Ibram X. Kendi’s Stamped from the Beginning (2016) is a doorstopper of a book that grew out of his desire to write an introductory chapter to a book about Black Studies programs in American (i.e. in the United States) universities and colleges. When his chapter was 90 pages long, he realised he had a book on his hands.
A book which would go on to claim the National Book Award. Which I started reading when it was new, as a library book, but the project faltered because there were consistently other borrowers waiting, and this reading demands focus, especially for Canadian readers—unfamiliar with most of these thinkers and politicians, historians and activists, from the 1600s to the present.
And he is writing about The Definitive History of Racist Ideas in America for serious readers, for students and academics, who are willing to reread entire paragraphs and look away from the page to contemplate, before moving ahead (or, back again) in the narrative. It’s the kind of book that begs you to make flashcards to study for an exam, even on first reading; there are so many dates, so many titles of treatises, so many alliances and skirmishes.
It’s a book in five parts, so I read one section each month (about two chapters each week) and finished at the end of May, and you might wonder why I persisted because despite all I’ve said about the wealth of content, I did not take notes and did not plan to discuss it in detail. (I flagged statements like this, which forced me to reread, even though they seemed simple at first: “For Jefferson, power came before freedom. Indeed, power creates freedom, not the other way around—as the powerless are taught.”)
But it was very instructive, because I truly did not comprehend the wealth of material produced to both buttress and challenge the concept of race, throughout the centuries. For every publication that insisted, for instance, on polygenesis (the idea that different races originated from different i.e. poly- stocks, often used to justify the idea of inferior and superior natures), there’s another that countered that hypothesis.
If I see one of these men’s names in another book, will I recall which precepts he touted and which he challenged? Perhaps, perhaps not. (Kendi includes about 70 pages of notes and an exhaustive index.) But what I’ve absorbed is just how deeply rooted are these conversations, how many times the language used in these debates has shifted, while the ideas beneath held steady.
For me, the most fascinating parts were about the individuals who appeared to fully inhabit one perspective but, in time, contradictions emerged. The most accessible example is probably that of Thomas Jefferson, whose views and actions both supported and challenged the concept of enslaving human beings.
Jefferson fought against slavery but held slaves: that’s the short version of the story, which even Canadian children are taught (in the context of the historical conflicts between the colonial nations of Canada and the U.S.). But where individual opinions swayed one way but, later, swayed the other way in response to either success or failure…these are the parts of Kendi’s volume that really intrigued me.
Particularly in this time, when media is so committed to the narrative of polarised opinions, even though, when you peer more closely, there’s just as much nuance as ever. So, in that sense, all these details and the complicated alliances and betrayals, it was all worthwhile. It also made me reconsider how I read and why, because it wasn’t an ordinary reading experience.
When I’m in an art gallery, I most enjoy the really large tableau paintings, realistic and with tremendous detail: large scenes with smaller scenes within, where individuals are interacting and entire scenes seem to play out. But occasionally I appreciate the exhibits of modern or experimental art when I walk into a space and realise that I am not intended to observe anything in particular, only feel something. In a certain mood, this is strangely satisfying.
After five months of reading this book, I would probably still struggle to locate some of the American politicians with their proper century—let alone those tricky ones who straddle centuries. (In the fifth part, titled for Angela Davis, I recognised most of the names and events from other reading, but the bulk of the book unfolds in earlier eras.) But even if I am, now, standing in front of a busy tableau and not seeing all the details therein, I grasp the breadth of the complexity: I’m not simply standing in the middle of the room feeling something…some bits have lodged in my understanding.
It’s also underscored the importance of reading more than one book on this topic. To counter Chimamanda Adichie’s “The Dangers of the Single Story” phenomenon. Because I don’t always agree with the balance that Kendi strikes in his exploration. In general, I agree: in Kendi’s view, it’s not enough to be not racist, one must actively be anti-racist, must act to counter the prevailing injustices. Acting to right a historic imbalance takes a concerted investment of time and energy/resources, requires action: we agree.
Sometimes, though, I think Kendi overlooks the role that class plays. Occasionally he acknowledges it, in specific instances, but he consistently highlights racism as the essential and dominant factor. And there are two instances in which I did have some understanding of historical figures he considered, and I thought he underplayed the other, class-related factors and conflicts in their professional lives (that impacted their racialized experiences). So, I would have welcomed more analysis of this, but perhaps that says as much about my own view of the world as it says about his. (Also, I wonder if greater familiarity with American history would have had me noticing this more often, or whether it’s actually infrequent.)
In other listening and other reading, I have heard Kendi vilified (mocked, even), and I have heard him celebrated (worshipped, even), so I am glad to have finally read this for myself. If you’ve been hearing only one side of those two extremes, I encourage you to read the book for yourself.
If you think the past should stay in the past, consider that slavery was on the ballot in five American states in 2022 (because it’s still on the books for nearly 20 states and that 2022 vote to remove it, in those five, was not wholly successful). It will probably appear there in the American elections this November. These ideas remain relevant.
But what do you think? Can you learn if you don’t take notes? Is it possible that sometimes (or, for a time) the details don’t matter? If you’ve read Kendi, how did you find it? If you’ve not, how would you guess you’d respond?
Mr BIP gave me this for my birthday a couple of years ago, along with two complementary volumes, so this project will continue with Isabel Wilkerson’s Caste. It’s one I have read actually, but also from the library, and so quickly that I was nearly skimming (it, too, was called back for other borrowers) and, because I absolutely loved The Warmth of Other Suns (such engaging cultural history, such astute storytelling), I really want to spend time and focus.
As always your posts are packed with things to talk about and I can’t remember them all. First, though, this “For Jefferson, power came before freedom. Indeed, power creates freedom, not the other way around—as the powerless are taught.” I can understand why you needed to reread. In a way it feels a bit chicken-and-the egg, but I do understand his point.
Second, and not necessarily in order, I haven’t read the book of course, but your point about class, if it’s not discussed, sounds relevant to me. It’s both separate from but becomes bound up in racism, I think.
Third, yes, I think you are right about it’s not being enough to be non-racist, you need to be anti-racist. I’m not one to stand up a lot in my life – by which I mean I have strong values but I tend not to confront people with them, particularly in the political arena, but racism is one in which I will regularly try to make in-roads with people who say racist things. Mostly, by suggesting, calmly, a different way of seeing things. But I do back off if I see I’m not getting anywhere. And really, the only place where I feel I have got somewhere is with people I know/see frequently where I can say what I want to say often – in different ways and situations – so that drip, drip, drip, some awareness starts to filter through.
I think the bit that breaks the chicken-egg loop is his conclusion in that the powerless are taught (the other half of that statement being that it’s the powerful who are doing the teaching), but I suppose it’s also interesting simply to pair the two concepts (it doesn’t seem a natural pairing in ordinary discourse to me, but I’m not knee-deep in these conversations with formal studies either).
It’s quite possible, I suppose, that he was writing to support his thesis and my yearning to see class addressed/included is technically off-topic for his work. But, then, I guess I’m simply craving a slightly different study/exploration.
As women, being socialised to defer and console and cajole, it’s hard to manage those confrontational exchanges (with other women, too) and, yet, change doesn’t happen without discomfort, so I share your sense of all this.
I admire your devotion to the subject but it’s not the sort of book I’d read without a degree hanging off the end of it. I don’t think anyone in Australia has done anything similar, though Aboriginal scholars like Anita Heiss and Chelsea Watego for instance have written overviews. Writing this comment makes me aware of how little I have pursued racism in Australia outside of literature.
There isn’t a Canadian equivalent that I’m aware of either, which is why I’m so curious to know how much of what he covers feels fresh to American readers, who travelled through the U.S. education system. As I mentioned in reply to Laila, I don’t think I reflected whether I should continue with it, I just carried on with it. It was literature that took me there, via fiction writers’ afterwords, acknowledgements, and interviews, via non-fiction recommended by publishers who had sent review copies of fiction on similar themes. Another Day in the Colony looks great: I’ll have a look! As does Am I Black Enough for You? They might be ILLs but that’s do-able.
Another Day in the Colony will knock your socks off!
I’ve read two or three works by Anita Heiss. Not ‘Am I Black Enough’, but ‘Dhuuluu-yala, To Talk Straight’ which is about who should tell Indigenous stories. She also writes romances with Black heroines and I’ve read (and recommend) Not Meeting Mr Right.
Ohhhh, that makes me extra curious! There are some ILL opportunities here, which was a nice surprise. Although I have surpassed my max with ILLs (only possible because the library here is filling some on-order requests with ILLs temporarily) so I have to read eleventy-billion pages before I can place new requests (fair enough).
I’ve not read this one yet but want to. I did read How to be an Antiracist and found it very enlightening but also found myself going back over sentences in my mind. I bought the teen version of Stamped for my son but neither of us has read it yet. That sentence about Jefferson and power was fascinating! I’d never thought of power and freedom in that way, but it makes total sense. Notetaking: I put a post-it note (or three) in the back of the book because most of my reading is library books and I don’t really want to mark up my own books that much either. I will jot down sentences that grab me, or just the start of a paragraph I want to refer back to. Sometimes I copy them into my reading journal. Sometimes I decide it’s not worth the effort and the post-it gets thrown away when I turn in the book. Since my reviews aren’t really in-depth anymore I don’t take as many notes as I used to. And I notice if I’m reading a thriller or mystery I am often reading too fast to even stop for notes!
I’m itching to know how much of it would feel familiar to you, when you’ve been a student (and in the South, too?) and immersed in American life. Me too: I feel like he regularly requires rereading, even when there aren’t a lot of facts and details to digest. Maybe it would actually be good to simply read the abridged version with your son rather than target this volume? He probably catches all the salient points, and as Bill says, this kind of reading might be better suited to academic goals. (I think I only persisted out of stubbornness really, the sense that finally I had a copy that I could read at my leisure. lol) Love the way you’ve described your notetaking: it all makes perfect sense. Especially not flagging when caught in the swell of a thriller!
I’m reading him backwards, because I’ve read “How to Raise an Antiracist” and I have “How to be an Antiracist” on my TBR but don’t have this one. This was mainly because I was centring my antiracist reading on UK experiences, looking at my own country/culture first, but I am aware I need to read this and Caste.
Those two will be more worthwhile for you, being overseas. The one I would suggest in lieu of this doorstopper is this work of history; despite its title, and yes its slant overall, it does a fabulous job of situating these experiences in a global context. Also, it does feel as though each paragraph could be an entire book, in terms of importance, but it’s skillfully summarised, half the length, and less scholarly (but still serious).
Great review! I’ve not read Stamped yet, but it’s on my list. I’ve read many Kendi essays and I read How to Be and Antiracist in 2020. That was a good book and did a good job at showing that being an antiracist is an ongoing process that doesn’t end. I didn’t realize Stamped was a doorstopper, good to know! As for taking notes, it all depends on the book and why I’m reading it. If I own the book I will over underline and/or dogear pages but if it is a library book I will flag passages and then when I’m done select a few of them to copy out. Sometimes I don’t make any notes at all especially if the book is meant to be a fun relaxing read.
I imagine there’s a lot of support for Kendi where you’re situated (but obviously there are multiple opinions everywhere) and that his work is widely available and a natural part of the zeitgeist. My first exposure to him was via the podcast world and, since he’s become such a key figure in activist circles now, it’s hard to think back to when he was a solitary academic working on this project. I would be very curious to know just how famiiliar the content is for those who’ve studied these eras in American schools; I imagine some of the individuals are higher profile (if not for these treatises and activities) and would be familiar and others would be less-well-known.
I’m impressed at your commitment to reading this one. As for taking notes, I take largely illegible ones for books I plan to review which I rarely, if ever, read – the process of taking them seems to fix details in my memory although I think reading the Kendi would be a very different kettle of fish, much more a student experience.
Each of the five sections feels wholly immersive, as though only those decades and only that century matters: as the pages turn, as time passes, and the sense of a broader pattern and struggle takes its own shape, it becomes a different kind of reading experience. The act of note-taking helps with my memory too; I think it’s funny that you rarely refer to your reading notes, tho I probably wouldn’t’ve ever referred to these notes either (if I’d taken any).