THE FUNERAL WAS held in a big church, a gleaming, geometric structure spreadout over ten well-manicured acres. Reputedly, it had cost $35 million to build, andevery dollar showed—there was a banquet hall, a conference center, a 1,200-car parkinglot, a state-of-the-art sound system, and a TV production facility with digital editingequipment.
Inside the church sanctuary2, some four thousand mourners had already gathered, mostof them African American, many of them professionals of one sort or another: doctors,lawyers, accountants, educators, and real estate brokers3. On the stage, senators,governors, and captains of industry mingled4 with black leaders like Jesse Jackson, JohnLewis, Al Sharpton, and T. D. Jakes. Outside, under a bright October sun, thousandsmore stood along the quiet streets: elderly couples, solitary5 men, young women withstrollers, some waving to the motorcades that occasionally passed, others standing6 inquiet contemplation, all of them waiting to pay their final respects to the diminutive,gray-haired woman who lay in the casket within.
The choir7 sang; the pastor8 said an opening prayer. Former President Bill Clinton rose tospeak, and began to describe what it had been like for him as a white Southern boy toride in segregated9 buses, how the civil rights movement that Rosa Parks helped sparkhad liberated11 him and his white neighbors from their own bigotry12. Clinton’s ease withhis black audience, their almost giddy affection for him, spoke13 of reconciliation15, offorgiveness, a partial mending of the past’s grievous wounds.
In many ways, seeing a man who was both the former leader of the free world and a sonof the South acknowledge the debt he owed a black seamstress was a fitting tribute tothe legacy16 of Rosa Parks. Indeed, the magnificent church, the multitude of black electedofficials, the evident prosperity of so many of those in attendance, and my own presenceonstage as a United States senator—all of it could be traced to that December day in1955 when, with quiet determination and unruffled dignity, Mrs. Parks had refused tosurrender her seat on a bus. In honoring Rosa Parks, we honored others as well, thethousands of women and men and children across the South whose names were absentfrom the history books, whose stories had been lost in the slow eddies18 of time, butwhose courage and grace had helped liberate10 a people.
And yet, as I sat and listened to the former President and the procession of speakers thatfollowed, my mind kept wandering back to the scenes of devastation19 that had dominatedthe news just two months earlier, when Hurricane Katrina struck the Gulf20 Coast andNew Orleans was submerged. I recalled images of teenage mothers weeping or cursingin front of the New Orleans Superdome, their listless infants hoisted22 to their hips23, andold women in wheelchairs, heads lolled back from the heat, their withered24 legs exposedunder soiled dresses. I thought about the news footage of a solitary body someone hadlaid beside a wall, motionless beneath the flimsy dignity of a blanket; and the scenes ofshirtless young men in sagging26 pants, their legs churning through the dark waters, theirarms draped with whatever goods they had managed to grab from nearby stores, thespark of chaos27 in their eyes.
I had been out of the country when the hurricane first hit the Gulf, on my way backfrom a trip to Russia. One week after the initial tragedy, though, I traveled to Houston,joining Bill and Hillary Clinton, as well as George H. W. Bush and his wife, Barbara, asthey announced fund-raising efforts on behalf of the hurricane’s victims and visitedwith some of the twenty-five thousand evacuees28 who were now sheltered in the HoustonAstrodome and adjoining Reliant Center.
The city of Houston had done an impressive job setting up emergency facilities toaccommodate so many people, working with the Red Cross and FEMA to provide themwith food, clothing, shelter, and medical care. But as we walked along the rows of cotsthat now lined the Reliant Center, shaking hands, playing with children, listening topeople’s stories, it was obvious that many of Katrina’s survivors29 had been abandonedlong before the hurricane struck. They were the faces of any inner-city neighborhood inany American city, the faces of black poverty—the jobless and almost jobless, the sickand soon to be sick, the frail30 and the elderly. A young mother talked about handing offher children to a bus full of strangers. Old men quietly described the houses they hadlost and the absence of any insurance or family to fall back on. A group of young meninsisted that the levees had been blown up by those who wished to rid New Orleans ofblack people. One tall, gaunt woman, looking haggard in an Astros T-shirt two sizes toobig, clutched my arm and pulled me toward her.
“We didn’t have nothin’ before the storm,” she whispered. “Now we got less thannothin’.”
In the days that followed, I returned to Washington and worked the phones, trying tosecure relief supplies and contributions. In Senate Democratic Caucus31 meetings, mycolleagues and I discussed possible legislation. I appeared on the Sunday morning newsshows, rejecting the notion that the Administration had acted slowly because Katrina’svictims were black—“the incompetence32 was color-blind,” I said—but insisting that theAdministration’s inadequate33 planning showed a degree of remove from, andindifference toward, the problems of inner-city poverty that had to be addressed. Lateone afternoon we joined Republican senators in what the Bush Administration deemed aclassified briefing on the federal response. Almost the entire Cabinet was there, alongwith the chairman of the Joint35 Chiefs, and for an hour Secretaries Chertoff, Rumsfeld,and the rest bristled36 with confidence—and displayed not the slightest bit of remorse—asthey recited the number of evacuations made, military rations37 distributed, NationalGuard troops deployed38. A few nights later, we watched President Bush in that eerie,floodlit square, acknowledging the legacy of racial injustice39 that the tragedy had helpedexpose and proclaiming that New Orleans would rise again.
And now, sitting at the funeral of Rosa Parks, nearly two months after the storm, afterthe outrage40 and shame that Americans across the country had felt during the crisis, afterthe speeches and emails and memos42 and caucus meetings, after television specials andessays and extended newspaper coverage43, it felt as if nothing had happened. Carsremained on rooftops. Bodies were still being discovered. Stories drifted back from theGulf that the big contractors44 were landing hundreds of millions of dollars’ worth ofcontracts, circumventing45 prevailing46 wage and affirmative action laws, hiring illegalimmigrants to keep their costs down. The sense that the nation had reached atransformative moment—that it had had its conscience stirred out of a long slumber47 andwould launch a renewed war on poverty—had quickly died away.
Instead, we sat in church, eulogizing Rosa Parks, reminiscing about past victories,entombed in nostalgia48. Already, legislation was moving to place a statue of Mrs. Parksunder the Capitol dome21. There would be a commemorative stamp bearing her likeness,and countless49 streets, schools, and libraries across America would no doubt bear hername. I wondered what Rosa Parks would make of all of this—whether stamps orstatues could summon her spirit, or whether honoring her memory demanded somethingmore.
I thought about what that woman in Houston had whispered to me, and wondered howwe might be judged, in those days after the levee broke.
WHEN I MEET people for the first time, they sometimes quote back to me a line in myspeech at the 2004 Democratic National Convention that seemed to strike a chord:
“There is not a black America and white America and Latino America and AsianAmerica—there’s the United States of America.” For them, it seems to capture a visionof America finally freed from the past of Jim Crow and slavery, Japanese internmentcamps and Mexican braceros, workplace tensions and cultural conflict—an Americathat fulfills50 Dr. King’s promise that we be judged not by the color of our skin but by thecontent of our character.
In a sense I have no choice but to believe in this vision of America. As the child of ablack man and a white woman, someone who was born in the racial melting pot ofHawaii, with a sister who’s half Indonesian but who’s usually mistaken for Mexican orPuerto Rican, and a brother-in-law and niece of Chinese descent, with some bloodrelatives who resemble Margaret Thatcher51 and others who could pass for Bernie Mac,so that family get-togethers over Christmas take on the appearance of a UN GeneralAssembly meeting, I’ve never had the option of restricting my loyalties52 on the basis ofrace, or measuring my worth on the basis of tribe.
Moreover, I believe that part of America’s genius has always been its ability to absorbnewcomers, to forge a national identity out of the disparate lot that arrived on ourshores. In this we’ve been aided by a Constitution that—despite being marred53 by theoriginal sin of slavery—has at its very core the idea of equal citizenship54 under the law;and an economic system that, more than any other, has offered opportunity to allcomers, regardless of status or title or rank. Of course, racism55 and nativist sentimentshave repeatedly undermined these ideals; the powerful and the privileged have oftenexploited or stirred prejudice to further their own ends. But in the hands of reformers,from Tubman to Douglass to Chavez to King, these ideals of equality have graduallyshaped how we understand ourselves and allowed us to form a multicultural56 nation thelikes of which exists nowhere else on earth.
Finally, those lines in my speech describe the demographic realities of America’s future.
Already, Texas, California, New Mexico, Hawaii, and the District of Columbia aremajority minority. Twelve other states have populations that are more than a thirdLatino, black, and/or Asian. Latino Americans now number forty-two million and arethe fastest-growing demographic group, accounting57 for almost half of the nation’spopulation growth between 2004 and 2005; the Asian American population, though farsmaller, has experienced a similar surge and is expected to increase by more than 200percent over the next forty-five years. Shortly after 2050, experts project, America willno longer be a majority white country—with consequences for our economics, ourpolitics, and our culture that we cannot fully58 anticipate.
Still, when I hear commentators59 interpreting my speech to mean that we have arrived ata “postracial politics” or that we already live in a color-blind society, I have to offer aword of caution. To say that we are one people is not to suggest that race no longermatters—that the fight for equality has been won, or that the problems that minoritiesface in this country today are largely self-inflicted. We know the statistics: On almostevery single socioeconomic indicator60, from infant mortality to life expectancy61 toemployment to home ownership, black and Latino Americans in particular continue tolag far behind their white counterparts. In corporate62 boardrooms across America,minorities are grossly underrepresented; in the United States Senate, there are only threeLatinos and two Asian members (both from Hawaii), and as I write today I am thechamber’s sole African American. To suggest that our racial attitudes play no part inthese disparities is to turn a blind eye to both our history and our experience—and torelieve ourselves of the responsibility to make things right.
Moreover, while my own upbringing hardly typifies the African American experience—and although, largely through luck and circumstance, I now occupy a position thatinsulates me from most of the bumps and bruises63 that the average black man mustendure—I can recite the usual litany of petty slights that during my forty-five years havebeen directed my way: security guards tailing me as I shop in department stores, whitecouples who toss me their car keys as I stand outside a restaurant waiting for the valet,police cars pulling me over for no apparent reason. I know what it’s like to have peopletell me I can’t do something because of my color, and I know the bitter swill64 ofswallowed-back anger. I know as well that Michelle and I must be continually vigilantagainst some of the debilitating65 story lines that our daughters may absorb—from TVand music and friends and the streets—about who the world thinks they are, and whatthe world imagines they should be.
To think clearly about race, then, requires us to see the world on a split screen—tomaintain in our sights the kind of America that we want while looking squarely atAmerica as it is, to acknowledge the sins of our past and the challenges of the presentwithout becoming trapped in cynicism or despair. I have witnessed a profound shift inrace relations in my lifetime. I have felt it as surely as one feels a change in thetemperature. When I hear some in the black community deny those changes, I think itnot only dishonors those who struggled on our behalf but also robs us of our agency tocomplete the work they began. But as much as I insist that things have gotten better, Iam mindful of this truth as well: Better isn’t good enough.
MY CAMPAIGN for the U.S. Senate indicates some of the changes that have takenplace in both the white and black communities of Illinois over the past twenty-fiveyears. By the time I ran, Illinois already had a history of blacks elected to statewideoffice, including a black state comptroller and attorney general (Roland Burris), aUnited States senator (Carol Moseley Braun), and a sitting secretary of state, JesseWhite, who had been the state’s leading vote-getter only two years earlier. Because ofthe pioneering success of these public officials, my own campaign was no longer anovelty—I might not have been favored to win, but the fact of my race didn’t foreclosethe possibility.
Moreover, the types of voters who ultimately gravitated to my campaign defied theconventional wisdom. On the day I announced my candidacy for the U.S. Senate, forexample, three of my white state senate colleagues showed up to endorse66 me. Theyweren’t what we in Chicago call “Lakefront Liberals”—the so-called Volvo-driving,latte-sipping, white-wine-drinking Democrats67 that Republicans love to poke14 fun at andmight be expected to embrace a lost cause such as mine. Instead, they were threemiddle-aged, working-class guys—Terry Link of Lake County, Denny Jacobs of theQuad Cities, and Larry Walsh of Will County—all of whom represented mostly white,mostly working-class or suburban68 communities outside Chicago.
It helped that these men knew me well; the four of us had served together in Springfieldduring the previous seven years and had maintained a weekly poker69 game whenever wewere in session. It also helped that each of them prided himself on his independence,and was therefore willing to stick with me despite pressure from more favored whitecandidates.
But it wasn’t just our personal relationships that led them to support me (although thestrength of my friendships with these men—all of whom grew up in neighborhoods andat a time in which hostility70 toward blacks was hardly unusual—itself said somethingabout the evolution of race relations). Senators Link, Jacobs, and Walsh are hard-nosed,experienced politicians; they had no interest in backing losers or putting their ownpositions at risk. The fact was, they all thought that I’d “sell” in their districts—oncetheir constituents71 met me and could get past the name.
They didn’t make such a judgment72 blind. For seven years they had watched me interactwith their constituents, in the state capitol or on visits to their districts. They had seenwhite mothers hand me their children for pictures and watched white World War II vetsshake my hand after I addressed their convention. They sensed what I’d come to knowfrom a lifetime of experience: that whatever preconceived notions white Americans maycontinue to hold, the overwhelming majority of them these days are able—if given thetime—to look beyond race in making their judgments74 of people.
This isn’t to say that prejudice has vanished. None of us—black, white, Latino, orAsian—is immune to the stereotypes75 that our culture continues to feed us, especiallystereotypes about black criminality, black intelligence, or the black work ethic76. Ingeneral, members of every minority group continue to be measured largely by thedegree of our assimilation—how closely speech patterns, dress, or demeanor77 conform tothe dominant78 white culture—and the more that a minority strays from these externalmarkers, the more he or she is subject to negative assumptions. If an internalization ofantidiscrimination norms over the past three decades—not to mention basic decency—prevents most whites from consciously acting79 on such stereotypes in their dailyinteractions with persons of other races, it’s unrealistic to believe that these stereotypesdon’t have some cumulative80 impact on the often snap decisions of who’s hired andwho’s promoted, on who’s arrested and who’s prosecuted81, on how you feel about thecustomer who just walked into your store or about the demographics of your children’sschool.
I maintain, however, that in today’s America such prejudices are far more loosely heldthan they once were—and hence are subject to refutation. A black teenage boy walkingdown the street may elicit82 fear in a white couple, but if he turns out to be their son’sfriend from school he may be invited over for dinner. A black man may have troublecatching a cab late at night, but if he is a capable software engineer Microsoft will haveno qualms83 about hiring him.
I cannot prove these assertions; surveys of racial attitudes are notoriously unreliable.
And even if I’m right, it’s cold comfort to many minorities. After all, spending one’sdays refuting stereotypes can be a wearying business. It’s the added weight that manyminorities, especially African Americans, so often describe in their daily round—thefeeling that as a group we have no store of goodwill84 in America’s accounts, that asindividuals we must prove ourselves anew each day, that we will rarely get the benefitof the doubt and will have little margin85 for error. Making a way through such a worldrequires the black child to fight off the additional hesitation86 that she may feel when shestands at the threshold of a mostly white classroom on the first day of school; it requiresthe Latina woman to fight off self-doubt as she prepares for a job interview at a mostlywhite company.
Most of all, it requires fighting off the temptation to stop making the effort. Fewminorities can isolate87 themselves entirely88 from white society—certainly not in the waythat whites can successfully avoid contact with members of other races. But it ispossible for minorities to pull down the shutters89 psychologically, to protect themselvesby assuming the worst. “Why should I have to make the effort to disabuse90 whites oftheir ignorance about us?” I’ve had some blacks tell me. “We’ve been trying for threehundred years, and it hasn’t worked yet.”
To which I suggest that the alternative is surrender—to what has been instead of whatmight be.
One of the things I value most in representing Illinois is the way it has disrupted myown assumptions about racial attitudes. During my Senate campaign, for example, Itraveled with Illinois’s senior senator, Dick Durbin, on a thirty-nine-city tour ofsouthern Illinois. One of our scheduled stops was a town called Cairo, at the verysouthern tip of the state, where the Mississippi and Ohio Rivers meet, a town madefamous during the late sixties and early seventies as the site of some of the worst racialconflict anywhere outside of the Deep South. Dick had first visited Cairo during thisperiod, when as a young attorney working for then Lieutenant91 Governor Paul Simon, hehad been sent to investigate what might be done to lessen92 the tensions there. As wedrove down to Cairo, Dick recalled that visit: how, upon his arrival, he’d been warnednot to use the telephone in his motel room because the switchboard operator was amember of the White Citizens Council; how white store owners had closed theirbusinesses rather than succumb93 to boycotters’ demands to hire blacks; how blackresidents told him of their efforts to integrate the schools, their fear and frustration94, thestories of lynching and jailhouse suicides, shootings and riots.
By the time we pulled into Cairo, I didn’t know what to expect. Although it wasmidday, the town felt abandoned, a handful of stores open along the main road, a fewelderly couples coming out of what appeared to be a health clinic. Turning a corner, wearrived at a large parking lot, where a crowd of a couple of hundred were milling about.
A quarter of them were black, almost all the rest white.
They were all wearing blue buttons that read OBAMA FOR U.S. SENATE.
Ed Smith, a big, hearty95 guy who was the Midwest regional manager of the Laborers’
International Union and who’d grown up in Cairo, strode up to our van with a big grinon his face.
“Welcome,” he said, shaking our hands as we got off the bus. “Hope you’re hungry,’cause we got a barbecue going and my mom’s cooking.”
I don’t presume to know exactly what was in the minds of the white people in the crowdthat day. Most were my age and older and so would at least have remembered, if notbeen a direct part of, those grimmer days thirty years before. No doubt many of themwere there because Ed Smith, one of the most powerful men in the region, wanted themto be there; others may have been there for the food, or just to see the spectacle of a U.S.
senator and a candidate for the Senate campaign in their town.
I do know that the barbecue was terrific, the conversation spirited, the people seeminglyglad to see us. For an hour or so we ate, took pictures, and listened to people’s concerns.
We discussed what might be done to restart the area’s economy and get more moneyinto the schools; we heard about sons and daughters on their way to Iraq and the need totear down an old hospital that had become a blight97 on downtown. And by the time weleft, I felt a relationship had been established between me and the people I’d met—nothing transformative, but perhaps enough to weaken some of our biases98 and reinforcesome of our better impulses. In other words, a quotient of trust had been built.
Of course, such trust between the races is often tentative. It can wither25 without asustaining effort. It may last only so long as minorities remain quiescent99, silent toinjustice; it can be blown asunder100 by a few well-timed negative ads featuring whiteworkers displaced by affirmative action, or the news of a police shooting of an unarmedblack or Latino youth.
But I also believe that moments like the one in Cairo ripple101 from their immediate102 point:
that people of all races carry these moments into their homes and places of worship; thatsuch moments shade a conversation with their children or their coworkers and can weardown, in slow, steady waves, the hatred103 and suspicion that isolation104 breeds.
Recently, I was back in southern Illinois, driving with one of my downstate fielddirectors, a young white man named Robert Stephan, after a long day of speeches andappearances in the area. It was a beautiful spring night, the broad waters and duskybanks of the Mississippi shimmering105 under a full, low-flung moon. The watersreminded me of Cairo and all the other towns up and down the river, the settlements thathad risen and fallen with the barge106 traffic and the often sad, tough, cruel histories thathad been deposited there at the confluence107 of the free and enslaved, the world of Huckand the world of Jim.
I mentioned to Robert the progress we’d made on tearing down the old hospital inCairo—our office had started meeting with the state health department and localofficials—and told him about my first visit to the town. Because Robert had grown upin the southern part of the state, we soon found ourselves talking about the racialattitudes of his friends and neighbors. Just the previous week, he said, a few local guyswith some influence had invited him to join them at a small social club in Alton, acouple of blocks from the house where he’d been raised. Robert had never been to theplace, but it seemed nice enough. The food had been served, the group was makingsome small talk, when Robert noticed that of the fifty or so people in the room not asingle person was black. Since Alton’s population is about a quarter African American,Robert thought this odd, and asked the men about it.
It’s a private club, one of them said.
At first, Robert didn’t understand—had no blacks tried to join? When they said nothing,he said, It’s 2006, for God’s sake.
The men shrugged108. It’s always been that way, they told him. No blacks allowed.
Which is when Robert dropped his napkin on his plate, said good night, and left.
I suppose I could spend time brooding over those men in the club, file it as evidencethat white people still maintain a simmering hostility toward those who look like me.
But I don’t want to confer on such bigotry a power it no longer possesses.
I choose to think about Robert instead, and the small but difficult gesture he made. If ayoung man like Robert can make the effort to cross the currents of habit and fear inorder to do what he knows is right, then I want to be sure that I’m there to meet him onthe other side and help him onto shore.
MY ELECTION WASN’T just aided by the evolving racial attitudes of Illinois’s whitevoters. It reflected changes in Illinois’s African American community as well.
One measure of these changes could be seen in the types of early support my campaignreceived. Of the first $500,000 that I raised during the primary, close to half came fromblack businesses and professionals. It was a black-owned radio station, WVON, thatfirst began to mention my campaign on the Chicago airwaves, and a black-ownedweekly newsmagazine, N’Digo, that first featured me on its cover. One of the first timesI needed a corporate jet for the campaign, it was a black friend who lent me his.
Such capacity simply did not exist a generation ago. Although Chicago has always hadone of the more vibrant109 black business communities in the country, in the sixties andseventies only a handful of self-made men—John Johnson, the founder110 of Ebony andJet; George Johnson, the founder of Johnson Products; Ed Gardner, the founder of SoftSheen; and Al Johnson, the first black in the country to own a GM franchise—wouldhave been considered wealthy by the standards of white America.
Today not only is the city filled with black doctors, dentists, lawyers, accountants, andother professionals, but blacks also occupy some of the highest management positionsin corporate Chicago. Blacks own restaurant chains, investment banks, PR agencies,real estate investment trusts, and architectural firms. They can afford to live inneighborhoods of their choosing and send their children to the best private schools.
They are actively111 recruited to join civic112 boards and generously support all manner ofcharities.
Statistically, the number of African Americans who occupy the top fifth of the incomeladder remains113 relatively114 small. Moreover, every black professional and businesspersonin Chicago can tell you stories of the roadblocks they still experience on account ofrace. Few African American entrepreneurs have either the inherited wealth or the angelinvestors to help launch their businesses or cushion them from a sudden economicdownturn. Few doubt that if they were white they would be further along in reachingtheir goals.
And yet you won’t hear these men and women use race as a crutch115 or point todiscrimination as an excuse for failure. In fact, what characterizes this new generationof black professionals is their rejection116 of any limits to what they can achieve. When afriend who had been the number one bond salesman at Merrill Lynch’s Chicago officedecided to start his own investment bank, his goal wasn’t to grow it into the top blackfirm—he wanted it to become the top firm, period. When another friend decided117 toleave an executive position at General Motors to start his own parking service companyin partnership118 with Hyatt, his mother thought he was crazy. “She couldn’t imagineanything better than having a management job at GM,” he told me, “because those jobswere unattainable for her generation. But I knew I wanted to build something of myown.”
That simple notion—that one isn’t confined in one’s dreams—is so central to ourunderstanding of America that it seems almost commonplace. But in black America, theidea represents a radical119 break from the past, a severing120 of the psychological shackles121 ofslavery and Jim Crow. It is perhaps the most important legacy of the civil rightsmovement, a gift from those leaders like John Lewis and Rosa Parks who marched,rallied, and endured threats, arrests, and beatings to widen the doors of freedom. And itis also a testament122 to that generation of African American mothers and fathers whoseheroism was less dramatic but no less important: parents who worked all their lives injobs that were too small for them, without complaint, scrimping and saving to buy asmall home; parents who did without so that their children could take dance classes orthe school-sponsored field trip; parents who coached Little League games and bakedbirthday cakes and badgered teachers to make sure that their children weren’t trackedinto the less challenging programs; parents who dragged their children to church everySunday, whupped their children’s behinds when they got out of line, and looked out forall the children on the block during long summer days and into the night. Parents whopushed their children to achieve and fortified123 them with a love that could withstandwhatever the larger society might throw at them.
It is through this quintessentially American path of upward mobility124 that the blackmiddle class has grown fourfold in a generation, and that the black poverty rate was cutin half. Through a similar process of hard work and commitment to family, Latinoshave seen comparable gains: From 1979 to 1999, the number of Latino familiesconsidered middle class has grown by more than 70 percent. In their hopes andexpectations, these black and Latino workers are largely indistinguishable from theirwhite counterparts. They are the people who make our economy run and our democracyflourish—the teachers, mechanics, nurses, computer technicians, assembly-line workers,bus drivers, postal125 workers, store managers, plumbers126, and repairmen who constituteAmerica’s vital heart.
And yet, for all the progress that’s been made in the past four decades, a stubborn gapremains between the living standards of black, Latino, and white workers. The averageblack wage is 75 percent of the average white wage; the average Latino wage is 71percent of the average white wage. Black median net worth is about $6,000, and Latinomedian net worth is about $8,000, compared to $88,000 for whites. When laid off fromtheir job or confronted with a family emergency, blacks and Latinos have less savings127 todraw on, and parents are less able to lend their children a helping128 hand. Even middle-class blacks and Latinos pay more for insurance, are less likely to own their own homes,and suffer poorer health than Americans as a whole. More minorities may be living theAmerican dream, but their hold on that dream remains tenuous129.
How we close this persistent130 gap—and how much of a role government should play inachieving that goal—remains one of the central controversies131 of American politics. Butthere should be some strategies we can all agree on. We might start with completing theunfinished business of the civil rights movement—namely, enforcing nondiscriminationlaws in such basic areas as employment, housing, and education. Anyone who thinksthat such enforcement is no longer needed should pay a visit to one of the suburbanoffice parks in their area and count the number of blacks employed there, even in therelatively unskilled jobs, or stop by a local trade union hall and inquire as to the numberof blacks in the apprenticeship132 program, or read recent studies showing that real estatebrokers continue to steer133 prospective134 black homeowners away from predominantlywhite neighborhoods. Unless you live in a state without many black residents, I thinkyou’ll agree that something’s amiss.
Under recent Republican Administrations, such enforcement of civil rights laws hasbeen tepid135 at best, and under the current Administration, it’s been essentiallynonexistent—unless one counts the eagerness of the Justice Department’s Civil RightsDivision to label university scholarship or educational enrichment programs targeted atminority students as “reverse discrimination,” no matter how underrepresented minoritystudents may be in a particular institution or field, and no matter how incidental theprogram’s impact on white students.
This should be a source of concern across the political spectrum136, even to those whooppose affirmative action. Affirmative action programs, when properly structured, canopen up opportunities otherwise closed to qualified137 minorities without diminishingopportunities for white students. Given the dearth138 of black and Latino Ph.D. candidatesin mathematics and the physical sciences, for example, a modest scholarship programfor minorities interested in getting advanced degrees in these fields (a recent target of aJustice Department inquiry) won’t keep white students out of such programs, but canbroaden the pool of talent that America will need for all of us to prosper17 in atechnology-based economy. Moreover, as a lawyer who’s worked on civil rights cases, Ican say that where there’s strong evidence of prolonged and systematic139 discriminationby large corporations, trade unions, or branches of municipal government, goals andtimetables for minority hiring may be the only meaningful remedy available.
Many Americans disagree with me on this as a matter of principle, arguing that ourinstitutions should never take race into account, even if it is to help victims of pastdiscrimination. Fair enough—I understand their arguments, and don’t expect the debateto be settled anytime soon. But that shouldn’t stop us from at least making sure thatwhen two equally qualified people—one minority and one white—apply for a job,house, or loan, and the white person is consistently preferred, then the government,through its prosecutors140 and through its courts, should step in to make things right.
We should also agree that the responsibility to close the gap can’t come fromgovernment alone; minorities, individually and collectively, have responsibilities aswell. Many of the social or cultural factors that negatively affect black people, forexample, simply mirror in exaggerated form problems that afflict141 America as a whole:
too much television (the average black household has the television on more than elevenhours per day), too much consumption of poisons (blacks smoke more and eat more fastfood), and a lack of emphasis on educational achievement.
Then there’s the collapse142 of the two-parent black household, a phenomenon that isoccurring at such an alarming rate when compared to the rest of American society thatwhat was once a difference in degree has become a difference in kind, a phenomenonthat reflects a casualness toward sex and child rearing among black men that rendersblack children more vulnerable—and for which there is simply no excuse.
Taken together, these factors impede143 progress. Moreover, although government actioncan help change behavior (encouraging supermarket chains with fresh produce to locatein black neighborhoods, to take just one small example, would go a long way towardchanging people’s eating habits), a transformation144 in attitudes has to begin in the home,and in neighborhoods, and in places of worship. Community-based institutions,particularly the historically black church, have to help families reinvigorate in youngpeople a reverence145 for educational achievement, encourage healthier lifestyles, andreenergize traditional social norms surrounding the joys and obligations of fatherhood.
Ultimately, though, the most important tool to close the gap between minority and whiteworkers may have little to do with race at all. These days, what ails41 working-class andmiddle-class blacks and Latinos is not fundamentally different from what ails theirwhite counterparts: downsizing, outsourcing, automation, wage stagnation146, thedismantling of employer-based health-care and pension plans, and schools that fail toteach young people the skills they need to compete in a global economy. (Blacks inparticular have been vulnerable to these trends, since they are more reliant on blue-collar manufacturing jobs and are less likely to live in suburban communities wherenew jobs are being generated.) And what would help minority workers are the samethings that would help white workers: the opportunity to earn a living wage, theeducation and training that lead to such jobs, labor96 laws and tax laws that restore somebalance to the distribution of the nation’s wealth, and health-care, child care, andretirement systems that working people can count on.
This pattern—of a rising tide lifting minority boats—has certainly held true in the past.
The progress made by the previous generation of Latinos and African Americansoccurred primarily because the same ladders of opportunity that built the white middleclass were for the first time made available to minorities as well. They benefited, as allpeople did, from an economy that was growing and a government interested in investingin its people. Not only did tight labor markets, access to capital, and programs like PellGrants and Perkins Loans benefit blacks directly; growing incomes and a sense ofsecurity among whites made them less resistant147 to minority claims for equality.
The same formula holds true today. As recently as 1999, the black unemployment ratefell to record lows and black income rose to record highs not because of a surge inaffirmative action hiring or a sudden change in the black work ethic but because theeconomy was booming and government took a few modest measures—like theexpansion of the Earned Income Tax Credit—to spread the wealth around. If you wantto know the secret of Bill Clinton’s popularity among African Americans, you needlook no further than these statistics.
But these same statistics should also force those of us interested in racial equality toconduct an honest accounting of the costs and benefits of our current strategies. Even aswe continue to defend affirmative action as a useful, if limited, tool to expandopportunity to underrepresented minorities, we should consider spending a lot more ofour political capital convincing America to make the investments needed to ensure thatall children perform at grade level and graduate from high school—a goal that, if met,would do more than affirmative action to help those black and Latino children who needit the most. Similarly, we should support targeted programs to eliminate existing healthdisparities between minorities and whites (some evidence suggests that even whenincome and levels of insurance are factored out, minorities may still be receiving worsecare), but a plan for universal health-care coverage would do more to eliminate healthdisparities between whites and minorities than any race-specific programs we mightdesign.
An emphasis on universal, as opposed to race-specific, programs isn’t just good policy;it’s also good politics. I remember once sitting with one of my Democratic colleagues inthe Illinois state senate as we listened to another fellow senator—an African Americanwhom I’ll call John Doe who represented a largely inner-city district—launch into alengthy and passionate148 peroration149 on why the elimination150 of a certain program was acase of blatant151 racism. After a few minutes, the white senator (who had one of thechamber’s more liberal voting records) turned to me and said, “You know what theproblem is with John? Whenever I hear him, he makes me feel more white.”
In defense152 of my black colleague, I pointed153 out that it’s not always easy for a blackpolitician to gauge154 the right tone to take—too angry? not angry enough?—whendiscussing the enormous hardships facing his or her constituents. Still, my whitecolleague’s comment was instructive. Rightly or wrongly, white guilt155 has largelyexhausted itself in America; even the most fair-minded of whites, those who wouldgenuinely like to see racial inequality ended and poverty relieved, tend to push backagainst suggestions of racial victimization—or race-specific claims based on the historyof race discrimination in this country.
Some of this has to do with the success of conservatives in fanning the politics ofresentment—by wildly overstating, for example, the adverse156 effects of affirmativeaction on white workers. But mainly it’s a matter of simple self-interest. Most whiteAmericans figure that they haven’t engaged in discrimination themselves and haveplenty of their own problems to worry about. They also know that with a national debtapproaching $9 trillion and annual deficits157 of almost $300 billion, the country hasprecious few resources to help them with those problems.
As a result, proposals that solely158 benefit minorities and dissect159 Americans into “us” and“them” may generate a few short-term concessions160 when the costs to whites aren’t toohigh, but they can’t serve as the basis for the kinds of sustained, broad-based politicalcoalitions needed to transform America. On the other hand, universal appeals aroundstrategies that help all Americans (schools that teach, jobs that pay, health care foreveryone who needs it, a government that helps out after a flood), along with measuresthat ensure our laws apply equally to everyone and hence uphold broadly held Americanideals (like better enforcement of existing civil rights laws), can serve as the basis forsuch coalitions—even if such strategies disproportionately help minorities.
Such a shift in emphasis is not easy: Old habits die hard, and there is always a fear onthe part of many minorities that unless racial discrimination, past and present, stays onthe front burner, white America will be let off the hook and hard-fought gains may bereversed. I understand these fears—nowhere is it ordained161 that history moves in astraight line, and during difficult economic times it is possible that the imperatives162 ofracial equality get shunted aside.
Still, when I look at what past generations of minorities have had to overcome, I amoptimistic about the ability of this next generation to continue their advance into theeconomic mainstream163. For most of our recent history, the rungs on the opportunityladder may have been more slippery for blacks; the admittance of Latinos intofirehouses and corporate suites164 may have been grudging165. But despite all that, thecombination of economic growth, government investment in broad-based programs toencourage upward mobility, and a modest commitment to enforce the simple principleof nondiscrimination was sufficient to pull the large majority of blacks and Latinos intothe socioeconomic mainstream within a generation.
We need to remind ourselves of this achievement. What’s remarkable166 is not the numberof minorities who have failed to climb into the middle class but the number whosucceeded against the odds167; not the anger and bitterness that parents of color havetransmitted to their children but the degree to which such emotions have ebbed168. Thatknowledge gives us something to build on. It tells us that more progress can be made.
IF UNIVERSAL STRATEGIES that target the challenges facing all Americans can goa long way toward closing the gap between blacks, Latinos, and whites, there are twoaspects of race relations in America that require special attention—issues that fan theflames of racial conflict and undermine the progress that’s been made. With respect tothe African American community, the issue is the deteriorating169 condition of the inner-city poor. With respect to Latinos, it is the problem of undocumented workers and thepolitical firestorm surrounding immigration.
One of my favorite restaurants in Chicago is a place called MacArthur’s. It’s away fromthe Loop, on the west end of the West Side on Madison Street, a simple, brightly litspace with booths of blond wood that seat maybe a hundred people. On any day of theweek, about that many people can be found lining172 up—families, teenagers, groups ofmatronly women and elderly men—all waiting their turn, cafeteria-style, for platesfilled with fried chicken, catfish173, hoppin’ John, collard greens, meatloaf, cornbread, andother soul-food standards. As these folks will tell you, it’s well worth the wait.
The restaurant’s owner, Mac Alexander, is a big, barrel-chested man in his early sixties,with thinning gray hair, a mustache, and a slight squint174 behind his glasses that gives hima pensive175, professorial air. He’s an army vet73, born in Lexington, Mississippi, who losthis left leg in Vietnam; after his convalescence176, he and his wife moved to Chicago,where he took business courses while working in a warehouse177. In 1972, he openedMac’s Records, and helped found the Westside Business Improvement Association,pledging to fix up what he calls his “little corner of the world.”
By any measure he has succeeded. His record store grew; he opened up the restaurantand hired local residents to work there; he started buying and rehabbing run-downbuildings and renting them out. It’s because of the efforts of men and women like Macthat the view along Madison Street is not as grim as the West Side’s reputation mightsuggest. There are clothing stores and pharmacies178 and what seems like a church onevery block. Off the main thoroughfare you will find the same small bungalows—withneatly trimmed lawns and carefully tended flower beds—that make up many ofChicago’s neighborhoods.
But travel a few blocks farther in any direction and you will also experience a differentside of Mac’s world: the throngs179 of young men on corners casting furtive180 glances upand down the street; the sound of sirens blending with the periodic thump181 of car stereosturned up full blast; the dark, boarded-up buildings and hastily scrawled182 gang signs; therubbish everywhere, swirling183 in winter winds. Recently, the Chicago Police Departmentinstalled permanent cameras and flashing lights atop the lampposts of Madison, bathingeach block in a perpetual blue glow. The folks who live along Madison didn’t complain;flashing blue lights are a familiar enough sight. They’re just one more reminder184 of whateverybody knows—that the community’s immune system has broken down almostentirely, weakened by drugs and gunfire and despair; that despite the best efforts offolks like Mac, a virus has taken hold, and a people is wasting away.
“Crime’s nothing new on the West Side,” Mac told me one afternoon as we walked tolook at one of his buildings. “I mean, back in the seventies, the police didn’t really takethe idea of looking after black neighborhoods seriously. As long as trouble didn’t spillout into the white neighborhoods, they didn’t care. First store I opened, on Lake andDamen, I must’ve had eight, nine break-ins in a row.
“The police are more responsive now,” Mac said. “The commander out here, he’s agood brother, does the best he can. But he’s just as overwhelmed as everybody else.
See, these kids out here, they just don’t care. Police don’t scare ’em, jail doesn’t scare’em—more than half of the young guys out here already got a record. If the police pickup185 ten guys standing on a corner, another ten’ll take their place in an hour.
“That’s the thing that’s changed…the attitude of these kids. You can’t blame them,really, because most of them have nothing at home. Their mothers can’t tell themnothing—a lot of these women are still children themselves. Father’s in jail. Nobodyaround to guide the kids, keep them in school, teach them respect. So these boys justraise themselves, basically, on the streets. That’s all they know. The gang, that’s theirfamily. They don’t see any jobs out here except the drug trade. Don’t get me wrong,we’ve still got a lot of good families around here…not a lot of money necessarily, butdoing their best to keep their kids out of trouble. But they’re just too outnumbered. Thelonger they stay, the more they feel their kids are at risk. So the minute they get achance, they move out. And that just leaves things worse.”
Mac shook his head. “I don’t know. I keep thinking we can turn things around. But I’llbe honest with you, Barack—it’s hard not to feel sometimes like the situation ishopeless. Hard—and getting harder.”
I hear a lot of such sentiments in the African American community these days, a frankacknowledgment that conditions in the heart of the inner city are spinning out ofcontrol. Sometimes the conversation will center on statistics—the infant mortality rate(on par1 with Malaysia among poor black Americans), or black male unemployment(estimated at more than a third in some Chicago neighborhoods), or the number of blackmen who can expect to go through the criminal justice system at some point in theirlives (one in three nationally).
But more often the conversation focuses on personal stories, offered as evidence of afundamental breakdown186 within a portion of our community and voiced with a mixtureof sadness and incredulity. A teacher will talk about what it’s like to have an eight-year-old shout obscenities and threaten her with bodily harm. A public defender187 will describea fifteen-year-old’s harrowing rap sheet or the nonchalance188 with which his clientspredict they will not live to see their thirtieth year. A pediatrician will describe theteenage parents who don’t think there’s anything wrong with feeding their toddlerspotato chips for breakfast, or who admit to having left their five- or six-year-old alone athome.
These are the stories of those who didn’t make it out of history’s confinement189, of theneighborhoods within the black community that house the poorest of the poor, servingas repositories for all the scars of slavery and violence of Jim Crow, the internalizedrage and the forced ignorance, the shame of men who could not protect their women orsupport their families, the children who grew up being told they wouldn’t amount toanything and had no one there to undo170 the damage.
There was a time, of course, when such deep intergenerational poverty could still shocka nation—when the publication of Michael Harrington’s The Other America or BobbyKennedy’s visits to the Mississippi Delta190 could inspire outrage and a call to action. Notanymore. Today the images of the so-called underclass are ubiquitous, a permanentfixture in American popular culture—in film and TV, where they’re the foil of choicefor the forces of law and order; in rap music and videos, where the gangsta life isglorified and mimicked191 by white and black teenagers alike (although white teenagers, atleast, are aware that theirs is just a pose); and on the nightly news, where thedepredation to be found in the inner city always makes for good copy. Rather thanevoke our sympathy, our familiarity with the lives of the black poor has bred spasms192 offear and outright193 contempt. But mostly it’s bred indifference34. Black men filling ourprisons, black children unable to read or caught in a gangland shooting, the blackhomeless sleeping on grates and in the parks of our nation’s capital—we take thesethings for granted, as part of the natural order, a tragic194 situation, perhaps, but not one forwhich we are culpable195, and certainly not something subject to change.
This concept of a black underclass—separate, apart, alien in its behavior and in itsvalues—has also played a central role in modern American politics. It was partly onbehalf of fixing the black ghetto196 that Johnson’s War on Poverty was launched, and itwas on the basis of that war’s failures, both real and perceived, that conservatives turnedmuch of the country against the very concept of the welfare state. A cottage industrygrew within conservative think tanks, arguing not only that cultural pathologies—ratherthan racism or structural197 inequalities built into our economy—were responsible forblack poverty but also that government programs like welfare, coupled with liberaljudges who coddled criminals, actually made these pathologies worse. On television,images of innocent children with distended198 bellies199 were replaced with those of blacklooters and muggers; news reports focused less on the black maid struggling to makeends meet and more on the “welfare queen” who had babies just to collect a check.
What was needed, conservatives argued, was a stern dose of discipline—more police,more prisons, more personal responsibility, and an end to welfare. If such strategiescould not transform the black ghetto, at least they would contain it and keephardworking taxpayers200 from throwing good money after bad.
That conservatives won over white public opinion should come as no surprise. Theirarguments tapped into a distinction between the “deserving” and “undeserving” poorthat has a long and varied201 history in America, an argument that has often been raciallyor ethnically202 tinged203 and that has gained greater currency during those periods—like theseventies and eighties—when economic times are tough. The response of liberal policymakers and civil rights leaders didn’t help; in their urgency to avoid blaming the victimsof historical racism, they tended to downplay or ignore evidence that entrenchedbehavioral patterns among the black poor really were contributing to intergenerationalpoverty. (Most famously, Daniel Patrick Moynihan was accused of racism in the earlysixties when he raised alarms about the rise of out-of-wedlock births among the blackpoor.) This willingness to dismiss the role that values played in shaping the economicsuccess of a community strained credulity and alienated205 working-class whites—particularly since some of the most liberal policy makers204 lived lives far removed fromurban disorder206.
The truth is that such rising frustration with conditions in the inner city was hardlyrestricted to whites. In most black neighborhoods, law-abiding, hardworking residentshave been demanding more aggressive police protection for years, since they are farmore likely to be victims of crime. In private—around kitchen tables, in barbershops,and after church—black folks can often be heard bemoaning207 the eroding208 work ethic,inadequate parenting, and declining sexual mores209 with a fervor210 that would make theHeritage Foundation proud.
In that sense, black attitudes regarding the sources of chronic211 poverty are far moreconservative than black politics would care to admit. What you won’t hear, though, areblacks using such terms as “predator” in describing a young gang member, or“underclass” in describing mothers on welfare—language that divides the worldbetween those who are worthy212 of our concern and those who are not. For blackAmericans, such separation from the poor is never an option, and not just because thecolor of our skin—and the conclusions the larger society draws from our color—makesall of us only as free, only as respected, as the least of us.
It’s also because blacks know the back story to the inner city’s dysfunction. Most blackswho grew up in Chicago remember the collective story of the great migration171 from theSouth, how after arriving in the North blacks were forced into ghettos because of racialsteering and restrictive covenants213 and stacked up in public housing, where the schoolswere substandard and the parks were underfunded and police protection was nonexistentand the drug trade was tolerated. They remember how the plum patronage214 jobs werereserved for other immigrant groups and the blue-collar jobs that black folks relied onevaporated, so that families that had been intact began to crack under the pressure andordinary children slipped through those cracks, until a tipping point was reached andwhat had once been the sad exception somehow became the rule. They know whatdrove that homeless man to drink because he is their uncle. That hardened criminal—they remember when he was a little boy, so full of life and capable of love, for he istheir cousin.
In other words, African Americans understand that culture matters but that culture isshaped by circumstance. We know that many in the inner city are trapped by their ownself-destructive behaviors but that those behaviors are not innate215. And because of thatknowledge, the black community remains convinced that if America finds its will to doso, then circumstances for those trapped in the inner city can be changed, individualattitudes among the poor will change in kind, and the damage can gradually be undone,if not for this generation then at least for the next.
Such wisdom might help us move beyond ideological216 bickering217 and serve as the basisof a renewed effort to tackle the problems of inner-city poverty. We could begin byacknowledging that perhaps the single biggest thing we could do to reduce such povertyis to encourage teenage girls to finish high school and avoid having children out ofwedlock. In this effort, school- and community-based programs that have a proven trackrecord of reducing teen pregnancy218 need to be expanded, but parents, clergy219, andcommunity leaders also need to speak out more consistently on the issue.
We should also acknowledge that conservatives—and Bill Clinton—were right aboutwelfare as it was previously220 structured: By detaching income from work, and by makingno demands on welfare recipients221 other than a tolerance222 for intrusive223 bureaucracy andan assurance that no man lived in the same house as the mother of his children, the oldAFDC program sapped people of their initiative and eroded224 their self-respect. Anystrategy to reduce intergenerational poverty has to be centered on work, not welfare—not only because work provides independence and income but also because workprovides order, structure, dignity, and opportunities for growth in people’s lives.
But we also need to admit that work alone does not ensure that people can rise out ofpoverty. Across America, welfare reform has sharply reduced the number of people onthe public dole225; it has also swelled226 the ranks of the working poor, with women churningin and out of the labor market, locked into jobs that don’t pay a living wage, forcedevery day to scramble227 for adequate child care, affordable228 housing, and accessible healthcare, only to find themselves at the end of each month wondering how they can stretchthe last few dollars that they have left to cover the food bill, the gas bill, and the baby’snew coat.
Strategies like an expanded Earned Income Tax Credit that help all low-wage workerscan make an enormous difference in the lives of these women and their children. But ifwe’re serious about breaking the cycle of intergenerational poverty, then many of thesewomen will need some extra help with the basics that those living outside the inner cityoften take for granted. They need more police and more effective policing in theirneighborhoods, to provide them and their children some semblance229 of personal security.
They need access to community-based health centers that emphasize prevention—including reproductive health care, nutritional230 counseling, and in some cases treatmentfor substance abuse. They need a radical transformation of the schools their childrenattend, and access to affordable child care that will allow them to hold a full-time231 job orpursue their education.
And in many cases they need help learning to be effective parents. By the time manyinner-city children reach the school system, they’re already behind—unable to identifybasic numbers, colors, or the letters in the alphabet, unaccustomed to sitting still orparticipating in a structured environment, and often burdened by undiagnosed healthproblems. They’re unprepared not because they’re unloved but because their mothersdon’t know how to provide what they need. Well-structured government programs—prenatal counseling, access to regular pediatric care, parenting programs, and qualityearly-childhood-education programs—have a proven ability to help fill the void.
Finally, we need to tackle the nexus232 of unemployment and crime in the inner city so thatthe men who live there can begin fulfilling their responsibilities. The conventionalwisdom is that most unemployed233 inner-city men could find jobs if they really wanted towork; that they inevitably234 prefer drug dealing235, with its attendant risks but potentialprofits, to the low-paying jobs that their lack of skills warrants. In fact, economistswho’ve studied the issue—and the young men whose fates are at stake—will tell youthat the costs and benefits of the street life don’t match the popular mythology236: At thebottom or even the middle ranks of the industry, drug dealing is a minimum-wageaffair. For many inner-city men, what prevents gainful employment is not simply theabsence of motivation to get off the streets but the absence of a job history or anymarketable skills—and, increasingly, the stigma237 of a prison record.
Ask Mac, who has made it part of his mission to provide young men in hisneighborhood a second chance. Ninety-five percent of his male employees are ex-felons, including one of his best cooks, who has been in and out of prison for the pasttwenty years for various drug offenses238 and one count of armed robbery. Mac starts themout at eight dollars an hour and tops them out at fifteen dollars an hour. He has noshortage of applicants239. Mac’s the first one to admit that some of the guys come in withissues—they aren’t used to getting to work on time, and a lot of them aren’t used totaking orders from a su
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chaos
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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35
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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36
bristled
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| adj. 直立的，多刺毛的 动词bristle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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rations
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| 定量( ration的名词复数 )； 配给量； 正常量； 合理的量 | |
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38
deployed
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| （尤指军事行动）使展开( deploy的过去式和过去分词 )； 施展； 部署； 有效地利用 | |
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39
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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40
outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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41
ails
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| v.生病( ail的第三人称单数 )；感到不舒服；处境困难；境况不佳 | |
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42
memos
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| n.备忘录( memo的名词复数 )；（美）内部通知 | |
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43
coverage
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| n.报导，保险范围，保险额，范围，覆盖 | |
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44
contractors
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| n.（建筑、监造中的）承包人( contractor的名词复数 ) | |
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45
circumventing
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| v.设法克服或避免（某事物），回避( circumvent的现在分词 )；绕过，绕行，绕道旅行 | |
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46
prevailing
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| adj.盛行的；占优势的；主要的 | |
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47
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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48
nostalgia
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| n.怀乡病，留恋过去，怀旧 | |
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49
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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50
fulfills
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| v.履行（诺言等）( fulfill的第三人称单数 )；执行（命令等）；达到（目的）；使结束 | |
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51
thatcher
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| n.茅屋匠 | |
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52
loyalties
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| n.忠诚( loyalty的名词复数 )；忠心；忠于…感情；要忠于…的强烈感情 | |
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53
marred
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| adj. 被损毁, 污损的 | |
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54
citizenship
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| n.市民权，公民权，国民的义务(身份) | |
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55
racism
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| n.民族主义；种族歧视(意识) | |
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56
multicultural
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| adj.融合多种文化的，多种文化的 | |
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57
accounting
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| n.会计，会计学，借贷对照表 | |
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58
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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59
commentators
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| n.评论员( commentator的名词复数 )；时事评论员；注释者；实况广播员 | |
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60
indicator
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| n.指标；指示物，指示者；指示器 | |
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61
expectancy
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| n.期望，预期，（根据概率统计求得）预期数额 | |
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62
corporate
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| adj.共同的，全体的；公司的，企业的 | |
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63
bruises
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| n.瘀伤，伤痕，擦伤( bruise的名词复数 ) | |
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64
swill
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| v.冲洗；痛饮；n.泔脚饲料；猪食；（谈话或写作中的）无意义的话 | |
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65
debilitating
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| a.使衰弱的 | |
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66
endorse
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| vt.(支票、汇票等)背书，背署；批注；同意 | |
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67
democrats
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| n.民主主义者，民主人士( democrat的名词复数 ) | |
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68
suburban
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| adj.城郊的，在郊区的 | |
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69
poker
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| n.扑克；vt.烙制 | |
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70
hostility
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| n.敌对，敌意；抵制［pl.］交战，战争 | |
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71
constituents
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| n.选民( constituent的名词复数 )；成分；构成部分；要素 | |
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72
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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73
vet
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| n.兽医，退役军人；vt.检查 | |
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74
judgments
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| 判断( judgment的名词复数 )； 鉴定； 评价； 审判 | |
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75
stereotypes
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| n.老套，模式化的见解，有老一套固定想法的人( stereotype的名词复数 )v.把…模式化，使成陈规( stereotype的第三人称单数 ) | |
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76
ethic
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| n.道德标准，行为准则 | |
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77
demeanor
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| n.行为；风度 | |
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78
dominant
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| adj.支配的，统治的；占优势的；显性的；n.主因，要素，主要的人(或物)；显性基因 | |
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79
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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80
cumulative
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| adj.累积的，渐增的 | |
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81
prosecuted
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| a.被起诉的 | |
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82
elicit
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| v.引出,抽出,引起 | |
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83
qualms
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| n.不安；内疚 | |
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84
goodwill
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| n.善意，亲善，信誉，声誉 | |
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85
margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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86
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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87
isolate
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| vt.使孤立，隔离 | |
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88
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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89
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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90
disabuse
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| v.解惑；矫正 | |
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91
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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92
lessen
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| vt.减少，减轻；缩小 | |
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93
succumb
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| v.屈服，屈从；死 | |
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94
frustration
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| n.挫折，失败，失效，落空 | |
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95
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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96
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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97
blight
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| n.枯萎病；造成破坏的因素；vt.破坏，摧残 | |
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98
biases
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| 偏见( bias的名词复数 )； 偏爱； 特殊能力； 斜纹 | |
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99
quiescent
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| adj.静止的，不活动的，寂静的 | |
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100
asunder
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| adj.分离的，化为碎片 | |
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101
ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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102
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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103
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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104
isolation
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| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
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105
shimmering
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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106
barge
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| n.平底载货船，驳船 | |
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107
confluence
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| n.汇合，聚集 | |
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108
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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109
vibrant
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| adj.震颤的，响亮的，充满活力的，精力充沛的，(色彩)鲜明的 | |
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110
Founder
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| n.创始者，缔造者 | |
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111
actively
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| adv.积极地，勤奋地 | |
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112
civic
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| adj.城市的，都市的，市民的，公民的 | |
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113
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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114
relatively
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| adv.比较...地，相对地 | |
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115
crutch
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| n.T字形拐杖；支持，依靠，精神支柱 | |
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116
rejection
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| n.拒绝，被拒，抛弃，被弃 | |
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117
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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118
partnership
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| n.合作关系，伙伴关系 | |
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119
radical
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| n.激进份子，原子团，根号；adj.根本的，激进的，彻底的 | |
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120
severing
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| v.切断，断绝( sever的现在分词 )；断，裂 | |
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121
shackles
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| 手铐( shackle的名词复数 )； 脚镣； 束缚； 羁绊 | |
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122
testament
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| n.遗嘱；证明 | |
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123
fortified
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| adj. 加强的 | |
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124
mobility
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| n.可动性，变动性，情感不定 | |
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125
postal
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| adj.邮政的，邮局的 | |
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126
plumbers
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| n.管子工，水暖工( plumber的名词复数 )；[美][口]（防止泄密的）堵漏人员 | |
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127
savings
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| n.存款，储蓄 | |
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128
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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129
tenuous
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| adj.细薄的，稀薄的，空洞的 | |
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130
persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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131
controversies
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| 争论 | |
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132
apprenticeship
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| n.学徒身份；学徒期 | |
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133
steer
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| vt.驾驶，为…操舵；引导；vi.驾驶 | |
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134
prospective
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| adj.预期的，未来的，前瞻性的 | |
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135
tepid
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| adj.微温的，温热的，不太热心的 | |
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136
spectrum
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| n.谱，光谱，频谱；范围，幅度，系列 | |
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137
qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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138
dearth
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| n.缺乏，粮食不足，饥谨 | |
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139
systematic
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| adj.有系统的，有计划的，有方法的 | |
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140
prosecutors
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| 检举人( prosecutor的名词复数 )； 告发人； 起诉人； 公诉人 | |
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141
afflict
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| vt.使身体或精神受痛苦，折磨 | |
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142
collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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143
impede
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| v.妨碍，阻碍，阻止 | |
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144
transformation
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| n.变化；改造；转变 | |
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145
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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146
stagnation
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| n. 停滞 | |
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147
resistant
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| adj.(to)抵抗的，有抵抗力的 | |
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148
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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149
peroration
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| n.（演说等之）结论 | |
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150
elimination
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| n.排除，消除，消灭 | |
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151
blatant
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| adj.厚颜无耻的；显眼的；炫耀的 | |
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152
defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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153
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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154
gauge
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| v.精确计量；估计；n.标准度量；计量器 | |
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155
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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156
adverse
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| adj.不利的；有害的；敌对的，不友好的 | |
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157
deficits
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| n.不足额( deficit的名词复数 )；赤字；亏空；亏损 | |
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158
solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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159
dissect
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| v.分割；解剖 | |
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160
concessions
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| n.（尤指由政府或雇主给予的）特许权( concession的名词复数 )；承认；减价；（在某地的）特许经营权 | |
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161
ordained
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| v.任命（某人）为牧师( ordain的过去式和过去分词 )；授予（某人）圣职；（上帝、法律等）命令；判定 | |
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162
imperatives
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| n.必要的事( imperative的名词复数 )；祈使语气；必须履行的责任 | |
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163
mainstream
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| n.（思想或行为的）主流；adj.主流的 | |
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164
suites
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| n.套( suite的名词复数 )；一套房间；一套家具；一套公寓 | |
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165
grudging
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| adj.勉强的，吝啬的 | |
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166
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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167
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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168
ebbed
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| （指潮水）退( ebb的过去式和过去分词 )； 落； 减少； 衰落 | |
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169
deteriorating
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| 恶化，变坏( deteriorate的现在分词 ) | |
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170
undo
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| vt.解开，松开；取消，撤销 | |
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171
migration
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| n.迁移，移居，（鸟类等的）迁徙 | |
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172
lining
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| n.衬里，衬料 | |
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173
catfish
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| n.鲶鱼 | |
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174
squint
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| v. 使变斜视眼, 斜视, 眯眼看, 偏移, 窥视; n. 斜视, 斜孔小窗; adj. 斜视的, 斜的 | |
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175
pensive
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| a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
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176
convalescence
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| n.病后康复期 | |
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177
warehouse
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| n.仓库；vt.存入仓库 | |
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178
pharmacies
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| 药店 | |
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179
throngs
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| n.人群( throng的名词复数 )v.成群，挤满( throng的第三人称单数 ) | |
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180
furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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181
thump
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| v.重击，砰然地响；n.重击，重击声 | |
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182
scrawled
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| 乱涂，潦草地写( scrawl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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183
swirling
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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184
reminder
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| n.提醒物，纪念品；暗示，提示 | |
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185
pickup
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| n.拾起，获得 | |
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186
breakdown
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| n.垮，衰竭；损坏，故障，倒塌 | |
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187
defender
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| n.保卫者，拥护者，辩护人 | |
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188
nonchalance
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| n.冷淡，漠不关心 | |
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189
confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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190
delta
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| n.（流的）角洲 | |
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191
mimicked
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| v.（尤指为了逗乐而）模仿( mimic的过去式和过去分词 )；酷似 | |
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192
spasms
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| n.痉挛( spasm的名词复数 )；抽搐；（能量、行为等的）突发；发作 | |
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193
outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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194
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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195
culpable
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| adj.有罪的，该受谴责的 | |
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196
ghetto
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| n.少数民族聚居区，贫民区 | |
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197
structural
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| adj.构造的，组织的，建筑（用）的 | |
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198
distended
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| v.（使）膨胀，肿胀( distend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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199
bellies
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| n.肚子( belly的名词复数 )；腹部；（物体的）圆形或凸起部份；腹部…形的 | |
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200
taxpayers
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| 纳税人，纳税的机构( taxpayer的名词复数 ) | |
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201
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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202
ethnically
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| adv.人种上，民族上 | |
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203
tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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204
makers
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| n.制造者，制造商（maker的复数形式） | |
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205
alienated
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| adj.感到孤独的，不合群的v.使疏远( alienate的过去式和过去分词 )；使不友好；转让；让渡（财产等） | |
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206
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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207
bemoaning
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| v.为（某人或某事）抱怨( bemoan的现在分词 )；悲悼；为…恸哭；哀叹 | |
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208
eroding
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| 侵蚀，腐蚀( erode的现在分词 )； 逐渐毁坏，削弱，损害 | |
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209
mores
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| n.风俗，习惯，民德，道德观念 | |
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210
fervor
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| n.热诚；热心；炽热 | |
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211
chronic
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| adj.(疾病)长期未愈的，慢性的；极坏的 | |
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212
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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213
covenants
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| n.（有法律约束的）协议( covenant的名词复数 )；盟约；公约；（向慈善事业、信托基金会等定期捐款的）契约书 | |
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214
patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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215
innate
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| adj.天生的，固有的，天赋的 | |
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216
ideological
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| a.意识形态的 | |
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217
bickering
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| v.争吵( bicker的现在分词 )；口角；（水等）作潺潺声；闪烁 | |
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218
pregnancy
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| n.怀孕，怀孕期 | |
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219
clergy
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| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
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220
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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221
recipients
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| adj.接受的；受领的；容纳的；愿意接受的n.收件人；接受者；受领者；接受器 | |
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222
tolerance
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| n.宽容；容忍，忍受；耐药力；公差 | |
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223
intrusive
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| adj.打搅的；侵扰的 | |
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224
eroded
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| adj. 被侵蚀的，有蚀痕的 动词erode的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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225
dole
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| n.救济，（失业）救济金；vt.（out）发放，发给 | |
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226
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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227
scramble
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| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
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228
affordable
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| adj.支付得起的，不太昂贵的 | |
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229
semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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230
nutritional
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| adj.营养的，滋养的 | |
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231
full-time
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| adj.满工作日的或工作周的，全时间的 | |
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232
nexus
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| n.联系；关系 | |
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233
unemployed
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| adj.失业的，没有工作的；未动用的，闲置的 | |
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234
inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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235
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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236
mythology
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| n.神话，神话学，神话集 | |
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237
stigma
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| n.耻辱，污名；(花的)柱头 | |
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238
offenses
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| n.进攻( offense的名词复数 )；（球队的）前锋；进攻方法；攻势 | |
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239
applicants
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| 申请人，求职人( applicant的名词复数 ) | |
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