University of Illinois Press
Chapter Title: Adam Mansbach’s Postracial Imaginary in Angry Black White Boy
Chapter Author(s): BRANDON J. MANNING
Book Title: Neo-Passing
Book Subtitle: Performing Identity after Jim Crow
Book Editor(s): MOLLIE GODFREY, VERSHAWN ASHANTI YOUNG
Published by: University of Illinois Press. (2018)
Stable URL: https://www.jstor.org/stable/10.5406/j.ctt21c4tm7.10
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chaPtEr 3
Adam Mansbach’s
Postracial Imaginary in
Angry Black White Boy
brandon J. ManninG
In the fall of 2014 I went to the Renegades of Rhythm concert that featured DJ
Shadow and Cut Chemist, two white disc jockeys, who played and scratched
Afrika Bambaataa’s personal record collection. I had recently moved to the
Las Vegas area with my family, and this was the first trip to a show on the strip
as a local. The concert was in a venue that served gourmet Southern cuisine
($25 fried chicken). I stood there feeling the bass vibrate through the soles of
my feet, looking at two DJs mixing up Bambaataa, who at the time was a visiting professor at Cornell University. The DJs mixed on six turntables for a Las
Vegas crowd that was mostly white, middle, and upper class—an audience that
excitedly yelled when the music said, “It all began in Africa.” The DJs began
to create a sonic space that historicized and contextualized Bambaataa’s influences and, by extension, the influences for hip-hop. This sonic genealogy began
with James Brown as digital images of graffiti scrolled across the jumbo screen
behind the DJs. These images were followed by album art for the records they
were playing as well as an assortment of subway trains and pictures of how-to
pop-and-lock manuals—it was a postmodern pastiche of hip-hop culture. The
scene reminded me of hip-hop’s far-reaching impact as the music was sonically
contorted, respected, commodified, and jammed by a younger whiter audience.
The experience prompted me to question if the afrofuturism embedded in
Bambaataa’s drums and vision revamped George S. Schuyler’s Black No More
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Adam Mansbach’s Postracial Imaginary
(1931) into a 2014 “white no more” or whether this was the progeny of Langston Hughes’s “when the negro was in vogue.”1 All the while, I questioned what
the convergence of deference, commodity, authority, and authenticity meant
in this space—what it meant for the DJs or for Bambaataa. For the majority of
the audience, I realized that this was merely a show, something to go to, something to consume, when they visited Las Vegas. The DJs recognized this point
when they repeatedly asked the crowd to do their own research. However, I was
more interested in the two white DJs and how they performed this deference,
authority, and authenticity over the turntables. They played Bambaataa and the
Soulsonic Force’s “Looking for the Perfect Beat,” the fifth track on Planet Rock:
The Album, and I wondered what the perfect beat was for this audience in this
moment. What bass, synthesizer, 808, or offbeat could capture the rhythm and
the breaks of different bodies attempting to do different work because of their
understanding of sociocultural traditions and movements? Was this a postracial
groove?
By way of further examining these questions, I turn to Adam Mansbach’s
satirical novel Angry Black White Boy or the Miscegenation of Macon Detornay
(2005).2 Mansbach’s novel takes place over the course of a year and follows the
protagonist, Macon Detornay, a white freshman at Columbia University from
the Boston suburbs. Macon identifies himself as a hip-hop head, graffiti artist, and black radical/militant. Mansbach’s interest in exploring the interplay
between identity formation and cultural appropriation with Macon Detornay
creates a critical line of inquiry that echoes E. Patrick Johnson’s opening questions in Appropriating Blackness (2003), “What happens when ‘blackness’ is
embodied? What are the cultural, social, and political consequences of that
embodiment in a racist society? Or, alternatively, how are the stakes changed
when a ‘white’ body performs blackness?”3 Most critical perspectives like that
of Eric Lott in Love and Theft (1993) cite the legacy of minstrelsy as an early
white expressive form that attempts to embody and perform blackness.4 While
this critical approach yields insightful analyses around the potentiality of such
performances for black and white subjects alike, I question what it might mean
to locate Mansbach’s novel as a neo-passing narrative, instead. By neo-passing
narrative, I mean a narrative that contemporizes the historical legacy of black
bodies passing into the realm of whiteness as a means of negotiating and surviving the white-supremacist racial hierarchy of American racism. Devon W.
Carbado and Mitu Gulati give a more contemporary understanding of passing by asserting that one can “partially pass . . . by affirmatively identifying or
associating with institutions, cultural practices, and social activities that are
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brandon J. ManninG
stereotypically perceived to be white.”5 Although Carbado and Gulati focus
on the traditional notion of passing as an act where the “outsider,” to use their
expression, is a person of color trying to pass into whiteness, I am choosing to
use it in a broader context to think about Macon’s desire to transcend whiteness
into blackness and no longer be understood as “a white devil.”6 I reimagine this
historical and literary trope, at the center of works like Nella Larsen’s Passing
(1929) and James Weldon Johnson’s The Autobiography of an Ex-colored Man
(1912), to consider how neo-passing narratives incorporate the nuance and
complexities of the new millennium to the racial ideology of American passing.
In this chapter, I argue that Mansbach’s novel serves as an exploration into
a postracial imaginary that thinks about the future of resistance and race in
America. Mansbach creates this postracial imaginary by juxtaposing the neopassing site of Macon’s identity formation with the racial logic and history of
black people passing for white during the late nineteenth and early twentieth
centuries. Mansbach’s attention to Macon’s white privilege makes this a postracial project. Mansbach utilizes popular tropes from black satirists such as an
investment in destabilizing the idea of race, an intraracial self-reflexivity that
allows Mansbach to critique whiteness, and an awareness that the idea of race
is both socially constructed as well as a sociocultural and political reality with
real stakes for people of color. Thus, similar to DJ Shadow and Cut Chemist,
Angry Black White Boy is Mansbach’s performance of deference, authority, and
authenticity to a black satirical tradition and as such functions as an aggregate
of Schuyler, Fran Ross, Ishmael Reed, Percival Everett, Paul Beatty, and others
in a nonappropriative, nonconsumptive, and nonexploitative way.
After a successful presidential campaign in 2008, the iconicity of the Obamas
in Grant Park on election night engendered an American postracial imaginary
that sought to look beyond race or, more aptly, in spite of race to a homogenous
future free from the wounds of racism. Barack Hussein Obama’s successful
campaign marked a moment in history that sought to erase or resolve a racist
past and to decentralize race and American racism from social, cultural, and
political conversations for a utopic racial future. Within this formulation, the
presidency, as an office, serves as a symbol of the highest success or actualization of the Civil Rights moment. Legal scholar Terry Smith succinctly defines
postracialism as “one in which racial disparity persists but race as national issue
falls out of vogue.”7 Smith’s pragmatic definition of postracialism highlights
an American racial ideology that at its core is hostile toward issues of race in
a post–Civil Rights America and that uses Obama’s presidency as a signpost
of racial cohesion. Similarly, legal scholar Kimberlé Crenshaw plays with the
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Adam Mansbach’s Postracial Imaginary
utopic notion embedded within the rhetoric and ideological underpinnings of
postracialism by referring to it as “the postracial Promised Land.”8 Crenshaw, a
leading legal scholar, defines the phenomenon as “the idea that our basic quest
for social justice is complete.”9
Whereas Smith’s and Crenshaw’s definitions of postracialism, while different, both speak to dominant culture’s similar utopic conclusion about the
future possibility of race being a nonfactor, Mansbach’s novel provides an alternative to thinking about postracialism in America—a way that centers those
on the margins. For Mansbach, telling Macon’s story and critiquing him at
specific moments throughout the narrative allow Mansbach to conceptualize
an understanding of postracialism that contradicts contemporary formulations
of the term, and while Mansbach never specifically uses the term postracial in
the novel, Macon consistently tries to and, arguably, succeeds in provoking a
“racial apocalypse” in the form of a race riot and destabilizes whiteness through
his own racial performance and political ideologies.10
For Macon, hip-hop serves as a conduit into black history, rage, and antiracist
activism. For example, early in the novel as Macon is driving his taxicab, “The
light clicked green and Red switched up the soundtrack, segueing into ‘Days of
Outrage, Operation Snatchback,’ X-Clan’s song about being assaulted by cops
at the Yusef Hawkins rally on the Brooklyn Bridge.”11 Here, Mansbach uses
X-Clan’s song as a sonic space of legitimacy and authenticity for himself and
for Macon. In addition, the song’s history in telling the story of police brutality
at a rally decrying police brutality and the wrongful death of Yusef Hawkins
illustrates how resistance and rage serve as a central concept in hip-hop music
and culture. In doing so, Mansbach embraces a history of conscious hip-hop
that performs and encourages black rage. For bell hooks, there is political work
in rage as “a necessary aspect of resistance struggle” and “as a catalyst inspiring courageous action.”12 By adopting that rage, Mansbach demonstrates how
Macon’s conception of racism and white privilege and desire for other white
people to be critical in the same ways could potentially usher in a type postracial utopia.
In other words, by reading Macon’s use of rage and self-reflexivity as neopassing and as a precursor for a postracial imaginary, Mansbach combats the
contemporary hegemonic notion of postracialism by attempting to represent a
different kind of postracialism—one that interrogates the adoption of blackness
as neo-passing. He is able to accomplish this by having Macon adopt a black
cultural identity as a way of resisting white privilege. Indeed, there are pivotal
moments throughout Mansbach’s novel where Macon considers himself black
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brandon J. ManninG
or at least blacker than other characters. When attending a meeting held by a
black student organization at Columbia, Macon thinks to himself, “He was
blacker than each and every last one of these bourgeois motherfuckers,” referring to the black students at the meeting.13 Macon’s treatment of blackness in
the novel oscillates from deference to indignation depending upon how black
characters fit into his fixed, overdetermined understanding of blackness. The
illusion of blackness, for Macon, is that it is monolithic in its commitment to
antiracism and the disenfranchised.
Mansbach’s critique of Macon demonstrates that white people’s proximity to black cultural production, as a form of neo-passing, is not inherently
postracial. The liminal racial space that the title gestures toward—the angry
“black” white boy—is one that Macon wants to claim as solely his own. For
instance, Macon’s authority, authenticity, and understanding toward blackness
is something he feels that only he can claim: “He went to work constructing
a rhetorical framework that would allow him to embrace the Five Percenter’s
truths without capitulating his soul: White people aren’t evil, but evil is white
people. There it was. Simple. Elegant. True. It bought Macon space to live in,
to be special, angry, the exception, the crusader. The down whiteboy.”14 Mansbach outlines the possibility and failings of Macon’s turn toward hip-hop and
his “down-ness” as an act of resistance to white privilege when Mansbach says
in an interview, “White kids trying to absolve their guilt over their whiteness
by getting into hip hop is an interesting thing, and a moment fraught with
possibility: They’re getting involved in black culture . . . precisely because they
understand the problematic nature of whiteness. But there are pitfalls . . . where
you think you’re the downest white boy ever and no one can tell you shit.”15
Although Mansbach demonstrates the dangers of neo-passing especially as it
pertains to white performances of racial authenticity, he also suggests that this
form of neo-passing does begin some of the work of acknowledging the presence and problems of whiteness.
Other white characters’ ability to misrecognize Macon as black typifies
the meticulous way that he shapes and performs his identity and also serves
as a more direct way to imagine Mansbach’s novel as a neo- passing narrative. In the first half of the novel, Macon drives a cab in New York City and
robs some of his white wealthy passengers. However, it is also this moment, a
moment where Macon is so enraged—presumably with a “black” rage—that
he acts criminally to distance himself from other white people. The turning
point for Macon is when he realizes that the white people that he has robbed
thought that he was black. Unfortunately, his actions reinforce a stereotypical understanding of blackness for these white patrons whose conversations
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Adam Mansbach’s Postracial Imaginary
demonstrate their white-supremacist thinking. Mansbach’s narration is worth
quoting at length:
He’d done it: found some kind of worm hole in the white psyche, some
uncharted reflex, and here he stood, divorced from his own color by the violence and conviction of his actions. Those fools hadn’t seen white knuckles
gripping that gun. They couldn’t. Their brains weren’t wired to link whiteness to the words Macon had hurled at them, the fear he’d made them feel.
It had to be a nigger. Macon was invisible. . . . Did the world merely call traitors to whiteness black? What was the turning point, the secret password,
the moment when you were no longer recognized, the instant when your
picture faded from the ferry pass and you had to stay on the island of Blackness forever or swim back on your own?16
Although Mansbach allows the reader to know that the white riders think
Macon is black before Macon finds out, his narrative choice to portray this
moment through a third-person narrator that ventriloquizes Macon’s tone and
unmediated thoughts is helpful for the reader. The choice to use the words
divorce and had to, in the abstract, are equally as telling as the use of the n-word.
Indeed, the choice to articulate Macon’s assumed separation from whiteness
and the force with which it is happening informs the way the reader understands Macon’s anxiety around “leaving” whiteness. Similarly, the use of the
n-word seems to be a sign of his departure of whiteness and his full ascension
into blackness. In addition, the imagery of being marooned solidifies Macon’s
racial binary and his own anxiety toward performing race.
If we believe Mansbach’s title to be true, then Macon is angry—very angry.
Furthermore, the centrality of anger coupled with the liminality of Macon’s
racial performance suggests that anger is operating in two different ways in the
text. On the one hand, Macon demonstrates that through his understanding
of history and hip-hop, he can perform a sort of pseudoblack rage, and on the
other hand, he is an angry, discontented white youth—an anger and, more
important, the public performance of that anger that are symptomatic of his
white privilege. bell hooks describes the variations of rage: “The rage of the
oppressed is never the same as the rage of the privileged. One group can change
their lot only by changing the system; the other hopes to be rewarded within
the system. Public focus on black rage, the attempt to trivialize and dismiss it,
must be subverted by public discourse about the pathology of white supremacy,
the madness it creates.”17 Similarly, in Angry White Men (2013), Michael S. Kimmel locates anger as the underlying affective position of contemporary white
masculinity. By analyzing the centrality of white men in American mass killings,
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brandon J. ManninG
the marketability and anger of political punditry, and other highly visible sites
of white masculine hostility, Kimmel suggests, “It’s that aggrieved entitlement
that fuels their rage: once they were in power, they believe, but now they’ve
been emasculated, their birth-right transferred to others who don’t deserve
it.”18 Macon’s “aggrieved entitlement” is important to his adaptation and performance of a hip-hop masculinity.
Returning to that moment before Macon robs his first passengers, he is
reminded of one of his high school tormentors, Scott. Macon’s memory retells
a moment in high school when Scott corners Macon because Macon hangs out
with the black children at school: “[Macon] wanted to kill Scott Cartwright,
hated himself because at that moment he cared what Scott Cartwright thought
of him—felt ridiculous, ashamed. And yet Macon knew he’d courted this. He
wanted his defection from whiteness and his acceptance by black people to
be public, the subject of wonder and envy, anger and scorn.”19 Here, Macon’s
psyche suggests to the reader why he wants black people to accept him. If this
moment is emblematic of a larger childhood narrative that situates his performance and acceptance of blackness as both a site of protection and derision,
then the anger and zeal in which Macon appropriates this pseudoblackness is
meant to protect him from the threat of white masculine violence. Miles White
speaks to the cultural capital for white men performing a black masculine subjectivity: “In this new street theater of the racially absurd, the physical power,
sexuality, and ability to inspire fear that black male bodies have historically
conveyed become transferred onto white bodies in ways that usurp agency of
the black body, exploits it as a site of social anxiety, and perpetuates its demonization.”20 For Macon, it is precisely this need to capitalize on the cool poses
of black masculinity to help him through his adolescence as well as his own
racial and historical consciousness and guilt. For instance, Macon thinks at one
point, “Just being down with the brothers gave him a bigger dick by association, swelled his masculinity like it did that of every kid thugging it up in front
of his bedroom mirror, rhyming along to a rap song.”21 Macon’s commitment
to antiracist activism is undone by his exploitative relationship to blackness.
Whereas Macon fails to acknowledge his white privilege and how it informs
his antiracist activism and thereby fails to actualize Mansbach’s idea of postracialism, Mansbach succeeds in performing his vision of postracialism by being
critical of Macon’s white privilege. In an interview, Mansbach states, “The main
thing that Macon does that I want to be critical of is this idea that blackness is
the opposite of white privilege. Because the true opposite of white privilege is
the dismantling of white privilege.”22 Throughout the novel, Mansbach uses narration as a tool to critique Macon’s white privilege, referring to him as “Flyboy
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Adam Mansbach’s Postracial Imaginary
raceman asshole” in order to demonstrate the failed potential of his antiracist
activism.23 Mansbach’s omniscient third-person narrator both echoes Macon’s
problematic understanding of himself—one that occasionally uses the n-word
and describes the extent to which Macon performs black authenticity but allows
for this same narrator to refer to him as an “asshole.” In this way the novel’s narration is markedly different from Macon’s first-person-narrator prologue, “Letter
from a Birmingham Bus,” in which his petulance and egotism are unmediated
by a third-person narrator. Mansbach utilizes Dre and Nique, Macon’s two
black associates, to illustrate how Macon’s white privilege is antithetical to his
desire to transcend whiteness. Dre, who is characterized as “a stoic, amiable
receptacle into which fake-empathetic whiteboys dumped their views, a priest
who heard confessions and smoked joints with the sinners to absolve them,”
serves as a site where Mansbach critiques Macon’s white guilt and misguided
notions of authenticity.24 Mansbach’s strategic uses of the narrative voice and
of Dre and Nique illustrate for the reader that Macon’s neo-passing falls short
of Mansbach’s concept of a postracial imaginary.
Unlike Macon’s inability to create coalitions, Mansbach’s use of signifying
and intertextuality makes the antiracist work of Angry Black White Boy conversant with broader African American literary and satirical traditions. In the
prologue Macon says, “I was hoping someone would call me the white Bigger
Thomas, but nobody had the nutsack even though it’s an obvious comparison,
what with Bigger being a chauffeur and me a cabbie. I talked a lot more shit than
Bigger ever did, though. And I did what I did on purpose.”25 Here, Mansbach
evokes Bigger Thomas, the protagonist of Richard Wright’s Native Son (1940),
through the only moment of first-person narration in the novel: the prologue.
The use of Bigger is then twofold: for the reader, it signifies that both the writer
and protagonist are well versed in an African American literary tradition, and
for Mansbach, it serves as a way to characterize Macon’s white privilege by
appropriating a literary genealogy of black rage. It was Bigger’s lack of privilege that Wright foregrounds in Native Son, thus when Macon evokes Bigger
and says, “It’s an obvious comparison,” he does so without realizing how white
privilege operates within America’s racial landscape.26 Similarly, the prologue’s
title, “Letter from a Birmingham Bus,” demonstrates Macon’s appropriation of
Martin Luther King Jr.’s incarceration to juxtapose it with Macon’s celebrity
and people misunderstanding him. Furthermore, Macon’s remark at the end of
the prologue, “The question is not how I got this way, but how the rest of y’all
didn’t,” demonstrates that his ignorance of white privilege is not limited to the
specificity of his own neo-passing and misguided antiracist work but reveals a
broader ignorance of the systemic nature of whiteness.27
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brandon J. ManninG
African American satirists throughout the twentieth century and beyond
have created a blueprint for troubling monolithic notions of race. Mansbach’s
use of satire and his engagement with a black satirical tradition in Angry Black
White Boy signal his use of this blueprint to critique whiteness in the same
ways that black satirists have provided social commentary about whiteness and
blackness. Later in the novel, when asked on a television show who his favorite
authors are, Macon responds, “Gunnar Kaufman, Raven Quickskill, and Daniel Vivaldo.”28 All three of these “authors” are characters in African American
novels, two of them as protagonists in satirical novels. Gunnar Kaufman is
the protagonist in Paul Beatty’s The White Boy Shuffle, Raven Quickskill is the
protagonist in Ishmael Reed’s Flight to Canada, and Daniel Vivaldo is a main
character in James Baldwin’s Another Country. Here, Mansbach is signifying on
the black satirical and literary traditions by evoking writers in metanarratives.
“Signifyin(g),” as Henry Louis Gates Jr. articulates it, is a process of “repeating received tropes and narrative strategies with a difference . . . an extended
commentary on the history of the black novel” and is an apt way to describe
the work that Mansbach’s intertextuality is doing in the novel.29
Mansbach’s postracial signifying practices return to the ideological underpinnings of Schuyler’s Black No More—specifically, Schuyler’s nascent idea
that blackness and, more broadly, race are socially constructed and not intrinsically tied to biological determinates.30 Black No More is a satirical, sciencefiction novel that demonstrates the allure of white privilege when a scientist,
Dr. Crookman, creates a serum to turn black people white, thereby decimating
vibrant black communities across America during the height of the Harlem
Renaissance. Indeed, in the third and final section of Angry Black White Boy,
Mansbach “repeats” and “extends” the theoretical framework about race in
Black No More when Macon is introduced to a psychiatrist that is able to rid
people’s racial anxieties and identity formations. Whereas Dr. Crookman in
Black No More creates a serum to turn black people white, Donner in Angry
Black White Boy is a psychiatrist that uses “a combination of hypnosis, therapy,
psychodrama, various re-acculturation techniques, to alter an individual’s selfimage.”31 By contemporizing Schuyler’s disruption of essentialist notions of
race, Mansbach is able to criticize Macon’s attempt at black authenticity and his
self-centered, white privileged form of antiracist activism. If Black No More is
the quintessential passing narrative for the ways that it foregrounds passing at
the epidermal level during Jim Crow, then Mansbach’s psychological turn serves
as an exemplary postracial neo-passing narrative for the ways that Mansbach
extends the conversation on racial essentialism, authenticity, and privilege for
the de facto racism of today.
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Adam Mansbach’s Postracial Imaginary
Ultimately, Mansbach’s postracial imaginary is realized by his authorial critique of Macon. In this way, Macon’s neo-passing acts as Mansbach’s cautionary
tale for his reader. By centering Macon’s failed potential, Mansbach intimates
that the impetus and execution of antiracist work have to be a nonappropriative, nonconsumptive enterprise. In essence, Mansbach echoes Audre Lorde’s
claim that one cannot dismantle the master’s house with the master’s tools.
Mansbach’s tropological use of African American satire as a blueprint to critique
America’s racial ideology allows for Macon to be conversant with Stephen Jorgenson in Wallace Thurman’s Infants of the Spring and other satirical critiques
of white liberalism and antiracist work.32
Similar to Mansbach’s use of hip-hop as an antiracist mechanism, it’s the
permanency of hip-hop in the Renegade of Rhythms concert that evokes this
same conception of postracialism. By beginning the concert with “It All Began
in Africa,” DJ Shadow and Cut Chemist demonstrated that they were going
to keep Bambaataa’s politics central to the sonic space they were re-creating.
On the tour’s website, DJ Shadow states, “Bambaataa as artist, exploring the
influence of his classics like ‘Planet Rock’; Bambaataa as collector, and the
genre-defining breaks he discovered; and Bambaataa as peacemaker and force
for social change. He influenced an entire generation worldwide, so we feel a
great obligation to get it right.”33 Furthermore, it is Afrika Bambaataa’s afrofuturism that parallels the future potential of Mansbach’s conception of postracialism. They exuded a deep knowledge, love, and respect for the music and
for Bambaataa. Through the haze of a smoky stage, strobe lights, and scrolling
hip-hop images on a giant screen, DJ Cut Chemist and DJ Shadow performed
a postracial subjectivity for their audience while “Looking for the Perfect Beat.”
Notes
1. Hughes, Big Sea, 228.
2. Mansbach, Angry Black White Boy.
3. Johnson, Appropriating Blackness, 2.
4. Lott, Love and Theft.
5. Carbado and Gulati, Acting White?, 29.
6. Ibid., 17.
7. Smith, Barack Obama, Post-Racialism, 1.
8. Crenshaw, “Racing to Post-Racialism.”
9. Ibid.
10. Mansbach, Angry Black White Boy, 207.
11. Ibid., 18.
12. hooks, Killing Rage, 16.
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brandon J. ManninG
13. Mansbach, Angry Black White Boy, 123.
14. Ibid., 18. The Five Percenters is a concept in the Nation of Islam that states only 5
percent of the population knows the truth about God and that all humankind derives
from black people. Mansbach writes earlier in the novel, “Before he joined the five percent
nation and gained Knowledge of self and realized that the Original Asiatic Black Man was
the Maker, the Owner, the Cream of the Planet Earth, Father of Civilization and God of
the Universe. Before he became part of the Five Percent of the population who overstood
the Supreme Mathematics and threw off the shackles of mental slavery to become Poor
Righteous Teachers.” Ibid., 14.
15. Mansbach, “Whiteness Visible.”
16. Ibid., 109.
17. hooks, Killing Rage, 30.
18. Kimmel, Angry White Men, 277.
19. Mansbach, Angry Black White Boy, 20.
20. White, From Jim Crow to Jay-Z, 105.
21. Mansbach, Angry Black White Boy, 180.
22. Mansbach, “Whiteness Visible.”
23. Mansbach, Angry Black White Boy, 195.
24. Ibid., 31.
25. Ibid., 2–3.
26. Wright, Native Son.
27. Mansbach, Angry Black White Boy, 3.
28. Ibid., 196.
29. Gates, Signifying Monkey, 217.
30. Schuyler, Black No More.
31. Mansbach, Angry Black White Boy, 292.
32. Thurman, Infants of the Spring.
33. DJ Shadow, “Announcing Renegades.”
Bibliography
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America. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015.
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