Adam Theron-Lee Rensch

Adam Theron-Lee Rensch is the author of the Field Notes book No Home for You Here: A Memoir of Class and Culture (London: Reaktion/Brooklyn Rail, 2020). He lives in Chicago.

The core argument of We Have Never Been Woke takes this contradiction as its entry point: namely, the appropriation of egalitarian social justice rhetoric by elites to serve their own ends. What’s more, not only do these elites view themselves as sincere champions of social justice causes (i.e., “true believers”), many go so far as to portray themselves as erstwhile victims of the prevailing order—no different than the marginalized communities they support. Victimhood, especially as it relates to trauma, plays a particularly important role in the mystification of social relations and the status obsession of elites.

What Does Wokeness Do?

It must have been shortly before Pennsylvania was called for Donald Trump, around the same time Joy Reid claimed on MSNBC that Kamala Harris had run a flawless campaign because she’d been endorsed by Queen Latifah, when I suddenly remembered Hillary Clinton had published a memoir titled What Happened.

You might expect Ohio voters to support politicians whose policies would help reverse this relative decline. But there’s a striking disconnect between who voters, especially working-class white voters, perceive as being on their side and politicians’ actual policies. For that matter … there’s a striking disconnect between voters’ views of what is happening with the economy and their personal experiences. It’s vibes all the way down.

Our new servicer was Nationstar Mortgage LLC, which in 2017 had begun to operate under the name Mr. Cooper to divert attention from its poor financial reports. The name Mr. Cooper had been chosen to “personalize the mortgage experience.” It was all very personal indeed: from now on, we were to pay “Mr. Cooper” each month for a loan owned by “Freddie Mac.”  
In the wake of the Supreme Court’s recent vote to end affirmative action, legacy admissions have become a convenient scapegoat for the massive inequalities that pervade higher education in The United States. Derided by Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez as “affirmative action for the privileged,” and by countless others as “affirmative action for white people,” legacy admissions are transparently nepotistic and contradict the self-professed meritocratic ideals of university mission statements. Education, we are told, is precisely the sort of institution where anyone can succeed by dedication and hard work alone, not by being born into a wealthy, connected family.
In his recent book, Poverty, by America, Matthew Desmond writes, “Poverty might consume your life, but it’s rarely embraced as an identity. It’s more socially acceptable today to disclose a mental illness than to tell someone you’re broke.” The striking thing about this statement is the degree to which it is both completely true and totally wrong.
No Politics But Class Politics: A Review
The reality is that Trump’s presidency has been anything but “not normal.” It has continued the same brutal worldview of his predecessors, albeit with unorthodox theatrics that has made the mockery of our two-party system transparent.
Identity is a complicated thing. It is not, to paraphrase Wittgenstein, like simply hanging a label onto a person, though the contemporary discussion addressing identity—and identity politics, specifically—often imagines this to be the case.
Virtually every critical review of the new adaptation of The Handmaid’s Tale has drawn parallels between the series’ fictional totalitarian theocracy, Gilead, and the policies and ideological proclivities of Donald Trump’s administration.
This was not the story I intended to write. That was a fictional story, though like many fictional stories it was inspired by a true event.
Gabor Peterdi, Despair III, 1938. Etching and engraving on paper. 12 7/16 x 9 13/16 inches. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of Martin Segal. Photo: Brooklyn Museum.
By occupying the strange position of both problem and solution, democracy in the twenty-first century has become something surprisingly reminiscent of the totalizing, ideologically laden politics to which it is often deemed antithetical.
In the early 2000s, I spent many nights at the now defunct Emma St Bar & Grill, a truck stop diner located just off I-75 in Findlay, Ohio. Open twenty-four hours, it offered cheap, greasy food and bottomless cups of coffee.
Photo: Andra Mihali via Flickr (CC BY-NC-ND).
On a humid day in the summer of 2010, amidst the lingering fallout from the financial crisis, I entered New York’s Penn Station and boarded a train headed for northwest Ohio.
Ohio-Indiana Border. Photo: Kevin Buchholz.

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