I am who I am. I don’t feel particularly pressured to be any more myself or any less myself. I’m a middle-aged white guy with an unruly beard typing this on a Mac. Pretty much sums up a lot of things. Sure, I get nudges from family to come back to the conservative religious fold and while that brings a certain burden with it, it’s not a deal breaker. I’m still welcome at family gatherings, despite my various shortcomings.
This election season, however, has been tough. In my mind, and in the minds of most Americans it would appear, there is no middle ground between us and them. Despite a jaw-droppingly bad choice in VP running mate, my 2020 self has convinced myself that, lacking a viable alternative, I could have conceivably voted for a John McCain. Or a Mitt Romney. But when our sitting president makes public announcements defending Nazis and white supremacists, well… shit. That doesn’t leave a whole lot of middle ground or space to agree to disagree. Fine, we can discuss the efficacy of tariffs and various monetary policy approaches, but, uh, the guy pushing those particular policies is a racist asshole. It’s hard to get around the reality that character and worldview will eventually bleed into policy.
It has been against this backdrop that I’ve been reading Ellison this fall. Invisible Man was first published in 1947. Compared with this last year, I can’t say that America has made much progress in the intervening 73 years. But then again, as already stated, I’m a middle-aged white guy with an unruly beard and am probably not the authoritative voice people should turn to for insight into the state of America’s racial affairs.
But who is the authoritative voice?
Well… that’s complicated isn’t it? And Ellison nails it in having the voice and thoughts of his protagonist remain nameless. Ellison gives the reader nothing upon which to hang a mental picture. Jim? Tom? Duke? As names for a black man in a novel set in the 1930s/’40s, those all have their own evocative meanings. But in remaining anonymous, the narrator is a blank slate onto which the reader can project their own version of reality.
As the tale unravels, what becomes clear is that the man driving the plot is at times too black for some blacks and at the same time too white for some blacks and at the same time too black for some whites and at the same time too white for some whites. He’s always threatening to someone — often simultaneously and for conflicting reasons — and it’s a game that can’t be won.
But back to me. I’m a middle-aged white guy who can walk into pretty much any setting — from my local disc golf course to a school fundraiser to a concert to a City Council hearing to a corporate boardroom to a university classroom — and not give two shits or two seconds of thought about how white to be, or not to be. As if I could even change it, even if I wanted to. That’s a gift. A luxury. Spreading and sharing that gift should be a focus of our nation.
Five stars for this one. Go track down a copy: http://www.worldcat.org/oclc/1141211280
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