CBR8 Review #2: Between the World and Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates

Ta-Nehisi Coates with his son, Samori

If you've picked this book up, you probably already know about Ta-Nehisi Coates, or have read his work on The Atlantic before. It's hard to be sure because I live outside of the US, but based on my casual observation, Coates has become more prominent and publicized during this final Obama administration. Part of it may be due to his incredible long-form piece published two years ago, The Case for Reparations (if you haven't read this, go. Read it now. Come back to my review later.); but I believe that his voice may have echoed clearer and louder across the media landscape as instances of police brutality against black people have gained more news coverage. As a journalist, his work is sobering, eye-opening and unexpected (seriously, if you still have read through that reparations link, go do it now). As a commentator, his voice is at once enraging, evocative and, honestly, kind of despairing.

Between the World and Me is a relatively quick read, and was penned by Coates as a letter of sorts to his 15-year-old son, Samori, who cried in his bedroom after he learned that the killers of Michael Brown would go free.

I did not tell you that it would be okay, because I have never believed it would be okay. What I told you is what your grandparents tried to tell me: that this is your country, that this is your world, that this is your body, and you must find some way to live within the all of it. 

This slim book was written with fervor and anger at the unspoken injustices that the black community suffers under the ignorance and subjugation of the White Men. It is written in such a voice, tone, style that you will want read every page hungrily, but would have to stop to catch your breath – and sometimes to choke back a sob over how utterly unfair things are.

Because – if we pay attention to our surroundings – everything he says is recognizable. And it is infuriating that the talking heads on TV have to debate on whether if America has a race issue, that the privileged (read: white people) can scoff and say, "#alllivesmatter," that people have to tiptoe around their environment simply because the color of their skin could determine if they get through the day.

And the saddest part is that he's writing this for his teenage son as a way to inform him of the world he will inherit when he grows from a teenaged-size kid to a grown-up with black skin. And while it's not all doom and gloom, it ends on the notion that Samori must continue to persevere, despite the fact that he, a black man, cannot change things.

I do not believe that we can stop them, Samori, because they must ultimately stop themselves. And still I urge you to struggle.