the bottom
fifth saw their incomes rise.
Some economists have argued that inequality is not the right social ill to focus
on. “What matters is how the poor and middle class are doing and how much op-
portunity they have,” said Scott Winship, an economist at the Brookings Institution.
“Until there is stronger evidence that inequality has a negative effect on the life of the
average person, I’m inclined to accept it.”
Perhaps Americans’ newfound concerns about their lack of opportunity are a re-
action to our economic doldrums, with high unemployment and stagnant incomes,
and have little to do with inequality. Perhaps these concerns will dissipate when jobs
become more plentiful.
Perhaps. Evidence is mounting, however, that inequality itself is obstructing
Americans’ shot at a better life.
Alan Krueger, Mr. Obama’s top economic adviser, offers a telling illustration of the
changing views on income inequality. In the 1990s he preferred to call it “dispersion,”
which stripped it of a negative connotation.
In 2003, in an essay called “Inequality, Too Much of a Good Thing” Mr. Krueger
proposed that “societies must strike a balance between the beneficial incentive effects
of inequality and the harmful w elfare-d ecreasing effects of inequality.” Last January he
took another step: “the rise in income d ispersion—a long so many d imensions—h as
gotten to be so high, that I now think that inequality is a more appropriate term.”
Progress still happens, but there is less of it. Two-thirds of American families—
including four of five in the poorest fifth of the p opulation—e arn more than their
400 PART V The Economics of Race, Class, and Gender
parents did 30 years earlier. But they don’t advance much. Four out of 10 children
whose family is in the bottom fifth will end up there as adults. Only 6 percent of them
will rise to the top fifth.
It is difficult to measure changes in income mobility over time. But some studies
suggest it is declining: the share of families that manage to rise out of the bottom fifth
of earnings has fallen since the early 1980s. So has the share of people that fall from
the top.
And on this count too, the United States seems to be trailing other developed
nations. Comparisons across countries suggest a fairly strong, negative link between
the level of inequality and the odds of advancement across the generations. And the
United States appears at extreme ends along both of these dimensions—w ith some
of the highest inequality and lowest mobility in the industrial world.
The link makes sense: a big income gap is likely to open up other social breaches
that make it tougher for those lower down the rungs to get ahead. And that is exactly
what appears to be happening in the United States, where a narrow elite is peeling off
from the rest of society by a chasm of wealth, power and experience.
The sharp rise in the cost of college is making it harder for lower-income and
middle-c lass families to progress, feeding education inequality.
Inequality is also fueling geographical s egregation—p ushing the homes of the rich
and poor further apart. Brides and grooms increasingly seek out mates with similar
levels of income and education. Marriages among less-e ducated people have become
much more likely to fail.
And a growing income gap has bred a gap in political clout that could entrench
inequality for a very long time. One study found that public spending on education
was lower in countries like Britain and the United States where the rich participate
more in the political process than the poor, and higher in countries like Sweden and
Denmark, where levels of political participation are approximately similar across the
income scale. If the very rich can use the political system to slow or stop the ascent of
the rest, the United States could become a hereditary plutocracy under the trappings
of liberal democracy.
One doesn’t have to believe in equality to be concerned about these trends. Once
inequality becomes very acute, it breeds resentment and political instability, eroding
the legitimacy of democratic institutions. It can produce political polarization and
gridlock, splitting the political system between haves and h ave-n ots, making it more
difficult for governments to address imbalances and respond to brewing crises. That
too can undermine economic growth, let alone democracy.
Suggestions for Further Reading 401
Suggestions for Further Reading
Albelda, Randy, et al. Unlevel Playing Fields: Understanding Wage Inequality and Discrimination, 2nd ed.
Boston: Economic Affairs Bureau, 2004.
Amott, Theresa L., and Julie Atthaei. Race, Gender, and Work: A Multi-C ultural History of Women in the
United States, rev. ed. Boston: South End Press, 1999.
Aronowitz, Stanley. How Class Works. New Haven, CT : Yale University Press, 2004.
Bergmann, Barbara R. The Economic Emergence of Women, 2nd ed. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005.
Cashin, Sheryll. The Failures of Integration: How Race and Class Are Undermining the American Dream.
New York: PublicAffairs, 2005.
Chang, Grace. Disposable Domestics: Immigrant Women Workers in the Global Economy, 2nd ed. Chicago:
Haymarket Books, 2016.
Children’s Defense Fund. The State of America’s Children. Washington, DC: Children’s Defense Fund.
P ublished annually.
Dantzinger, Sheldon H., and Robert H. Haveman. Understanding Poverty. Boston: Harvard University
Press, 2002.
DeMott, Benjamin. The Imperial Middle. New York: William Morrow, 1990.
Domhoff, G. William. Who Rules America: Power, Politics, and Social Change. New York: McGraw-H ill,
2006.
Ehrenreich, Barbara. Bait and Switch: The (Futile) Pursuit of the American Dream. New York: Metropolitan
Books, 2005.
———. Nickel and Dimed, 10th anniversary ed. New York: Picador Books, 2011.
Gans, Herbert J. The War Against the Poor. New York: Basic Books, 1995.
Glenn, Evelyn Nakano. Forced to Care: Coercion and Caregiving in America. Cambridge, MA: Harvard Uni-
versity Press, 2012.
Goldin, Claudia, and Leonard Katz. The Race Between Education and Technology. Cambridge, MA: Belknap
Press, 2008.
Hacker, Andrew. Two Nations: Black and White, Separate, Hostile, Unequal. New York: Scribner, 2003.
Hays, Sharon. Flat Broke with Children: Women in the Age of Welfare Reform. New York: Oxford University
Press, 2004.
Keister, Lisa A. Wealth in America: Trends in Wealth Inequality. Cambridge, MA: Cambridge University Press,
2000.
Kessler Harris, Alice. In Pursuit of Equity: Women, Men, and the Quest for Economic Citizenship in Twentieth-
C entury America. New York: Oxford University Press, 2001.
Kozol, Jonathan. Savage Inequalities: Children in America’s Schools. New York: Crown, 1991.
Krugman, Paul. End This Depression Now! New York: W. W. Norton, 2012.
MacLean, Nancy. Freedom Is Not Enough. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2008.
Mishel, Lawrence, et al. The State of Working America, 12th ed. Ithaca, NY: ILR Press, 2012.
Newman, Katherine S. No Shame in My Game: The Working Poor in the Inner City. New York: Vintage Books,
2000.
New York Times. Class Matters. New York: Times Books, 2005.
Phillips, Kevin. Wealth in America: A Political History of the American Rich. New York: Broadway Books, 2002.
Polakrow, Valerie. Lives on the Edge: Single Women and Their Children in the Other America. Chicago:
U niversity of Chicago Press, 1993.
Poo, A i-J en. The Age of Dignity: Preparing for the Elder Boom in a Changing America. New York: The New
Press, 2015.
Rank, Mark Robert. One Nation Underprivileged: Why American Poverty Affects Us All. New York: Oxford
University Press, 2005.
402 PART V The Economics of Race, Class, and Gender
Sernau, Scott. Worlds Apart: Social Inequalities in a New Century. California: Pine Forge Press, 2001.
Shapiro, Thomas M. The Hidden Costs of Being African American: How Wealth Perpetuates Inequality.
New York: Oxford University Press, 2003.
Sidel, Ruth. Unsung Heroines: Single Mothers and the American Dream. Berkeley: University of California
Press, 2006.
Shipler, David K. The Working Poor: Invisible in America. New York: Vintage Books, 2005.
Stiglitz, Joseph E. The Price of Inequality: How Today’s Divided Society Endangers Our Future.
New York: W. W. Norton, 2012.
Wolff, Edward N. Top Heavy: The Increasing Inequality of Wealth in America and What Can Be Done About It,
2nd ed. New York: New Press, 2002.
In addition to these books, the following organizations are good sources for obtaining current statistics
analyzed in terms of race, class, and gender:
Asian Nation: a sian-n ation.org
The Association on American Indian Affairs: http://www.indian-affairs.org/
Children’s Defense Fund: www.childrensdefense.org
United for a Fair Economy: www.faireconomy.org
Institute for Women’s Policy Research: www.iwpr.org
Institute for Gay and Lesbian Strategic Studies: www.publicagenda.org/sources/institute-gay-and-lesbian
-strategic-studies
The National Urban League: www.nul.org
The National Committee on Pay Equity: www.pay-equity.org
U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics: www.bls.gov
PA R T VISelectionTitle 403
Many Voices, Many Lives:
Issues of Race, Class,
Gender, and Sexuality in
Everyday Life
Statistics can tell us a lot about life in any given society, yet they paint only part
of the picture. They can tell us that more than 110,000 Japanese Americans were
herded into relocation camps during World War II, but they tell us nothing of the
lives lived in those camps or of the repercussions years later of that experience.
They can tell us that every day, four women in this country die as a result of
domestic violence, but they cannot convey what it means to live in an abusive
relationship. Statistics can tell us a story with numbers, but they cannot translate
those numbers into lived experience. For that, we must turn to stories about peo-
ple’s lives.
Who will tell these stories? For many years, and not so long ago, the voices
of the majority of people in our society were missing from the books in libraries
and on college reading lists. The experiences of women from all racial and ethnic
groups, regardless of their class position, were missing, as were the history, culture,
and experience of many others. In their place were the writings and teachings of
a relatively small group—predominantly privileged, white, and male—who offered
their experience and their perspective as if it were universal. Ironically, even books
about breast-feeding and childbirth were authored exclusively by male “experts”
who defined and described a reality they had never known. White sociologists,
psychologists, and anthropologists set themselves up as experts on Native
American, Latina/o, Hispanic, black, and Asian American experience and culture,
403
404 PART VI Issues of Race, Class, Gender, and Sexuality in Everyday Life
offering elaborate critical accounts of the family structure and lifestyle of each
group. Novels chronicling the growth to manhood of young white males from the
upper or middle class were routinely assigned in high school and college English
courses and examined for “universal themes,” while novels about the experiences
of men of color, working people, lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender people,
and women of all groups were relegated to “special interest” courses and treated
as marginal. In short, serious scholarship, “real” science, and “great” literature were
by definition produced by well-to-do white males and often focused exclusively
on their experiences; accounts of the lives of other groups, written by members of
those groups, were largely omitted from conventional classroom settings.
We are fortunate that more accounts of the lives of ordinary people have become
available over the past 20 or 30 years, largely as a result of the establishment of
women’s studies, ethnic studies, and LGBT studies as academic disciplines. These
accounts fill in some of the gaps in the limited experience each of us brings to our
study of race, class, gender, and sexuality. The selections in Part VI are offered as
a way of putting flesh and blood around the often bare-bones statistics provided
in Part V. They provide us with an opportunity to move outside the limits of our
particular identity, at least for a few minutes, and find out what the world looks like
from someone else’s perspective. In Part VI, we get a glimpse of what it was like to
be a young Native American girl torn from her family and community and sent to
live at a typical Indian boarding school many years ago (Selection 1). We hear about
life as a young Japanese American growing up on the West Coast during World
War II, as Yuri Kochiyama tells of her experiences first in California and then in a relo-
cation camp in Jerome, Arkansas (Selection 2). We listen in as Ta-Nehisi Coates
(Selection 4) reflects on his experience in a young black body learning the violence
of racism. E. Tammy Kim (Selection 5) documents the plight of undocumented
youth negotiating the constraints produced by restrictive immigration policy and
their impact on everyday life. Ziba Kashef (Selection 6) and Claudia Rankine (Selec-
tion 7) grapple with the assumptions that are made about race, and the effects on
those on the receiving end of those assumptions. And we look in as Tommi Avicolli
(Selection 8) and Richard Kim (Selection 9) show us the obstacles we set up for
our LGBT kids, those whose gender and sexuality fall outside dominant norms and
who are bullied into silence, or worse—suicide—and whose lives would be saved by
our accepting and including them as they are.
All of these essays and the others in Part VI provide us with unique opportunities
to look at everyday life in the United States through the lenses of race, gender,
class, and sexuality to see things we may not have noticed before. The pieces in
Part VI also broaden our range of vision to include other factors that can have
significant impact on life choices, among them religion, age, physical condition,
and geographical location. Sometimes these factors play a major role in shaping
the way others treat us, in determining how much we are paid, what kinds of
educational opportunities are available to us, and where and how we live. In other
contexts, these variables will be less significant, perhaps even irrelevant. Reading
about them adds another dimension to our understanding of the complex set
PART VI Issues of Race, Class, Gender, and Sexuality in Everyday Life 405
of factors that interacts with issues of race, class, gender, and sexuality. Joan L.
Griscom (Selection 10) examines the ways that ableism, heterosexism, and sexism
shape how the law recognizes relationships and the challenges that emerge in
medical crises involving caregiving and decision-making. Eric Rodriguez (Selec-
tion 11), Kiese Laymon (Selection 12), and Chase Strangio (Selection 13) each offer
a reflective narrative that shows us how the intersections of race, class, gender,
and sexuality are not static and can produce contradictions when oppression and
privilege are simultaneously embodied.
But even as we acknowledge how much there is to learn from looking at the
lives and experiences of many different people, there is also a danger in this pro-
ject: the danger of overgeneralizing. It is easy to take the particular experience or
the particular beliefs of one member of a group and attribute them to all members
of that group. Many students who are members of a religious, racial, or ethnic
minority have had the uncomfortable experience of being asked to speak for all
members of that group at some point in their college experience. On the other
hand, for the purposes of studying issues of race, class, gender, and sexuality, it
is often necessary to look beyond individual differences and generalize about
“Chicanas,” “gays,” or “men” in order to highlight aspects of their experience that
are more typical of that group than of others. As we have already seen, it would
be naïve to think that the individual exists in a vacuum, untouched by the racism,
sexism, heterosexism, and class bias in society. Unless we understand something
about the ways different groups experience life in the United States, we will never
adequately understand the particular experiences of individual people.
This part ends with Edwidge Danticat (Selection 14) reminding us to make even
wider connections as she discusses the racial violence that occurred in June 2015
at a church in Charleston, South Carolina, and the racist policies implemented
against Haitians in the Dominican Republic. Danticat says, “. . . we are witnessing,
once again, a sea of black bodies in motion, in transit, and in danger. . . . A nd we
will keep asking ourselves, When will this end? When will it stop?”
The essays in this part have been selected because they give us a sense of the
diversity of life experience in the United States at the same time that they reflect
some of the consequences of the inequalities documented in Part V. For the most
part, these articles and essays need no introduction. They speak for themselves.
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1 Civilize Them with a Stick
Mary Brave Bird (Crow Dog)
with Richard Erdoes
Gathered from the cabin, the wickiup, and the tepee,
partly by cajolery and partly by threats,
partly by bribery and partly by force,
they are induced to leave their kindred
to enter these schools and take upon themselves
the outward appearance of civilized life.
—Annual report of the Department of Interior, 1901
It is almost impossible to explain to a sympathetic white person what a typical old
Indian boarding school was like; how it affected the Indian child suddenly dumped
into it like a small creature from another world, helpless, defenseless, bewildered,
trying desperately and instinctively to survive and sometimes not surviving at all.
I think such children were like the victims of Nazi concentration camps trying to
tell average, middle-class Americans what their experience had been like. Even
now, when these schools are much improved, when the buildings are new, all
gleaming steel and glass, the food tolerable, the teachers well trained and well-
intentioned, even trained in child psychology—unfortunately the psychology of white
children, which is different from ours—the shock to the child upon arrival is still
tremendous. Some just seem to shrivel up, don’t speak for days on end, and have an
empty look in their eyes. I know of an eleven-year-old on another reservation who
hanged herself, and in our school, while I was there, a girl jumped out of the window,
trying to kill herself to escape an unbearable situation. That first shock is always there.
Although the old tiyospaye has been destroyed, in the traditional Sioux families,
especially in those where there is no drinking, the child is never left alone. It is always
surrounded by relatives, carried around, enveloped in warmth. It is treated with the
respect due to any human being, even a small one. It is seldom forced to do anything
against its will, seldom screamed at, and never beaten. That much, at least, is left of
the old family group among full-bloods. And then suddenly a bus or car arrives, full
of strangers, usually white strangers, who yank the child out of the arms of those who
love it, taking it screaming to the boarding school. The only word I can think of for
what is done to these children is kidnapping.
Even now, in a good school, there is impersonality instead of close human
contact; a sterile, cold atmosphere, an unfamiliar routine, language problems, and
above all the mazaskan-skin, that damn clock—white man’s time as opposed to
Excerpts from Lakota Woman, copyright © 1990 by Mary Crow Dog and Richard Erdoes. Used by
permission of Grove/Atlantic, Inc. Any third party use of this material outside of this publication is
prohibited.
407
408 PART VI Issues of Race, Class, Gender, and Sexuality in Everyday Life
Indian time, which is natural time. Like eating when you are hungry and sleeping
when you are tired, not when that damn clock says you must. But I was not taken
to one of the better, modern schools. I was taken to the old-fashioned mission
school at St. Francis, run by the nuns and Catholic fathers, built sometime around
the turn of the century and not improved a bit when I arrived, not improved as far
as the buildings, the food, the teachers, or their methods were concerned.
In the old days, nature was our people’s only school and they needed no other.
Girls had their toy tipis and dolls, boys their toy bows and arrows. Both rode
and swam and played the rough Indian games together. Kids watched their peers
and elders and naturally grew from children into adults. Life in the tipi circle was
harmonious—until the whiskey peddlers arrived with their wagons and barrels of
“Injun whiskey.” I often wished I could have grown up in the old, before-whiskey days.
Oddly enough, we owed our unspeakable boarding schools to the do-gooders,
the white Indian-lovers. The schools were intended as an alternative to the outright
extermination seriously advocated by Generals Sherman and Sheridan, as well as by
most settlers and prospectors overrunning our land. “You don’t have to kill those poor
benighted heathen,” the do-gooders said, “in order to solve the Indian Problem. Just
give us a chance to turn them into useful farmhands, laborers, and chambermaids
who will break their backs for you at low wages.” In that way the boarding schools
were born. The kids were taken away from their villages and pueblos, in their blan-
kets and moccasins, kept completely isolated from their families—sometimes for as
long as ten years—suddenly coming back, their short hair slick with pomade, their
necks raw from stiff, high collars, their thick jackets always short in the sleeves and
pinching under the arms, their tight patent leather shoes giving them corns, the girls
in starched white blouses and clumsy, high-buttoned boots—caricatures of white
people. When they found out—and they found out quickly—that they were neither
wanted by whites nor by Indians, they got good and drunk, many of them staying
drunk for the rest of their lives. I still have a poster I found among my grandfather’s
stuff, given to him by the missionaries to tack up on his wall. It reads:
1. Let Jesus save you.
2. Come out of your blanket, cut your hair, and dress like a white man.
3. Have a Christian family with one wife for life only.
4. Live in a house like your white brother. Work hard and wash often.
5. Learn the value of a hard-earned dollar. Do not waste your money on give-
aways. Be punctual.
6. Believe that property and wealth are signs of divine approval.
7. Keep away from saloons and strong spirits.
8. Speak the language of your white brother. Send your children to school to
do likewise.
9. Go to church often and regularly.
10. Do not go to Indian dances or to the medicine man.
The people who were stuck upon “solving the Indian Problem” by making us into
whites retreated from this position only step by step in the wake of Indian protests.
1 Brave Bird / Civilize Them with a Stick 409
The mission school at St. Francis was a curse for our family for generations. My
grandmother went there, then my mother, then my sisters and I. At one time or other
every one of us tried to run away. Grandma told me once about the bad times she had
experienced at St. Francis. In those days they let students go home only for one week
every year. Two days were used up for transportation, which meant spending just five
days out of three hundred and sixty-five with her family. And that was an improve-
ment. Before grandma’s time, on many reservations they did not let the students go
home at all until they had finished school. Anybody who disobeyed the nuns was
severely punished. The building in which my grandmother stayed had three floors,
for girls only. Way up in the attic were little cells, about five by five by ten feet. One
time she was in church and instead of praying she was playing jacks. As punishment
they took her to one of those little cubicles where she stayed in darkness because the
windows had been boarded up. They left her there for a whole week with only bread
and water for nourishment. After she came out she promptly ran away, together with
three other girls. They were found and brought back. The nuns stripped them naked
and whipped them. They used a horse buggy whip on my grandmother. Then she
was put back into the attic—for two weeks.
My mother had much the same experiences but never wanted to talk about them,
and then there I was, in the same place. The school is now run by the BIA—the
Bureau of Indian Affairs—but only since about fifteen years ago. When I was there,
during the 1960s, it was still run by the Church. The Jesuit fathers ran the boys’ wing
and the Sisters of the Sacred Heart ran us—with the help of the strap. Nothing had
changed since my grandmother’s days. I have been told recently that even in the ’70s
they were still beating children at that school. All I got out of school was being taught
how to pray. I learned quickly that I would be beaten if I failed in my devotions or,
God forbid, prayed the wrong way, especially prayed in Indian to Wakan Tanka, the
Indian Creator.
The girls’ wing was built like an F and was run like a penal institution. Every
morning at five o’clock the sisters would come into our large dormitory to wake us
up, and immediately we had to kneel down at the sides of our beds and recite the
prayers. At six o’clock we were herded into the church for more of the same. I did
not take kindly to the discipline and to marching by the clock, left-right, left-right. I
was never one to like being forced to do something. I do something because I feel like
doing it. I felt this way always, as far as I can remember, and my sister Barbara felt the
same way. An old medicine man once told me: “Us Lakotas are not like dogs who can
be trained, who can be beaten and keep on wagging their tails, licking the hand that
whipped them. We are like cats, little cats, big cats, wildcats, bobcats, mountain lions.
It doesn’t matter what kind, but cats who can’t be tamed, who scratch if you step on
their tails.” But I was only a kitten and my claws were still small.
Barbara was still in the school when I arrived and during my first year or two
she could still protect me a little bit. When Barb was a seventh-grader she ran away
together with five other girls, early in the morning before sunrise. They brought
them back in the evening. The girls had to wait for two hours in front of the mother
superior’s office. They were hungry and cold, frozen through. It was wintertime and
410 PART VI Issues of Race, Class, Gender, and Sexuality in Everyday Life
they had been running the whole day without food, trying to make good their escape.
The mother superior asked each girl, “Would you do this again?” She told them that
as punishment they would not be allowed to visit home for a month and that she’d
keep them busy on work details until the skin on their knees and elbows had worn
off. At the end of her speech she told each girl, “Get up from this chair and lean over
it.” She then lifted the girls’ skirts and pulled down their underpants. Not little girls
either, but teenagers. She had a leather strap about a foot long and four inches wide
fastened to a stick, and beat the girls, one after another, until they cried. Barb did not
give her that satisfaction but just clenched her teeth. There was one girl, Barb told
me, the nun kept on beating and beating until her arm got tired.
I did not escape my share of the strap. Once, when I was thirteen years old, I
refused to go to Mass. I did not want to go to church because I did not feel well. A
nun grabbed me by the hair, dragged me upstairs, made me stoop over, pulled my
dress up (we were not allowed at the time to wear jeans), pulled my panties down,
and gave me what they called “swats”—twenty-five swats with a board around which
Scotch tape had been wound. She hurt me badly.
My classroom was right next to the principal’s office and almost every day I could
hear him swatting the boys. Beating was the common punishment for not doing one’s
homework, or for being late to school. It had such a bad effect upon me that I hated
and mistrusted every white person on sight, because I met only one kind. It was not
until much later that I met sincere white people I could relate to and be friends with.
Racism breeds racism in reverse.
2 Then Came the War
Yuri Kochiyama
I was red, white, and blue when I was growing up. I taught Sunday school, and was
very, very American. But I was also very provincial. We were just kids rooting for our
high school.
My father owned a fish market. Terminal Island was nearby, and that was where
many Japanese families lived. It was a fishing town. My family lived in the city
proper. San Pedro was very mixed, predominantly white, but there were blacks
also.
I was nineteen at the time of the evacuation. I had just finished junior college. I
was looking for a job, and didn’t realize how different the school world was from the
work world. In the school world, I never felt racism. But when you got into the work
world, it was very difficult. This was 1941, just before the war. I finally did get a job
at a department store. But for us back then, it was a big thing, because I don’t think
they had ever hired an Asian in a department store before. I tried, because I saw a
Mexican friend who got a job there. Even then they didn’t hire me on a regular basis,
just on Saturdays, summer vacation, Easter vacation, and Christmas vacation. Other
than that, I was working like the others—at a vegetable stand, or doing part-time
domestic work. Back then, I only knew of two Japanese American girl friends who got
jobs as secretaries—but these were in Japanese companies. But generally you almost
never saw a Japanese American working in a white place. It was hard for Asians. Even
for Japanese, the best jobs they felt they could get were in Chinatowns, such as in Los
Angeles. Most Japanese were either in some aspect of fishing, such as in the canneries,
or went right from school to work on the farms. That was what it was like in the town
of San Pedro. I loved working in the department store, because it was a small town,
and you got to know and see everyone. The town itself was wonderful. People were
very friendly. I didn’t see my job as work—it was like a community job.
Everything changed for me on the day Pearl Harbor was bombed. On that very
day—December 7—the FBI came and they took my father. He had just come home
from the hospital the day before. For several days we didn’t know where they
had taken him. Then we found out that he was taken to the federal prison at
Terminal Island. Overnight, things changed for us. They took all men who lived
near the Pacific waters, and had nothing to do with fishing. A month later, they
took every fisherman from Terminal Island, sixteen and over, to places—not the
regular concentration camps—but to detention centers in places like South Da-
kota, Montana, and New Mexico. They said that all Japanese who had given money
From Asian American Experiences in the United States: Oral Histories of First to Fourth Generation
Americans from China, the Philippines, Japan, India, the Pacific Islands, Vietnam and Cambodia.
Copyright © 1991 by Joann Faung Jean Lee. McFarland & Company, Inc., Box 611, Jefferson, NC
28640. www.mcfarlandpub.com. Reprinted by permission of the author.
411
412 PART VI Issues of Race, Class, Gender, and Sexuality in Everyday Life
to any kind of Japanese organization would have to be taken away. At that time,
many people were giving to the Japanese Red Cross. The first group was thirteen
hundred Isseis—my parents’ generation. They took those who were leaders of the
community, or Japanese school teachers, or were teaching martial arts, or who were
Buddhist priests. Those categories which would make them very “Japanesey,” were
picked up. This really made a tremendous impact on our lives. My twin brother
was going to the University at Berkeley. He came rushing back. All of our classmates
were joining up, so he volunteered to go into the service. And it seemed strange that
here they had my father in prison, and there the draft board okayed my brother.
He went right into the army. My other brother, who was two years older, was trying
to run my father’s fish market. But business was already going down, so he had to
close it. He had finished college at the University of California a couple of years
before.
They took my father on December 7th. The day before, he had just come home
from the hospital. He had surgery for an ulcer. We only saw him once, on December
13. On December 20th they said he could come home. By the time they brought
him back, he couldn’t talk. He made guttural sounds and we didn’t know if he
could hear. He was home for twelve hours. He was dying. The next morning, when
we got up, they told us that he was gone. He was very sick. And I think the inter-
rogation was very rough. My mother kept begging the authorities to let him go to
the hospital until he was well, then put him back in the prison. They did finally
put him there, a week or so later. But they put him in a hospital where they were
bringing back all these American Merchant Marines who were hit on Wake Island.
So he was the only Japanese in that hospital, so they hung a sheet around him that
said, Prisoner of War. The feeling where he was was very bad.
You could see the hysteria of war. There was a sense that war could actually
come to American shores. Everybody was yelling to get the “Japs” out of Califor-
nia. In Congress, people were speaking out. Organizations such as the Sons and
Daughters of the Golden West were screaming “Get the ‘Japs’ out.” So were the
real estate people, who wanted to get the land from the Japanese farmers. The war
had whipped up such a hysteria that if there was anyone for the Japanese, you
didn’t hear about it. I’m sure they were afraid to speak out, because they would be
considered not only just “Jap” lovers, but unpatriotic.
Just the fact that my father was taken made us suspect to people. But on the whole,
the neighbors were quite nice, especially the ones adjacent to us. There was already a
six am to six pm curfew and a five mile limit on where we could go from our homes.
So they offered to do our shopping for us, if we needed.
Most Japanese Americans had to give up their jobs, whatever they did, and
were told they had to leave. The edict for 9066—President Roosevelt’s edict* for
evacuation—was in February 1942. We were moved to a detention center that
April. By then the Japanese on Terminal Island were just helter skelter, looking
*Executive Order No. 9066 does not mention detention of Japanese specifically, but was used
exclusively against the Japanese. Over 120,000 Japanese were evacuated from the West Coast.
2 Kochiyama / Then Came the War 413
for anywhere they could go. They opened up the Japanese school and Buddhist
churches, and families just crowded in. Even farmers brought along their chick-
ens and chicken coops. They just opened up the places for people to stay until
they could figure out what to do. Some people left for Colorado and Utah. Those
who had relatives could do so. The idea was to evacuate all the Japanese from the
coast. But all the money was frozen, so even if you knew where you wanted to go, it
wasn’t that simple. By then, people knew they would be going into camps, so they
were selling what they could, even though they got next to nothing for it.
We were fortunate, in that our neighbors, who were white, were kind enough to
look after our house, and they said they would find people to rent it, and look after
it till we got back. But these neighbors were very, very unusual.
We were sent to an assembly center in Arcadia, California, in April. It was the
largest assembly center on the West Coast, having nearly twenty thousand people.
There were some smaller centers with about six hundred people. All along the West
Coast—Washington, Oregon, California—there were many, many assembly centers,
but ours was the largest. Most of the assembly centers were either fairgrounds, or race
tracks. So many of us lived in stables, and they said you could take what you could
carry. We were there until October.
Even though we stayed in a horse stable, everything was well organized. Every
unit would hold four to six people. So in some cases, families had to split up, or join
others. We slept on army cots, and for mattresses they gave us muslin bags, and told
us to fill them with straw. And for chairs, everybody scrounged around for carton
boxes, because they could serve as chairs. You could put two together and it could be
a little table. So it was just makeshift. But I was amazed how, in a few months, some
of those units really looked nice. Japanese women fixed them up. Some people had
the foresight to bring material and needles and thread. But they didn’t let us bring
anything that could be used as weapons. They let us have spoons, but no knives. For
those who had small children or babies, it was rough. They said you could take what
you could carry. Well, they could only take their babies in their arms, and maybe the
little children could carry something, but it was pretty limited.
I was so red, white, and blue, I couldn’t believe this was happening to us. America
would never do a thing like this to us. This is the greatest country in the world. So I
thought this is only going to be for a short while, maybe a few weeks or something,
and they will let us go back. At the beginning no one realized how long this would
go on. I didn’t feel the anger that much because I thought maybe this was the way
we could show our love for our country, and we should not make too much fuss or
noise, we should abide by what they asked of us. I’m a totally different person now
than I was back then. I was naïve about so many things. The more I think about it,
the more I realize how little you learn about American history. It’s just what they want
you to know.
At the beginning, we didn’t have any idea how temporary or permanent the situa-
tion was. We thought we would be able to leave shortly. But after several months they
told us this was just temporary quarters, and they were building more permanent
quarters elsewhere in the United States. All this was so unbelievable. A year before we
414 PART VI Issues of Race, Class, Gender, and Sexuality in Everyday Life
would never have thought anything like this could have happened to us—not in this
country. As time went by, the sense of frustration grew. Many families were already
divided. The fathers, the heads of the households, were taken to other camps. In the
beginning, there was no way for the sons to get in touch with their families. Before
our group left for the detention camp, we were saying goodbye almost every day to
other groups who were going to places like Arizona and Utah. Here we finally had
made so many new friends—people who we met, lived with, shared the time, and got
to know. So it was even sad on that note and the goodbyes were difficult. Here we
had gotten close to these people, and now we had to separate again. I don’t think we
even thought about where they were going to take us, or how long we would have to
stay there. When we got on the trains to leave for the camps, we didn’t know where
we were going. None of the groups knew. It was later on that we learned so and so
ended up in Arizona, or Colorado, or some other place. We were all at these assembly
centers for about seven months. Once they started pushing people out, it was done
very quickly. By October, our group headed out for Jerome, Arkansas, which is on the
Texarkana corner.
We were on the train for five days. The blinds were down, so we couldn’t look out,
and other people couldn’t look in to see who was in the train. We stopped in Nebraska,
and everybody pulled the blinds to see what Nebraska looked like. The interesting
thing was, there was a troop train stopped at the station too. These American soldiers
looked out, and saw all these Asians, and they wondered what we were doing on the
train. So the Japanese raised the windows, and so did the soldiers. It wasn’t a bad feel-
ing at all. There was none of that “you Japs” kind of thing. The women were about
the same age as the soldiers—eighteen to twenty-five, and we had the same thing on
our minds. In camps, there wasn’t much to do, so the fun thing was to receive letters,
so on our train, all the girls who were my age, were yelling to the guys, “Hey, give us
your address where you’re going, we’ll write you.” And they said, “Are you sure you’re
going to write?” We exchanged addresses and for a long time I wrote to some of those
soldiers. On the other side of the train, I’ll never forget there was this old guy, about
sixty, who came to our window and said, “We have some Japanese living here. This
is Omaha, Nebraska.” This guy was very nice, and didn’t seem to have any ill feelings
for Japanese. He had calling cards, and he said “Will any of you people write to me?”
We said, “Sure,” so he threw in a bunch of calling cards, and I got one, and I wrote
to him for years. I wrote to him about what camp was like, because he said, “Let me
know what it’s like wherever you end up.” And he wrote back, and told me what was
happening in Omaha, Nebraska. There were many, many interesting experiences too.
Our mail was generally not censored, but all the mail from the soldiers was. Letters
meant everything.
When we got to Jerome, Arkansas, we were shocked because we had never seen an
area like it. There was forest all around us. And they told us to wait till the rains hit.
This would not only turn into mud, but Arkansas swamp lands. That’s where they put
us—in swamp lands, surrounded by forests. It was nothing like California.
I’m speaking as a person of twenty who had good health. Up until then, I had
lived a fairly comfortable life. But there were many others who didn’t see the whole
2 Kochiyama / Then Came the War 415
experience the same way. Especially those who were older and in poor health and had
experienced racism. One more thing like this could break them. I was at an age where
transitions were not hard—the point where anything new could even be considered
exciting. But for people in poor health, it was hell.
There were army-type barracks, with two hundred to two hundred and five people
to each block and every block had its own mess hall, facility for washing clothes,
showering. It was all surrounded by barbed wire, and armed soldiers. I think they
said only seven people were killed in total, though thirty were shot, because they
went too close to the fence. Where we were, nobody thought of escaping because
you’d be more scared of the swamps—the poisonous snakes, the bayous. Climatic
conditions were very harsh. Although Arkansas is in the South, the winters were very,
very cold. We had a pot bellied stove in every room and we burned wood. Everything
was very organized. We got there in October, and were warned to prepare ourselves.
So on our block, for instance, males eighteen and over could go out in the forest to
chop down trees for wood for the winter. The men would bring back the trees, and
the women sawed the trees. Everybody worked. The children would pile up the wood
for each unit.
They told us when it rained, it would be very wet, so we would have to build
our own drainage system. One of the barracks was to hold meetings, so block heads
would call meetings. There was a block council to represent the people from differ-
ent areas.
When we first arrived, there were some things that weren’t completely fixed. For
instance, the roofers would come by, and everyone would hunger for information
from the outside world. We wanted to know what was happening with the war. We
weren’t allowed to bring radios; that was contraband. And there were no televisions
then. So we would ask the workers to bring us back some papers, and they would
give us papers from Texas or Arkansas, so for the first time we would find out about
news from the outside.
Just before we went in to the camps, we saw that being a Japanese wasn’t such a
good thing, because everybody was turning against the Japanese, thinking we were
saboteurs, or linking us with Pearl Harbor. But when I saw the kind of work they did
at camp, I felt so proud of the Japanese, and proud to be Japanese, and wondered
why I was so white, white when I was outside, because I was always with white folks.
Many people had brothers or sons who were in the military and Japanese American
servicemen would come into the camp to visit the families, and we felt so proud of
them when they came in their uniforms. We knew that it would only be a matter of
time before they would be shipped overseas. Also what made us feel proud was the
forming of the 442 unit.*
*American soldiers of Japanese ancestry were assembled in two units: the 442 Regimental Combat
Team and the 100th Infantry Battalion. The two groups were sent to battle in Europe. The 100th
Battalion had over 900 casualties and was known as the Purple Heart Battalion. Combined, the
units received 9,486 purple hearts and 18,143 individual decorations.
416 PART VI Issues of Race, Class, Gender, and Sexuality in Everyday Life
I was one of these real American patriots then. I’ve changed now. But back then,
I was all American. Growing up, my mother would say we’re Japanese. But I’d say,
“No, I’m American.” I think a lot of Japanese grew up that way. People would say
to them, “You’re Japanese,” and they would say, “No, we’re Americans.” I don’t even
think they used the hyphenated term “Japanese-American” back then. At the time, I
was ashamed of being Japanese. I think many Japanese Americans felt the same way.
Pearl Harbor was a shameful act, and being Japanese Americans, even though we
had nothing to do with it, we still somehow felt we were blamed for it. I hated Japan
at that point. So I saw myself at that part of my history as an American, and not as a
Japanese or Japanese American. That sort of changed while I was in the camp.
I hated the war, because it wasn’t just between the governments. It went down to
the people, and it nurtured hate. What was happening during the war were many
things I didn’t like. I hoped that one day when the war was over there could be a
way that people could come together in their relationships.
Now I can relate to Japan in a more mature way, where I see its faults and its very,
very negative history. But I also see its potential. Scientifically and technologically
it has really gone far. But I’m disappointed that when it comes to human rights she
hasn’t grown. The Japan of today—I feel there are still things lacking. For instance,
I don’t think the students have the opportunity to have more leeway in developing
their lives.
We always called the camps “relocation centers” while we were there. Now we feel
it is apropos to call them concentration camps. It is not the same as the concentra-
tion camps of Europe; those we feel were death camps. Concentration camps were a
concentration of people placed in an area, and disempowered and disenfranchised.
So it is apropos to call what I was in a concentration camp. After two years in the
camp, I was released.
Going home wasn’t much of a problem for us because our neighbors had looked
after our place. But for most of our Japanese friends, starting over again was very
difficult after the war.
I returned in October of 1945. It was very hard to find work, at least for me. I
wasn’t expecting to find anything good, just something to tide me over until my boy-
friend came back from New York. The only thing I was looking for was to work in a
restaurant as a waitress. But I couldn’t find anything. I would walk from one end of
the town to the other, and down every main avenue. But as soon as they found out I
was Japanese, they would say no. Or they would ask me if I was in the union, and of
course I couldn’t be in the union because I had just gotten there. Anyway, no Japa-
nese could be in the union, so if the answer was no I’m not in the union, they would
say no. So finally what I did was go into the rough area of San Pedro—there’s a strip
near the wharf—and I went down there. I was determined to keep the jobs as long
as I could. But for a while, I could last maybe two hours, and somebody would say
“Is that a ‘Jap’?” And as soon as someone would ask that, the boss would say, “Sorry,
you gotta go. We don’t want trouble here.” The strip wasn’t that big, so after I’d go
the whole length of it, I’d have to keep coming back to the same restaurants, and say,
“Gee, will you give me another chance?” I figure, all these servicemen were coming
2 Kochiyama / Then Came the War 417
back and the restaurants didn’t have enough waitresses to come in and take these
jobs. And so, they’d say “Okay. But soon as somebody asks who you are, or if you’re
a ‘Jap,’ or any problem about being a ‘Jap,’ you go.” So I said, “Okay, sure. How about
keeping me until that happens?” So sometimes I’d last a night, sometimes a couple
of nights that no one would say anything. Sometimes people threw cups at me or
hot coffee. At first they didn’t know what I was. They thought I was Chinese. Then
someone would say, “I bet she’s a ‘Jap’.” And I wasn’t going to say I wasn’t. So as soon
as I said “Yeah,” then it was like an uproar. Rather than have them say, “Get out,” I
just walked out. I mean, there was no point in fighting it. If you just walked out, there
was less chance of getting hurt. But one place I lasted two weeks. These owners didn’t
want to have to let me go. But they didn’t want to have problems with the people.
And so I did this until I left for New York, which was about three months later. I
would work the dinner shift, from six at night to three in the morning. When you are
young you tend not to take things as strongly. Everything is like an adventure. Look-
ing back, I felt the people who were the kindest to me were those who went out and
fought, those who just got back from Japan or the Far East. I think the worst ones
were the ones who stayed here and worked in defense plants, who felt they had to be
so patriotic. On the West Coast, there wasn’t hysteria anymore, but there were hostile
feelings towards the Japanese, because they were coming back. It took a while, but
my mother said that things were getting back to normal, and that the Japanese were
slowly being accepted again. At the time, I didn’t go through the bitterness that many
others went through, because it’s not just what they went through, but it is also what
they experienced before that. I mean, I happened to have a much more comfortable
life before, so you sort of see things in a different light. You see that there are all kinds
of Americans, and that they’re not all people who hate Japs. You know too that it was
hysteria that had a lot to do with it.
All Japanese, before they left camp, were told not to congregate among Japanese,
and not to speak Japanese. They were told by the authorities. There was even a piece
of paper that gave you instructions. But then people went on to places like Chicago
where there were churches, so they did congregate in churches. But they did ask peo-
ple not to. I think psychologically the Japanese, having gone through a period where
they were so hated by everyone, didn’t even want to admit they were Japanese, or
accept the fact that they were Japanese. Of course, they would say they were Japanese
Americans. But I think the psychological damage of the wartime period, and of racism
itself, has left its mark. There is a stigma to being Japanese. I think that is why such a
large number of Japanese, in particular Japanese American women, have married out
of the race. On the West Coast I’ve heard people say that sixty to seventy percent of
the Japanese women have married, I guess, mostly whites. Japanese men are doing it
too, but not to that degree. I guess Japan ese Americans just didn’t want to have that
Japanese identity, or that Japanese part. There is definitely some self-hate, and part of
that has to do with the racism that’s so deeply a part of this society.
Historically, Americans have always been putting people behind walls. First there
were the American Indians who were put on reservations, Africans in slavery, their
lives on the plantations, Chicanos doing migratory work, and the kinds of camps
418 PART VI Issues of Race, Class, Gender, and Sexuality in Everyday Life
they lived in, and even, too, the Chinese when they worked on the railroad camps
where they were almost isolated, dispossessed people—disempowered. And I feel
those are the things we should fight against so they won’t happen again. It wasn’t so
long ago—in 1979—that the feeling against the Iranians was so strong because of the
takeover of the U.S. embassy in Iran, where they wanted to deport Iranian students.
And that is when a group called Concerned Japanese Americans organized, and that
was the first issue we took up, and then we connected it with what the Japanese had
gone through. This whole period of what the Japanese went through is important. If
we can see the connections of how often this happens in history, we can stem the tide
of these things happening again by speaking out against them.
Most Japanese Americans who worked years and years for redress never thought it
would happen the way it did. The papers have been signed, we will be given repara-
tion, and there was an apology from the government. I think the redress movement
itself was very good because it was a learning experience for the Japanese people; we
could get out into our communities and speak about what happened to us and link
it with experiences of other people. In that sense, though, it wasn’t done as much as
it should have been. Some Japanese Americans didn’t even learn that part. They just
started the movement as a reaction to the bad experience they had. They don’t even
see other ethnic groups who have gone through it. It showed us, too, how vulnerable
everybody is. It showed us that even though there is a Constitution, that constitu-
tional rights could be taken away very easily.
3 C rossing the Border Without
Losing Your Past
Oscar Casares
SAN MIGUEL DE ALLENDE, Mexico Along with it being diez y seis de septiem-
bre, Mexican Independence Day, today is my father’s 89th birthday. Everardo Issasi
Casares was born in 1914, a little more than a hundred years after Miguel Hidalgo
y Costilla rang the church bells of Dolores, summoning his parishioners to rise up
against the Spaniards.
This connection has always been important in my family. Though my father was
born in the United States, he considers himself a Mexicano. To him, ancestry is what
determines your identity. If you have Mexican blood, you are Mexican, whether you
were born in Mexico City or New York City. This is not to say he denies his American
citizenship—he votes, pays taxes and served in the Army. But his identity is tied to
the past. His family came from Mexico, so like them he is Mexicano, punto, end of
discussion.
In my hometown, Brownsville, Tex., almost everyone I know is Mexicano: neigh-
bors, teachers, principals, dropouts, doctors, lawyers, drug dealers, priests. Rich and
poor, short and tall, fat and skinny, dark- and light-skinned. Every year our Mexican
heritage is celebrated in a four-day festival called Charro Days. Men grow beards; moth-
ers draw moustaches on their little boys and dress their little girls like Mexican peasants;
the brave compete in a jalapeño-eating contest. But the celebration also commemorates
the connection between two neighboring countries, opening with an exchange of gritos
(traditional cowboy calls you might hear in a Mexican movie) between a representa-
tive from Matamoros, Mexico, standing on one side of the International Bridge and a
Brownsville representative standing on the other.
Like many Americans whose families came to this country from somewhere else,
many children of Mexican immigrants struggle with their identity, as our push to fully
assimilate is met with an even greater pull to remain anchored to our family’s coun-
try of origin. This is especially true when that country is less than a quarter of a mile
away—the width of the Rio Grande—from the new one. We learn both cultures as
effortlessly as we do two languages. We learn quickly that we can exist simultaneously
in both worlds, and that our home exists neither here nor there but in the migration
between these two forces.
But for Mexican-Americans and other immigrants from Spanish-speaking coun-
tries who have been lumped into categories like Latino or Hispanic, this struggle has
become even more pronounced over the last few years as we have grown into the
largest minority group in the United States. Our culture has been both embraced and
exploited by advertisers, politicians and the media. And as we move, individually,
As appeared in The New York Times, September 16, 2003. Reprinted by permission of 3 Arts
Entertainment on behalf of Oscar Casares.
419
420 PART VI Issues of Race, Class, Gender, and Sexuality in Everyday Life
from our small communities, where our identity is clear, we enter a world that wants
to assign us a label of its choosing.
When I left Brownsville in 1985 to start at the University of Texas at Austin one of
the first things I was asked was, “What are you?” “I’m Mexican,” I told the guy, who
was thrown off by my height and light skin. “Really, what part of Mexico are you
from?” he asked, which led me to explain I was really from Brownsville, but my parents
were Mexican. “Really, what part of Mexico?” Here again I had to admit they weren’t
really born in Mexico and neither were my grandparents or great-grandparents. “Oh,”
he said, “you’re Mexican-American, is what you are.”
Mexican-American. I imagined a 300-mile-long hyphen that connected Browns-
ville to Austin, a bridge between my old and new world. Not that I hadn’t seen this
word combination, Mexican-American, on school applications, but I couldn’t remem-
ber the words being spoken to me directly. In Brownsville, I always thought of myself
as being equally Mexican and American.
When I graduated that label was again redefined. One of my first job interviews
was at an advertising agency, where I was taken on a tour: the media department, the
creative department, the account-service department, the Hispanic department. This
last department specialized in marketing products to Spanish-speaking consumers.
In the group were men and women from Mexico, Puerto Rico and California, but to-
gether they were Hispanic. I was hired to work in another department, but suddenly,
everyone was referring to me as Hispanic.
Hispanic? Where was the Mexican in me? Where was the hyphen? I didn’t want
to be Hispanic. The word reminded me of those Mexican-Americans who preferred
to say their families came from Spain, which they felt somehow increased their social
status. Just hearing the word Hispanic reminded me, too, of people who used the
word Spanish to refer to Mexicans. “The Spanish like to get wild at their fiestas,” they
would say, or “You Spanish people sure do have a lot of babies.”
In this same way, the word Hispanic seemed to want to be more user friendly, es-
pecially when someone didn’t want to say the M word: Mexican. Except it did slip out
occasionally. I remember standing in my supervisor’s office as he described calling the
police after he saw a car full of “Mexicans” drive through his suburban neighborhood.
Away from the border, the word Mexican had come to mean dirty, shiftless,
drunken, lustful, criminal. I still cringe whenever I think someone might say the
word. But usually it happens unexpectedly, as though the person has pulled a knife
on me. I feel the sharp words up against my gut. Because of my appearance, people
often say things in front of me they wouldn’t say if they knew my real ethnicity—not
Hispanic, Latino or even Mexican-American. I am, like my father, Mexican, and on
this day of independence, I say this with particular pride.
4 Between the World and Me
Ta-Nehisi Coates
Son,
Last Sunday the host of a popular news show asked me what it meant to lose my
body. The host was broadcasting from Washington, D.C., and I was seated in a remote
studio on the far west side of Manhattan. A satellite closed the miles between us, but
no machinery could close the gap between her world and the world for which I had
been summoned to speak. When the host asked me about my body, her face faded
from the screen, and was replaced by a scroll of words, written by me earlier that week.
The host read these words for the audience, and when she finished she turned
to the subject of my body, although she did not mention it specifically. But by now I
am accustomed to intelligent people asking about the condition of my body without
realizing the nature of their request. Specifically, the host wished to know why I felt
that white America’s progress, or rather the progress of those Americans who believe
that they are white, was built on looting and violence. Hearing this, I felt an old and
indistinct sadness well up in me. The answer to this question is the record of the
believers themselves. The answer is American history.
There is nothing extreme in this statement. Americans deify democracy in a way
that allows for a dim awareness that they have, from time to time, stood in defiance
of their God. But democracy is a forgiving God and America’s heresies—torture, theft,
enslavement—are so common among individuals and nations that none can declare
themselves immune. In fact, Americans, in a real sense, have never betrayed their
God. When Abraham Lincoln declared, in 1863, that the battle of Gettysburg must
ensure “that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish
from the earth,” he was not merely being aspirational; at the onset of the Civil War,
the United States of America had one of the highest rates of suffrage in the world. The
question is not whether Lincoln truly meant “government of the people” but what our
country has, throughout its history, taken the political term “people” to actually mean.
In 1863 it did not mean your mother or your grandmother, and it did not mean you
and me. Thus America’s problem is not its betrayal of “government of the people,”
but the means by which “the people” acquired their names.
This leads us to another equally important ideal, one that Americans implicitly
accept but to which they make no conscious claim. Americans believe in the reality
of “race” as a defined, indubitable feature of the natural world. Racism—the need to
ascribe bone-deep features to people and then humiliate, reduce, and destroy them—
inevitably follows from this inalterable condition. In this way, racism is rendered as
the innocent daughter of Mother Nature, and one is left to deplore the Middle Passage
Excerpt(s) from Between the World and Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates, copyright © 2015 by Ta-Nehisi
Coates. Used by permission of Spiegel & Grau, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin
Random House LLC. All rights reserved. Any third party use of this material, outside of this pub-
lication, is prohibited. Interested parties must apply directly to Penguin Random House LLC for
permission.
421
422 PART VI Issues of Race, Class, Gender, and Sexuality in Everyday Life
or the Trail of Tears the way one deplores an earthquake, a tornado, or any other
phenomenon that can be cast as beyond the handiwork of men.
But race is the child of racism, not the father. And the process of naming “the
people” has never been a matter of genealogy and physiognomy so much as one
of hierarchy. Difference in hue and hair is old. But the belief in the preeminence of
hue and hair, the notion that these factors can correctly organize a society and that
they signify deeper attributes, which are indelible—this is the new idea at the heart
of these new people who have been brought up hopelessly, tragically, deceitfully, to
believe that they are white.
These new people are, like us, a modern invention. But unlike us, their new name
has no real meaning divorced from the machinery of criminal power. The new people
were something else before they were white—Catholic, Corsican, Welsh, Mennonite,
Jewish—and if all our national hopes have any fulfillment, then they will have to be
something else again. Perhaps they will truly become American and create a nobler
basis for their myths. I cannot call it. As for now, it must be said that the process of
washing the disparate tribes white, the elevation of the belief in being white, was not
achieved through wine tastings and ice cream socials, but rather through the pillaging
of life, liberty, labor, and land; through the flaying of backs; the chaining of limbs;
the strangling of dissidents; the destruction of families; the rape of mothers; the sale
of children; and various other acts meant, first and foremost, to deny you and me the
right to secure and govern our own bodies.
The new people are not original in this. Perhaps there has been, at some point in
history, some great power whose elevation was exempt from the violent exploitation
of other human bodies. If there has been, I have yet to discover it. But this banality
of violence can never excuse America, because America makes no claim to the banal.
America believes itself exceptional, the greatest and noblest nation ever to exist, a lone
champion standing between the white city of democracy and the terrorists, despots,
barbarians, and other enemies of civilization. One cannot, at once, claim to be su-
perhuman and then plead mortal error. I propose to take our countrymen’s claims of
American exceptionalism seriously, which is to say I propose subjecting our country
to an exceptional moral standard. This is difficult because there exists, all around us,
an apparatus urging us to accept American innocence at face value and not to inquire
too much. And it is so easy to look away, to live with the fruits of our history and to
ignore the great evil done in all of our names. But you and I have never truly had that
luxury. I think you know.
I write you in your fifteenth year. I am writing you because this was the year
you saw Eric Garner choked to death for selling cigarettes; because you know now
that Renisha McBride was shot for seeking help, that John Crawford was shot down
for browsing in a department store. And you have seen men in uniform drive by
and murder Tamir Rice, a twelve-year-old child whom they were oath-bound to
protect. And you have seen men in the same uniforms pummel Marlene Pinnock,
someone’s grandmother, on the side of a road. And you know now, if you did not
before, that the police departments of your country have been endowed with the
authority to destroy your body. It does not matter if the destruction is the result of
4 Coates / Between the World and Me 423
an unfortunate overreaction. It does not matter if it originates in a misunderstand-
ing. It does not matter if the destruction springs from a foolish policy. Sell cigarettes
without the proper authority and your body can be destroyed. Resent the people
trying to entrap your body and it can be destroyed. Turn into a dark stairwell and
your body can be destroyed. The destroyers will rarely be held accountable. Mostly
they will receive pensions. And destruction is merely the superlative form of a
dominion whose prerogatives include friskings, detainings, beatings, and humilia-
tions. All of this is common to black people. And all of this is old for black people.
No one is held responsible.
There is nothing uniquely evil in these destroyers or even in this moment. The de-
stroyers are merely men enforcing the whims of our country, correctly interpreting its
heritage and legacy. It is hard to face this. But all our phrasing—race relations, racial
chasm, racial justice, racial profiling, white privilege, even white supremacy—serves
to obscure that racism is a visceral experience, that it dislodges brains, blocks airways,
rips muscle, extracts organs, cracks bones, breaks teeth. You must never look away
from this. You must always remember that the sociology, the history, the economics,
the graphs, the charts, the regressions all land, with great violence, upon the body.
That Sunday, with that host, on that news show, I tried to explain this as best I
could within the time allotted. But at the end of the segment, the host flashed a widely
shared picture of an eleven-year-old black boy tearfully hugging a white police officer.
Then she asked me about “hope.” And I knew then that I had failed. And I remem-
bered that I had expected to fail. And I wondered again at the indistinct sadness well-
ing up in me. Why exactly was I sad? I came out of the studio and walked for a while.
It was a calm December day. Families, believing themselves white, were out on the
streets. Infants, raised to be white, were bundled in strollers. And I was sad for these
people, much as I was sad for the host and sad for all the people out there watching
and reveling in a specious hope. I realized then why I was sad. When the journalist
asked me about my body, it was like she was asking me to awaken her from the most
gorgeous dream. I have seen that dream all my life. It is perfect houses with nice
lawns. It is Memorial Day cookouts, block associations, and driveways. The Dream
is treehouses and the Cub Scouts. The Dream smells like peppermint but tastes like
strawberry shortcake. And for so long I have wanted to escape into the Dream, to fold
my country over my head like a blanket. But this has never been an option because
the Dream rests on our backs, the bedding made from our bodies. And knowing this,
knowing that the Dream persists by warring with the known world, I was sad for the
host, I was sad for all those families, I was sad for my country, but above all, in that
moment, I was sad for you.
That was the week you learned that the killers of Michael Brown would go free.
The men who had left his body in the street like some awesome declaration of their
inviolable power would never be punished. It was not my expectation that anyone
would ever be punished. But you were young and still believed. You stayed up till 11
p.m. that night, waiting for the announcement of an indictment, and when instead it
was announced that there was none you said, “I’ve got to go,” and you went into your
room, and I heard you crying. I came in five minutes after, and I didn’t hug you, and
424 PART VI Issues of Race, Class, Gender, and Sexuality in Everyday Life
I didn’t comfort you, because I thought it would be wrong to comfort you. I did not
tell you that it would be okay, because I have never believed it would be okay. What I
told you is what your grandparents tried to tell me: that this is your country, that this
is your world, that this is your body, and you must find some way to live within the
all of it. I tell you now that the question of how one should live within a black body,
within a country lost in the Dream, is the question of my life, and the pursuit of this
question, I have found, ultimately answers itself.
This must seem strange to you. We live in a “goal-oriented” era. Our media vocab-
ulary is full of hot takes, big ideas, and grand theories of everything. But some time
ago I rejected magic in all its forms. This rejection was a gift from your grandparents,
who never tried to console me with ideas of an afterlife and were skeptical of preor-
dained American glory. In accepting both the chaos of history and the fact of my total
end, I was freed to truly consider how I wished to live—specifically, how do I live
free in this black body? It is a profound question because America understands itself
as God’s handiwork, but the black body is the clearest evidence that America is the
work of men. I have asked the question through my reading and writings, through
the music of my youth, through arguments with your grandfather, with your mother,
your aunt Janai, your uncle Ben. I have searched for answers in nationalist myth, in
classrooms, out on the streets, and on other continents. The question is unanswera-
ble, which is not to say futile. The greatest reward of this constant interrogation, of
confrontation with the brutality of my country, is that it has freed me from ghosts and
girded me against the sheer terror of disembodiment.
5 “ I wouldn’t have come if I’d
known.”
E. Tammy Kim
In 2001, the DREAM (Development, Relief and Education for Alien Minors) Act was
introduced as a bipartisan Senate bill. The goal of this legislation was to provide
undocumented immigrants who arrived in the U.S. as children a way to obtain
permanent legal status. The bill failed to pass the Senate. Since 2001, over twenty
variations of this bill have been introduced, but none have been made into law.
In 2012, the Obama administration announced the DACA (Deferred Action for
Childhood Arrivals) program. This “quasi-DREAM” program temporarily defers de-
portation for people who came to the U.S. as children and are currently without
legal immigration status. Immigrants granted this status are allowed to apply for
work authorization and receive a Social Security number. DACA status can be
renewed two years at a time.
Eligibility criteria for DACA include: arrival in the U.S. before age 16; being be-
tween the ages of 14 and 21 on June 15, 2012; residence in the U.S. for five years;
current (or completed) high school enrollment, current position in the armed ser-
vices, or honorable discharge; and no felony or other serious convictions. Although
over 1.4 million people qualify for DACA, meeting the eligibility criteria does not
guarantee deferred action. The Department of Homeland Security makes these
decisions on a case-by-case basis.
Unlike the original proposal in the DREAM Act, DACA is a temporary form of
relief that cannot create a pathway to legal status as a legal permanent resident
or U.S. citizen. As it was made possible through an Executive Order enacted by
the President and not through a law passed by Congress, DACA is not protected
from changes or elimination by future administrations.
•••
Today, June 25: an anxious morning for Supreme Court watchers and anyone inter-
ested in immigration. The decision was announced, key sections of Arizona’s notori-
ous law upheld. I texted my friend, an immigration insider:
U ok? It’s not too bad, right?
Her response (she’s a pragmatist):
Not at all! And very good from a Fourth Amendment perspective.
The Court hadn’t, at least, denied immigrants the right not to be unreasonably
searched or seized.
It’s been a significant few weeks for immigration policy. Even before Obama an-
nounced his DREAM decision last week, I’d known something was in the works. But
E. Tammy Kim, Open City Magazine, Asian American Writers’ Workshop
425
426 PART VI Issues of Race, Class, Gender, and Sexuality in Everyday Life
I was skeptical until I heard the president’s bass1 amidst the avian sopranos of the
White House Rose Garden:
Effective immediately, the Department of Homeland Security is taking steps to lift the
shadow of deportation from these young people.
It was surprising and mysterious in equal measure, particularly following the ad-
ministration’s nationwide implementation of Secure Communities.2 Would this stop-
gap DREAM policy be safe? Who could benefit? The details soon came in: under
16, continuous presence, school attendance, military service, no criminal record, under 30.
Millions ticked off the criteria for themselves, for their loved ones.
A few days later, before a crowd of Latino elected officials, President Obama spoke
again of his policy and the America of our dreams: “a place where knowledge and
opportunity were available to anybody who was willing to work for it, anybody who
was willing to seize it . . . ‘Come, you’re welcome.’ This is who we are.”
•••
Lis has never felt welcome.
But during an interview last week, in the apartment she shares with her parents
and siblings, she spoke with cautious optimism about Obama’s announcement. She,
her brother, and her sister meet the president’s criteria. They will apply for this qua-
si-DREAM. But still she prefers anonymity, just “Lis.”
Ten years ago, she came with her mother and siblings to join her father, who had
come earlier to find work. In Ecuador, he was an administrator for a shrimp com-
pany; by 2001, the economy was in tatters. America seemed a better option, and he
and his family ended up on the Lower East Side.
Lis’s father now works as a maintenance man at St. Teresa’s Church, where Mass is
held in English, Spanish, Mandarin, and Cantonese. Of her father’s shift from white-
to blue-collar, she said, “It’s difficult, yes, but he’s a very humble man.”
By any measure, Lis, 24, is herself a model of humility. Skinny and bespectacled,
with a high-pitched voice and long, straight hair, she’s a faithful Catholic and com-
munity servant. She recently graduated with a B.S. in childhood education and psy-
chology from City College.
For Lis, becoming a teacher is still her American dream. “I hope to get a job and
get my license, but I can’t right now because of the whole issue—I can’t work. That’s
where the Obama thing comes into play.”
Like other undocumented youth, she began to worry in high school. College was
on the horizon, but she was ineligible for financial aid or public licenses. “Before
going to college, I wanted to be a veterinarian, and I wanted to be an intern at the
Central Park Zoo. I couldn’t do any of those things because you need ID or a social
security number. There are so many things that you’re restricted with.” Even small
things, like getting into buildings or going out with friends. Once, she couldn’t get
into a movie because she didn’t have ID. “And one time,” she recalled, “I remember
also forgetting my school ID and I was trying to get into school and they wouldn’t
let me in.”
5 Kim / “I wouldn’t have come if I’d known.” 427
Back in Ecuador, Lis and her family would drive their car to a beach house two
hours away. In the United States, by contrast, they’ve led a hemmed-in existence, un-
able to rent a car and afraid to leave New York City. “We take vacations, but we stay
in the city. We cannot get a car because we cannot get a driver’s license. We cannot
travel because we don’t have a passport.”
“This is what I would like to say to all those people who are against undocumented
kids: if I would have known that this would have happened to me, I wouldn’t have
decided to come here. Because who would want to live in a country where you cannot
work in your field and you always feel like you’re hiding?”
The president’s deferred-action policy will make a significant, if temporary differ-
ence. Lis will be able to work and obtain a teaching license, but, “I’m still afraid of
being deported,” she said. “Another president could come and he could say, ‘I don’t
want this policy. I don’t think immigrants should be welcomed.’ You never know.”
“In Spanish, you have a saying, ‘You see the face but you don’t see the heart.’ Cara
vemos, corazones no sabemos.” This is why, Lis said, she can count on one hand the
number of people she’s told about her status.
She plans to continue fighting for a complete DREAM Act at the state and federal
levels, as well as comprehensive immigration reform. She believes that “the next step
should be targeted to adults, the people who have been working here and paying
their taxes—because even if you are undocumented you can pay taxes.”
“How would you feel if you and your brother and sister get work authorization
but your parents are still undocumented?” I asked.
“We have talked to them about that and they are like, ‘As long as you guys feel
you have a place here, that’s okay.’ They have already made their life, and they feel
like this is kind of their fault.”
“The Irish and Italians used to be immigrants, and nobody wanted them to be
here, but then they ended up being wanted,” Lis added. “So maybe the same thing
can happen with the Latinos . . . p robably. Hopefully. I hope so.”
NOTES
1. “Remarks by the President on Immigration.” June 12, 2012. Available at: http://www
.whitehouse.gov/the-press-office/2012/06/15/remarks-president-immigration
2. Preston, J. (2012, May 12). “Despite Opposition, Immigration Agency to Expand
Fingerprint Program.” New York Times.
6 This Person Doesn’t Sound White
Ziba Kashef
Kofi? Mani? Sule? Bijan?
Choosing a name for my future son has turned out to be much more complicated
than I thought when I started searching online for possibilities.
Reza? Omar? Darius? Malcolm?
While I entertained the sound and significance of each potential moniker (Kofi
is Twi for “born on Friday”—what if he’s born on Tuesday?), I started to wonder
about the consequences of giving him an obviously “ethnic” name. It would reflect
his multiracial heritage (black, Iranian, Irish, Hungarian) and hopefully contribute
to his sense of cultural pride. But the name would also likely be misspelled, mispro-
nounced, and misunderstood in a country that is largely still ignorant and suspicious
of otherness.
My own name, Ziba (zee-bah), has mainly evoked expressions of admiration (How
unusual!) and curiosity (How do you spell that?). But on occasion, the revelation that
it is Persian, as is my father, has been met with awkward silence or stares. A Middle
Eastern name is not particularly welcome in the U.S., especially in the current anti-
Muslim/Arab/Middle East political environment.
So as I contemplate my son’s name, I’m torn between the desire to emphasize his
ethnicity and the desire to minimize the potential for profiling and discrimination
against him. While racial discrimination has been understood historically as a prac-
tice based on an individual’s skin color, recent research is showing that it is also often
based on a person’s name or speech, with the same destructive effects.
What’s in a Name?
A name—and the racial group associated with it—can make the difference between
getting a job interview and remaining unemployed, according to one recent study.
Researchers at the University of Chicago Graduate School of Business and the Mas-
sachusetts Institute of Technology sent 5,000 fake resumes in response to a variety of
ads in two major newspapers—the Boston Globe and the Chicago Tribune. Names on
the resumes were selected to sound either distinctively Anglo (e.g., Brendan Baker) or
African American (e.g., Jamal Jones). The study revealed that the fictitious job seek-
ers with white names were 50 percent more likely to get calls for interviews. Those
stats translate into the need for blacks to mail 15 resumes for every 10 resumes sent
by whites in order to land one interview. Sadly, this pattern of affirmative action for
white job hunters emerged even among federal contractors and firms that advertised
themselves as “equal opportunity” employers.
This article was first published in ColorLines Magazine (now Colorlines.com), Fall 2003. Reprinted
by permission.
428
6 Kashef / This Person Doesn’t Sound White 429
Besides changing their names, there appears to be little black applicants can
do to level the playing field. As part of the study, researchers created two sets of
resumes—high quality and low quality—to reflect the actual pool of job seekers look-
ing for work in fields ranging from sales, administrative support, clerical serv ices, and
customer services. But even having a higher quality resume with such credentials as
volunteer experience, computer skills, and special honors failed to improve the black
applicants’ chances of getting their foot in the door. “The payback that an African
American applicant gets from building these skills is much lower than the payback a
white applicant would get,” the University of Chicago’s associate professor Marianne
Bertrand noted in a summary of the study.
African and African American names aren’t the only ones singled out for prejudice,
of course, and the job sphere isn’t the only realm in which such discrimination gets
played out. In the American-Arab Anti-Discrimination Committee’s (ADC) “Report
on Hate Crimes and Discrimination Against Arab Americans: The Post-September 11
Backlash,” the authors noted that among the dozens of instances of discrimination by
airlines that occurred between September 2001 and October 2002, “the passenger’s
name or perceived ethnicity” alone was often sufficient cause for unprovoked removal
from a flight. Discrimination often took place whether or not the passenger was actu-
ally Arab or Muslim, resulting in many South Asians and others falling victim to the
ignorance of the pilot or another passenger. According to the ADC, one Indian Cana-
dian woman was removed from a plane because her last name was mispronounced as
“Attah” and therefore perceived as Middle Eastern. Other passengers were prevented
from traveling because their names were similar to those on the FBI watch list.
This type of profiling quickly spread with Jim-Crow-like effects. “We’ve found
that persons named Osama are being regularly denied services, whether in restau-
rants, stores, or other areas,” says the ADC’s media director Laila Al-Qatami. An-
other example recorded by the ADC describes how an Indian American couple
were handcuffed and interrogated after purchasing Broadway tickets and speci-
fying that their seats be located in the middle of the theater. Their crime? The
“foreign name and accent” of the ticket buyer had made the ticket agent suspicious
enough to call the police.
While the ADC has documented more than 700 violent incidents and 800 cases of
employment discrimination against Arab Americans since 9/11, many more go unre-
ported and unchallenged. “It is hard to easily label what happens as discrimination.
For example, if a person is denied housing or not offered a position with a company,”
notes Al-Qatami, “can this be linked to discrimination or is the candidate not truly
qualified? It is a fine line.”
Linguistic Profiling
Names aren’t the only potential cues to a person’s racial identity: speech may also
reveal—or conceal—ethnicity. While searching for housing in the predominantly
white neighborhood of Palo Alto, California, in the mid-1990s, John Baugh made
appointment after appointment over the phone only to be turned away at the
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