Troubled, the part memoir, part manifesto from Rob Henderson is a fascinatingly structured book, softening the reader up with two hundred pages about his undeniably harrowing childhood and adolescence, adding some reasonable analysis of the importance of children growing up in stable, loving family units, before hammering them with his half-baked hypothesis about class.
Each chapter is written from the perspective of Henderson at a different ages, from very young childhood to late twenties, and the author makes it clear from the outset that he will leave the analysis and reflection to the later chapters because this is the point at which he had the distance, knowledge and understanding to reflect on what had happened to him and what his experiences represented for society more broadly. His story of being shuttled between overcrowded foster homes, and then of the series of misfortunes that befell him after being adopted, is both heartwrenching and compelling. Henderson's points about the importance of firm boundaries, high expectations and secure attachment are eminently sensible and backed by not only anecdotes from his own life and his friends' lives but by comprehensive research.
The main theme which underpins Henderson’s recollections of his early life is family, and the importance of stability and security to children growing up. He rallies against schemes aimed at helping young people from disadvantaged communities get into college, for example, citing considerable research suggesting that educational opportunities cannot make up for a chaotic homelife. However, while he is very clear on what is not helping these children to be happy and fulfilled, he fails to posit any solutions to what he believes is the biggest problem afflicting poor Americans.
Henderson makes interesting observations about 'trickle-down meritocracy' at top universities, whereby positive discrimination policies have been put in place to address the lack of diversity (racial and economic) in the hope that the advantages these chosen members of a community accrue will ultimately benefit their whole community. But then, seemingly without irony, he writes that, 'Representation certainly benefits a handful of people who are chosen to enter elite spaces, but it doesn't seem to improve the lives of the dispossessed. In fact, it might backfire. Elite institutions strip-mine talented people out of their communities. Upon completing their education, most of these graduates do not return to their old neighborhoods. Instead, they relocate to a handful of cities where they live alongside their highly educated peers, eroding the bonds of solidarity they had with those they left behind. And who could blame them? It is reasonable to use your talents to advance your career and financial prospects. But if the original intent was to help languishing communities, then this particular solution is failing.' It is unclear how he squares this belief with the hope that children will be inspired by his story, which can only be heard because he wae selected for these opportunities.
I had not read Henderson’s 2018 New York Times op-ed Luxury beliefs are the latest status symbol for rich Americans prior to beginning Troubled - possibly because, to paraphrase Henderson, I don't have 'the kind of job that allows you to browse Twitter' or affords you the time to 'stay current on the proper way to think about social issues.' Thus, I came into Henderson’s book under-prepared: I expected a memoir but wasn't ready for the proselytising.
Henderson’s theory about luxury beliefs evolved from Thorstein Veblen's The Theory of the Leisure Class (1899), his angle being that in the 21st century, rather than indulging in frivolous, economically unproductive hobbies such as golf or beagling, the upper class fritters their time away thinking about the irrelevance of religion, cultural appropriation, and the legalisation of drugs, amongst other ideas which ordinary people cannot spare a thought for because 'they have real problems to worry about.'
According to Henderson, the only reason why anyone would hold these beliefs is to show off their class and education to their peers, just as one might flaunt a designer handbag or expensive car. Somehow, he is able to categorically know that no one has come to these conclusions through their own research, or that they truly understand the stances they are endorsing.
Henderson glibly muses that, 'Maybe the luxury belief class is ignorant of the realities of who is most harmed by crime. Or perhaps they don't care that the poor will become even more victimized than they already are.' And yet, a cursory amount of reading would reveal that the American War on Drugs, to use an example of a policy counter to one of Henderson’s luxury beliefs, is responsible for swollen prison populations, single parent families and millions of families ruined by addiction. This is just one example of Henderson’s argument seeming under-researched and flawed. He just isn't that informed about some of the issues that are central to his hypothesis, he makes lazy presumptions about the net benefit of ideas he supports, and his ignorance only serves to patronise those whom he purports to speak for.
Henderson’s theory is littered with contradictions; it is painfully ironic that the people who would have the time to read his op-ed, his newsletter and his book, and to ruminate on his ideas, are the very same people he decries. At the time of writing, he has spent time in poor working class communities, in the United States Air Force, and at some of the world's top academic enclaves. How does he know what 'ordinary' people believe about these issues? The rigour of his research into the role of the family has been replaced by anecdotal evidence camouflaged by statistics, and, while I do not dispute that he observed a correlation between students from specific backgrounds subscribing to specific views, this does not prove causation. Indeed, if Henderson were to spend time in a town with similar deprivation markers to his adopted hometown of Red Bluff, but with a predominantly Black population, he would likely find support for the idea of police reform. Furthermore, in having the time to conjecture on his ideas whilst pursuing a PhD at Cambridge University, has Henderson himself not become one of the elites he so despises?
Georges Prat, a Canadian criminal lawyer, writing for Medium in 2021, had this to say of Henderson’s hypothesis:
If I were to guess, I’d say Henderson is simply a highly conservative person who arrived at university and hadn’t been in touch with left-wing woke politics prior to that. He had a strong sense of certainty in his own views, so when he encountered opposing views, he didn’t even bother entertaining them to evaluate their merits. Instead, he dismissed them as nonsense. After that, he had to find a way to reconcile the apparent intelligence of his peers with the “nonsense” views they held... One gets the sense he feels so certain in the correctness of his conservative views that he came up with a way to explain away the opposing views held by his university peers, i.e. “they only believe that because they’re affluent status seekers displaying their luxury beliefs as a way to move up the social hierarchy. Obviously the ideas themselves have no merit.'
It is a shame that Henderson chose to conclude his book with his soap-boxing, as the rest of the book is moving and rousing.
Thank you to NetGalley and Swift Press for the opportunity to read and review an ARC of this book.