No more fire, the water next time: Ta-Nehisi Coates on Global Warming and White Supremacy
In the very last pages of Between the World and Me, Ta-Nehisi Coates registers his full and final distance from the world of James Baldwin. Where Baldwin had said, “We, with love, shall force our [white] brothers to see themselves as they are, to cease fleeing from reality and begin to change it,” and where that assault by African America on white supremacy was the promissory note to a more fundamental transformation of the United States (“we can make America what America must become”), Coates makes explicit what has been implicit throughout his text: he does not believe black America can transform white America.
I do not believe that we can stop them, Samori, because they must ultimately stop themselves. And still I urge you to struggle….But do not struggle for the Dreamers. Hope for them. Pray for them, if you are so moved. But do not pin your struggle on their conversion. The Dreamers will have to learn to struggle themselves,…
And what will force the Dreamers—white people—to learn to struggle for themselves? Global warming. Climate change.
The Dreamers will have to learn to struggle themselves, to understand that the field for their Dream, the stage where they have painted themselves white, is the deathbed of us all. The Dream is the same habit that endangers the planet, the same habit that sees our bodies stowed away in prisons and ghettos.
This was, for me, perhaps the most poignant moment of the book. For Coates, global warming, the destruction of the earth’s delicate ecology and thereby the earth, is not merely an environmental fact; it is very much connected to the history of white supremacy in all its phases of modernity: from primitive accumulation through capitalist industrialization through suburbanization.
Something more fierce than Marcus Garvey is riding on the whirlwind. Something more awful than all our African ancestors is rising with the seas. The two phenomena are known to each other. It was the cotton that passed through our chained hands that inaugurated this age. It is the flight from us that sent them sprawling into the subdivided woods. And the methods of transport through these new subdivisions, across the sprawl, is the automobile, the noose around the neck of the earth, and ultimately, the Dreamers themselves.
But lest black Americans think that they are exempt from this coming catastrophe, Coates is careful to insist that everyone, black and white, will be destroyed together.
I left The Mecca [Howard University]…knowing that should the Dreamers reap what they had sown, we would reap it right with them. Plunder has matured into habit and addiction.
Despite Coates’s atheism and the science and secularism that underlies this vision of destruction, it’s hard to escape its theological resonance.
For starters, there is the clear rejection that the punishment of white America will come from black hands. From black political hands exacting punishment for the white man’s four centuries of welter and waste:
I had heard such predictions [of the destruction of white America by African America] all my life from Malcolm and all his posthumous followers who hollered that the Dreamers must reap what they sow. I saw the same prediction in the words of Marcus Garvey who promised to return in a whirlwind of vengeful ancestors, an army of Middle Passage undead. No. I left The Mecca knowing that this was all too pat…
More important is the inversion of Baldwin. Baldwin derived the title of The Fire Next Time from the couplet of a black spiritual:
God gave Noah the rainbow sign.
No more water, the fire next time.
The couplet is a more ominous rendition of the story of Noah and the flood that we find in Genesis 9. Where God in the original promises Noah after the flood that he will never again destroy the earth or humanity, and that the rainbow will be a sign of God’s covenant with humanity, the spiritual warns of a different ending: this time, it was just the flood; do it again, and next time, it will be a fire.
It’s hard not to read the line, in Baldwin’s hands, as a kind of premonition (he’s writing in 1963) of Watts, Newark, and all the urban fire that would eventually consume postwar America. For Baldwin, the problem is not merely white supremacy, the racism America must abandon. It is also Christianity, which he thinks has created part of the predicament. In this, he shares something with Coates, who also has abandoned Christianity and religion.
But here we come to the ultimate—well, the penultimate—irony: Coates writes out of the atheist disposition that Baldwin helped pave the way for, yet he imagines a catastrophe far more biblical than anything Baldwin, the man reared and steeped in the teachings of the black church, might have conjured. Baldwin asked us to imagine not a flood, but a fire, a fire set by men against men. Coates says that the flames of Malcolm and Garvey have gone out; the justice of ancestors wronged will never come. No more fire, the water next time.
Here’s the ultimate irony. As Mychal Denzel Smith recently wrote in The Nation, Hurricane Katrina—the flood last time—may have been the moment that black rage, and all the political promise it contains, exploded onto the public square of 21st-century America. That was the moment when Kanye West said simply, to a scandalized nation, “George Bush doesn’t care about black people.”
The generation that heard Kanye West say “George Bush doesn’t care about black people,” then pushed the vote for the first black president, then watched America continue to not care about black people, simply has had enough. As the deaths of young, unarmed black people continue to become headlines, and social media holds more hashtag funerals, the hope has turned to despair, and the despair into rage. That rage consumed the streets of Ferguson when Michael Brown was killed; it set fire to the streets of Baltimore when Freddie Gray was killed; and it sent Bree Newsome up the flagpole at the South Carolina state Capitol to bring down the Confederate flag in the wake of nine people being killed in the Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church. Black rage is back, cutting to the core of white supremacy and demanding that America change.
…
An opportunity may have been missed in those post-Katrina days, when the words “George Bush doesn’t care about black people” still buzzed. But a decade later, the resurgence of black rage in the political sphere is finally ready to make America face its racist past and present. Or burn it down trying.
For all the sense we get of Coates as a man of his time (this is what I argued yesterday), perhaps he’s not. Perhaps we’re still with Baldwin: no more water, the fire next time.