black is a country

Black Is a Country: Race and the Unfinished Struggle for Democracy
Nikhil Pal Singh

When I was a kid, people used to ask me all the time, "What are you?"

Sometimes I went with "human" as my response, or occasionally the Miss-Manners-esque "What would make you ask that?" Neither of these worked, since the asker generally then decided that I was none too bright and narrowed it down to, "What race are you?"

See, my skin is usually somewhere around the hex value CD853F, although that varies depending on how much time I've spent in the sun. This would be enough to put me firmly in the category of "must be black," except that I have long hair that also varies a lot in color, and all that makes people less certain. People feel anxious when they can't label someone.

Sometime in the late 80s or maybe in the 90s, though, it became rude to ever directly reference race. I'm guessing that it was probably right around the time that the Supreme Court started approving hack-and-slash routines on affirmative actions programs. So: Talking about race is rude. At least, it is if you're white. In my more cynical moments, I think that white people must perceive it as rude for the same reason that it's rude to talk about how much more money you make than someone else—you're rubbing it in that you're doing better than they are. But cynicism is boring and generally at least as wrong as optimism, so most of the time, I figure it's because somehow now we live in a cultural environment where talking about race is somehow supposed to be racist, and people are trying to be polite.

It's a shame that they fail.

Singh quotes Antonin Scalia saying in 1995, "In the eyes of the government, we are just one race here. It is American" (10). As Singh goes on to explain, this is the policy of colorblindness, the idea that "there exists an universalizing tendency within this nation that inevitably wins out," a concept that is simply wrong (14). The history of United States and the history of the struggle for civil rights is a history of how "one nation, under God, indivisible" is a white nation, a male nation, a Christian nation. Everyone might have the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, but rights don't mean much if attempts to claim them result in accusations of "reverse racism" or "identity politics."

As Singh examines the history of race, racism, and the fight for full legal, social, and cultural citizenship in the United States, he considers the relationship between constructions of blackness and what "an American" has been and is supposed to be. Part of his argument is that at the same time that "black" is defined as different, citizenship is supposed to be racially neutral. Per the rhetoric of the United States, we are all supposed to have equal rights. The only model for this generally presented by mainstream culture is assimilation, however, and that is a problematic proposition.

In the 1940s, Myrdal, a Swedish economist chosen by the Carnegie Foundation to study "the Negro problem," issued a report in book form called The American Dilemma. Singh points out that for the president of the Foundation, "it was inconceivable that a black intellectual could be in charge" (134). Although a number of black intellectuals contributed very significantly to the book, it was published only under Myrdal's name. Part of his conclusion was that "it is to the advantage of American Negroes as individuals and as a group to become assimilated into American culture, to acquire traits held in esteem by the dominant white Americans," making it clear by his wording, whether deliberate or accidental, that "American culture" and "white American culture" are synonymous (145). It is not an act of disloyalty for blacks to question how American they are; it is an acknowledgment of reality.

(And one still true today. When, in asking "What is an American?" someone asserts that "a generation ago," "American culture was more unified," or when people refer to the good old days when "everyone had the same values," I think: Not for people like me. Cause a generation ago? I wouldn't be at this school. I wouldn't be reading this book. I wouldn't be writing this post. The nostalgia for the golden past is one that, as always, rewrites history to erase the injustice and inequality that have always been at the heart of American citizenship.)

One of the most interesting points that Singh makes is that historically, black Americans have taken a transnational approach to ideals of liberty and freedom, opposing the colonialist actions of the United States in its foreign affairs and military actions. He concludes his book by arguing that "the disavowal of the nation-form of boundary drawing might be the necessary beginning for any future dismantling of invidious uses of race," a suggestion that almost certainly would bring forth accusations of treason, disloyalty, and socialism (224).

In support of Singh's argument that the history of civil rights has been one of repetition, with brief advances that are often retracted, as well as a history of accusations of being communist or unpatriotic for those who protest inequality, President Obama is being accused of treason for objecting to Arizona's blatantly unconstitutional immigration laws and is simultaneously accused of supporting the drug trade and illegal use of the National Guard to combat the drug trade.

Where were these objections to domestic use of the National Guard when it was used to quell rioting about racial inequality? Where were the accusations of unconstitutional governmental interference with civil liberties when Japanese-Americans were interned in World War 2? For a country founded on dissent and revolution, it seems as though members of "the American race" have an ever-narrowing tolerance for any form of disagreement—and even less for any suggestions that "equality for all" is a myth rather than a reality.

These days, people don't ask me what race I am. Instead, they ask, "What is your nationality?" or sometimes, "Where are you from?" ("Pittsburgh" is not the answer they are seeking.) I live in a slightly smaller Indiana town now. My neighbors down the street have a Confederate flag in their window and very few people say hi to me on the street. At least once a week, someone asks me if I speak English, or they compliment me on my command of English.

I don't know whether I agree that black is a country, and I don't think that's really what Singh is trying to argue in his book. But here's what I do know: Black and brown and red and yellow?

They're not American.