I've been struggling all weekend to write something worthwhile about Manning Marable. On Saturday, I had the good fortune of receiving a note from Georgia State historian, and former Marable grad assistant, John McMillan, seeking a place to publish his own tribute. I hastily offered this page and McMillan was kind enough to offer his memories. They are as follows:
In hindsight, this is embarrassing to admit, but here
goes.When I first met Manning Marable
in 1996, at age 26, I was nervous.Partly I was on edge because I was trying to make a big decision: Should
I pursue a Ph.D. in African-American history at either Rutgers or Michigan,
where I'd been offered full funding?Or,
should I go to Columbia (my first choice), with no money upfront, but with some
vague possibility of securing a teaching fellowship down the line?
Months before, Manning had already written me to say that if
I were admitted to Columbia, he'd be keen to take me on as one of his graduate
students.(That was a thrill unto
itself!)Nevertheless, I couldn't help
but wonder (and this is the embarrassing part): did he know I was white?And if so, would he have any doubts about my
commitment to Black Studies, or my intellectual authority to work in the field?
Keep in mind, by then I'd read virtually all of Manning's
major works, including the earlier, more polemical stuff, like How Capitalism
Underdeveloped Black America, where he declared, "Progressive white Americans
must succeed in overturning their own racism."
No problem there, I chuckled.I'd long made a point of challenging racism
in others, and I've always tried (to the best of my ability) never to tolerate
it in myself.But then, he added this:
"Nothing short of a commitment to racial equality and Black
freedom such as that exhibited by the militant white abolitionist John Brown
will be sufficient."
There was only one way to gauge Manning's attitude, and that
was to show up at his office.I made the
haul all the way from mid-Michigan to New York City in my Chevy pick-up
truck.At that point in my life, I'd
never been anywhere near an Ivy League campus.My first memory of the area around Columbia comes from driving up and
down Broadway, Amsterdam Ave., and perhaps a dozen cross streets in-between,
again and again and again, screaming and pounding on my dashboard over my
inability to find a parking space.
As soon as I met Manning, though, all of my anxiety melted
away. As anyone who knew him would agree, one of his most striking qualities
was his affability.And although I
probably would not have said this in print while he was still alive, the plain
fact is, he really did look a lot like a teddy bear.
One thing I remember from that day is how vigorously he
stressed the fact that he saw himself as both a scholar, and an activist.For him, the two vocations were
inseparable.What's more, he wanted me
to know that when he became the founding director of the Institute for Research
in African American Studies (IRAAS) a few years earlier, he'd envisioned it as
fundamentally a community resource.And
by "community," he pointed out, "I don't mean just Columbia, or even
Morningside Heights."He gestured toward
the window of his 6th floor office, which afforded views to the north and the
east."We're not in Morningside
Heights!We're in Harlem!"
To this end, he had a remarkable capacity for making time for virtually anyone who wanted something from him, even including the conspiratorial-minded guy with the rusty stains on his shirt (or was it blood?) who would occasionally show up unannounced at Manning's door, asking to bend his ear. Then there was this other fellow: he was never around, except for on the periodic occasions when the Institute would lay out a very nice buffet in honor of some distinguished guest speaker, in which case he would always be there, first in line, testing the capacity of his Styrofoam plates with enormous mounds of chicken wings, mini quiches, cocktail shrimp, and whatever else. (Okay, I'll confess: I once watched as Manning quietly observed this guy from the corner of the room, sighed heavily, and rolled his eyes.)
Manning was also one of the hardest workers in all of academia. In the mid-to-late 1990s, you might recall, a whole corps of "black public intellectuals" was suddenly gaining more exposure than they'd probably ever dreamed of. After a long period during which black scholars were more likely to toil away in obscurity, with their contributions being slighted or overlooked, now at least a few of them - through a combination of intelligence, charisma, and moxie - seemed to be everywhere. And while some celebrated the new visibility of people like Henry Louis Gates, Jr., Cornel West, and Michael Eric Dyson, others sensed a certain entrepreneurialism in their approach. Sure, they could all talk a very good game, people used to grouse. Hell, put them in range of a microphone, and they'll talk about anything! But when it came to scholarship, what did they actually do?
That was never quite my own view, but regardless: nobody ever credibly said such a thing about Manning. Sure, he made TV appearances and gave paid lectures (oh, how he must have loved Black History Month). But he was also an author of god-knows-how-many books and articles, the great bulk of which showcased his deep immersion in fields as diverse as history, sociology, political science, economics, and even literature. His new, nearly 600 page opus, Malcolm X: A Life of Reinvention, is already being celebrated as an exhaustively researched tome, one that will completely upend our understanding of that fabled leader.
What an incredible exercise in self-restraint it must have been to keep plugging away on that biography for fifteen-odd years, all the while sitting on so many explosive revelations. I remember him excitedly making a few vague allusions to the discoveries he was making, way back in the day. Now we all know just what he was onto.
At the moment, I'm awfully sad that I didn't stay in better touch with Manning in recent years, though I can take some solace from the fact that about six weeks ago, I sent him a warmly inscribed copy of my first monograph. I have so many fond memories of our conversations from the three-year period that I worked for him, but I'll always treasure that first meeting the best. After listening to my concerns, putting me at ease, and making me laugh out loud, he said something I did not expect: "I might be able to help you out."
Five months later, I'd relocated to Manhattan, and I was meeting a considerable portion of my grad school expenses by working as his research assistant. (We collaborated on two books.) Without him, I'm not sure I'd have mustered the courage to go to Columbia, something that later turned out - without question - to be one of the great blessings of my life. And yet whenever I tried to thank Manning for anything - whether for helping to pay for my education, or for buying me a sandwich (as he sometimes did), I always got the same response. He'd shrug, smile impishly, and say, "Hey, what do you expect? I'm a socialist!"
John McMillian is Assistant Professor of history at Georgia State University. His most recent book is Smoking Typewriters: The Sixties Underground Press and the Rise of Alternative Media in America (Oxford, 2011).
The president’s belief in policies that can benefit all Americans is being repudiated by voters, in favor of a vision of politics as a zero-sum game.
The 2016 presidential race represents a vivid rejection of the Obama style. This is easy to miss: His approval ratings are climbing, and Hillary Clinton won the Democratic primary by running as his successor. But the two most dramatic and portentous campaigns of the year, Donald Trump’s vertiginous win and Bernie Sanders’s astonishing insurgency, both flew in the face of the Obama era’s premises.
The Obama style had two pillars. He brought to apotheosis the American political tradition of redemptive constitutionalism. This is the creed of Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address and Second Inaugural, Martin Luther King Jr.’s “I Have a Dream” speech, and Lyndon Baines Johnson’s nationally televised speech on the Voting Rights Acts of 1965, in which he promised, “we shall overcome.” Redemptive constitutionalism holds that democracy and equal freedom really are the nation’s foundations, that slavery and Jim Crow were terrible deviations from these principles, and that, if we manage to take them seriously, to live by them, Americans will finally be free together.
Ask yourself, is all that wasted time really rewarding? And other tips from Charles Duhigg, who wrote the book on productivity.
Why is it that the more work I have to do, the more the Internet beckons me into its endless maw of distraction? Oh Lord, I will say, appealing both to myself and to whatever blog-God might be listening, I have an hour to finish this article.
But first, isn’t this Tasty video fascinating? I’ve never thought about making buffalo-fried cheese nuggets before, but now that I’ve watched a pair of disembodied hands prepare them so expertly, I should definitely head over to Amazon and Prime me some buffalo sauce.
This is how I found myself, exhausted after leaving work at 8 p.m. one day recently, flopping onto my bed, still in my pencil skirt, and clicking open a horrific, traffic-mongering slideshow linked from the bottom of an article I was reading. It was about Stars Without Makeup or What Child Stars Look Like Now or some other rancid meat for my hungry lizard brain.
It’s known as a modern-day hub of progressivism, but its past is one of exclusion.
PORTLAND, Ore.— Victor Pierce has worked on the assembly line of a Daimler Trucks North America plant here since 1994. But he says that in recent years he’s experienced things that seem straight out of another time. White co-workers have challenged him to fights, mounted “hangman’s nooses” around the factory, referred to him as “boy” on a daily basis, sabotaged his work station by hiding his tools, carved swastikas in the bathroom, and written the word “nigger” on walls in the factory, according to allegations filed in a complaint to the Multnomah County Circuit Court in February of 2015.
Pierce is one of six African Americans working in the Portland plant whom the lawyer Mark Morrell is representing in a series of lawsuits against Daimler Trucks North America. The cases have been combined and a trial is scheduled for January of 2017.
Research suggests the movement affects voting behavior among African Americans in different ways.
The Democratic National Convention begins this week, with tense race relations as its backdrop. Black Lives Matter, born of police and vigilante violence against black Americans, has shed light on race issues in recent years and is expected to hold demonstrations in Philadelphia where the convention will be held. But while politicians and pundits treat the movement as a proxy issue for the broader problem of racial inequality in the United States to garner electoral support, it may not carry the level of influence over black Americans’ voting behavior that they often credit it with.
Republicans and Democrats remain divided on the acceptance of the Black Lives Matter movement, how to address black Americans’ concerns, and the best way to improve race relations. This as the number of Americans who worry “a great deal” about race relations in the United States doubled from 17 percent in 2014 to 35 percent in 2016, after the advent of Black Lives Matter, according to a Gallup poll. A Pew Research Center survey found, however, that only 4 in 10 Americans support Black Lives Matter, with 40 percent of whites backing the movement compared to 65 percent of blacks. When partisanship is added to the mix, the polarization is particularly stark: 64 percent of white Democrats support the movement while 52 percent of white Republicans oppose it.
The State Department is reopening its investigation into Hillary Clinton’s emails, just as she puts a Justice Department investigation behind her.
Hillary Clinton is out of the frying pan and into the fire. On July 6, Attorney General Loretta Lynch announced that the Justice Department would not pursue criminal charges against the presumptive Democratic presidential nominee for her use of a private email server at the State Department. But the following day, with that criminal investigation closed, the State Department reopened its own probe into the emails, the AP reported.
State Department spokesman John Kirby told the AP that it would be looking at potential mishandling of classified information by Hillary Clinton and her top aides. Former officials could face administrative sanctions, including a loss of their security clearances—a step that would be both politically embarrassing for Clinton, and complicate efforts to staff a national-security team should she prevail in November.
The discrimination young researchers endure makes America’s need for STEM workers even greater.
When Joan was an undergraduate, in the 1970s, she asked her boyfriend why one of his roommates was finishing up a Ph.D. while another, in the same department, still had several years left.
“Barbara’s rigid,” her boyfriend said. His other roommate, Karen, had slept with her advisor, but Barbara refused to sleep with hers. Chuckling with approval, the boyfriend recounted how Karen had asked to use his waterbed, and left a pair of sexy underwear scrunched in his sheets.
Today, this kind of quid pro quo may be less common, but sexual harassment at universities persists. The spate of lawsuits, investigations, and recent resignations at the University of California, Berkeley, University of Chicago, and UCLA, accompanied by older cases leaked to the press and an increase in women going public about their experiences, have made that clear. Graduate students and postdocs are particularly vulnerable, because their futures depend so completely on good recommendations from professors. And STEM (science, technology, engineering, and math) students are more dependent than others. Their career progress hinges on invitations to work on professors’ grants or—if students have their own projects—access to big data sets or expensive lab equipment controlled by overwhelmingly male senior faculty.
Even as long-neglected maintenance threatens to further escalate the price of higher education, universities continue to borrow and spend record amounts on new buildings.
Akerman Hall is a gateway to the complex that houses the University of Minnesota’s Department of Mechanical Engineering. But wandering through it is more like an experience in archeology.
First, there’s the former airplane hangar, built in 1948 and renovated five years ago with alumni contributions into a state-of-the-art student lounge, faculty office, and lab. Then come drab cinderblock corridors and classrooms that also date from the 1940s and don’t look anywhere near as glamorous. Behind them, however, are more than $5 million of unseen upgrades the university was forced to make to elevators, sprinklers, fire alarms, and ventilation systems so old the school was buying replacement parts on eBay.
Why Millennials aren’t buying cars or houses, and what that means for the economy
In 2009, Ford brought its new supermini, the Fiesta, over from Europe in a brave attempt to attract the attention of young Americans. It passed out 100 of the cars to influential bloggers for a free six-month test-drive, with just one condition: document your experience online, whether you love the Fiesta or hate it.
Young bloggers loved the car. Young drivers? Not so much. After a brief burst of excitement, in which Ford sold more than 90,000 units over 18 months, Fiesta sales plummeted. As of April 2012, they were down 30 percent from 2011.
Don’t blame Ford. The company is trying to solve a puzzle that’s bewildering every automaker in America: How do you sell cars to Millennials (a k a Generation Y)? The fact is, today’s young people simply don’t drive like their predecessors did. In 2010, adults between the ages of 21 and 34 bought just 27 percent of all new vehicles sold in America, down from the peak of 38 percent in 1985. Miles driven are down, too. Even the proportion of teenagers with a license fell, by 28 percent, between 1998 and 2008.
Biology textbooks tell us that lichens are alliances between two organisms—a fungus and an alga. They are wrong.
In 1995, if you had told Toby Spribille that he’d eventually overthrow a scientific idea that’s been the stuff of textbooks for 150 years, he would have laughed at you. Back then, his life seemed constrained to a very different path. He was raised in a Montana trailer park, and home-schooled by what he now describes as a “fundamentalist cult.” At a young age, he fell in love with science, but had no way of feeding that love. He longed to break away from his roots and get a proper education.
At 19, he got a job at a local forestry service. Within a few years, he had earned enough to leave home. His meager savings and non-existent grades meant that no American university would take him, so Spribille looked to Europe.