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272 pages, Hardcover
Published August 5, 2025
I first became aware of Thomas Chatterton Williams a decade ago, when the London Review of Books published his considered and ultimately quite restrained takedown of Ta-Nehisi Coates’ blockbuster Between the World and Me. I was living in Maryland at the time the book was released; I don’t remember what compelled me to read it in the first place, but I do remember browsing at a bookstore in Frederick, MD after I’d read it and overhearing the proprietor - a white woman, of course - discussing it with another customer.
“I had to put it down for a while, because it is a difficult read. But it was worth it,” she explained. At the time, I thought this was odd - Between the World and Me is a mere 152 pages and can be read in a single sitting. Moreover, I thought it was pretty strange that a bookstore owner would make such a show of her personal distress while reading something so comparatively tepid (it isn’t Blood Meridian and moreover, surely the existence of racism could not come as a surprise to anyone in Maryland?). I didn’t know it at the time, but this was the infancy of the era of “virtue signalling.”
In any case, I read William’s review after having read Coates’ book, and it was like a breath of fresh air. What if, posits Williams, Coates’ worldview is quite easily refuted by appeal to contradictory evidence. What if Coates’ just-so stories about the nature of American society are wrong? As a good little lefty, it had never occurred to me to question that Coates’ fatalism and cynicism could not just be wrong, but profoundly and radically wrong.
For years afterward I would tell people Coates’ book was worth reading in part just to read Williams’ takedown. But I never particularly followed Williams subsequent trajectory, which periodically seems on the edge of breaking out to a much larger audience. When I picked this book up, I had no real expectations beyond the obvious, this would be a book about 2020. I figured it might be structured something like Lewis Lapham’s Age of Folly, primarily a collection of previously published material.
Just to get it out of the way now: Williams’ book is not “bad”. But it suffers from having no real strong central thesis. The early chapters illustrate how America took its first baby steps on the path to collective insanity - but why did America start to lose its collective grip on reality at this exact moment, and not sooner or later? Williams seems to want to attribute the origins of the present moment with the election of Barack Obama; but then how was it Obama came to be elected? And just why was the reaction to his presidency so negative, so quickly?
Despite the title, relatively little of the book actually deals with the summer of 2020, which instead offers an impressionistic (and incomplete) synopsis of the timeline leading up to it. Rather than a single coherent narrative, we are treated to a series of vignettes alternating between examples of left- and right-wing insanity. Williams believes the conservative response to Obama’s presidency was hysterical; he also appears to fault Obama for his own inability to capitalize on what Williams took to be the underlying promise of Obama’s election (apparently something like a “colorblind” society).
Significantly, the context for the immediate rightwing backlash to Obama’s presidency - the ‘08 financial crisis - is left unexplored. Williams does make concessions to something like a materialist understanding of the world - he emphasizes repeatedly that George Floyd was not simply a black man, but a profoundly destitute man - but these do not add up to a particularly robust or compelling theory of society and social change. Instead, the reader is left to infer just what it is that informs Williams’ judgments of particular events. Maybe it is unfair to criticize Williams - a pundit, after all - for reacting to individual events, rather elaborating a broader understanding of how it is those events came to transpire. But, to be clear, Williams’ recurring foil - Ta-Nehisi Coates - does offer a theory of society and social change. I agree with Williams that Coates’ theory is profoundly misguided; but all told, Coates has a comparatively clear understanding of the world that can be understood - and critiqued - separately from the specific discussion of any specific news item. Williams has nothing like this.
Instead, the argument of Williams’ book goes something like this, “here’s an example of the right being insane. Now, here’s an example of the left being insane. Now….” and so on and so forth. We learn the Williams does not like Trump, that he does not like the left’s broad sympathy for the Palestinian cause, and so on. Williams’ critique of the post-George Floyd wave of rioting itself is hard to parse - George Floyd was indeed murdered by the police, Williams tells us. But it was the fact of his destitution in the early days of the pandemic that ought to be emphasized alongside his race.
But here is where we don’t get anything particularly new - Williams emphasizes repeatedly that the riots of the summer of 2020 were the result of something like an alliance between a (predominantly but not exclusively) highly educated white elite and a (predominantly but not exclusively) black underclass with flimsy ideological commitments. Even supposing that this is an accurate characterization of the social makeup of the rioters, we aren’t given a particularly detailed explanation as to why such an alliance would emerge. Williams alludes to his belief that wokeism functionally reproduces inequality - its bizarre language and mechanisms for enforcing that language are the stuff of inter-elite power struggles. And yet, they truly have captured the imagination of a broader public. And, moreover, why is it that this elite ideology should be dedicated to reproducing itself in the name of the subaltern? If Williams’ understanding is correct, surely there is something novel about an elite stratum that reproduces its elite status by emphasizing its deference to an oppressed stratum profusely to other elites, often enough with open disapproval by this oppressed stratum itself? One could say the roots of this bizarre compact go back at least to the 1990s, and perhaps are the farcical descendents of the heroic years of the Civil Rights movement and New Left in the 1950s and 60s. Williams, however, does not explore this genealogy; it all starts with Obama.
I agree with Williams that a basic timeline of the woke era might very plausibly begin in 2008. But what is more significant, the financial crisis and ensuing global economic meltdown, or the simple fact of Obama’s election? Obama’s victory is significant on its own (his victory in the Democratic primary has by now been thoroughly retconned - his triumph over Hillary Clinton was narrow and in the final tally, Clinton received more votes), but it was his administration’s response to the ‘08 meltdown that was absolutely decisive for the emergence of both MAGA and wokeness alike.
As matters are increasingly commonly framed in mainstream centrist discourse, wokeness is an elite project; MAGA is a populist one. But it is clear that both MAGA and “wokeness” broadly construed are pan-class alliances; that is, both are material politics without being class politics. If one has significantly captured blue collar workers while the other has significantly captured white collar workers, it is important to note that both categories are internally striated and complex. And, moreover, a not insignificant number of adherents to wokeism are downwardly mobile, college educated workers in precarious service sector employment (the proverbial jazz studies or art history grad employed as a sous chef or bartender).
As Williams has it, however, wokeness appears to be the more clear and present danger than right-wing populism; but it would seem to me both are, ultimately, malformed reactions to the 08 financial crisis. And, moreover, wokeness as we now know it is itself the product of an intense power struggle within the left (broadly construed to encompass everyone from Nancy Pelosi to anarchocommunist squatters). The same, of course, can be said for MAGA: although there is no figure even slightly comparable to Trump on the left in terms of personal influence, the current configuration of MAGA was determined by the nature of the coalition Trump was forced to build in order to secure his 2024 victory.
I am myself simplifying matters greatly but the significant point here is that Williams doesn’t appear interested in any of this stuff; indeed, he appears especially unaware of the massive upheavals within the Republican rank-and-file that led to Trump’s first - and even more dramatically, his second - ascendency. It may be cynical bullshit, but in the run up to election day 2024, Paul Manafort asserted with a straight face that the Republican Party is a “working class party.” Now, whatever led him to assert such a thing aside, it is significant on its own that he’d say such a thing at all. You won’t find any discussion of this in Williams, who seems to think that it is culture driving social change, at near complete - but not quite complete - neglect of the material factors of human affairs.
By now there is a mini-industry of books on “wokeness” that rivals the woke book industrial complex itself (Coates, Robin DiAngelo, Ibram X. Kendi). Williams is one foot in this realm, but decidedly one foot out - he certainly is in a different world entirely from Christopher Rufo, to put it mildly. But so far, I haven’t yet encountered an account that grapples with the material basis either for wokeness or the reaction against it. Williams adds a few interesting arguments to the discussion, but his account ultimately can never rise above a description of concurrent discrete events without any deeper causal story as to why the long march of woke continues.
About a week later, even more writers and media professionals — most of whom were far less renowned than Chomsky or Brooks or Rowling, including myself — presented "A More Specific Letter on Justice and Open Debate," that addressed the specific instances alluded to in the original The Letter, while also pointing out the plainly transparent irony that, if you're a marquee name publishing a letter about a censorship in Harper's fucking Magazine, you are, by definition, not actually being censored or cancelled. If you're a famous intellectual or writer, and people get pissed at you for, say, repeatedly spewing transphobic bullshit, and they stop buying your books because we live in a capitalist society and they do not want to financially support rhetoric that they consider to be hateful or harmful, then that's not censorship. It is, quite literally, free speech, and using good free speech to drown out bad free speech, which is exactly how all of the idealist platitudes about free speech say that it's supposed to work.