Ta-Nehisi Coates

Ta-Nehisi Coates is a senior editor at The Atlantic, where he writes about culture, politics, and social issues. He is the author of the memoir The Beautiful Struggle. More

Born in 1975, the product of two beautiful parents. Raised in West Baltimore -- not quite The Wire, but sometimes ill all the same. Studied at the Mecca for some years in the mid-'90s. Emerged with a purpose, if not a degree. Slowly migrated up the East Coast with a baby and my beloved, until I reached the shores of Harlem. Wrote some stuff along the way.

Toward a Moral Professional Football League

Horde legionnaire David White has offered up some interesting suggestions about how to reform the game. I don't know if any of this is possible. But I think that's also beside the point. Brainstorming is a particular challenge. Making it happen is another. On that note, in addition to critiquing it'd be nice if you guys throw out ideas on your own:

I don't intend to stop watching. I could go into a lot about my thinking, but it essentially comes down to the my belief that these players are making the same Achilles bargin that young men have been making for eons, and I'm comfortable accepting that.

The game will never be "safe," but that doesn't mean that changes can't be made to make the game safer. Some changes I would like to see (some of which may have already been started):

1) Off field changes

-- Move to fully guaranteed contracts and expand rosters. Players would be more willing to sit if they know they won't be cut off/replaced after being injured. And a larger roster would make it easier for a team to keep an injured players on the payroll.

-- Full health coverage for players who played more than 3 years or suffered a career-ending injury.

-- Robust mental therapy program for players transitioning into retirement (possibly make it a requirement for retired players seeking health care coverage).

-- Doctors work for the league, not for the teams. And each doctor has a clear checklist on the sideline that a player must pass if they're suspected of being concussed.

-- Brain function tests at the start and end of every season, which are shared with the players at the start of training camp every year. Make sure their choice is as well-informed as possible.

-- If a player suffers a concussion, they're not allowed to play in the following week. If they suffer a second concussion, they have to skip two games. Any more, they're forced to sit out the rest of the season.

-- Add another bye week to the season, and either end Thursday night games, or schedule them in such a way that teams only play them when coming off of a bye week.

2) On field changes

-- Make every offensive player an eligible receiver. Over the long term, I think this would reduce the size of linemen to TE sized players, and it'd eliminate a lot of the "in the trenches" hit a player takes over his career. It would also make the game more strategically complex, as defenses would have to guess who's going out to receive and who's staying to block. It's a big break from tradition, but ironically, it'd make the sport much more similar to the way that it's played by ordinary people in backyards around the country.

-- Ban the 3-pt and 4-pt stance. Instead of firing into each other in a way where it's impossible to avoid head-to-head contact, make offensive lineman line up in the way they often do already for pass plays, and make defensive linemen line up more like linebackers. There'd still be head to head contact, but it wouldn't be as natural and inevitable.

-- Experiment with different helmet materials. The history of the sport proves that helmets are needed (players regularly died on the field back before helmets were used), but they should experiment with materials that make leading with the head less likely. Maybe something closer to the leather helmets of old, or like the headgear boxers use when sparring.

(To fantasize for a moment about helmet technology: I don't think they'll ever be able to create a helmet to stop concussions, despite what NFL PR tries to tell us. But I'd like to see something that registers the amount of force taken by a player over the course of a game. And once it reaches a certain threshold, a player has to leave the game. Like it slowly turns red the more hits it takes, and once it's glowing red, the player has to leave the game.)

What do you guys think of these ideas? What ideas do you suggest?

The Ethics of Letting RGIII Play

Somewhat related, Bill Barnwell has a good piece in Grantland looking at RGII's injury from both an ethical and a practical standpoint. He concludes that it was wrong to let RGIII play in the moment for practical reasons (hampered by injury) and wrong when you look at the entirety of the situation. The most damning piece of evidence isn't what happened in the game, but what happened weeks before:

Sunday broke with the news that Dr. James Andrews hadn't cleared Robert Griffin to come back into the Week 14 game against the Ravens after suffering the initial knee injury, despite Mike Shanahan claiming otherwise as part of the justification for pushing RG3 back in for four plays. Shanahan pretended that there was a conversation with Andrews offering his consent for the move when Andrews noted that he had been shielded from evaluating Griffin by the head coach.  

The medical staff -- including Andrews -- evaluated Griffin on Sunday after his injury and said that he was, according to the untrustworthy Shanahan, "fine to play," suggesting that the team had checked with the doctors to "ask them their opinion if we would be hampering his LCL ... or was he in good enough shape to go into the game and play at the level we need for him to win." It seems like an impossible argument to win. Griffin didn't have an MRI during the game or miss time until suffering his second knee injury of the day. He had a gigantic brace on his knee built specifically to support his LCL, so it's not a surprise that the doctors would suggest that LCL wouldn't be hampered. Even if Griffin was healthy enough to step back onto the field, the dramatic dip in his performance should have been enough to tip off a coach who's been around football for his entire life that something was wrong.

From USA Today:

Andrews, however, told USA TODAY Sports on Saturday that he never cleared Griffin to go back into the game, because he never even examined him. 

 "(Griffin) didn't even let us look at him," Andrews said. "He came off the field, walked through the sidelines, circled back through the players and took off back to the field. It wasn't our opinion.

"We didn't even get to touch him or talk to him. Scared the hell out of me." 

Yet when asked by news reporters, Shanahan described a conversation with Andrews this way: 

"He's on the sidelines with Dr. Andrews. He had a chance to look at him and he said he could go back in," Shanahan said Dec. 10. 

"(I said) 'Hey, Dr. Andrews, can Robert go back in?' 

'Yeah, he can go back in.' 

 'Robert, go back in.' 

"That was it," Shanahan said.

I think it's worth recognizing that circumventing medical opinion is an old tradition in football. Barnwell makes the point that Shanahan has been around the game for his entire life. But that is actually the problem. Football is premised on the hazy morality of "playing through pain." And it isn't hazy simply because of what football is, but because of what people are--which is to say very different from each other. 

Even by those standards, it's still dishonorable to conjure medical cover for a questionable decision. In a league where coaches are cycled in and out every two or three years, and players are disposable, the incentive toward conjuring cover is obvious.

Junior Seau Had CTE

Junior Seau's death prompted me to stop watching football. It wasn't clear to me, at the time, that Seau actually had CTE. But thinking about it (the way I now think about Jovan Belcher) made it really hard to be entertained by the sport. With good reason:

"I think it's important for everyone to know that Junior did indeed suffer from CTE," Gina Seau said. "It's important that we take steps to help these players. We certainly don't want to see anything like this happen again to any of our athletes." She said the family was told that Seau's disease resulted from "a lot of head-to-head collisions over the course of 20 years of playing in the NFL. And that it gradually, you know, developed the deterioration of his brain and his ability to think logically." 

CTE is a progressive disease associated with repeated head trauma. Although long known to occur in boxers, it was not discovered in football players until 2005. Researchers at Boston University recently confirmed 50 cases of CTE in former football players, including 33 who played in the NFL. 

Seau shot himself in the heart May 2. His death stunned not only the football world but also his hometown, San Diego, where he played the first 13 years of his 20-year career. Seau led the Chargers to their first and only Super Bowl appearance and became a beloved figure in the community.
I am listening to Herman Edwards talk about how this information can help other players. But the information can only lead to the end of football as we know it. You can't fix this by getting rid of big hits. You can't fix this by focusing on concussions. Junior Seau never had such a diagnosis, and even if he did, it is the repeated "minor" hits that cause CTE. The enemy is the game itself. And it is killing men.

At the time of Seau's death it was said that we should not jump to conclusions. I generally think prudence is a good idea. Except that an astonishing number of football players keep shooting themselves. 

A rather stunned Mike Greenberg just put it well: "You can't live with a business when one of the results can be Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy. It's a hard word to even pronounce. it's a brain disease." 

Here is Tyler Seau on his father's death:

Tyler said he was holding tightly to his memories of getting up at 5 in the morning to lift weights with his father before heading to the beach for a workout and surfing. And while the diagnosis helps, he said, it can't compensate for his loss. 

"I guess it makes it more real," he said. "It makes me realize that he wasn't invincible, because I always thought of him as being that guy. Like a lot of sons do when they look up to their dad. You know? You try to be like that man in your life. You try to mimic the things that he does. Play the game the way he did. Work the way he did. And, you know, now you look at it in a little bit different view." 

Tyler added: "Is it worth it? I'm not sure. But it's not worth it for me to not have a dad. So to me it's not worth it."

Toward a More Badass History

Django.jpg


We probably should have seen this coming:

Last fall, the National Entertainment Collectibles Association, Inc. (NECA), in tandem with the Weinstein Company, announced a full line of consumer products based on characters from the movie. First up are pose-able eight-inch action figures with tailored clothing, weaponry, and accessories in the likeness of characters played by Foxx, Kerry Washington, Samuel L. Jackson, Leonardo DiCaprio, James Remar and Christoph Waltz. 

The dolls are currently on sale via Amazon.com. A press release announcing the deal stated that the line was similar to the retro toy lines that helped define the licensed action-figure market in the 1970s and that the collection will include a full apparel and accessories line. At the time of the announcement, NECA president Joel Weinshanker said the company was "very excited to bring the stellar cast of Django to life and honored to be working with another Tarantino masterpiece."  

Action figures for Tarantino films Kill Bill Vol. 1 and Vol. 2 may have been better suited for such commercial pursuits. But for some projects, anything goes. On Facebook last week, a post from "Black Is magazine" posed the question: "Who's in the market for a Django Unchained action figure? Funny or offensive?"

I don't think it's particularly funny or offensive, so much as it is apropos. I'm not going to see Django. I'm not very interested in watching some black dude slaughter a bunch of white people, so much as I am interested in why that never actually happened, and what that says. I like art that begins in the disturbing truth of things and then proceeds to ask the questions which history can't. 

Among those truths, for me, is the relative lack of appetite for revenge among slaves and freedmen. The great slaughter which white supremacists were always claiming to be around the corner, was never actually in the minds of slaves and freedman. What they wanted most was peace. It's true they had to kill for it. But their general perspective was "Leave me the fuck alone." 

This is disturbing if you come up in a time where slavery is acknowledged by much of society as one of the great tragedies of history. There is a feeling that "They" got away with it, a sense of large injustice that haunts all of us. I am certain that my earliest attractions to the USCT had everything to do with the presence of guns, and the possibility of vengeful badassery. I found very little of that. I did find a lot of courage, a lot of humor, and a lot of pain over family divided by auction blocks. There was some talk of "Remember Ft. Pillow." But there was very little in the way of "Kill them all." 

It was the same with my studies of the Underground Railroad. If you read William Still's compendium of  escapes, you find very few revanchists. Instead you see an incredible number of people who escaped, not because of the labor or torture of slavery, but because a relative was sold or because they, themselves, were about to be sold to family. Slave revenge has the luxury of making slavery primarily about white people. It is a luxury that the black rebels of antebellum America had little use for. Uppermost in their minds was not ensuring that white slavers got what was coming, but the preservation and security of their particular black families. Their husbands and wives were not objects to be avenged, but actual whole people whose welfare was more important than payback I so longed to see.

It was almost as though history was refusing to give me what I wanted. And I have come to believe that right there is the thing--the tension in historical art is so much about what we want from the past and the past actually gives. All the juice lay in abandoning our assumptions, our needs, and donning the mask of a different people with different needs. This is never totally possible--but I have found the effort to be transcendent. It fills you with a feeling that is outside of yourself.

My larger point is that Django "action figures" are an excellent comment on our needs today. In that sense, they are actually like the Confederate Flag and the deification of Robert E. Lee. I don't know if this is a problem, or not. You can't really expect Americans--black or otherwise--to be American in all their other incarnations, and then suddenly change when discussing slavery. I'm pretty sure that Robert E. Lee has an action figure, too. 

So this is progress. And this is democracy. It's just not for me. And I think that's alright.

You Can't Fight Rape Culture With Bad Data

rape_infographic.jpg

I think everyone should read Amanda Marcotte's piece on this graphic put out by the Enliven Project which both understates and overstates the problem. Hopefully they'll redo the graphic. But folks who are sending this around should know what they're dealing with. No point in going to war with water pistols.

Alex Jones Pitches Government by Boxing Match




There's a telling moment in this Piers Morgan interview with Alex Jones, wherein Jones challenges Morgan to a boxing match. Jones is one of the authors of a petition to deport Piers Morgan. He also commands a fairly large talk radio audiences, and began the interview by angrily warning Morgan that any move toward gun control would open the doors to "1776."

Nevertheless, I think the fact that Jones responds to a disagreement over government policy by telling his interlocutor "well how 'bout we take this outside" is illustrative. Jones spends much of the interview ranting about the evils of government use of force, without much attention to the kind of individual violence with which he threatened Morgan. More accurately, Jones believes that the only answer to such violence is more -- presumably defensive -- violence, though his pose makes him a poor advocate for such a position. 

One argument, and perhaps the greatest argument, for civil society is that we do not settle actual policy questions by asking, in Chris Rock mode, "Yes, but can you kick my ass?" That way lies the path to government by ogres, or chaos, or all against all, or all against them, or all against me. There must be a better way.


I Can Feel the Changes

I finally took some time to give a few serious spins to Kendrick Lamar's Good Kid, M.A.A.D. City. Bad on me. Really bad on me. Good Kid is not simply one the best hip-hop albums I've ever heard, but one of the most moving pieces of art I've seen/heard in a long, long, long time. I sort of initially bristled at the notion of comparison to Illmatic--my personal favorite ever--but it is exactly the right comparison. Nas was able to do was conjure the chaos of inner city black America in the late '80s and '90s. Now Kendrick Lamar summons it nearly 20 years later (with more focus, by the way) and virtually nothing has changed.

Good Kid chronicles a 17-year-old's effort to visit a romantic interest, and the kind of violence that haunts such a pedestrian effort. This scenario is right out of my young Baltimore city life. I used to love The Wonder Years. But Kevin Arnold didn't have to roll five deep to go see Winnie Cooper. That was the street law when I young man, and it's depressing to hear that it still is today. But it shows how violence warps the most ordinary routine.

Lamar's album is, in part, about the consequences of forgetting that law. But more than that it's also about the people who enforce it. Everyone should listen to "The Art Of Peer Pressure." It is commentary on everything from Chicago to Steubenville. Everyone should listen to "Black Boy Fly." All I can tell you is the feeling behind "Two niggas making it had never sounded logical" mirrors my own feelings as a child.

A word on "bitch." I initially felt that the album was a beautifully produced work of misogyny.  That mostly came from me giving a quick, inattentive listen. Good Kid deserves a lot better. It is that rare rap record that actually abandons triumphalism, invulnerability, and wears the mask. Rappers like to claim to be broadcasters, not endorsers. Except it's usually clear that they think, say, guns are pretty cool. This was that rare rap record where I thought the reflection to endorsement ratio was roughly 20 to one.

This is a great album--one that I wish had been around when I was 13. Non-rap fans should give this a listen. it is some of the best word-smithing, sentence-crafting, and beat production that hip-hop has to offer. And it is how it feels to be a black boy in the mad city.  Hip-hop is obsessed with soldiers. This may be the first great record I've heard by someone obsessed with speaking as a civilian. And there have always been more of us than them.

MORE: Another quick note. Hip-hop has long been obsessed with "confessionals" and showing that gangstas have sensitive sides too. Usually this just comes off as whining. Puffy's "No Way Out" is a classic of Whine-Rap, as is almost everything Kanye West does. Rappers who whine tend to talk about Jesus a lot. 

Of course not all rappers who talk about Jesus are whining. Kendrick Lamar is the MC that every other whine-rapper thinks he is.  Their idea of making sensitive art is to cut a track say "HEY THIS IS ME BEING SENSITIVE. THUGS CRY TO GIRL. AND IT IS WRONG THAT I AM OBSESSED WITH WHITE WOMAN. BUT BLACK GIRLS BE BITCHEZ (DON'T JUDGE ME. JUST SAYIN.)" 

 Whereas Good Kid doesn't talk. It just kinda is. As great art always is.

Steubenville Justice

Some news from the horrifying Steubenville rape case. Michael Nodianos, who was filmed laughing his head off about a girl who was "so raped right now," has left Ohio State University:

Michael Nodianos hasn't been charged with a crime in connection to the alleged rape of a 16-year-old girl by two members of the Steubenville High School football team in August. The case ignited a firestorm of controversy and national attention after hackers affiliated with the group Anonymous began breaking into the websites and email accounts of several football players and locals. The hackers believed these people had gotten off too lightly.

Nodianos' departure from OSU is the result of Anonymous' hacking campaign. Amanda Marcotte takes on the ethics of all of this:

As some initial gleeful Twitter responses from students to the alleged rape demonstrate, one reason rape continues is that communities not only don't hold perpetrators responsible, but close ranks to defend or even celebrate them. By stepping in and holding people accountable, Anonymous stands a very good chance of taking action that actually does something to stop rape. 

But: This type of online vigilante justice is potentially invading the privacy of or defaming innocent Steubenville residents, and even if everything published is true, there are very serious legal limits to the Anonymous strategy. Not all of the leaked allegations are attached to Twitter or YouTube accounts--many of the most serious cover-up claims, which we won't reprint here, are at this point only rumor. The allegations will infuriate you, but they don't rise to the level of real evidence that can be used to truly hold responsible those who participate in sex crimes.

Nodianos and his family have all faced threats and people attempting to find out his class schedule. I think that's wrong. Nodianos should have the right to go about his life, free of violence -- both threatened and actual -- no matter what he said on any tape. 

At the same time, I also think that violent crime is not just an offense against any victims, but an offense against society. If your response to a brutal crime perpetrated against a defenseless victim is to cut a video in which you laugh your head off, you should expect society to take offense and subject you to some amount of inconvenience.

A the core of all of this is the really poor job we do in terms of prosecuting rape. I have little in the way of ideas as to how to get better. But if there is support for Anonymous's tactics -- which I think are as spectacular as they are dangerous -- it comes out of an utter frustration with how we handle (or don't handle) sexual violence.

The Hollywood America Deserves

Tubman2.png
A painting by Jacob Lawrence from his Harriet Tubman series

One of the rather frequent responses I get when posting the stories of people like Harriet Tubman, Frederick Douglass, or Robert Smalls is that their story deserves to be a movie. A biopic is seen by a lot of us as the ultimate testimonial to a person's life. Moreover, movies have the unique power to reach and influence millions of people. Finally, movies offer the possibility of all the imagery and input we hold when thinking of, say, Harriet Tubman to be made manifest before the world. I think this impulse is basically correct. It is especially correct given that Hollywood doesn't just ignore slavery and the Civil War but turns out revisionist dreck like Gods and Generals.

At the same time I think it's important to not talk as though it were an entity separate from the politics, economics, and history of America. The person who would bankroll a Harriet Tubman biopic would likely be someone who was particularly touched by her story. Such a person would not have to be black, but I don't know how you separate the paucity of black people with the power to green-light from the paucity of good films concerning black people in American history.

Moreover, movie-making is risky and expensive. Any discussion of the lack of a Harriet Tubman biopic should begin with the shameful fact that median white wealth in this country stands at $110,000 and median black wealth stands at around $5,000. It would be nice to think that this gap reflected choices cultural and otherwise, instead of the fact that for most this country's history its governing policy was to produce failure in black communities, and most of its citizens supported such policies. It would be nice if Hollywood were more moral and forward-thinking than its consumer base. But I would not wait around for such a day.

What I would do is interrogate the basic premise that holds that black lives (or any heroic life) is not truly legend unless a financier decides it should be. Movies are an art form—one that I very much enjoy—but they are one of many. Those of us who are unhappy with Hollywood's presentation of black life should not restrict themselves to Hollywood. What was the last play we saw by a black writer? What was the last book by a black writer we read? What did we give for Christmas, Kwanzaa or Hanukkah? When was the last time we went to see an exhibit by a black artist?

Finally, this is a particular moment in Hollywood—one wherein glorious righteous violence and what Alyssa Rosenberg calls "transgressive badassery" reigns supreme. I do wish Hollywood would do other kinds of movies. But a constant view of slavery through lens of badassery somehow feels like more of the same.

The Myth of Harriet Tubman


Harriet2 615.png
Jacob Lawrence

I recently finished Kate Larsen's excellent biography of Harriet Tubman--Bound For The Promised Land. Tubman, like any mythical figure has had her exploits elevated beyond actual events. But even in Larsen's historical telling she emerges as a super-heroic figure. It's true she didn't shepherd 200 slaves out of Maryland. The number was more like 70--which is to say, given the logistics, a lot.

At any rate, I've done a lot of thinking on the place of myth in African-American history. Django aside, we don't really have many avenging angels. Reviewing the primary documents of the time, I don't even detect much taste for mass vengeance. There's often a taste for particular vengeance on particular people, but more than anything there's a strong desire to be left the fuck alone. Actions, like absconding with oneself, are usually set in motion by the threat of sale and the disruption of family ties. At first I was surprised by the lack of race hatred. But when I thought about it, it makes sense. 

Race hatred among whites was not irrational devolution. On the contrary it served an actual political purpose--defining the borders of citizenship, manhood and the broadest aristocracy ever created. Race hatred among blacks is just vengeance. It doesn't really go anywhere. It doesn't offer access to anything you didn't have before. Even if you look at the actual ideology of black nationalists what you will find more than "Kill Whitey" is "Leave us the fuck alone." Whereas integrationists wanted to be left alone here as Americans, separatists wanted to be left alone elsewhere. But both wanted to left alone.

That said, the black freedom movement isn't faultlessly benign. Above is painting from Jacob Lawrence's awesome series on Harriet Tubman. It takes as inspiration Tubman's famous aphorism--"Dead niggers tell no tales." (Yes that's Harriet Tubman, not DMX.) Tubman was known, on at least one occasion, to force an escaped slave forward at gun-point. The point was practical--should the slave return he would be tortured, and give up Tubman's methods. What I love most about this piece is how the man is shielding his face from the freedom that lay before him, or perhaps mourning the friends, and possibly family, he's left behind.

Freedom must have been scary for these peoples. Tubman says when she first escaped, she felt like a man who'd been let out jail after long bid. There was no one there to greet her. No home to return to. She had to make her way alone. And she did--along with a lot of others.

It's Not You, It's Me

This is the first season of the NFL I've missed in 32 years. I can't say I didn't miss it. I keep up with the news, mind you. I can't name the playoff teams, or tell you who the Super Bowl favorite is, much less pick my own. But I know that Tom Brady and Payton Manning had great years--and that Adrian Peterson cleared 2000 yards. It was not as hard as I thought. I used to live for Fall Sundays--it was the one day I had totally and completely to myself. Everything that had gone wrong in the week--and there was always a lot--just seemed to melt away.  

But now there's the matter of time. I basically have two governing passions in my life--writing and family--and everything, somehow, ties to one of them. And the older I've gotten the more time each has taken from me. (And the more they have given back.) When I was 25 there just seemed like there was so much time. And then there's the fact that both of my passions are so tied to brain function. I don't know what I am without my writing and my family. And I don't what those things would be to me with an (more) inhibited brain. 

I thought about that constantly last season. It probably goes to far to say I watched football strictly for the violence. But I certainly didn't watch in spite of it. I can't say I would have felt the same about flag football. When Ray Lewis would smash into Eddie George, I would feel an electric charge surge through me. And I loved it. I loved Ronnie Lott because he was such a big hitter. I still think fondly of Steve Atwater--like the recovering alcoholic recalling one of his great benders. But the fact of the matter is that my view of violence--ritual and otherwise--has changed in the past ten years. I hear Ray Lewis is retiring. And all I can do is worry about his brain.

Which isn't to say that I didn't miss some things. I'm mostly sad I missed the quarterback play of RGIII and Andrew Luck. I'm really sorry I missed Peyton Manning's comeback. I watched a half of one game this year--the Thanksgiving day game, so I did get to see some of RGIII's wizardry. And on that note, I caught enough news to be very happy to no longer be a Cowboys fan. On Sunday, my twitter stream was filled with people laughing at Tony Romo and Jerry Jones. It was like hearing that your lush of an ex-spouse had, yet again, made of a drunken fool of himself at the company party. You are sort of embarrassed for him. But you are also glad to no longer be attached. He'll never change. 

Barack Obama's Second First Term

Jonathan Chait gives the most hilarious assessment of the fiscal-cliff deal I've seen, calling it a "poor bargain but not an awful one." The deal trades permanency on GOP grounds (much of Bush tax cuts, something Obama claimed was not negotiable) for more temporary measures on Democratic grounds (another year of unemployment insurance.) 

Watching the president operate with a kind of political leverage he won't soon again enjoy has not been a very encouraging experience: 
So what we have is two more showdowns in which the parties disagree not just on the outcome but even on the parameters of an outcome. Obama thinks the debt ceiling needs to be raised, full stop, without becoming a bargaining chip in a fight that threatens the stability of the global economy. Republicans want to use that chip. Then there's the sequester, which Obama thinks should be replaced with spending cuts and tax revenue, and Republicans think should be replaced with spending cuts and more spending cuts. 

If Obama makes it through both these events without either accepting draconian social policy or triggering an economic meltdown, then today's compromise will be seen as a clever first step. That's not what I expect. I expect instead that his willingness to bargain away his strongest leverage, and the central theme of his reelection, will make the next rounds harder, and embolden Republicans further. I suspect he will wish he had ripped off the Band-Aid all at once, holding firm on tax cuts and daring House Republicans to defy public opinion.
Noam Scheiber notes the asymmetry in the GOP's approach and the president's:
Put all that together and here's what the fiscal cliff accomplished then: It affirmed to Republicans that Obama will do pretty much anything he can to avoid a debt default, regardless of what he says. It affirmed the White House anxiety that the GOP might not blink before we default. To put it mildly, that's quite an asymmetry. I want to believe the president can get through the next stage in this endless budget stalemate without accepting some of the more dangerous spending cuts conservatives are demanding. But at this point I'm having a hard time seeing it.
Obama and his allies like to deride lefties as a group of softheads who don't understand that negotiation is essential to government. But they don't like to deal with a more stinging left-wing critique: Negotiation is a part of democracy and Barack Obama, whatever his many, many talents, is not very good at it

Some of us thought that given the election results, and not having to stand for reelection, we might see a different Barack Obama. Probably not. There is no real reason for to take Obama's claim that he won't negotiate over the debt ceiling seriously. That goes for his enemies and his friends alike.

The Wholly Misunderstood Emancipation Proclamation

One of the more interesting arguments I've had to adjust to since diving into the Civil War is the cynic's denunciation of the Emancipation Proclamation as a document which didn't do anything. I assume this is a reaction to a point in our history when people went around claiming that the Proclamation "freed the slaves."

It did not. But, as historian Eric Foner notes, the Proclamation is still one of the most important documents in American history:

A military order, whose constitutional legitimacy rested on the president's war powers, the proclamation often disappoints those who read it. It is dull and legalistic; it contains no soaring language enunciating the rights of man. Only at the last minute, at the urging of Treasury Secretary Salmon P. Chase, an abolitionist, did Lincoln add a conclusion declaring the proclamation an "act of justice." 

Nonetheless, the proclamation marked a dramatic transformation in the nature of the Civil War and in Lincoln's own approach to the problem of slavery. No longer did he seek the consent of slave holders. The proclamation was immediate, not gradual, contained no mention of compensation for owners, and made no reference to colonization. 

In it, Lincoln addressed blacks directly, not as property subject to the will of others but as men and women whose loyalty the Union must earn. For the first time, he welcomed black soldiers into the Union Army; over the next two years some 200,000 black men would serve in the Army and Navy, playing a critical role in achieving Union victory. And Lincoln urged freed slaves to go to work for "reasonable wages" -- in the United States. He never again mentioned colonization in public.

One part of the problem is that there is a left-radical strain descending from the days of the abolitionists that has trouble crediting Lincoln with anything. (I am partial to Frederick Douglass's ultimate assessment.) And there's a right wing quasi-libertarian strain which fashions Lincoln a tyrant and believes black people should have remained slaves waiting on a compensated emancipation which was never in the offing

Another part of the problem is the idea that, with something as dramatic as emancipation, there should be some break point, some specific document that freed the slaves. But as Foner points out, emancipation is a process (one that I would argue begins with slave abscondance and the Underground Railroad), not so much a point. And emancipation is itself a part of an even larger process -- integrating African Americans as citizens of equal standing. That effort continues even today.

Through the Lens of Disability

Yesterday one of my favorite commenters wrote this:

I have been forced to realize this as my world has been restricted due to chronic pain disability. I choose to push myself to work full-time, which means I have negligible time in which to read and enlighten myself. I work, I come home, I cook/eat/shower/clean and go to bed at ridiculously early hours - honestly I get most of my reading done during my work breaks. I am also an infovore and yearn for new knowledge, but I have a choice between loopy-because-of-pain or loopy-because-of-meds. 

My point is basically, this has all forced me to realize I simply can't be the learned, knowledgeable person I would so much like to be. I like to think I'm a pretty damned smart person. The people I work with are upset that I am "only" a secretary and not something higher-skilled, intellectual-leaning. I loved school, but cannot sustain that type of learning if I value my ability to perform basic self-care. So I move through life learning based on lived experience, of myself and others. And I have come to think it is just as valid a school as is traditional academia.

Great White Men have contributed very much to our society, but so have many others who aren't studied and taught in classrooms. As Ta-Nehisi points out, much of the base of his intellectual approach was formed by hip-hop and other (generally-regarded-by-outsiders-as) "unserious" arts. Those ideas are just as worthy of contention as those of St. Augustine. And yet no one would think it reasonable to point and laugh at the educated white kids who don't know Nas. (FWIW, I don't know Nas either.) But if the ideas of Nas have sense and create a meaningful theory, why don't those kids know Nas, and aren't they just as worthy of ridicule for not knowing his work? The answer is yes, they are, but that is exactly what demonstrates why no one should be ridiculed for not knowing a particular author, artist, or work, even the very Big and Important ones. 

Another thing my disability has taught me is that as long as it gets done, the way you got there doesn't matter (or rather, is just as right as the conventional way). Adaptation is very important for disabled people. And it is just as applicable here: TNC, and other Black thinkers, have arrived at a worldview that is fully-formed and worthy of study and debate. Does the result not count because the method was not conventional? Must outsiders conform to the inside path in order to have their outside-influenced views accepted? Maybe there's more to this world than we can all learn about in a lifetime. Maybe we are all limited beings. Maybe, if the world is so vast and so full of curious and layered experiences ripe for examination and enjoyment, none of us can expect every one of us to know every bit of it. Maybe we can appreciate the place the other person comes from without making sure they first display the correct status markers to be considered serious. Maybe a whole lot more people are "serious" than we have ever allowed for. And maybe our "serious" canon isn't as universal as we've always presented it.

I really appreciate this comment--but more than its content, I appreciate the lens which is one which I have never had to consider or really encounter in any deep sort of way. This is not the first time this has come up--I recall some conversation about identity and the hearing impaired. And it's come up in other blog posts as a kind of side-note.

I don't really have a coherent, or frankly even polite, way to ask this question. But here is what I think: so much social justice writing is about what society owes those who we perceive as getting the short of end of the stick. It's called social justice for a reason. But what I like about this post is that it isn't simply about what the world should do about physical disability, but how a physical disability shaped a person's life, regardless of societal responsibility.

I'm putting this thread here out of sheer curiosity. As I've said I've seen some of my commenters, from to time, allude to their disabilities. I guess I am asking how it feels beyond the realm of social justice? How does disability shape a person and their approach learning, or anything? I know "disability" is a big word. I'd like to leave it that way on purpose. 

Speak your peace please. But be nice. There's nuff sarcasm on this blog. 

My Heroes. Your Stamps.

I got a lot of pushback on twitter and some here (a lot less) for not knowing who Augustine of Hippo was. (I hope I have the right Augustine.) One of the problems with a title like "senior editor" or with working at a place like The Atlantic or with assuming mantles like "writer" or "public intellectual"  is people expect those kinds of credentials to mean that the bearer is in possession of a super-abundance of information about great thinkers and great writers. I think I've been pretty straight with you guys about the pitfalls of my eduction. And that isn't because I think my pitfalls are any greater or any worse than any other writer. In fact, I reject the entire business. 

Larry Neal was deeply influential in my writing. Very few of my peers have read the poetry of Larry Neal, and of those who have, every one of them is black. The poetry of Carolyn Forché and Lucille Clifton helped shape my style. (Cop that collected, son.) More people have read Lucille Clifton, but not a lot. My entree into this current project dealing with the Civil War and slavery, was the work of Paula Giddings and her awesome biography of Ida B Wells, A Sword Among Lions. I know one other person whose read the book. My Dad. This is to say nothing of all the obscure rappers and MCs who caused me to fall in love with words.

I believe in a great canon, but as a writer, I don't much care. The artist's canon must be personal. My canon happens to include Clifton, Neal, Rakim, Raekwon etc. and Fitzgerald, McPherson, Hurston, Melville, Wharton, Doctorow, Hurston and so on. Perhaps one day it will include Augustine. But there's a lot of great stuff I haven't read. I've never made it through a Hemingway novel. I have not read a single story of Mark Twain's. I read Plato in college, which is to say I didn't read it all. I loved Foucault but didn't finish. I have not read Nietzsche. I have not read Henry James, Cervantes, Willa Cather, John Edgar Wideman, Wallace Stegner, Joseph Heller or J.D. Salinger.

If you name an important book there is a very good chance I haven't read it. I'm not against important books. I hope to write one someday. But I read what I like, before I read what's important. That's who I am. It's my version of the "senior editor" or "public intellectual." I don't believe my job is stand in front of you and pretend to know things, which I do not. I also don't believe it's my job to be right. It's my job to be honest with you and employ really awful French.

C'est tout.

On Living Armed

Yesterday in the conversation between me and Jeff, the follow quote appeared from me:

And the fact is that I would actually rather die by shooting than live armed.

One thing that happens in writing is sometimes you say something that its "catchy" and it gets repeated outside of the context in which it was actually said. To get clear, I think it's important to understand that I was responding to a question, and the question was not "What is your position on gun control? or  "Do you think guns should be banned?" The question was:

If you were confronted with an "active shooter," do you think, in that moment, you might wish you had a gun?

And my response was:

I think that last question gets to the heart of a difference. I actually wouldn't wish I had a gun. I've shot a rifle at camp once, but that's about it. If I had a gun, there is a good chance I would shoot myself, thus doing the active shooter's work for him (it's usually "him.") But the deeper question is, "If I were confronted with an active shooter, would I wish to have a gun and be trained in its use?" It's funny, but I still don't know that I would. I'm pretty clear that I am going to die one day. That moment will not be of my choosing, and it almost certainly will not be too my liking. But death happens. Life -- and living -- on the other hand are more under my control. And the fact is that I would actually rather die by shooting than live armed. 

This is not mere cant. It is not enough to have a gun, anymore than it's enough to have a baby. It's a responsibility. I would have to orient myself to that fact. I'd have to be trained and I would have to, with some regularity, keep up my shooting skills. I would have to think about the weight I carried on my hip and think about how people might respond to me should they happen to notice. I would have to think about the cops and how I would interact with them, should we come into contact. I'd have to think about my own anger issues and remember that I can never be an position where I have a rage black-out. What I am saying is, if I were gun-owner, I would feel it to be really important that I be a responsible gun-owner, just like, when our kids were born, we both felt the need to be responsible parents. The difference is I like "living" as a parent. I accept the responsibility and rewards of parenting. I don't really want the responsibilities and rewards of gun-ownership. I guess I'd rather work on my swimming. And I think, given the concentration of guns in a smaller and smaller number of hands, there's some evidence that society agrees. 

 Which is not to say those of us who don't own guns don't want to live. We do. But it's not clear that this particular way of living will even be effective. I think about the shooter down at the Empire State Building a few months back. The police showed up to protect the public and ended in a shoot-out with a guy. Nine bystanders were wounded -- all at the hands of the police. It's just not clear to me that this sort of situation wouldn't repeat itself, but with citizens doing the wounding. With that kind of risk, perhaps it's better to handle "gun safety" before we get to the moment of an "active shooter."

I can't really make people not pick a phrase out and deploy it. But I want to ask that people consider the argument as a whole, and consider what, exactly, the comment is a response to.

For some time now, this blog has spent a good deal of time discussing the morality of violence. For the most part this is about blackness. That's what leads me to ask whether Nat Turner was right and whether its the death of 600,000 people in the Civil War was actually tragic. That's what leads me to look at the violence which African-Americans regularly contend with -- whether its the intimate violence of spanking our kids, the intra-community violence of crime, the extra-community violence of the police. And from all thought I've sought to understand what violence does to the actual individual -- how black people (black males, specifically) alter their behaviors to cope, and how that alteration fairs out in the larger world.


More »

More Guns, Less Crime: A Dialogue

bantncgoldberg.jpg
Sam Hodgson/Reuters

My label-mate Jeffrey Goldberg was kind enough to take some time to talk with me about his most recent story in the magazine -- "The Case for More Guns (and More Gun Control)". Both Fallows and I have some disagreements with Jeff on this. Here, Jeff and I try to talk it out. We do not agree. But we also avoided challenging each other to a duel.

Ta-Nehisi Coates: Do you own a gun? Are you a gun person, at all?

Jeffrey Goldberg: It doesn't make much sense to tell people that you are unarmed. Many businesses and institutions around the country advertise themselves as "gun-free zones." This is a ridiculous policy -- not to be gun-free, but to tell people you are. It's akin to posting a sign on your front door stating, "No burglar alarm here." Our colleague Jonathan Rauch, who, as you know, inspired the "Pink Pistols" movement of gays and lesbians who arm themselves against bullying and assault, told me last week he thinks that universities should post signs on their campuses that state, "Be warned: Many of our students and faculty members are armed."

The theory, obviously, is that violent criminals, or the dangerously mentally ill, are not generally stopped by signage declaring their target to be a gun-free zone, and indeed they could be encouraged by such signs. All that said, I will remind you that I live in Washington, D.C., and Washington has very tough gun laws, and as you know, I'm a very law-abiding person.

To your second question, am I gun person? -- the answer is no. I respect guns and I know how to fire guns (and indeed, target practice is quite fun in the same way that darts are fun, though I haven't done it very much), but I'm not very interested in them and I don't quite understand the desire of some people to collect them. I'm certainly no hunter -- I know we're all supposed to pay fealty to hunters -- at least, presidential candidates are expected to extol them -- but I never understood the impulse to gun down defenseless herbivores, especially if you're not going to eat them afterward.

TNC: Here's something I've been thinking about: In African-American history, guns have a particular meaning. After the Civil War, the first thing the Klan, the White Liners, the Red Shirts and other terrorists did was attempt to strip black people (many of them Civil War veterans) of their guns. One of my commenters was pointing to a historian who argues that the rate of lynchings was affected by the return of black veterans who were trained in the use of firearms. The most popular image of Malcolm X features him peering out of a window with a rifle. My own father came out of Vietnam and joined the Black Panther Party. Self-defense was religion in my house, and it was very much tied to our history.

I feel like whenever I'm writing about race and/or violence, that history is in the back of my head -- it was there even when I was disagreeing with your posts. You raised the point of the "Pink Pistols," whose logic sounds very familiar to me. Does your history, and your identity, affect how you approach the question of self-defense? To be clear, the question isn't "Did you write this article because you are Jewish?" But, in my own experience, those of us who've lived outside of the state's protections against mob violence tend to be more open to individual solutions.

Jeff: So just to be clear, the question isn't, "Did you write this article because you're Jewish"? But I'll answer it anyway. First, though, on your point about African-Americans and guns. It's an amazing history: Ronald Reagan was pro-gun control because he feared the Black Panthers. The Ku Klux Klan was founded in order to seize guns from free blacks. I don't generally buy the narrative of Second Amendment absolutists, that individually-owned guns are the best defense against the imposition of tyrannical rule in America (I think we're pretty safe from tyrannical rule.) But if you were an African-American in 1870s, or 1950s, you might have felt a lot safer with a gun. Martin Luther King, Jr., (unsuccessfully) applied for a concealed-carry permit in 1956 because he was so afraid of violent attack. Anyway, a fascinating history, and you're right: marginalized groups have found comfort, and safety, in arms.

But to your question: No, not really. I've thought through this issue, of course, and it is true that guns, at different points in Jewish history, would have been quite useful to my ancestors (and obviously Israel was founded because Jews gave up trusting non-Jews to defend them; and, obviously, I've been personally interested in this angle for some time, knowing now, as I didn't know in my 20s, about the downside of armed militancy), but in the American context especially I don't look at this issue through a particularly Jewish lens.

I came to this issue in part because, as I wrote in the article, I had a revelation about armed self-defense after the LIRR massacre 20 years ago, and also because I'm always attracted to polarizing issues. I'm dispositionally centrist, in that I believe, as a pretty steadfast rule, that most issues are ambiguous and contradictory, and that no one ideology provides all the answers. Hence, my belief that people (qualified people) have the right to armed self-defense, and that the government has the right (and responsibility) to regulate the sale and carrying of guns. This issue divides red America from blue America like no other, and, since I'm a uniter, not a divider, I'm trying to figure out if there's common ground here. One more note, so we're clear: I have a blue-stater's belief that government should be engaged in public safety questions like this one, and I have a red-stater's belief that individuals should not rely on the government overly much to provide them with security, both because the government cannot, in fact, protect some people; and because it feels undignified to sub-contract out your personal defense, if you're at all capable of taking care of yourself.

TNC: So I want to pick up on that last point, because I think it's the one that's attracting a good deal of the push-back -- particularly this idea of government as a personal defense sub-contractor. I actually like that phrasing quite bit, and will gladly plead to my willingness to hoping my tax-dollars go to the sub-contracting of my defense. Here's the reason why: it is not clear to me that human beings, with all of their foibles, always understand where defense ends and aggression begins. George Zimmerman, by his own telling, was defending himself. And given the marks on this head, in some sense he was. But I wonder, if he had been unarmed, whether he would have ever gotten out his car. Michael Dunn, who sprayed a teenager's SUV, claims he was defending himself. But I wonder if he ever would have said anything to those kids if he had not been armed. This has particular meaning in the realm of race, where the mere fact of being black means that an uncomfortably large portion of American society is more likely to perceive your everyday actions as aggressive, and thus justify "defense." There seems to be no sense that the very presence of a gun -- like all forms of power -- alters its bearer, that the possession of a tool of lethal violence might change how we interact with the world.

I just realized I didn't ask a question. So yeah...

Jeff: All good points. First, I'm happy to have the police protect me. I also know that they don't -- and that, when the chips are down, they usually can't. The police did not protect those children in Connecticut. They didn't protect the moviegoers in Colorado, and so on. I'm not blaming them; there are only so many cops to go around. This is one of my problems with politicians who have armed guards but who assert that other people shouldn't have the right to armed self-defense. When I interviewed D.C. Mayor Vincent Gray, who opposes licensed concealed-carry, about his own armed bodyguards, he said, "(W)e have 3,800 police officers to protect people. They may not be at someone's side at every moment, but they're around."

One of the dangers with concealed-carry -- which I point out in the article -- is that some states (Florida, George Zimmerman's state, comes to mind) issue concealed-carry permits too easily, without sufficient vetting or training requirements. The regulations should be much more stringent in those states with loose standards. On your larger points, I've been thinking this issue through for months, and let me give you a very general answer to start: It's a miracle, in a country with 300 million guns, that we don't have chaos in the streets constantly. But it's explicable:

There are tens of millions of legal gun owners (and 9 million concealed-carry permit holders) in this country who secure their weapons properly and use them properly. Most people -- the vast majority of people -- with legally owned guns aren't George Zimmerman. The problem in this country, generally speaking, is not legal guns. It's illegal guns. The 400+ homicides in Chicago this year are mainly the byproduct of the illegal gun problem. (And yes, as I stated in the piece, Canada seems like an attractively gun-free place, but the whole point of the article is to acknowledge that we can't create Canada-like conditions in the U.S. It's just too late. Even if all gun sales were banned tomorrow, there would still be 300 million guns in circulation.) I could go on, but let me ask you a question: If you were confronted with an "active shooter," do you think, in that moment, you might wish you had a gun?

TNC: I think that last question gets to the heart of a difference. I actually wouldn't wish I had a gun. I've shot a rifle at camp once, but that's about it. If I had a gun, there is a good chance I would shoot myself, thus doing the active shooter's work for him (it's usually "him.") But the deeper question is, "If I were confronted with an active shooter, would I wish to have a gun and be trained in its use?" It's funny, but I still don't know that I would. I'm pretty clear that I am going to die one day. That moment will not be of my choosing, and it almost certainly will not be too my liking. But death happens. Life -- and living -- on the other hand are more under my control. And the fact is that I would actually rather die by shooting than live armed.

This is not mere cant. It is not enough to have a gun, anymore than it's enough to have a baby. It's a responsibility. I would have to orient myself to that fact. I'd have to be trained and I would have to, with some regularity, keep up my shooting skills. I would have to think about the weight I carried on my hip and think about how people might respond to me should they happen to notice. I would have to think about the cops and how I would interact with them, should we come into contact. I'd have to think about my own anger issues and remember that I can never be an position where I have a rage black-out. What I am saying is, if I were gun-owner, I would feel it to be really important that I be a responsible gun-owner, just like, when our kids were born, we both felt the need to be responsible parents. The difference is I like "living" as a parent. I accept the responsibility and rewards of parenting. I don't really want the responsibilities and rewards of gun-ownership. I guess I'd rather work on my swimming. And I think, given the concentration of guns in a smaller and smaller number of hands, there's some evidence that society agrees.

Which is not to say those of us who don't own guns don't want to live. We do. But it's not clear that this particular way of living will even be effective. I think about the shooter down at the Empire State Building a few months back. The police showed up to protect the public and ended in a shoot-out with a guy. Nine bystanders were wounded -- all at the hands of the police. It's just not clear to me that this sort of situation wouldn't repeat itself, but with citizens doing the wounding. With that kind of risk, perhaps it's better to handle "gun safety" before we get to the moment of an "active shooter."

One question, though. Do you think that we can so easily separate the questions of legal and illegal gun ownership? What is the general history for an illegal gun? Do they first start off as legal? How do they usually make their way into unregistered hands? And is this not a fairly natural result when you have a country that allows for hundred of millions (legal?) guns in circulation? This sounds more prosecutorial then it is. I actually don't know how this works. So a lot of what you're getting are my assumptions. Your job is to immediately explain why my unlettered assumptions are incontrovertibly true. Then we can be done with so-silly dialogue business.

Jeff: I know you. I know you well, in fact. You're a father. I have a hard time believing you when you say you would "rather die by shooting than live armed." Carrying a licensed handgun is worse than death? Really?

My problem here is that you are one of the most sincere people I know, and so I know you didn't write what you wrote just to score a debating point. So the question I'm asking myself is, Why would Ta-Nehisi be so uninterested in defending himself?

But instead of asking you a version of that question again, let me ask the Augustinian question: Let's say you're in the mall with me, or another friend, and a psychopathic shooter is approaching us, AR-15 in hand. In this situation, my life is at stake, as well as yours. I'll ask the question again: Would you want a gun in hand to help keep us alive, and to keep the strangers around you -- each one a human being created in the image of God (I know you lean atheist, but you get my point) -- alive as well?

We'll get to the other questions later, but this is important: In the situation I just described above, would you rather have a gun, or rather not?

TNC: The crucial difference is that I don't accept the premise. In other words, if I have "have a gun" in that situation, other things are then also true of my life. In other words, there is no "me" as I am right now that would have a gun. That "me" would spend a good amount time being responsible for his weapon. It's not so much a situation that, if I were with you and we were facing down a crazy dude, I wouldn't want to have a gun. It's that I've already made choices that guarantee that I couldn't have one. It just isn't possible, given my life choices. I'd much rather work toward a world where the psychotic shooter is actually a psychotic knifer, or a psychotic clubber.

There is something else here. I grew up in a situation where violence was a fact of everyday life. Violence waited for you when you walked to school. Violence waited for you in class. Violence waited for you on the way. Violence waited for you on the way to football practice. Beatdowns at the bowling alleys. Shootings at the roller skating rinks. You could not go and see your girlfriend if she lived in some other neighborhood without bringing five other dudes with you -- one of them possibly strapped. I was not a violent kid. I was, and am, a softie. But after about a year of living in that environment, I basically became acculturated. When I became a professional and an adult, I basically spent years trying to deculturate and act like I was civilized. This isn't a matter of punching people because they looked at you wrong. (Thought it kind of is.) It's a matter of understanding that what you once considered vital has no meaning in the wider -- much less violent -- world. I am the furthest thing you will meet from a street dude. And yet I still find myself in conversation with myself over how to comport myself like a civilized person. Add on to that thinking about how to comport yourself when you are a big black dude, and you see what kind of weight might be there. It's not so much that I am uninterested in defending myself. It's that I spent a good part of my younger life doing exactly that. My takeaway was that defensive violence often isn't, and even when it is, even when all your dreams of triumph come true, it still takes a toll on you.

I guess my point is, I have a hard time with a construction of violence that begins and ends in the moment of violent confrontation. My belief is that an intelligent self-defense begins long before that dude with the AR-15 in hand appears. If we're down to me licking off shots, then we are truly lost. And I say that as a dude with a huge poster of Malcolm X on his wall.

Jeff: You didn't answer the key question that Saint Augustine poses to all those who swear off violence. I really do think it's important to ask yourself this: At what point is it justifiable to meet violence with violence? At what point is it immoral not to respond to violence with violence? (We both have our touchstones on this issue, of course -- you the fight to end slavery in America, me the fight to end the Holocaust, though each of us is interested in both issues.)

Anyway, I'm not going to get you to answer, so I'm moving on. I don't doubt for a second that defending yourself takes a toll on a person -- one of the misperceptions many on the left have about the concealed-carry debate, for instance, is that advocates of concealed-carry think it's some sort of great thing. It isn't: It's a tragic response to a tragic situation.

I'm sure there are ideologically-driven Second Amendment absolutists who do think of a comprehensively armed society as a kind of ideal, but I'm far from that camp. I'm just searching for ways to limit the damage criminals and the deranged do with guns. One answer I've come up with is to defend yourself against them, whenever possible. As I wrote this week -- was it to you? I can't remember -- I came to this in good part because the whole current gun control debate is absolute bullshit, in that all of the measures being suggested wouldn't actually do much of anything to solve the problem. None of these measures will change the fact that there are 300 million guns in circulation today, and that these guns, even improperly maintained, will still be capable of firing in 100 years. (And, predictably, gun sales seem to be spiking across the country as people begin to irrationally fear President Obama once again.) Your question about how a legal gun becomes illegal is a very interesting one -- loose laws, and poor enforcement of existing laws, are two answers. Which is why I'm for stringent regulation. But again, stringent regulation going forward doesn't solve the problem of guns that have already fallen into dangerous hands.

Here's a thought I've been having lately (one, by the way, leading gun-controllers aren't having, for reasons of political expediency): Let's re-open the whole debate -- let's talk about the Second Amendment itself, and ask ourselves why, as a country, we need all these guns. Obviously, the side seeking to alter the Second Amendment will most likely lose, but I do think we should have an honest debate about the cost of having a gun-saturated society. Everything should be on the table. Whether or not Congress bans a specific type of weapon with a specific type of pistol grip is not very interesting to me, because these sorts of measures won't fix the problem. Let's have a national debate about gun ownership. (I would love to see an actual debate between, say, Mike Bloomberg and Rick Perry on the subject.)

There's too much to grapple with here, but I have to ask you about this -- you wrote, "My belief is that an intelligent self-defense begins long before that dude with the AR-15 in hand appears." You'll have to explain this one to me. Do you mean that you shouldn't walk down a street known to be thick with muggers? I'm with you there. But what is the intelligent defense you would have designed for Sandy Hook Elementary School? Are you talking about legislative fixes? Because there's no legislative fix I know of -- short of repealing the Second Amendment and having the military forcibly collect the country's 300 million guns, quickly -- that will guarantee the safety of unarmed innocent people like those who were murdered in Newtown.

TNC: Forgive me, I didn't understand your question. (I actually don't know who Saint Augustine is.) I think it is totally moral to use violence to protect yourself and to protect your family. I did not understand that that was ever at issue. For instance, if someone breaks into my house, it is totally moral for me to do whatever I need to do to protect my home and family. Period. That's been the law of my life, for as long as I can remember. The second part of your question --when is it immoral to not respond with violence -- is harder for me, mostly because I haven't really thought about it. I didn't really grow up around pacifism. The notion of self-defense as immoral was simply never a consideration. To my mind, a concern advocating for "less guns" or arguing against "more guns" isn't an argument against violent self-defense. It's not even an argument against self-defense via firearm. It's a recognition that not everyone is prepared to carry a handgun, and I am among that "everyone." I also don't own a car, either. I'm not ready for the responsibility.

As for the perception that conceal and carry is a "tragic response to a tragic situation," I don't want to speak for "the Left," but when I see the NRA selling a conceal and carry hoodie, I don't really think they are going into this with heavy hearts. I'm not lumping you in with that, and I know you've criticized them and don't roll with them. But I am saying that the skepticism is not conjured out of thin air.

On the point about "intelligent self-defense," I think the first thing is to recognize that there is no ubiquitous self-defense. I'm not convinced that there really is a self-defense measure -- even an assault weapons ban -- that would have prevented Sandy Hook. So I think the first thing is to understand the limits of any self-defense. The next is to not confront the problem at the moment violence happens, but to dial back and look at all the steps preceding it. How is that Jared Loughner was able to have access to firearms? How was it that Seung-Hui Cho was able to get guns? How is it that James Holmes was able to assemble a small arsenal? My point is that self-defense begins before the moment of contact. At the point that we are debating whether we charge the guy or wishing the principal had a gun, we are already too late.

I need to ask you something else -- especially given your point about opening the entire debate. How did you feel about the article when you first heard about Newtown? Is there anything at all you wish you'd done differently? And if so, did it occur to you before or after Newtown?

Jeff: Forget Augustine. Let me go to your question. Here's what I advocated for in the Atlantic article: More stringent gun control measures; a recognition that concealed-carry permit holders could have a role to play in stopping crime; and that it is the right of individuals, so long as they are properly vetted, to participate in their own defense. There are 9 million concealed-carry permit holders in the U.S. already, so obviously this isn't an unpopular thought. Let's just imagine that there was someone in that school -- a police officer (a third of American schools already have police officers in them), or an armed guard, or even an administrator who was licensed, trained and armed. There's no guarantee, of course, that an armed person would have stopped the killer, but since pretty much the worst thing that could have happened in that school did happen, I find it almost impossible to believe that the presence of an armed person in that school could have made things worse. And there's a decent chance that an armed and trained person could have shot the killer, or at the very least distracted him. Again, there's no sure thing, but when I hear people say that an armed presence in the school would definitively not have helped, I think they're being fatuous and ideological, as fatuous and ideological as I would sound if I argued that a counter-shooter definitely would have neutralized the threat. My mind keeps returning to the example of Joel Myrick, the assistant principal of a high school in Pearl, Mississippi, who captured a shooter at his school by pointing his legally-owned weapon at him.

The principal and the school psychologist at Sandy Hook, Dawn Hochsprung and Mary Sherlach, had the presence of mind to hurl themselves at the killer to get him to stop. They failed, because he had a rifle. But what their actions prove is that they got close to stopping him, and that they didn't become paralyzed by fear.

I wish I would have highlighted other issues -- the mental health piece, in particular. The assault weapons ban and other half-measures won't change reality, but if our legislators could figure out a way to keep guns -- any guns -- out of the hands of the dangerously mentally ill (a subcategory of the mentally ill, of course), then we're getting somewhere. Also, I would talk up gun buybacks, though this, as well, is a half-measure. The mental health piece, though -- that's the vector for these mass killings: Easy access to guns by people who, though they might not have been adjudicated mentally ill, need to be kept from guns all the same. (This is a very difficult thing to do, because it requires the help of the mental health community, and it's not too interested in reporting patients to the FBI.) And I wish I had written more about the relative merits of closing the gun-show loophole versus the proposed assault weapons ban. (I think the latter is mostly symbolic; the former represents a potentially important advance in gun control.)

I come to this subject, ultimately, as the father of three school-age children. All I'm doing is looking for policies that work. If you could show me a plan that would radically reduce the number of guns in America, I'd be happy to endorse. If you tell me that the best way to protect children is to post police officers in every school, then let's do that. The cost shouldn't matter -- we're talking about our children. (I tend to think that, because these shootings are so rare, this is not the best use of money, but that's another conversation.) I also have another view that, at least in our Northeastern liberal circles, is heterodoxical: I think most Americans can be trusted with guns. The proof is that tens of millions of Americans who do own guns go through life without ever hurting anyone. Not infrequently, these law-abiding Americans use their guns to stop crimes.

This is the untold story. I'll send you links if you want, but guns are frequently used to de-escalate situations. And so I'm not frightened by vetted, screened, and trained civilian gun owners. I'm more afraid of a dangerously mentally ill person with a penknife than I am of a sane and law-abiding citizen with an arsenal of assault rifles in his garage. And so I do believe that there are moments when a civilian, so long as he is screened and trained appropriately, can stop a crime with a gun. Do I want guns in my children's schools? No, it's a repulsive idea. Do I want the principals of my kids' schools to carry weapons, or have them accessible in their offices? No, that's a terrible indictment of our society, among other things.

But: I want my children to be safe, and we know that the gun lobby has failed to protect our children; the gun-control lobby has failed to protect our children (and yes, they have failed -- they have been, so far, a singularly ineffective lobby); our legislators and leaders have failed; the police, of course, regularly fail to stop gun violence (they're good at investigating it afterward). So I think that civilians who are capable of defending themselves, and others, should consider doing so, until we come up with a better plan. In The Nation, Bryce Covert writes that, "Individually, in the face of unpredictable violence it can make sense to want to arm oneself to respond to what may come. But that means a lack of trust in our common goal of safety for all." She then goes on to write: "Agreeing to ignore the instinct to pick up more guns means trusting that the police will show up to answer your call." This kind of thinking flummoxes me (and surprises me -- who knew The Nation trusted the police so much?). Lovely thoughts, but what reality-based person trusts that the "police will show up to answer your call"? It is true that the police eventually show up at scenes of massacres: At Virginia Tech, it took the police only 10 minutes to arrive. In those 10 minutes, though, 35 people were murdered. And the police showed up at Sandy Hook Elementary shortly after 26 people were murdered.

Covert's thinking seems perverse to me, but maybe you can explain it. What also seems perverse to me is the NRA's absolutism. I just watched the group's press conference, and I just don't understand the logic behind gun extremism. As I wrote in the Atlantic piece, I'm for gun control because I don't think guns would be useful against government tyranny. (I don't know about you, but I don't fear the rise of tyrannical government in America.) I understand the roots of Second Amendment absolutism, but I reject the principles.

Here's the way I think about this, in sum: The Left's problem is that it denies the tragic reality that in gun-saturated America, a gun in the hands of a law-abiding, sane, and trained person can on occasion be effective in stopping violence, rather than escalating violence. The Right, on the other hand, denies that it has played an enormous part in creating and perpetuating the tragic reality of gun-saturated America, and denies that a sane society would regulate the number, and type, of guns in private hands; and most important, regulate just who gets a gun in the first place.

More »

Awesome Kwanzaa: A Made-Up Holiday for a Made-Up Country

Over at Slate Melonyce McAfee defends the holiday which, like the people for which it was founded, seems ever under attack:

Still, I'm not ready to join the naysayers who mock Kwanzaa as a pseudo holiday, created to annoy white people and kept alive to peddle cards and kente cloth. "No one is quite sure just what Kwanzaa is," Jonathan Safran Foer deadpans in a New York Times op-ed this morning. Debra Dickerson called the holiday a "cop out" in a Times op-ed from 2003 because it sidesteps the traditions hard-built by African-Americans over the last centuries. "Insofar as Kwanzaa negates the quintessential Americanness of the slave-descended, it is an affront to the heroism and enunciated goals of our oppressed ancestors," she wrote. 

But what's more American than tweaking an institution to suit your needs? Some folks who don't go to church pine for more than the dancing black Santa from Wal-Mart. Plus, Kwanzaa and Christmas are not mutually exclusive--'tis the season of peaceful co-existence. A rule of Kwanzaa states that one "should not mix the Kwanzaa holiday or its symbols, values and practice with any other culture." But Kwanzaa starts the day after Christmas, so until Dec. 26, you can drink eggnog out of a gourd shell.

I don't celebrate Kwanzaa. I only celebrate Christmas because of my wife and son. I generally don't like holidays. And while I come from a family of black radicals, my Dad generally derided Kwanzaa as "fake Christmas." The holiday season in the Coates house generally meant more time for work. (Sadly, it's becoming that in my household, too.)

With that said, Kwanzaa-hating has always struck me as the most bougie and snobbish of holiday traditions. It's that cool that Jonathan Safran Foer thinks that "no one is quite sure what Kwanzaa is," but I'm not sure "what Hanukkah is." And for most of my life, no one I knew was quite sure either. I'm only barely sure "what Christmas is." (Celebrating the birth of your savior with an orgy of consumption?)

It's just seems bizarre in America, of all places, to stand on vintage. Has there ever been a more mongrel, more made-up, country that this one? Have there ever been two more "made up people" then the "white race" and the "black race?" This country is a mongrel mess -- and its traditions are, too. That's the whole charm of the thing. No one who takes the Easter Bunny seriously should mock Kwanzaa. This is about equality. Black people have right to make shit up, just as white people have the right to make shit up. 

Gun Violence and the Irrational Fear of Home Invasion

Visit NBCNews.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

Yesterday I was on Chris Hayes' show discussing gun violence. In the clip above, I talked about the importance of self-defense in my life being the son of Black Panther, a devoted Malcolmite and progeny of the Crack Era.

Professor Harold Pollack, who (among other things) co-directs the University of Chicago's Crime Lab was kind of enough to send along the following note:

I enjoyed your conversation on Up with Chris Hayes. You mentioned the risk of home invasion, and the realistic fear that the cops just wouldn't get there in time. That's obviously a primeval motive to have a gun by the bedside or whatever.

But the fear is also easily out of proportion to the threat. I had the Chicago police run the number on homicides. In 2011, precisely one homicide listed "burglary" as the motive. Nationwide, there are about 100 burglary-homicides every year. When you compare that to more than 18,000 gun suicides, the conclusions seem pretty obvious.

Pollack wrote about this for the Nation. In the article Harold points out a few other cases that might be homicides from someone who gained entry, from the home. But all in all, the risk is vanishing small:

Home protection provides a common, all-too-understandable motive to buy a gun. Few things are scarier than the possibility that some violent intruder will break in when you and your loved-ones are home. This risk happens to be especially vivid for me. My gentle disabled cousin was beaten to death by two teenage burglars in his New York apartment thirty years ago.

Yet having guns around bring risks, too. Practically speaking, it's not the incredibly rare risk of mass homicide, but the everyday risks of injury, accident, domestic altercations, and suicide. The relative risks matter. And the fact is: lethal home invasions and burglaries are incredibly rare. You might not think so, since dramatic cases stick in your mind and tend to receive disproportionate press coverage. These cases are rare nonetheless.

Let me straight about this -- from a public health perspective, does the evidence here argue for a total ban on handguns? I don't know if Harold would argue for that, but New York City effectively has such a policy in place.

I've spent this week arguing for gun control and more regulation, but for some reason I can't get myself to endorse the idea of banning handguns. Maybe I'll feel different in the week. It's just so contrary to everything I've felt all my life. Part of this is being black and having in your actual family history--and in the history of your immediate community--several instances of people (white, black, whatever) invading the home.

Is looking at homicide too small? Should we include assault? Burglary is, in of itself, an intensely traumatic experience. Is the mere fact of invading someone's home an act of aggression that justifies lethal force? I don't know.

The NRA and the 'Positive Good' of Maximum Guns

ManCard.jpg


In light of the NRA's call for even more guns, in even more places, friend of the room and historian Tony Horwitz (Confederates In The Attic, Midnight Rising) sends along this beautiful missive noting the haunting similarities between the aggressive expansionist tactics of The Slave Power and aggressive, expansionist tactics of "The Gun Power." I am tremendously excited, and privileged to offer this to you guys. Tony's is a beautiful mind. Watch him work.


In the 1840s and 50s, abolitionists often spoke of a menace they called "The Slave Power." This pejorative wasn't aimed at Southern slavery, per se. It referred to the vast reach of proslavery money and influence in Washington and beyond. If unchecked, abolitionists warned, the Slave Power would poison every corner of American life and territory. I'm wary of historical analogies. But in the wake of the Newtown massacre, I'm struck by parallels between the Slave Power and a force haunting us today: call it The Gun Power. 

For decades we've appeased and abetted this monster, as Americans once did slavery. Now, like then, we may have finally reached a breaking point. I don't mean to equate owning slaves with owning guns. But I do mean to equate the tactics and rhetoric of the NRA with those of proslavery "Fire-Eaters." The NRA casts itself as a champion of the Constitution. So did slaveholders, citing the safeguards accorded owners of human "property." Few Americans questioned slavery's legality, though they debated the Founders' intent, just as we do with the Second Amendment. 

But as the nation spread, slaveowners turned the defense of a right into an expansionist crusade. Slavery wasn't just a right that nonslaveholders had to recognize and uphold. It must extend wherever slaveholders traveled and settled. So, too, has the N.R.A. demanded the right to carry guns into every conceivable place, including schools, churches and hospitals. The N.R.A. does so in the name not only of rights but of "safety" and "self-defense." Guns, you see, aren't a danger to be regulated; they're a source of peace and security that everyone should enjoy. 

Proslavery zealots had their own version of this. While 18th century slaveowners like Jefferson had treated the institution as a necessary evil, John C. Calhoun lauded slavery as a "positive good," a source of freedom even, because it liberated whites from drudgery and class conflict and blacks from African "savagery." It followed that all should enjoy its benefits. "I would spread the blessings of slavery, like the religion of our Divine Master, to the uttermost ends of the earth,' declared Mississippi Senator Albert Brown. 

This wasn't just bluster. Even after the U.S. had enlarged itself by a third at Mexico's expense in the 1840s, Brown and others urged the nation to conquer Central America to provide Southerners with more land to plant and enslave. In the 1850s, Americans invaded Cuba, Baja, and Nicaragua, where a proslavery partisan, William Walker, installed himself as leader and reinstated slavery. His dictatorship won recognition from the administration of President Franklin Pierce, of New Hampshire. Northerners like Pierce were derided as "doughfaces"--half-baked and malleable in the hands of Southern leaders. 

The N.R.A. has its own such minions, many of them Democrats the organization has bought or bullied with its lobbying and war chest. A famous political cartoon from the 1850s, titled "Forcing Slavery Down the Throat of a Freesoiler," shows a miniature Pierce and Senator Stephen Douglas of Illinois holding a bound man's hair while two Southern Congressman hoist a black man down the captive's throat. A similar cartoon could be drawn today, featuring the NRA's Wayne LaPierre and legislators with A ratings from the gun lobby, ramming concealed weapons and Stand Your Ground laws through state bodies too cowed to oppose them. 


More »

The Biggest Story in Photos

Finland in World War II

Subscribe Now

SAVE 65%! 10 issues JUST $2.45 PER COPY

Newsletters

Sign up to receive our free newsletters

(sample)

(sample)

(sample)

(sample)

(sample)

(sample)

Ta-Nehisi Coates
from the Magazine

How Learning a Foreign Language Reignited My Imagination

Pardon my French

The Emancipation of Barack Obama

Fear of a Black President

As a candidate, Barack Obama said we needed to reckon with race and with America’s…