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We Can't Breathe: On Black Lives, White Lies, and the Art of Survival
Insightful and searing essays that celebrate the vibrancy and strength of black history and culture in America by critically acclaimed writer Jabari Asim.
In We Can't Breathe, Jabari Asim disrupts what Toni Morrison has exposed as the "Master Narrative" and replaces it with a story of black survival and persistence through art and community in the face of centuries of racism. In eight wide-ranging and penetrating essays, he explores such topics as the twisted legacy of jokes and falsehoods in black life; the importance of black fathers and community; the significance of black writers and stories; and the beauty and pain of the black body. What emerges is a rich portrait of a community and culture that has resisted, survived, and flourished despite centuries of racism, violence, and trauma. These thought-provoking essays present a different side of American history, one that doesn't depend on a narrative steeped in oppression but rather reveals black voices telling their own stories.
In We Can't Breathe, Jabari Asim disrupts what Toni Morrison has exposed as the "Master Narrative" and replaces it with a story of black survival and persistence through art and community in the face of centuries of racism. In eight wide-ranging and penetrating essays, he explores such topics as the twisted legacy of jokes and falsehoods in black life; the importance of black fathers and community; the significance of black writers and stories; and the beauty and pain of the black body. What emerges is a rich portrait of a community and culture that has resisted, survived, and flourished despite centuries of racism, violence, and trauma. These thought-provoking essays present a different side of American history, one that doesn't depend on a narrative steeped in oppression but rather reveals black voices telling their own stories.
208 pages, Paperback
First published October 16, 2018
29 people are currently reading
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About the author
Jabari Asim
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Praise for Only The Strong
"Jabari Asim is such an elegant writer that you won't realize how smoothly he drew you in until you're halfway through this book. Humane and humorous, compassionate and willing to get a little rough, this describes both the writer and the novel. Only The Strong does for St. Louis what Edward P. Jones has done for Washington D.C., Raymond Chandler for Los Angeles---marked it as place on the literary map where you'll want to stay for a long while. A riveting novel." --Victor LaValle, author of The Devil in Silver
“Only the Strong is a lushly atmospheric and passionately written piece of work, bursting with colorful characters that shine on every page.” ---Bernice L. McFadden, author of Gathering of Waters
"Only the Strong effortlessly transmits Jabari Asim’s profound affection for this book's charismatic and varied characters. This is a vivid, revelatory portrait of 1970s America in the disheartened aftermath of Martin Luther King, Jr.’s death." —Rafael Yglesias, author of The Wisdom of Perversity
"There's an eerie timeliness to the publication of this fictional study of Saint Louis black communities of the 1970s. Only the Strong reminds me of Chester Himes’ Harlem entertainments—in its deceptively light handling of desperately serious subject matter. Jabari Asim is a writer to watch, and to listen to closely, in these difficult times." —Madison Smartt Bell, author of All Souls’ Rising and Zig Zag Wanderer
"It is like stepping into a time capsule of my old neighborhood in the 1970s...to read about Gateway City, Jabari Asim’s fascinating rendition of St. Louis, as an adult brings back memories of time and place, and also admiration for his storytelling." —Susan Straight, author of Between Heaven and Here and A Million Nightingales
Praise for A Taste Of Honey
"A Taste of Honey has the power of memoir and the poetry of fiction. Suddenly, it is 1968 once more, with all of the hope and violence and seismic change that rocked the cities that summer. It's all here and it's all beautifully rendered. This books is a gem."
—Chris Bohjalian, author of Secrets of Eden
"Jabari Asim has written a brilliant coming-of-age tale filled with compelling characters navigating race relations in 1968, navigating familial and neighborhood demands, and triumphantly reaffirming what it means to be human. A lovely, lyrical collection of connected stories that will leave readers breathless and ecstatic with passion and joy."
—Jewell Parker Rhodes, author of Yellow Moon
"Offering the bitter with the sweet, Jabari Asim's first collection of stories, A Taste Of Honey, serves up a multilayered dish. Asim ranges through and across a Midwestern African American community in the wake of the civil rights movement and the social changes of the last forty years, writing from the inside out and unforgettably bringing to life a world that still is too seldom seen in American fiction."
—John Keene, author of Annotations
"Jabari Asim's rich short stories read like a novel . . . full of people we love getting to know—Rose, Gabriel, Pristine, Ed, Reuben, and Guts. I particularly loved the male characters in these pages . . . men who live by their brains and their brawn, shelter their children, their community. They embrace their wives. They love hard, laugh deep, and cry inside."
—Denise Nicholas, author of Freshwater Road
"Asim successfully delves into politics, domestic violence, racial identity, young love, and more in this humorous and poignant collection..."
—Publishers Weekly
"With his debut work of fiction, the Guggenheim Fellow proves himself to be a promising storyteller." -Library Journal
"This fiction rings true." -Kirkus Reviews
More about Jabari Asim
He is the author of What Obama Means . . . For Our Culture, Our Politics, Our Future,, The N Word
"Jabari Asim is such an elegant writer that you won't realize how smoothly he drew you in until you're halfway through this book. Humane and humorous, compassionate and willing to get a little rough, this describes both the writer and the novel. Only The Strong does for St. Louis what Edward P. Jones has done for Washington D.C., Raymond Chandler for Los Angeles---marked it as place on the literary map where you'll want to stay for a long while. A riveting novel." --Victor LaValle, author of The Devil in Silver
“Only the Strong is a lushly atmospheric and passionately written piece of work, bursting with colorful characters that shine on every page.” ---Bernice L. McFadden, author of Gathering of Waters
"Only the Strong effortlessly transmits Jabari Asim’s profound affection for this book's charismatic and varied characters. This is a vivid, revelatory portrait of 1970s America in the disheartened aftermath of Martin Luther King, Jr.’s death." —Rafael Yglesias, author of The Wisdom of Perversity
"There's an eerie timeliness to the publication of this fictional study of Saint Louis black communities of the 1970s. Only the Strong reminds me of Chester Himes’ Harlem entertainments—in its deceptively light handling of desperately serious subject matter. Jabari Asim is a writer to watch, and to listen to closely, in these difficult times." —Madison Smartt Bell, author of All Souls’ Rising and Zig Zag Wanderer
"It is like stepping into a time capsule of my old neighborhood in the 1970s...to read about Gateway City, Jabari Asim’s fascinating rendition of St. Louis, as an adult brings back memories of time and place, and also admiration for his storytelling." —Susan Straight, author of Between Heaven and Here and A Million Nightingales
Praise for A Taste Of Honey
"A Taste of Honey has the power of memoir and the poetry of fiction. Suddenly, it is 1968 once more, with all of the hope and violence and seismic change that rocked the cities that summer. It's all here and it's all beautifully rendered. This books is a gem."
—Chris Bohjalian, author of Secrets of Eden
"Jabari Asim has written a brilliant coming-of-age tale filled with compelling characters navigating race relations in 1968, navigating familial and neighborhood demands, and triumphantly reaffirming what it means to be human. A lovely, lyrical collection of connected stories that will leave readers breathless and ecstatic with passion and joy."
—Jewell Parker Rhodes, author of Yellow Moon
"Offering the bitter with the sweet, Jabari Asim's first collection of stories, A Taste Of Honey, serves up a multilayered dish. Asim ranges through and across a Midwestern African American community in the wake of the civil rights movement and the social changes of the last forty years, writing from the inside out and unforgettably bringing to life a world that still is too seldom seen in American fiction."
—John Keene, author of Annotations
"Jabari Asim's rich short stories read like a novel . . . full of people we love getting to know—Rose, Gabriel, Pristine, Ed, Reuben, and Guts. I particularly loved the male characters in these pages . . . men who live by their brains and their brawn, shelter their children, their community. They embrace their wives. They love hard, laugh deep, and cry inside."
—Denise Nicholas, author of Freshwater Road
"Asim successfully delves into politics, domestic violence, racial identity, young love, and more in this humorous and poignant collection..."
—Publishers Weekly
"With his debut work of fiction, the Guggenheim Fellow proves himself to be a promising storyteller." -Library Journal
"This fiction rings true." -Kirkus Reviews
More about Jabari Asim
He is the author of What Obama Means . . . For Our Culture, Our Politics, Our Future,, The N Word
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 42 reviews
September 13, 2020
“Jesus, they say, rose after three days. Emmett did too. After his abductors tortured and killed him, they tied a seventy-pound cotton gin fan around what was left of his neck. Wanting no one to know how much he’d suffered for the sins of his nation, they tossed his remains into the Tallahatchie River. No doubt his were not the only bones there. Find any ground where black people toiled in the Jim Crow South, any body of water that bore witness to their labors, sift the soil, dredge the depths, and you are bound to find some bones.”
Readers, like writers, need room to fail.
It’s one thing for me, one of the whitest guys you’ll ever meet, to read books about systemic American racism; it’s something altogether different to write about those books from a perspective of white privilege. I feel as though I must tread ever so carefully because I have never inhabited that space.
Yes, authors like Jabari Asim and Michelle Alexander and Cornel West inspire me, but not to just sit here and type. I can’t read Asim’s words and then do nothing more than tap out a glowing GoodReads review hoping that my friends will read it and affirm how non-racist I am. We should all want to do more than just pat each other on the back, right? Maybe we need to kick each other in the butt once in a while and say ‘Get out there and march!’ or ‘Get out there and show support!’ or (most importantly) ‘Get out there and VOTE!’
“I’m so tired of waiting,
Aren’t you,
For the world to become good
And beautiful and kind?”
~Langston Hughes, “Tired”
Readers, like writers, need room to fail.
It’s one thing for me, one of the whitest guys you’ll ever meet, to read books about systemic American racism; it’s something altogether different to write about those books from a perspective of white privilege. I feel as though I must tread ever so carefully because I have never inhabited that space.
Yes, authors like Jabari Asim and Michelle Alexander and Cornel West inspire me, but not to just sit here and type. I can’t read Asim’s words and then do nothing more than tap out a glowing GoodReads review hoping that my friends will read it and affirm how non-racist I am. We should all want to do more than just pat each other on the back, right? Maybe we need to kick each other in the butt once in a while and say ‘Get out there and march!’ or ‘Get out there and show support!’ or (most importantly) ‘Get out there and VOTE!’
“I’m so tired of waiting,
Aren’t you,
For the world to become good
And beautiful and kind?”
~Langston Hughes, “Tired”
November 18, 2018
(Follow @morganreadsalot on Instagram for more reviews)
“While unquestionably a liberating force, at times reading can remind us of the limits of perception, the complications of looking.”
This is actually one of my very favorite aspects of reading. Making an effort to read about things I have not experienced, or have only experienced minimally, allows me a tiny glimpse into the lives of those who have, and do. Can that sometimes feel complicated and uncomfortable? Heck yes! But believe me, living in that feeling of discomfort for a bit, examining it, and being honest with yourself about how you may have contributed to it along the way so that you can learn to be a better ally, advocate, and partner is BEYOND worth that temporary discomfort.
This amazing collection of essays dives deeply into the expression and experience of Black culture and sense of community; and how it empowers, heals, and educates through connection and art, wether the medium is paint on canvas or words on paper. It’s rich and full and beautiful and inspirational.
“While unquestionably a liberating force, at times reading can remind us of the limits of perception, the complications of looking.”
This is actually one of my very favorite aspects of reading. Making an effort to read about things I have not experienced, or have only experienced minimally, allows me a tiny glimpse into the lives of those who have, and do. Can that sometimes feel complicated and uncomfortable? Heck yes! But believe me, living in that feeling of discomfort for a bit, examining it, and being honest with yourself about how you may have contributed to it along the way so that you can learn to be a better ally, advocate, and partner is BEYOND worth that temporary discomfort.
This amazing collection of essays dives deeply into the expression and experience of Black culture and sense of community; and how it empowers, heals, and educates through connection and art, wether the medium is paint on canvas or words on paper. It’s rich and full and beautiful and inspirational.
October 26, 2018
This collection blew me away bc I didn’t know what I was getting into. Jabari Asim had been completely off my radar but it sounded interesting so I picked it up m. He is such a brilliant writer both in terms of his language and analysis. Really stunning. I highly recommend this collection and I’m excited to read more of his work.
February 25, 2020
This book took me to fucking church. So good, so important. I'm still processing and learning.
February 25, 2019
Several instances of ableist language/thinking were disappointing to see. The suggestion of “white insanity” as a replacement for “white supremacy” for example, in the essay Getting it Twisted. And from the same essay, the idea of calling people who oppose full equality “intellectually challenged...delusional...psychotic”.
A couple other issues. For example the phrase “LGBTQ lifestyles” shows a disconnect and lack of awareness that is surprising in someone who was the editor of the Washington Post for a decade. Also the essay “Color Him Father” starts out with some major “not all men” bullshit: “What about us? [the good men] If were doing what we’re supposed to do, we complain, we are often overlooked.”
Nevertheless these essays are powerful and necessary, interesting and informative. I would still recommend this book but with these notes. 3.5 stars.
A couple other issues. For example the phrase “LGBTQ lifestyles” shows a disconnect and lack of awareness that is surprising in someone who was the editor of the Washington Post for a decade. Also the essay “Color Him Father” starts out with some major “not all men” bullshit: “What about us? [the good men] If were doing what we’re supposed to do, we complain, we are often overlooked.”
Nevertheless these essays are powerful and necessary, interesting and informative. I would still recommend this book but with these notes. 3.5 stars.
November 18, 2019
My introduction to Jabari Asim was through his children’s books. “Whose Toes Are Those?” and “Whose Knees Are These?” were our favs during our son’s first few years. He has now earned a place among my favorite authors of books on race and racism (and that’s saying a lot). In this collection of essays, he tackles everything from #BlackLivesMatter to Black bodies to Black fatherhood. This isn’t quite Racism 101, but his use of narrative will help readers who are new to the topic. At the same time, he manages to shake up some of the assumptions of the most ardent antiracist activists, helping to reveal some of the problem areas in our thinking.
I listened to this one on audiobook, but I’ll be purchasing a hard copy too, because it’s just that good.
I listened to this one on audiobook, but I’ll be purchasing a hard copy too, because it’s just that good.
March 26, 2019
GoodRead
August 3, 2018
The message has been repeated for centuries, but never seems out of date – or heeded: racism needs to be addressed and dealt with. We Can’t Breathe, by Jabari Asim is another attempt to get that message through. Unfortunately, it is obscured by tangents and diversions.
It is both remarkable and typical that Americans do not see blacks as resources, as allies, or even as customers. Same goes for immigrants of any other color. Whites are entitled, and need no advice, consent, or help from anyone, anywhere. The president is their model.
The book starts out powerfully, as Asim details the endless ways blacks are held back in the United States, through history and still today. The title comes from an earlier work by Ronald Fair as well as Eric Garner’s pleas for his life as a white police officer choked him to death for selling individual cigarettes – which he wasn’t doing at the time.
It then takes a turn for normalcy. Asim grew up in St. Louis, in a large family, in a single family home, with loving, attentive parents. No one was an alcoholic or a drug addict. No one went to jail, no one got shot. He bought the house when his parents moved to smaller digs and kept the dream going as long as he could. Asim became an acclaimed journalist and author, and is a professor of writing and literature at Emerson.
Perhaps to demonstrate his chops, he analyzes and criticizes a number of black fiction authors, for their language, their treatment of blacks in their characters, and their degree of self-awareness. This long middle part of the book is both puzzling and worrying. After the fusillade that opened We Can’t Breathe, the bulk of the book is disappointingly laborious.
There is a lot on various blacks who were lynched or killed by police, but there are entire books that deal with those cases with far greater impact. There is also a lot on slaveowner attitudes and acts, which, to no one’s surprise, are reprehensible.
Asim comes back with both barrels blazing for the conclusion. He is at his literate and right-between-the-eyes best when he attacks racism from every angle. He bemoans the lack of active support from liberal whites, the waste of time at the hands of religion, and the sad institutionalization of racism and hatred by our elected officials, setting a horrific example for all.
Three stirring examples from the wrap-up:
“It seems that going high is an unfit response to say, rapacious private prisons, heartless Republican congressional policy, and 63 million Americans who voted for a racist demagogue. Instead of going high, we should be going everywhere.”
“If it makes sense to sometimes forgive as part of a larger political strategy, it does not function well as a method of advancing moral consciousness in the United States.”
“While honorable as a motive, moral suasion is ultimately insufficient as a tactic …. Religion, secular humanism, and atheism have all failed to instill anything like a moral culture in human beings.”
This is as straight as straight shooting can be. I’d love for everyone in the country to red those quotes. Would that there were more chapters like this and less about his Leave It To Beaver upbringing.
David Wineberg
It is both remarkable and typical that Americans do not see blacks as resources, as allies, or even as customers. Same goes for immigrants of any other color. Whites are entitled, and need no advice, consent, or help from anyone, anywhere. The president is their model.
The book starts out powerfully, as Asim details the endless ways blacks are held back in the United States, through history and still today. The title comes from an earlier work by Ronald Fair as well as Eric Garner’s pleas for his life as a white police officer choked him to death for selling individual cigarettes – which he wasn’t doing at the time.
It then takes a turn for normalcy. Asim grew up in St. Louis, in a large family, in a single family home, with loving, attentive parents. No one was an alcoholic or a drug addict. No one went to jail, no one got shot. He bought the house when his parents moved to smaller digs and kept the dream going as long as he could. Asim became an acclaimed journalist and author, and is a professor of writing and literature at Emerson.
Perhaps to demonstrate his chops, he analyzes and criticizes a number of black fiction authors, for their language, their treatment of blacks in their characters, and their degree of self-awareness. This long middle part of the book is both puzzling and worrying. After the fusillade that opened We Can’t Breathe, the bulk of the book is disappointingly laborious.
There is a lot on various blacks who were lynched or killed by police, but there are entire books that deal with those cases with far greater impact. There is also a lot on slaveowner attitudes and acts, which, to no one’s surprise, are reprehensible.
Asim comes back with both barrels blazing for the conclusion. He is at his literate and right-between-the-eyes best when he attacks racism from every angle. He bemoans the lack of active support from liberal whites, the waste of time at the hands of religion, and the sad institutionalization of racism and hatred by our elected officials, setting a horrific example for all.
Three stirring examples from the wrap-up:
“It seems that going high is an unfit response to say, rapacious private prisons, heartless Republican congressional policy, and 63 million Americans who voted for a racist demagogue. Instead of going high, we should be going everywhere.”
“If it makes sense to sometimes forgive as part of a larger political strategy, it does not function well as a method of advancing moral consciousness in the United States.”
“While honorable as a motive, moral suasion is ultimately insufficient as a tactic …. Religion, secular humanism, and atheism have all failed to instill anything like a moral culture in human beings.”
This is as straight as straight shooting can be. I’d love for everyone in the country to red those quotes. Would that there were more chapters like this and less about his Leave It To Beaver upbringing.
David Wineberg
January 14, 2021
This book was written in 2018; the title became even more jarring after the death of George Floyd. This is a collection of essays that confront the reader with the real stories of black Americans. They are jarring, not only because the author puts it out there in absolute stark honesty, but because the typical history books have told us different stories - doctored or false narratives of the state of the black human in our country. As I read, I felt like someone was shaking me - telling me to wake up! And that's a very good thing.
February 19, 2019
I’m embarrassed and grateful for how much this book taught me. It was well-written and well-researched. It broke my heart, opened my eyes, and made me angrier than I thought possible. My wish is that every single white person would read it.
July 12, 2019
Really fantastic book. Everyone needs to read this, it is both an excellent history lesson and a commentary on the current affairs and culmination of racism in the world. I have put some quotes below that really struck me.
Pg. 2 "What could be more American than pretending truths were self evident when they seldom were?"
Pg. 52 "The idea that African Americans can commit a crime simply by existing is more than just a deeply entrenched racist misconception; it is also an idea rooted in capitalism's need for a cheap, exploitable labor force."
Pg. 56 "Consequently any discussion of black bodies, at least regarding their sojourn into America, must also include the idea of ownership. For black people to claim possession of their bodies, they must also declare themselves persons, capable of agency, language, and independent thought. Perhaps unsurprisingly, that humanizing impulse remains partly indigestible in a nation whose economic foundation depended on the idea that black people were not humans to be respected but property to be maintained. Property cannot be maintained if it dares to move about freely and- even worse- resists being apprehended."
Pg. 174 "It remains a profound and perhaps interminable paradox that African Americans are constantly striving to prove themselves worthy of citizenship in a country that has not proved itself ready for democracy"
Pg. 182-183 "If they ever indulge in the luxury of remaining silent while people of color feel the effects of racial inequality every day, they are not doing all they can. Some white people are unable to hear people of color when we're not singing on stage or dancing in the end zone; they might see our lips moving, but instead of our voices, they hear a torrent of howling and screeching. We need the voices of our allies to penetrate the din, using their whiteness as a lever and a megaphone. If they are not challenging their racist brothers, sisters, friends, and lovers on a daily basis, they are not doing all they can. Annual discussions over Thanksgiving turkey won't do it; they need to take place on the regular until racism is acknowledged and equal opportunity is real."
Pg. 2 "What could be more American than pretending truths were self evident when they seldom were?"
Pg. 52 "The idea that African Americans can commit a crime simply by existing is more than just a deeply entrenched racist misconception; it is also an idea rooted in capitalism's need for a cheap, exploitable labor force."
Pg. 56 "Consequently any discussion of black bodies, at least regarding their sojourn into America, must also include the idea of ownership. For black people to claim possession of their bodies, they must also declare themselves persons, capable of agency, language, and independent thought. Perhaps unsurprisingly, that humanizing impulse remains partly indigestible in a nation whose economic foundation depended on the idea that black people were not humans to be respected but property to be maintained. Property cannot be maintained if it dares to move about freely and- even worse- resists being apprehended."
Pg. 174 "It remains a profound and perhaps interminable paradox that African Americans are constantly striving to prove themselves worthy of citizenship in a country that has not proved itself ready for democracy"
Pg. 182-183 "If they ever indulge in the luxury of remaining silent while people of color feel the effects of racial inequality every day, they are not doing all they can. Some white people are unable to hear people of color when we're not singing on stage or dancing in the end zone; they might see our lips moving, but instead of our voices, they hear a torrent of howling and screeching. We need the voices of our allies to penetrate the din, using their whiteness as a lever and a megaphone. If they are not challenging their racist brothers, sisters, friends, and lovers on a daily basis, they are not doing all they can. Annual discussions over Thanksgiving turkey won't do it; they need to take place on the regular until racism is acknowledged and equal opportunity is real."
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
March 9, 2019
Solid essays that start out strong but get a bit disjointed as you read on. I didn't agree with all his points, especially his somewhat dismissive attitude towards those that argue that the trend of obsessively sharing videos and proof of black pain and suffering is obscene and harmful. "Getting It Twisted" and "The Elements of Strut" were my favorite of the collection.
October 17, 2018
Thank you to NetGalley, St. Martin’s Press and Jabari Asim for an ARC ebook copy to review. As always, an honest review from me.
My rating is actually 3.5/5 stars, but since there aren't half stars I always round up.
We Can’t Breathe describes the injustices and outright atrocities committed against black lives throughout U.S. history. Spanning from before the Civil War to the Civil Rights Movement to current day.
A great compilation of important historical moments and movements. Some information I knew, some was new to me, and all was put together to form an impactful book. The author combines facts with anecdotes from his life for the biggest impact and understanding.
However, at times some chapters seemed disjointed from the common theme of the book. It was all relevant important information, but those sections took me awhile to make sense of them, in terms of the greater story. Also some chapters captured my attention more than others, but this is common in many non fiction books.
Overall, an important relevant book that many people should educate themselves with.
My rating is actually 3.5/5 stars, but since there aren't half stars I always round up.
We Can’t Breathe describes the injustices and outright atrocities committed against black lives throughout U.S. history. Spanning from before the Civil War to the Civil Rights Movement to current day.
A great compilation of important historical moments and movements. Some information I knew, some was new to me, and all was put together to form an impactful book. The author combines facts with anecdotes from his life for the biggest impact and understanding.
However, at times some chapters seemed disjointed from the common theme of the book. It was all relevant important information, but those sections took me awhile to make sense of them, in terms of the greater story. Also some chapters captured my attention more than others, but this is common in many non fiction books.
Overall, an important relevant book that many people should educate themselves with.
March 8, 2019
INTERESTING READ TRUE HOW MUCH OUR PEOPLE HAVE AND STILL HABE TO ENDURE AND UNLESS YOU HAVE ACTUALLY LIVED IT, ONE CANT REALLY SPEAK TO IT.
June 7, 2020
A really well constructed discourse on why Black lives can't breathe, where the author is aknowledging racism in many subjects such as art, literature, history, religion and politics, but also by giving a personal reflection and giving us his own life experiences on these matters whilst referencing to many other great Black own voices.
January 1, 2022
Deceiving Americans is one of the few growing home industries we still have in this country.
Language is wielded as a key mechanism of control.
The idea that African Americans can commit a crime simply by existing is more than just a deeply entrenched racist misconception; it is also an idea rooted in capitalism's need for a cheap exploitable labor force.
When they go low, we go high.
Language is wielded as a key mechanism of control.
The idea that African Americans can commit a crime simply by existing is more than just a deeply entrenched racist misconception; it is also an idea rooted in capitalism's need for a cheap exploitable labor force.
When they go low, we go high.
March 28, 2019
The chapter/essay called "Shooting Negroes" was so clear and well written that I finally, for the first time, understood the claim that racist policing serves corporate interests. The whole book was eye opening for me. The best book I've yet read about blackness in the 21st century.
December 31, 2018
Thoughts coming shortly.
December 24, 2019
Teh chapter Brick Relics was particularly affecting.
November 23, 2018
Jabari Asim’s prose in these essays is beautiful, and he has a powerful command of style. I was particularly moved by his portrait of his father, ‘Color Him Father’, and his meditation on living and moving in a black body, ‘the Elements of Strut’ - but all the essays are engaging and insightful. Asim also moves deftly back and forth across several hundred years history, literature, and music - the word isn’t erudite, because there’s nothing inaccessible, but you get the sense you’re in the presence on an author who can draw on a huge mental library of people, events, and historical exemplars for any current topic he wants to address.
At the same time, his take on history seems to me foreshortened, or perhaps just deeply skeptical. In the final essay, ‘Of Love and Struggle’, he says, “Consider, for example, the state of global civilization when African first arrived in Jamestown in 1619. At the time, church-led persecution, antireligious violence, human trafficking, child labor, and sexual assault were endemic. Four hundred years later, this still hlds true. Human beings haven’t developed moral sophistication; we’ve merely gotten more practiced at developing rationales for our immorality.” I don’t think that’s mere hyperbole on Asim’s part; this skepticism underlies several of the essays. But I also think he’s wrong. There’s still vast injustice in the world, including vast racial injustice, but the core values of large parts of American society have evolved, and we can continue to drive them in a better direction. He’s not wrong about the importance of strategy, but - the article begins as a critique of Michelle Obama’s ‘when they go low, we go high’ speech - I think he misses her point. She believes in strategy, too, and ‘going high’ doesn’t have to mean ‘accomodating white fragility’, and I don’t think she intended it to.
Another passage that I think reflects Asim’s characteristic vision of the world is this one, from ‘The Thing Itself’, discussing white appropriation of black cultural inventions: ‘When trying to wrap my vocabulary around blackness I find myself reduced to opaque mumbling. I want to say that I may not be able to describe exactly what blackness is but I know it when I see it....Blackness as a timeless, undeniable force simmers at the heart of every African American story, and, by extension, every American saga. However, its tendency to elude description complicates our claims of ownership.’ On he one hand, this passage undersells itself - Asim’s writing is never opaque, never at a loss for meaningful words. On the other, it’s not really surprising to me that he’s run onto a rock here - over and over again in these essays, he presents black identity and experience as something consistent across time and space, and elides differences among varieties of American blackness. I’d love to read an essay where he tackles that head on - practices being a splitter rather than a lumper - without casting any of the varieties as weaker or less authentic.
At any rate, this collection is well worth reading both for Asim’s views and for his expression of them.
At the same time, his take on history seems to me foreshortened, or perhaps just deeply skeptical. In the final essay, ‘Of Love and Struggle’, he says, “Consider, for example, the state of global civilization when African first arrived in Jamestown in 1619. At the time, church-led persecution, antireligious violence, human trafficking, child labor, and sexual assault were endemic. Four hundred years later, this still hlds true. Human beings haven’t developed moral sophistication; we’ve merely gotten more practiced at developing rationales for our immorality.” I don’t think that’s mere hyperbole on Asim’s part; this skepticism underlies several of the essays. But I also think he’s wrong. There’s still vast injustice in the world, including vast racial injustice, but the core values of large parts of American society have evolved, and we can continue to drive them in a better direction. He’s not wrong about the importance of strategy, but - the article begins as a critique of Michelle Obama’s ‘when they go low, we go high’ speech - I think he misses her point. She believes in strategy, too, and ‘going high’ doesn’t have to mean ‘accomodating white fragility’, and I don’t think she intended it to.
Another passage that I think reflects Asim’s characteristic vision of the world is this one, from ‘The Thing Itself’, discussing white appropriation of black cultural inventions: ‘When trying to wrap my vocabulary around blackness I find myself reduced to opaque mumbling. I want to say that I may not be able to describe exactly what blackness is but I know it when I see it....Blackness as a timeless, undeniable force simmers at the heart of every African American story, and, by extension, every American saga. However, its tendency to elude description complicates our claims of ownership.’ On he one hand, this passage undersells itself - Asim’s writing is never opaque, never at a loss for meaningful words. On the other, it’s not really surprising to me that he’s run onto a rock here - over and over again in these essays, he presents black identity and experience as something consistent across time and space, and elides differences among varieties of American blackness. I’d love to read an essay where he tackles that head on - practices being a splitter rather than a lumper - without casting any of the varieties as weaker or less authentic.
At any rate, this collection is well worth reading both for Asim’s views and for his expression of them.
January 14, 2022
This collection of essays is a phenomenal conversation. To be honest, it reminds me of something my father was fond of saying: "If you ever find yourself to be the smartest person in a room, you owe it to yourself to find a new room and have a conversation there." Jabari Asim's book is that new room for me. Richly layered with conversational elements from references to books and dialogues informed by things experienced and academic, We Can't Breathe: On Black Lives, White Lies, and the Art of Survival is well done and engaging. I found myself jotting notes, planning future readings, and more based on the essays this book contains.
In a time when sometimes discussions of identity, race, ethnicity, and more can veer into the academic or the personal, We Can't Breathe phenomenally encounters the lived, the studied, the felt, and the echoed in an appropriate balance. While on occasion I felt that some points were missing or could have used some more exploration, I am glad I began 2022 with this book. We all still have work to do and Jabari Asim recalls that much of what we encounter is informed by what we have experienced. Likewise, while no two lived experiences may be the same, the essays are immediately identifiable, engaging, and personal. His inclusion of his youth and his father's view of lying and name calling brought back memories of my own father as someone who grew up in a decidedly different setting of Appalachian Kentucky - and that is the brilliance and vitality of the essays. They humanize and focus everything while not allowing anyone to be unscathed.
The essays are varied and engaging - viewed through a broad lens of, as the subtitle states, "Black Lives..." - conversations about African American authors and how they worked in different markets are just as at home in this collections as conversations about fatherhood.
Again, this is an important work - and one I am glad to have read as 2022 began. I recommend this one - it is a great room for conversation and Jabari Asim creates essays that keep the conversation evolving and going. So, to honor my father, who could be problematic in his own ways, I will just say, I'm glad I came into this room for the conversation - Asim creates a room of challenge, joy, and engagement that will leave you walking away being even smarter than you were when you came into it.
In a time when sometimes discussions of identity, race, ethnicity, and more can veer into the academic or the personal, We Can't Breathe phenomenally encounters the lived, the studied, the felt, and the echoed in an appropriate balance. While on occasion I felt that some points were missing or could have used some more exploration, I am glad I began 2022 with this book. We all still have work to do and Jabari Asim recalls that much of what we encounter is informed by what we have experienced. Likewise, while no two lived experiences may be the same, the essays are immediately identifiable, engaging, and personal. His inclusion of his youth and his father's view of lying and name calling brought back memories of my own father as someone who grew up in a decidedly different setting of Appalachian Kentucky - and that is the brilliance and vitality of the essays. They humanize and focus everything while not allowing anyone to be unscathed.
The essays are varied and engaging - viewed through a broad lens of, as the subtitle states, "Black Lives..." - conversations about African American authors and how they worked in different markets are just as at home in this collections as conversations about fatherhood.
Again, this is an important work - and one I am glad to have read as 2022 began. I recommend this one - it is a great room for conversation and Jabari Asim creates essays that keep the conversation evolving and going. So, to honor my father, who could be problematic in his own ways, I will just say, I'm glad I came into this room for the conversation - Asim creates a room of challenge, joy, and engagement that will leave you walking away being even smarter than you were when you came into it.
May 30, 2020
Exploring themes and tropes of the “absent black father,” artistic appropriation, the centrality of white children in children’s literature, police brutality and the specter of black pain porn, and the various approaches and limitations on liberation movements, this small volume offers wide illumination.
Using poetry and song lyrics to illustrate his points and open the chapters, places the creativity of black culture at the center of this narrative. While he is discussing injustice, he buffers it with the beauty that exists in the culture and the clarity of many of its bards.
I felt it was meant for a black audience who would not only be familiar with many of the names and prominent figures discussed, but would enjoy the compare and contrast style he uses to explore the controversies and receptions of various narratives and works of art by various artists. As a white reader, I found it useful in understanding the complexity of these reactions to various artistic outputs. One message seemed very clear to me- white people need to speak out, but the manner in which they speak out needs to have a sincere loci and humbleness that does not presently exist. And it doesn’t exist because we “pretend to be honest and therefore ha[ve] so little room to move toward hope.” (Audre Lorde)
Most affecting, for me personally, was his critique of white people’s obsession with black peoples’ pain and also the pity that white people can express believing that
Black lives need to look exactly like white people’s lives. Instead, black people’s lives and culture have their own rhythms and nuances that should be appreciated on their own merit and appreciated for building the country, despite all the oppression and attempts to break the communities. Instead of pity, appreciation. Being valued. Being appropriately compensated and recognized, cited and credited. Being in the history books under their own voices and narratives.
Recommend to those who are unfamiliar with these topics as well for those who want a more nuanced understanding of the conversations.
Using poetry and song lyrics to illustrate his points and open the chapters, places the creativity of black culture at the center of this narrative. While he is discussing injustice, he buffers it with the beauty that exists in the culture and the clarity of many of its bards.
I felt it was meant for a black audience who would not only be familiar with many of the names and prominent figures discussed, but would enjoy the compare and contrast style he uses to explore the controversies and receptions of various narratives and works of art by various artists. As a white reader, I found it useful in understanding the complexity of these reactions to various artistic outputs. One message seemed very clear to me- white people need to speak out, but the manner in which they speak out needs to have a sincere loci and humbleness that does not presently exist. And it doesn’t exist because we “pretend to be honest and therefore ha[ve] so little room to move toward hope.” (Audre Lorde)
Most affecting, for me personally, was his critique of white people’s obsession with black peoples’ pain and also the pity that white people can express believing that
Black lives need to look exactly like white people’s lives. Instead, black people’s lives and culture have their own rhythms and nuances that should be appreciated on their own merit and appreciated for building the country, despite all the oppression and attempts to break the communities. Instead of pity, appreciation. Being valued. Being appropriately compensated and recognized, cited and credited. Being in the history books under their own voices and narratives.
Recommend to those who are unfamiliar with these topics as well for those who want a more nuanced understanding of the conversations.
February 23, 2020
In We Can't Breathe, Jabari Asim attempts to understand, unpack, and challenge predominant narratives about people of color. In the opening pages of We Can't Breathe, he writes, "In the tradition of black bards known and unknown, we compose with purposeful fury. We muster our candor and eloquence against a master narrative advising us to patiently attend those who continue to cling so eagerly to antiblack racism, and sit with folded hands and hear them out" (16). For Asim, the act of composing includes far more than the writing process itself (what Christopher Hitchens once described as "essaying"). Composing consists of constructing an ethos, an aggressive, uncompromising ethos at that: "It's time to replace the timid discourse of pragmatic centrism with the aggressive language our situation requires" (12). Words like the truth matter, and for Asim, duplicitous language produces duplicitous truths. Therefore, it comes as no surprise that Barack Obama catches, at times, a fair amount of Asim's ire.
While I like and appreciate most of We Can't Breathe, it has distinct limitations. These limitations are the product of a genre more than anything else. Even though Asim engages, at times, with race scholarship, We Can't Breathe is polemical writing, which unto itself is not a problem. Asim's chapter, for example, on policing, black bodies, and George Zimmerman is eloquently rendered, but one would be better served by reading Michelle Alexander's The New Jim Crow. All of this is to say, We Can't Breathe is an excellent primer for any reader interested in an introduction to contemporary race issues, especially in the United States.
While I like and appreciate most of We Can't Breathe, it has distinct limitations. These limitations are the product of a genre more than anything else. Even though Asim engages, at times, with race scholarship, We Can't Breathe is polemical writing, which unto itself is not a problem. Asim's chapter, for example, on policing, black bodies, and George Zimmerman is eloquently rendered, but one would be better served by reading Michelle Alexander's The New Jim Crow. All of this is to say, We Can't Breathe is an excellent primer for any reader interested in an introduction to contemporary race issues, especially in the United States.
February 8, 2022
We Can't Breathe is a collection of essays by Jabari Asim published in 2018 that praise the strength of the black community while drawing powerful connections between historic and modern events. Each essay provides a unique lens to examine black lives and the reality of life today in contrast to the "master narrative" resulting in a powerful book that is both informative and beautiful. Asim's writing throughout is a thing of beauty. His ability to craft masterful sentences is an art form and he combines frequently painful, ugly subject matter with sentences so beautiful they take your breath away. It is important as a reader, to remember that this is a series of essays, each with its own unique focus, and not a book designed to have the same topic and flow throughout each chapter. It is important as a white woman reading this book to pay heed to Asim's statement in "Of Love and Struggle" which states, "We need the voices of our allies to penetrate the din, using their whiteness as a lever and a megaphone. If they are not challenging their racist brothers, sisters, friends, and lovers on a daily basis, they are not doing all they can" (p. 182).
Full Review Available Here: https://mswestbrookreads.wordpress.co...
Full Review Available Here: https://mswestbrookreads.wordpress.co...
February 17, 2021
I don't read essay collections often, so I won't be saying a lot about the writing itself.
I stumbled on this one at a tiny library in my neighborhood, and I'm very glad I did. It's not every day you run into an author who puts their ties to Missouri in their "about" section, as Jabari Asim does! To have this subject matter coming from the same author felt unique.
The subject is tough. Asim makes striking arguments with a few quips but also a good blend of centuries-gone history, decades-gone history and recent events to back up all the claims. And of course since they're essays, you get a piece of the essayist's lives experience, too.
I would definitely recommend! If you find yourself being defensive while reading this, you might start your battle with your racism somewhere else.
I stumbled on this one at a tiny library in my neighborhood, and I'm very glad I did. It's not every day you run into an author who puts their ties to Missouri in their "about" section, as Jabari Asim does! To have this subject matter coming from the same author felt unique.
The subject is tough. Asim makes striking arguments with a few quips but also a good blend of centuries-gone history, decades-gone history and recent events to back up all the claims. And of course since they're essays, you get a piece of the essayist's lives experience, too.
I would definitely recommend! If you find yourself being defensive while reading this, you might start your battle with your racism somewhere else.
September 16, 2021
While I at first found it difficult at parts to get beyond the academic prose, and absorb the passion Mr. Asim brings to the table, upon reading the essays “Shooting Negroes,” the Seer and the Seen: On Reading and Being,” “The thing itself,” and “Of Love and Struggle: The Limits of Respectability,” There were no shortage of lessons to be learned. Asim does a superb job of educating, and Enlightening his audience, and this had me rounding up my initial 4 stars into a 5.
January 17, 2019
Read this book! I want to buy a copy for everyone I know. This is an important book. These essays are real and heartbreaking. It may get uncomfortable for some but that's good, we need to feel uncomfortable, these things need to be talked about and shared before there will be any change. As much as this book is about racial injustice it is also a celebration of black artist who deserve credit.
June 4, 2020
Asim is on point and ahead of the game. He explains in We Can't Breathe how to doing things that are currently underway in order to have meaningful change in our policies and in our everyday lives. I wonder if he foresaw the catalyst of recent days, and what he's thinking. I hope he is mobilizing because his voice is poignant and important in movements like what has just begun here.
July 5, 2020
This book was was so good. Asim writes in such a beautiful way, I was mesmerized. This is a great book for folks who may feel turned off by nonfiction, because while it is chock full of information, each essay is weaved in an almost story like manner. Asim plays with history and ties it exquisitely (and tragically) to the present. This was a really great read.
4.5/5⭐️
4.5/5⭐️
June 19, 2021
4.5/5 - An excellent collection of essays. Each essay was thoughtful and incredibly well written. They were moving, eye-opening, and unflinching to the harsh reality of slavery, police brutality, and systemic racism in America. I will both continue to read more works by this author and educate myself further.
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