On the heels of his latest book The Message, author Ta-Nehisi Coates joins Sam for a conversation in Los Angeles.
At the top, we discuss how his Atlantic piece The Case for Reparations guided these three new essays (6:10), Coates’ early education growing up in West Baltimore (14:57), and his powerful dispatches from South Carolina (22:00) and the Middle East (29:30).
On the back-half, Coates unpacks why he believes the mainstream media prioritizes “factual complexity over self-evident morality” (37:47), his advocacy for Palestinian journalists (39:20), and his reflections about the U.S. election (47:28). To close, a formative passage from James Baldwin's The Lost Generation (52:38) and a story about love and writing (57:45).
Thoughts or future guest ideas? Email us at sf@talkeasypod.com.
Pushkin.
This is talk Easy.
I'm stand Figo Soo.
Welcome to the show.
Today.
I'm joined by writer Tanahasse Coates. He's the author of The Beautiful Struggle, We Were Eight Years in Power, The Water Dancer, and Between the World and Me, for which he won the National Book Award in twenty fifteen. He's also the recipient of a MacArthur Fellowship and is currently the Sterling Brown Endowed Chair in English at Howard University. But Coates first came to prominence as a national correspondent for The Atlantic, where he published seminal pieces on mass incarceration, the false promise of the Obama era, and most notably, the Case for Reparations. His latest book is called The Message, a triptych of essays set across various sites of conflict. There's the Cars Senegal, where he makes his first trip to Africa, then Columbia, South Carolina, reporting on the attempted banning of one of his books on race, and then finally Palestine, where he bears witness to the current conflict firsthand. That last chapter in the Middle East makes up a majority of the book. It's also made up a majority of the conversation around the book, including an especially contentious CBS interview in which co host Tony Dekoppel charged Coates withholding extremist views. I imagine if I took your name out of it, Dakoebel said to Coats, took away the awards, the acclaim, took the cover off the book, publishing house goes away. The content of the section would not be out of place in the backpack of an extremist. Coates responded in kind, either apartheid is right or it's wrong. Either what I saw was right or it's wrong. CBS has since rebuked the Morning anchor, claiming the interview fell short of the network's editorial standards, but in many ways, the exchange itself was representative of what Coats is speaking to in the message about how the stories we tell and the ones we don't shape our realities. And so today's conversation is about just that. We talk in detail about Tanahase's ten day trip to the Middle East and why he believes the mainstream media in reporting on the conflict elevates quote factual complexity over self evident morality. We also discussed his early education growing up in West Baltimore. The decade he spent at The Atlantic, and of course, how he's thinking about this week's upcoming election. I sat with Tanahassee in front of a packed house at the Robert Frost Auditorium in Culver City. There were some twelve hundred people there, including my mother, all eager to hear from Coats in this historic and I think fraught moment.
Here we are.
Thank you, Welcome everyone, Tana Haasse, thank you for being here. Welcome to Los Angeles.
Thanks for having me.
How are you feeling tired?
Very tired?
The best way to start a conversation, sir, I want to start with this new book, and to do that, I think we have to go back a little bit, because this book really starts with the case for reparations. Yes, it was a sixteen thousand word piece that connected the unbroken line between slavery and your form editor The Atlantic called the systemic deprivation of the ability of black Americans to accumulate wealth across generations. In the aftermath of that story, you did an event in twenty fourteen at the sixth and I Synagogue in Washington, d C. What happened that night that put you on the path to writing the message got heckled.
No, you know that was actually do you have a date on that?
What was that date? It was in June twenty fourteen, maybe June seventh.
Okay, all right.
So by the time I got to sixth and I, which was important, I had already heard the critique, like it had already started the bubble the Case of Reparations. When it came out, I was, first of all, thank you guys.
For having me. Thank you.
I always tell my writing students that no one is old in audience, and so to be here and to actually have one effect of going around the country and had one is beautiful. And I see my Howard people right here.
So there we go, you know, you know, can't go anywhere.
So in twenty fourteen, it wasn't that kind of hackling, right.
No, no, no, it wasn't at all.
Case Preparations came out, which I had worked on at that point for like two years, and was this sort of whatever the public reaction was, which was tremendous for me. It unlocked something in my brain because when you were black in America, it is not just that you live in a state of oppression, It is that people lie to you.
About why it's going on, and they and.
A lot of energy is spent line and so a case for reparations was like a kind of aha moment for me. It was like I got you know what I mean, Like I felt like I understood the lie, you know, I understood the outlines of it, and I felt like I had an explanation for it.
And I felt so good about that.
And I saw the cover of The Atlantic and I was like, wow, this, you know, big historic magazine is going to make the case for reparations and this is going to be incredible. And I was feeling great for about two days. And that was when I first heard when I heard the first critique, which was one which was that in order to make the practical case, which is to say, here's an example, you know, of how reparations can work, I had used reparations from the State of West Germany to the State of Israel. It's very important that I say it that way, because it was not from the State of West Germany to Jewish people. It was not from the State of West Germany to victims or survivors of the Holocaust.
It was to a state project.
And that's really really important because what I had failed to do was to investigate the nature of that state. And that part is even more important because at the heart of the case for reparations was not just the notion of a financial payoff for what I characterized as plunder, but an effort to make the world say from that particular kind of plunder. So there was a moral argument running through the core of it. And so if there's a moral argument running through the core, then you have to investigate the morality of the thing that you were holding up as a prototype. And that did not happen. That did not happen. So by the time I got to sixth and I and I got to say, this was really really brave. I mean, we were at a synagogue and you know, everybody was very happy with the story, and there was a lot of praise for the story and a lot of you know, good energy. And this young lady got up and she asked a question, and you know, she went on about the story and about Palestine and how it erased Palestine. And actually, I was I overstated when I say I was heckled. She was actually heckled, and she was booed. And you know, if I'm honest, it took a certain kind of person in that audience to make that critique.
How did you make sense of it in that moment?
I was like, I kind of understood it, but didn't quite you know what I mean, Like the way I can articulate it now.
I didn't. But I grew up in a community of.
Fairly radical politics, So when I first heard a critique, I was not like, that's preposterous, you know. I was more like, oh, you know, I'm this type of person that I'm actually a relatively slow thinker. I'm not a fast thinker, you know, in terms of being able to put things together. So I probably could feel the era before I could really really articulate it in the language that I needed to. And once I could do that, I was pretty much on the road to this book.
It's been nearly a decade since your last book of nonfiction, and in twenty seventeen, after the incredible success of Between the World and Me, you said, I'm not as scared as I used to be. I don't feel challenged in the same way when I was writing The Case for Reparations, I was definitely scared. Traveling and reporting as you did from from Senegal South Carolina, Palestine. Did you find this new book to be sufficiently challenging, and if so, what were you scared of?
Yes, it was very challenging. That was a dumb thing to say, this.
Was a scary book. She's you know, I'm gonna have a lot of quotes here tonight.
Yeah, all right, well you'll you'll find me huffing my own fumes a lot.
Then that was not that was present. It could be critical of past.
Yes, yes you can, Yes, he can. So Between the World and Me came out. There was sold a lot of books, and there are.
I think that's an understatement.
Yeah, And people in this world, when they have a book that that is successful, they take that as a mandate to basically do variations of the same thing, you know. So you know I could have done Between the World and She, Between the World and We, Between the World and they, Between Mars and Me, you know what I mean?
Like I heard that was the title of your next book.
Yeah, right, But I have a great editor, Chris Jackson at the Imprint where I published One World in Clad For Chris.
You met him very early in your early twenty I did.
I did? I did? I met him when I was.
Just become a father I had, I had you doing freelance writing.
Well, you do your research. Yeah, so that is true.
I showed up for you.
But he uh, he always pushes, you know what I mean. He's always pushing. And he has this idea that a book is a form, that a book is a work of art, and so you know, every time you go back, you really should be seeking something else.
And this was so this was different.
So between the world to me, you know, and someone the writing I've done since that helped me develop as a writer, but it couldn't really prepare me for this book, which was the first time I wrote something anything really, not even a book at length that took place out of this country. There's a part of that in between the world, but it's relatively small Jesus, Probably about eighty percent of this book is not in America. So that was different because you don't have the same vocabulary, you don't have the same touchstones, you know, the same metaphors that you can fall back on.
That was hard.
The fact of those three sites and making sure that the book still.
Felt like a book, that it felt coherence.
All of that made for you know, a real challenge the act of leaving this country and going to Palace. Actually getting on the plane was challenging once I got out, How.
Do you mean?
I mean, so that was twenty twenty three, right, So I first heard the critique in twenty fourteen. So by then, you know, it's been about nine years, right, So I knew a lot more then. I didn't know as much as I knew when I sat down to write, but I knew a lot more. And I just had this vague feeling that I was going to see something really, really bad. And I didn't know what the nature of that was, but I knew that if I saw something bad, I was gonna have to come back and tell people I saw something bad.
Like I.
And I know enough to notice that particular bad has a political residence in America that is unlike anything else, and so I kind of was aware of that. The funny thing is it was much more scarier in the abstract once I saw it, you know, I couldn't wait to get back, you know, un tell like I was the you know, the fear kind of went away once I saw it, you know.
In the epigraph of the book, you saw it, George Orwell, that essay why I write. And in that essay, Orwell insists that a reader can only truly assess a writer's motives if he knows something of his early development. And I want to talk all about Israel, Palestine, South Carolina, Senegal, but I do want to hold that and that that ask that Orwell is making that to know motives, we need to know something about your childhood. And to do that, I want to talk about the education you had outside of the classroom.
Yeah, let's not talk about the one inside the classroom at all.
We'll get into some of that. It's the nineteen eighties. You grew up in a row house in the slope of Tioga Parkway in West Baltimore. Your room, the smallest one, the scattered with volumes of World Book, Childcraft, dragon Lance, and Narnia. Some of those things, I admit I did not know what they were until today. During the week your father, who was a former Black Panther, worked as a research librarian at Howard University. But whenever he could, he would quote, violate your weekends with his latest pet lesson. Yeah, it was constant, and I thought we could hear a little of what that sounded like from your first book The Beautiful Struggle.
God can't get away from this?
Dude? Is that me or your father you're talking? You know?
The funny thing about reading stuff like this is like I.
Don't like I like this is it's almost embarrassing to read your old work. And I understand. I'm glad it's not embarrassing for you guys. Hopefully it's in the heights.
But I promise we're coming from a place of love to not embarrassment.
All right, Okay, so this starts in my father's voice. I'm so sorry, Dad, Tana HASEI cut off the cartoons.
You're coming with me?
Me?
Can I have another hour? Dad?
The look of not playing me cutting off the TV. Okay, I'm getting my jacket. And then we were off in the brown mini van across the city, public radio our soundtrack. My father's telling me again the story of Black folks Slide to Ruin. He would drive down North Avenue and survey the carryouts, the wig shops, the liquor stores, and note that not one of them was owned by anybody black. Were stopping at Brother Kenya's printing shop, and Dad would sit down and talk that brother Nation Black talk.
When we got home.
I'd go upstairs and flop on the bed, but dead never knew when to quit. Instead, he'd called me down to the basement and assigned me another book, another history that traced our days from the Nile Valley to the Zulu's last stand. When I turned the pages, I could feel the something more like a smoldering fire across the room. Days later, Dad would ask for a report, but try as I might, I could only half remember what I'd read, and what I remembered. I could not really recite my dad's response. A sudden shining in his eyes at the sound of certain words, or at my stuttering approximation of some crucial idea, suggested to me that even the little I retained had gold in it. But none of it made sense. I was young and could not see the weaponry my ancestors had left for me, the shield and the tall brown grass, the axe lying right across, right next to the tree.
That's not bad, It's okay, that's all right. I'm all right. I wrote there like twenty years ago, so that's why it's a.
Little where did where did it land? With you? Thinking about the lessons your father was imparting outside the classroom.
Oh, I mean, I just I just I mean, I was like joking about never escaping them.
I just won't. I mean, I was in Oakland on Friday, and.
Probably for the first time since I was in the Palestine, I had a majority Palestinian audience, and so it was like seven hundred people there, and you know, it was a certain spirit, you know, that that that that fills the room. And that's funny, exact, I've only ever had that with like majority black audiences. But that fills a room when you have the work that is intended for the audience, and the audiences right there right there's a kind of truth, a collective truth that was right there. And I was there and among the few black people who are there was a gentleman by the name of Emery Douglas and he was there young Klas for about the Emory and you know, I shouted him out and he was in the party with my dad, you know what I mean. And my father had all of these stories about being in the Panther party in Oakland, and it's just you know, I was telling my wife that it was amazing to come back. You know, they had to be that at that place and have this revolutionary moment, you know, in a place that was you know, so significant to him. He is in terms of my intellectual influence as a writer, there is my mom, who gave me the tools, who actually taught me how to how to how to how to read, and spent a lot of time, you know, early on teaching me how to write. And then you know that there's my father, who you know, I think spent a lot of time in terms of my political development, who I have been arguing with since I was seven, you know, I mean to his very day.
Still.
I want to give time to your mother as well, because it's my understanding that when you got in trouble, she would make you write essays and reflect on what you did.
Do you what's correct?
Do you remember what were those essays? Like?
She had this big thing about taking responsibility. It's funny.
I mean you can probably draw a line from there to the message. So I would get in trouble in school and I'd be like, well, sentience, I did this, and then I said no, no.
No, no, I start with what you did? What did you do?
And I only hit with yes, but what did you do? Like the story begins with you with what you did.
And what would be an example of something you did.
Oh, man, I did all sorts of stuff. I mean mostly it was talking when I shouldn't have been. I talked a lot. I was like boyd as all in school, you know, I didn't pay attention. I would have home work I wouldn't do I mean as a part in a book where I you know, go back and literally my mom had these notes that these teachers, these awful notes these teachers used to write, you know, in my.
Notebook, Tanahasse is restless.
Tanahase was restless.
Today Tanahassee didn't complete his homework, and it was very frustrating because I think in their minds I struck them as a really, really intelligent child, and nothing about what I did in a classroom probably reflected that.
I want to talk about a section of the new book because both of your parents were foundational in you becoming a writer. And it's that education and lived experience that you put into a book like Between the World and Me, which is, like many others right now in jeopardy of being banned in states like South Carolina, Colorado, and Tennessee. So tell me about this fight as you see it. Being played out across the education system. And then why did you you design to sit in on these school board meetings in South Carolina?
Well, I mean I can answer the first one pretty easily. I was asked to.
You know, I generally, from time to time, if I see a teacher that's in trouble, I try to make some sort of contacts so that they don't think like they're alone like and that their struggle is not being seen because they are in danger in a way that I'm not.
And so I want them to know that this is not for naught.
And Mary Wood, who is a teacher in South Carolina, asked me, you know, basically, to come down. The second part of your question is a thing that I think people who are trying to ban books understand really well, and I think people who actually love books understand less well. You'll have to forget me because I have to just go in into a little bit of detail. So we're, you know, obviously, in Hollywood, you know, we specializes in a particular type of storytelling technology, and that storytelling technology is often consumed in groups, and so people talk about like the experience of being in the theater and seeing a movie with a group of other people projected on the big screen and having this kind of singular experience together in community and television you know, often works the same way. But books are different. Books are a much much more intimate form. A writer like myself writes something down, it's published in a book, it goes out into the world. Somebody picks up that book and usually consumes it. If not alone, they need other people to stop talking, you know what I mean, it's just them in the book.
It's a one on one connection.
And it's a very intimate connection because if the writer has done their job, they've spilled their blood onto the page, right like, they've written it with all of their heart and all of their intimacy and their all of their vulnerability, and the reader is bringing to that their own lens, their experiences, their feelings, they're sentiments, their perceptions of the world, and so you get a kind of mind meld. But that mind meld is unique. It can only happen between that book and that reader. Every single other reader has another unique mind meld. That is an extraordinarily powerful tool. If you are interested in developing the imagination of children, if you are interested in using your children, though to maintain hierarchy. It is a very dangerous tool because if this is the child and that's the book, you can't get between this. It's the child in the book, and you don't really know what the child is actually seeing, or how they're perceiving it, or how it's altering their thinking or because it's.
Them so one to one connection inside the mind, meld.
Inside the mind, mind, and you can't get inside it. You can't actually get inside them. Even if you tried to read the book yourself, you would see would be totally different.
You're not completely I'm sorry, not totally, but it would be different.
It would not be exactly what that child is seeing because that child is developing their own private inner self.
That is a very very unique thing that that happened with reading.
And so people who want to maintain hierarchy have to control values, that control outlooks. They have to control how their children see the world if they want to perpetuate it into the future.
So books are very dangerous.
In that world, in that world, and I think sometimes we on the one hand, say what is wrong with these people? It's just books, And then on the other side of our mind we say books are very powerful.
Well, which is it? Which is it? You know what I mean?
And for me, it's that they're very powerful. And since they're very powerful, it makes sense that certain people who don't want their children developing independent notions and ideas about the world would therefore try to ban books.
You're right about this beautifully in the message, and I thought we could read a section from that.
It's a little better.
This is new writing, so you really can't be mad at it.
I can't read a lot of this, but you know, even like with you're writing, it's like, look, I said, damn, I should have done this, I should have done that. You always see in your errors as I'm seeing them right now. Actually we can do.
We can talk about those after if you want.
All right, we.
Have lived under a class of people who ruled the American culture with the flaming Cross for so long that we regularly cease to notice.
The import of being ruled at all. But they have not.
And so the redeemers of this age look out and see their kingdoms besieged by trans barbies, Muslim mutants, daughters dating daughters, sons, tricer treating as Wakandan kings. The fear instilled by this rising culture is not for what it does today, but what it augurs for tomorrow, a different world in which the boundaries of humanity are not so easily drawn and enforced. In this context, the mom for liberty shrieking think of the children must be taken seriously. What she is saying is that her right to the America, she knows, her right to the biggest and greenest of lawns, to the most halking and sturdiest of SUVs, to an arsenal of infinite ar fifteen's rests on a hierarchy, on an order helpfully explained and sanctified by her country's ideas, art, and methods of education.
That is the heart of it.
It is not a mistake that Mary teaches writing at its most advanced level and has found herself a target. Much of the current hoopola about book bands and censorships gets it wrong. This is not about me, or any writer of the moment. It is about the writers to come, the boundaries of their imagination, the angle of their thinking, the depth of their questions. I can't say I knew it back then the first day walking into Lord in prison, but in my time teaching it soon became clear that becoming a good writer would not be enough. We needed more writers, and I had a responsibility to help them as a reader, to be an active audience for the stories they wanted to tell, or as a teacher so that they could learn to tell them better, to reach deeper into their own truth in the same way that brought me euphoria, and reach into the hearts of readers and set them on fire as Mary had been set on fire since college by words on a page.
That's better than.
Or twenty years later. You know that line you talked about between your mother and the message clearly in that passage. But I have to say, reading the book and then rereading the book again this week, she is in so many of the pages. I can sense that she is there of accountability that she instilled in you, and I think a kind of moral standard. And I have to say, like around the fourth chapter, around Israel Palestine, which you write is a story not of redemption but of reparation. I want to talk about that in reporting this section was atonement the driving force? And if so, what do you feel you're atoning.
For either writing or books are powerful it and not? And if they are and I've argued that they are. Then the era made in case for reparations had great power, and it was meaningful. I didn't notice at the time, but it legitimized forces that for reasons of pure ancestry, for reasons of political tradition, I have to oppose. I have no choice but to oppose that deserves atonement. You have to make that right. I want to distinguish that from guilt. Is like pandering the people, you know, telling them, you know, being WEEPI and telling them, you know what I mean, exactly what they want to hear, and not really speaking from your heart, but more trying to predict where they're going and get there.
This is like, you know, you really have to understand.
I think, oh I really had to understand what happened and then find my way back. And so that was what much of the reporting was, you know, and I couldn't know in advance, like what it was, even what I told you just now, I would not have been able to obviously, to articulate it that way before I went.
So coming back, what did you come to understand, oh man.
So much that this is a country that tells itself on its holidays and its rituals and tells the world that it has improved itself through its struggles against slavery, against segregation, against Jim Crow, against American apartheid, but that at best it is actually outsourced apartheid. I think it's very important that I'd be specific about that. I was shocked at how open the discrimination was. I literally could not believe it. The New York Times ran a story about two or three weeks ago, and it was about how the roads in the West Bank are quite literally segregated roads for Palestinians, which are circuitous, not well taken care of, not well mannered, uh checked by by by checkpoints, and in roads for Israelis, which are obviously Israeli settlers specifically, which are obviously you know, of different quality, of different speed, et cetera. I was on both. I'd never seen that story in my life in the New York Times. Why was I just seeing it two or three weeks ago. The segregated roads have long been there, They've long like. This is not a new feature. This was not news in a traditional sense. And the segregation of the roads emanates out to everything else about the entire society.
It emanates out to.
The justice system, which obviously is very, very acute for African Americans.
It is more acute there.
If you are an Israeli citizen or a settler on the West Bank and you have some sort of problem with the law, you go through a normal process of justice that would be very familiar to us here in America. If you are a Palestinian on the West Bank, you are subject to and you run a foul of the law, you're subject to a military justice system. What does that mean. That means that no one has to inform you of the charges. No one has to tell your loved ones where you are. Should you somehow wind up dead while you're in the custody of those who have come to arrest you, they have no obligation to even return your body to your family, and in fact often keep it.
I didn't know that the water system is segregated.
The occupying forces in the West Bank, by policy and by law, claim the right to regulate the aquifers in the ground and the water.
Up in the clouds. I'd never heard anything like that.
Before you went in May of twenty twenty three. You had never heard any of them.
No, no, no.
What I had heard was it's aparthid like in the most general sense. Right, I had not seen it in major newspapers, but I know enough activists who said that to me, you know, incredible, and so it's not like I didn't believe them.
I just did not understand the details of it.
And I have been in enough interviews now where I've laid out the details in terms of how water is distributed, in terms of how the justice system works, in terms of how the roads work, in terms of the fact that I have been in settlements that have sprawling pools and country clubs and then been in villages that where they don't know when the water is going to be.
Cut off at all.
I've talked to Palestinian citizens of Israel who people will lie and tell you are equal by law to every other citizen.
They are not.
They are not their laws, for instance, that allow discrimination against them in housing. There are laws that allow if someone from here and is of a particular ancestry and moves to Israel and once to become a citizen, they can do that relatively quickly, while those who are citizens in Israel, should they fall in love with.
Somebody who happened to live on the West bank.
God helped them in trying to extend those citizenship rights, even though that person's ancestors have lived there for centuries or for however long it is. The discrimination is complete, total, not hard to see, and it says something. I'm sorry for going on about this, but it says something that it is that easy to see, and yet you would read your major newspapers and.
Not know after the break more from my live conversation with ton of Haase Coats m H and thinking about these institutions, how do you think this chapter in particular would have changed or been reported if it was conceived as a cover story for the Atlantic, as the case for reparations was.
It just wouldn't have happened.
And I don't and I don't mean any disrespect to them, you know what I mean?
Look, I what it wouldn't happen under the current editor Jeffrey Goldberg.
No, no, no, that's not what I mean, because I think these critiques that I have of media extend long past that I don't like the idea of putting it on a singular person.
These are structures, and.
But a structure that you were part of and that you benefited from and made the success that it is today and one that you fell in love with and supported and defended for over a decade.
And I would say it probably wouldn't have happened because the space I needed and the support I needed would not have been there. And it's not just that it would not have been the Atlantic, it would not have been anywhere anyway.
What do I mean by that?
It's my name on that essay, right, but behind it are any number of Palestinian scholars, any number of Palestinians who helped me fact check it, any number of anti Zionists, Israeli citizens who helped me.
Out that all of that was there in order.
For me to write what was necessary in order for me to write that essay, I have never in my life, and I've worked a few places now in count a Palestinian American journalist or a Palestinian journalist with any real power in any newsroom I've ever been in.
So and you think the absence of someone like that makes writing it for this magazine it's impossible. Impossible.
It's totally because I mean rights, their names are on it, right, but there is a structure behind it. Anytime you have something that is I don't know twenty thousand words or however long that essay is in the message it is, it's just impossible to do by yourself.
You know, you need a structure behind you.
And so in order to do that, you know, I had to kind of cobble one together. I mean, there were plenty of people waiting for me and waiting to help. But I don't know that that structure exists at any mainstream publication to do what I to do what I was trying to do.
And that's a structural indictment. You know.
How do you hold that now with the publication you love so much where you came of age pretty easily.
Look, I mean I don't.
I think you have to say what you have to say with great force without losing sight of people's humanity. I don't have to hate people to say that this is aparthid, you know what I mean.
I don't.
It's not personal, you know, it's not. I loved working at the Atlantic, I really really did.
I mean I don't. I don't even know that I would have gotten.
For whatever, you know, however perverse this is to the space of the message, if not, you know, for my time there, I learned a lot about writing. I had plenty of time to you know what I mean, read and pursue my own studies and do you know all of the things I needed to do to develop myself as a reporter and a writer at the same time, Like every other mainstream you know, a publication.
It's part of it. It's part of the problem, you know.
And it's not part of the problem because there is a particular specific sin in that organization or in the people who run that organization, but because our business.
Is suffuse with the sin. It's suffuse.
It's all over, you know, it's systemic, and so I don't know.
It's pretty He's even.
Me to recognize what happened while I was there, and at the same time, you know, recognize what I need to say, and you know the great difficulties of I'm standing.
The messages book ended with this call to action for young writers and new messengers tasked with quote nothing less than doing their part to save the world. As a writer, in terms of thinking about who's involved and who do you include in this narrative, do you think the most effective way to save the world? To do that narratively is to not include voices from the PLO or the PA. How do you think about who you include who you don't.
Well, I think about what the book is supposed to do.
If I am writing a political history of the Palestinian struggle and I don't talk to officials from the PA or a PLO, that probably is a problem.
If I am writing a book.
That explores the power of narrative and storytelling and writing, and a chapter in that book is about the story we tell about a particular place and how wrong that story is. I really don't have any problem with choosing, you know what I mean, who I want to talk to and who I don't. What do you do when you feel that the people who would dictate or who you would trust to tell you who to talk to.
What do you do when you know they have manifestly gotten it wrong?
How do you take advice and methodology from them? Like I just went through this whole thing about like apartheid, right, that was not in the publications that trained me.
It is a massive omission.
And so how do I go back to them and say who should I talk to when they clearly are not talking to people?
How do I go and take advice on?
You know, how I should bracket, you know, my essay and what voices should get prominence when these people don't even have Palestinian writers on their masthead, like they don't even have them, forget who they talk to, they don't even have them have them talking at all, you know. And so at that point you're on your own, you know. And so maybe ten years from now, fifteen years from now, you know, I'll say, man, I really should have talked to somebody from the PLO, somebody from the PA, or somebody from Fatal I should have found Hamas, or maybe I should have interviewed more settlers, or.
You think fifteen years from now you'll think then.
I don't know. But the point is.
The point is the people who and I'm gonna say this is as nice as I can.
You don't have to be nice, No, I like being nice. I'm a nice guy.
The people who would have told me to do that now I don't trust anymore.
And that's just.
These are the same publications that have criticized the book for not grappling with or naming Hamas. Right, this is what you're talking about. Do you think there are readers out there who would stand the benefit from your book? That we'll see that emission and go okay, I can dismiss this book easier.
I mean, it's probably not foot them.
Then if you want to read a two hundred and fifty page book with I don't know, one hundred word essay on Israel and Palestine and expect to get everything out of it, Like I have questions about you as a reader, I have questions about whether you're coming to the book like in a fair minded fashion. If you have, like the minute you dictate to me if this is not in here, I'm not reading that?
Is that? How you judge your coverage of Palestine? Do you ask yourself?
Because as I've said, these publications don't like they feel perfectly fine eliminating Palestinians.
You know, you think your colleagues, your past colleagues at the Atlantic feel that way. They're comfortable with that.
I really have no idea, But what all I can do is judge the coverage right. And again, I don't want to personalize this, but across the board, I mean, I just I started this conversation out with the fact that the roads have been segregated forever and y'all just started covering it. I'm just one writer, you're the New York Times. What are you leaving out?
You know, like.
I just started covering this last year, Like what right of you to? I mean, like you're leaving out a whole universe. You are not covering fifty percent of the population, you know, in this place that you claim to, you know, to be rooted in in a way that they themselves feel and see themselves. And so you got to go back to the chordus. When I say it's an act of reparation, I mean it. And so who I am concerned with and who's like opinions and ideas and notions, and whom sees themselves in it, you know what I mean. It's probably not the people I used to work for. I'm probably less concerned about that, you know. Frederick Douglass, I mean, you know, this is like an animating quote for me, you know, he says, and I'm sorry if I'm gonna mangle this.
You know, he said, my part is to tell the story of the slave. The slave master has never ever wanted for narrators. And if they are.
And if they stand condemned, they have not been condemned unheard. And so knowing that It's like, look, if you are everything that people might would want from this book, you can get it somewhere else.
But can you get this? Can you get this? And that's the thing that I think you know was missing it not focused on.
Let's go back to this because this book is written as a letter to your students at Howard University, which is where you went to school in the mid nineties. It's also where a decade before you, Vice President Harris attended and graduated. So we have alums here tonight. But in thinking about this election and the political tradition, in part born out of Howard Youtul New York Magazine quote, I have a deep seated fear that the black struggle will ultimately, at its root, really just be about narrow black interests. What do you mean by that?
I don't really like that quote. I mean I said it, they didn't misquote me. But there was something I was really trying to get at, and that is that, See, like the era of Zionism for me was that it was a idea that was conceived two free of people that accepted its oppresses priors. It accepted the notions of what freedom had to look like as opposed to question sending them at a very root level. That's my great fear for black people that we will not question the systems that oppress us. Look, I want to say a couple of things. I think we're in a bind. On the one hand, you have a community of people, black folks who have never ever had the ability to realize their hoops and dreams through presidential elections.
We just.
Have never had those freedoms. What do I mean by that?
I mean that you take the most I guess important quote unquote president in Black history, Abraham Lincoln, who ended slavery in eighteen sixty four. He is running for president two years or maybe it's three years earlier. He stands before this country and says, if I can end the Civil War without ending slavery, I will do it.
Tells us this.
A year before the election, he gathers a group of black leaders and brings them into the White House and says, y'all need the you'll never be safe here. You need to leave, and then actually sends some of them away, actually to Haiti, where they find little more than actually actual slavery itself.
It was just a moral catastrophe. So here we are.
We got this man, on the one hand, who would d the war if he could by leaving us enslaved. So what do we say, Well, it'd be nice if we had a choice, right somebody's I'm gonna fight for your freedom, but no.
Our choice is actually George McClelland.
And McClelland's answer is if I win, I will definitely in the war, and I will send I will not just re establish slavery all these people that escape.
I will send them back into slavery. So we have two options. Neither of these options regard us as equal human beings.
And this recurs, I mean basically all through American history, you know.
I think about it, especially in a state like this.
In California in the nineties right where you know, nowhere was mass andration thicker than it was in California. When we were voting for president in the nineties, there was no non mass incarceration option, you know what I mean. It was mass incarceration or mass or incarceration.
That was it.
That was I mean, people were running on sending black people to jail. So we like this like we have always been captive, you know, And I think that actually gives me great empathy from Palestandian Americans right now, because.
It's hard, man, it's hard. I was doing it.
I was in Oakland, and I sat next to this dude and he was an American but born in Gaza. The doctor except one sixth of his family is dead, you know. And I have my ideas about what will happen under Harris presidency and what will happen under Trump presidency. I personally am not one of these people who believes it can't get worse.
I believe it can. I believe it can.
I believe in nineteen sixty eight, when Nixon narrowly won, it got worse. And I believe we are still recovering from that worse. But I don't know how to fix my face to look this man in the eye and tell him he should go vote for somebody who I can't really tell him will end a genocide that is in service of apartheid. It's you asked earlier about the difficulty of holding things. That is probably that is much harder to hold. That is much much much harder to hold. And I just think, look, I was out at the DNC, I was there. I watched them claim the legacy of Fanny Blue Hammer as they didn't even let Palestinian Americans speak, and there was this enormous dissonance there.
You know, I think we can do better. I think we can do better, I hope.
So talking about legacy, I've heard you say that the writing I do exists largely thanks to other writers, that you carry them with you as you move through your work and around the publication of Between the World and Me. The late great Tony Morrison said, I've been wondering who might fill the intellectual void that played me after James Baldwin died. Clearly it is ton of Hasse codes, and so I thought, in part because I've made you read your own work a whole bunch tonight, we could read a piece from James Baldwin. This comes from an Esquire essay called The Lost Generation from nineteen sixty one, detailing his time in Paris and how he eventually had to come back home to America.
In my own case, I think my exile saved my life, for it inexorably confirmed something which Americans appear to have great difficulty accepting, which is simply this, a man is not a man until he's able and willing to accept his own vision of the world, no matter how radically this vision departs from that of others.
When I say vision, I do not mean dream.
There are long moments when this country resembles nothing so much as the grimace of popularity contests. The best thing that happened to the new expatriates was their liberation finally from any need to be smothered by what is really nothing more, though it may be something less than mother love, it need scarcely. I hope be said that I have no interest in hur ling gratuitous insults at American mothers. They are certainly helpless, if not entirely blameless, and my point has nothing to do with them. My point is involved with the great emphasis placed on public approval here and the resulting and quite insane system of penalties and rewards.
It puts a premium.
On mediocrity and has all but slaughtered any concept of excellence. This corruption begins in the private life and unfailingly flowers in the public life. Europeans refer to Americans as children in the same way that American Negroes refer to them as children, and for the same reason. They mean that Americans have so little experience, experience referring not to what happens, but to who that they have no key to the experience of others. Our current relations with the world forcibly suggest that there is more than a little truth to this. What Europe still gives an American, or gave us, is the sanction, if one can accept it, to become oneself. No artists can survive without this acceptance. But rare, indeed, is the American artist who achieved this without first becoming a wanderer and then, upon his return to his own country, the loneliest and most blackly of distrusted men. So you want to know what I think of that?
Is that? What that is? Yeah?
Yeah, I meantly because as you're reading it, I could tell it was stirring something inside of you.
I probably agree with.
The general sentiment and maybe think he credits Europe a little too much.
You know.
But but you know, I don't say that, you know, I say that with a measure of critique. I mean, you know, it's very difficult to write that much and to be right you know all the time, you know what I mean, or be on all the time, and writers are always in process, you know, Like that's what he probably thought at a moment, you know, twenty years later, who.
Knows, you know. He talks about vision, not dream.
Yeah, I love that.
And I wonder, given your time and Senegal, in South Carolina and Palestine and now returning back home and this especially front moment, how have you come to understand your vision of the world.
I am still developing.
It's really I mean that Palestine trip was just like there's what you learn, and then is what it exposes you to how little you know. The problem with somebody lying and with something that huge being hid from you is that you like start wondering about what else is being hidden? Are you want to well, if something this big, as you know, and I consider myself like I thought I was a relatively well read, politically astute human being, I was not, as it turned out. I probably, you know, gave too much credibility to things and to people that and institutions that really had not earned them.
And it just it makes you wonder.
A lot, you know about what you're missing, you know what I mean, what you're not seeing.
I don't know. It probably made me a lot less certain, you know about what that vision was.
Last question for us twenty years ago you said you couldn't have written this book. It was around that time two thousand and seven and seventeen years I'm not great at math, but it's around that time two thousand and seven where you had serious doubts about whether you would continue on the proverbial battlefield, as you said. And you're about thirty one years old, your father sitting in a unemployment office one hundred and twenty fifth Street in Harlem, sol facts. And it is your partner now wife, Kenyatta, who saw something and you, like David Carr, did that you cannot say in yourself. And I want to hold that moment because you talk about things that people can't see. I don't think people can see the journey that you have taken, that you've been on, long before the MacArthur, long before the best sellers, long before Tony Morrison said what she said. It was you, thirty one, walking out of this unemployment office. I thought we could read from that. I'm sorry again for making.
Oh no, I'm sorry. It's a little better than a beautiful struggle.
Ken y'alla and I have been together for nine years, and during that time I had never been able to consistently contribute a significant income. I was a writer and felt myself part of a tradition stretching back to a time when reading and writing were for black people the marks of rebellion. I believed, somewhat absurdly that they still were, and so I derived great meaning from the work of writing. But I could not pay rent with great meanings. I could not buy groceries with great meaning. With great meaning, I overdrew bank accounts with great meaning, I burned through credit cards and summoned the irs. Wild and unlikely schemes often appeared before me. Maybe I should go to culinary school.
I could have done that.
Maybe I should be a bartender. I could not have done that. I'd considered driving a cab. Ken Y'ada had a more linear solution. I think you should spend more time writing. At that moment, in that classroom, going through all the mandated.
Motions, I could not see it. I could not see anything, And like.
Almost every other lesson administered to me in a classroom, I don't remember a single thing said that day, And as with all the other very traumas accumulated in the classrooms, I did not allow myself to feel the ache of failure. Instead, I fell back on the old habits and logic of the street. It was so often necessary to deny humiliation and transmute pain into rage. So I took the agony of that era like a collection notice and hid it away in the upper dresser of the mind, resolved to return to it when I had means to pay. I think now today I have settled almost all of those old accounts, but the ache and after shock of failure remain long after the drawer is bare. I can somehow remember all that I did not allow myself to feel walking from the unemployment office and through the Harlem streets that day, just as I remember all that I did not let myself feel in those young years, trapped between the schools and the streets. And I know that there are black boys and black girls out there lost in a Bermuda triangle of the mind, or stranded in the doldrums of America, some of them treading, some of them never feeling and never forgetting. The most precious thing I had then is the most precious thing I have now, my own curiosity. That is the thing I knew even in the classroom that they could not take from me, That is the thing that boyed me and eventually plucked me from the sea.
Thank you all. That was pretty good.
Thank you very much, thank you, thank you, thank you you.
M That's our show.
If you enjoyed today's episode, be sure to share it on social media. Tag us at Talk Easy Pop. If you want to go above and beyond, he can leave us five stars on Spotify, Apple, wherever you do your listening. I want to give u special thanks this week to the teams at Random House and Live Talks. I also want to thank Josh Bierman, Brian Savelson, doctor Sima Jelani, and of course our guest today, tanahasse Coates. His new book The Message is now available wherever you do your reading. For more episodes with other great writers, I'd recommend David Remnick, George Saunders, and Zadie Smith to hear those and more. Pushkin Podcast listen on Apple, Spotify, or wherever you like to listen. You can also follow us on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, at Talk easy Pod. Talk Easy is produced by Caroline Reebok. Our executive producer is Jennick Sobravo. Today's talk was edited by Matt Sasaki and mixed by Andrew Bastola. Our music is by Dylan Peck. Our illustrations are by Tricia Shanowy. Photographs today are by Ethan Newmeyer. Research assistance comes from Ben Eisen. I also want to thank our team at Pushkin Industries, Justin Richmond, Kerry Brody, Jacob Smith, Eric Sandler, Cure Posey, Jordan McMillan, Amy Hagadorn, Sarah Brugier, Owen Miller, Sarah Nix, Malcolm Gladwell, Greta Cohn, and Jacob Weisberg. I'm San Fragoso. Thank you for listening to Talk Easy. We'll be back next week with another episode. Until now, stay safe, please vote, and so on