Free at last?

Following his operation at the factory hospital in Chapter 11, the narrator’s nuances of internal discord drastically crescendo, a transformation he attributes to the manifestation of “some alien personality lodged deep within [him].” His disorientation is often in response to memory-triggering experiences, one of which is an encounter with a yam stand; it is this event that inspires his spontaneous rhetoric at the site of an eviction. By some miracle, he is recruited and absorbed into the Brotherhood, an influential communist organization in the Harlem area. Now reveling in his newfound self, the narrator proclaims that his journey to self discovery has finally come to fruition.

My objective for this blog post is to examine the extent of the narrator’s freedom after joining the Brotherhood. Let’s not forget that this opportunity only materialized because the narrator finally decided to take action under his own jurisdiction. Prior to his self-revelation, the mere possibility of ordering a meal that could reflect a stereotype would be an embarrassment, but as we saw in the yam scene, the narrator seems to have found some peace with his heritage and is able to embrace it, at least in a rudimentary way, which is why why I think it is a cruel joke for Ellison to introduce the Brotherhood at this pivotal moment. Though the narrator was prepared to refuse their offer, and even recognizes that they only wants to use him, his monetary needs ultimately dictate his decision. On top of this, his induction into the organization feels too rushed for him to have fully grasped what he was getting into. Almost immediately, Brother Jack begins cramming evangelism down the narrator's throat, trying to convince him that his eviction speech stood for more than he thought it did, which in my opinion, breached the line between interpretation and coercion. It is also mentioned that he seems to be able to predict the narrator’s every move, from which table he will choose in a coffee shop to his reconsideration of the Brotherhood. If you notice, this is eerily redolent to the narrator’s earlier suspicions regarding Bledsoe’s plan for him.

At this point, the narrator's initial judgement of the Brotherhood has somewhat abated and he is at least willing to fit their mold for appearances. On page 304, he is told that their collective mission is to redeem those who have been dispossessed of their heritage and that they have been waiting for someone like him for months. Furthermore, he should forget everything he learned about sociology in college, and instead educate himself with their program’s civic material. When I read this, I thought to myself: is this not just trading one propagandism for another? My suspicions augmented when it was suggested that he become the new Booker T. Washington, a figure as much of an idol to the Brotherhood as he was to the university students. When the narrator questions this decree, he is told that “it isn't a matter of whether you wish to be the new Booker T. Washington, my friend. Booker Washington was resurrected today at a certain eviction in Harlem [...] This morning you answered the people’s appeal and we want you to be the true interpreter of the people. You shall be the new Booker T. Washington, but even greater than he.” In other words, he has no choice, just like he has no choice but to update his social conduct to their standards, cut ties with his past, take on an entirely new identity, and preach with words that are essentially handpicked by them. The narrator develops a modified version of his grandfather’s life’s work: by acting how they want him to act on the surface but continuing to think his own thoughts, he is a free agent. However, this conflict with discipline propels him into a confusion, where he is forced to contemplate how free will is involved in the most trivial of situations. Either way, he believes in the eminence of his new social responsibility and seems to plunge back into his old habits of trying to please authority and taking orders.

I will end on this note: the narrator believes he has made a significant departure from his past self and that the Brotherhood is taking him down the correct path. The program paradoxically promises  him “full freedom to do [his] work”  but only if he operates within its strict disciplinary framework. Is he really free or is he just imprisoned by an institution he worked so hard to rid himself of, hidden under a new name? To quote the narrator’s own skepticism: “How far could I trust them, and in what way were they different from the trustees?”

Fifty Shades of White

Until his expulsion, the narrator has, for the most part, only known opportunities to come in the form of rewards for pleasing and obeying white folks. In fact, the university he was enrolled in takes tremendous pride in its administering of this philosophy. It is a Southern academy that “domesticates” its black students, teaching them that by remaining subservient and embracing white culture, they are advancing in society. This strategy not only successfully reinforces white dominance and masks black identity, but it potentially yields members of society that will act whiter. Having been an apprentice to this process, it is only appropriate that the sole place of employment the narrator is able to find in the North is a paint business that only makes white paint. He is now directly responsible for what he has been inadvertently expediting his entire life: “keeping America pure.”

The word “liberty” holds such a clout in this country that “we’ve practically trademarked it" (Mitchell, 2014)! We Americans prefer to think that our nation was founded on the tenet of freedom, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Whiteness could never maintain its reputation of “liberty” and “purity” without oppressing blackness. Case in point: the United States would be nothing without its most reprehensible institution, slavery; black men and women worked too long and too hard throughout American history to deserve this discredit. Likewise, Liberty Paint’s most popular hue, Optic White claims to be “so white you can paint a chunka coal and you’d have to crack it open with a sledgehammer to prove it wasn’t white clear through,” yet as the narrator learns, the brilliant white paint cannot be made without its secret ingredient: a few drops of black varnish. This metaphor becomes even deeper when we discover the character of Lucius Brockway, the old comical black employee hidden away in the factory basement. “Right down here is where the real paint is made. Without what I do [the people upstairs] couldn’t do nothing, they be making bricks without straw.” While Brockway has been at the company since its launch and recognizes his own indispensability, he fails to see the role he actually plays. He is from an older generation, old enough to have tasted the vestiges of the slavery era; the consequence is that his subordination toward whites is voluntary and genuine. Brockway is only concerned with his position within the company and not with his position within the system. Indeed, his strategy for upward mobility sounds like a less eloquent version of Booker T. Washington’s ideology about economic advancement being the only direction toward progress.

To me, the most puzzling scene in this chapter was when the supervisor overlooked the narrator’s spiteful tampering of paint. While there are many ways to interpret this passage, what I found most unclear is whether Kimbro actually missed the detail or if he detected it but chose to ignore it. The narrator can tell that the paint still contains traces of black by its grey tint, but Kimbro remarks that “that’s the way it oughta be.” When the narrator asks him if he knows what components are actually in the graduate, Kimbro becomes defensive: “His eyes snapped. ‘You damn right I know,’ he said. ‘You just do what you’re told!’” He is obviously aware of the crucial role of black varnish in the paint formula but also in denial that the paint is not purely white. Similarly many Caucasian Americans turned a blind eye to black society, self-assured that their labor and mere existences were only blemishes on society that played no role in white brilliance or prestige. Kimbro needs to believe that the government issued paint is purely white, just as Americans needed to believe that its infrastructure is purely white. (Alternatively, you could interpret this passage as a metaphor to the narrator’s grandfather’s gradual adaptation to the “lion’s mouth”. Like the carefully mixed grey paint, he becomes so well assimilated into this image that his notions are either nonexistent or too subtle for anyone to notice a difference.)

A Cross-Examination of Authority

I understand it has been a while since we have independently discussed Native Son, so please bear with me! #throwback

Everywhere he looks, Bigger is being reminded of how he is expected to act or told how he should be acting - not only in his interactions, but also in the media - which, in combination with his belligerent personality, makes his eventual act of rebellion almost too necessary. I would like to bring to a light a certain study conducted by the University of Virginia that was mentioned in Malcolm Gladwell’s “David and Goliath”*. The study focuses on a scenario involving an elementary school teacher named "Stella". In this scenario, Stella's students are in complete chaos; entirely unengaged by her instructions, some are even doing cartwheels. At first glance, we may make the assumption that these children are instinctively immature, or that they come from a troubled background with little respect for authority or discipline. Only later does it become apparent that none of these factors are in play, that in fact the children’s behavior is a result of the teacher, who makes no attempt to understand the opinions and interests of her pupils but nonetheless disciplines them wholly; their disobedience is a response to her arbitrary display of authority. On several occasions, students who take initiative in learning (e.g. doing homework in class) are admonished by the teacher for “not following directions”. The long-term effect is that rather than help restore an appreciation for rules, the experience has provoked frustration and bitterness in the students, who were not given the opportunity to have any say in their punishment.

According to Gladwell, there are three fundamental constituents to the principle of legitimacy: “First of all, the people who are asked to obey authority have to feel like they have a voice -- that if they speak up, they will be heard. Second, the law has to be predictable. There has to be a reasonable expectation that the rules tomorrow are going to be roughly the same as the rules today. And third, the authority has to be fair. It can’t treat one group differently from another.” One can easily draw a corollary between this experiment and the disposition of Bigger Thomas. From day one, Bigger has been told who he is and who he can’t be. His lofty dreams of becoming a pilot are immediately dashed, and he knows what people will think of him and what will happen to him if he, a black boy is caught in the presence of an inebriated white girl. His feelings and beliefs hold no importance in a world where the most generous of Caucasians think ping pong tables will save the ghetto. The book very clearly sets up a naturalistic setting: almost every decision Bigger makes is an indirect reaction to authority, which has made sure that all consequences are in black and white, pun intended. Granted, Bigger Thomas is not an elementary school student, the consequences are noticeably inconsistent, completely contradicting the principle of legitimacy. “...the authority has to be fair. It can’t treat one group differently from another.” Before Bigger steps into the Dalton home, before he even meets Mary Dalton, the odds are against him.

*I’m usually a fan of Malcolm Gladwell books, but in this particular case, I found his writing to be relatively disjointed, so I would not recommend this book. (That doesn’t make the source I cited any less credible.)