Blink and Listen Blindly, Malcolm Gladwell has Something to Say

Malcolm Gladwell has made a career out of looking at culture in unique, often heterodox, ways. Among his most famous works are The Tipping Point (the potentially massive importance of small-scale social events, Blink (how the human subconscious analyzes events and our ability to make snap decisions based on prior experience) and most recently Outliers (which, among other things, comes up with a rather arbitrary number that describes genius and success). Gladwell is essentially a pop-sociologist who has made a fortune writing and giving lectures to corporations. Yet many critique him for, among other things, using social science arguments without context and confusing causation and correlation. At a deeper level, I just think he is dead wrong a lot.

In his new article in the New Yorker, “The Courthouse Ring,” Gladwell argues that To Kill a Mocking Bird is not the radical text we have long considered it (http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2009/08/10/090810fa_fact_gladwell?printable=true). Starting with the analysis of legal scholar Steven Lubet, he argues that Atticus was in fact an accomodationist, not worthy of anything but our contempt. He then compares him to real-life politician Jim Folsom. To start, Folsom was a politician and thus a poor comparison to a lawyer trying to uphold justice. Second, I think Folsom should be commended, with reservations, for the radical tenor of many of his actions as governor. The New Republic offers a wonderful critique of the article here: http://blogs.tnr.com/tnr/blogs/the_plank/archive/2009/08/04/what-is-malcolm-gladwell-talking-about.aspx. I wanted to add by one critique to this heavily overrated intellectual and his huge talking fees and popularity in the public sphere.

Gladwell bases his argument predominantly on the notion that Atticus is not confronting injustice, but essentially serving it by not taking it head on. But is it really the role of the law to be a radical agent for change? The law sets the minimum standard for human behavior, but as with Brown v. Board of Education, has little power if not enforced. Atticus stands up for justice from a position of moderation. He is not an activist hero that will change the world, but really a symbol of how each of us can contribute in fighting racism and injustice – by living by our ideals and standing up for what we believe in. The novel is certainly not a call to arms for radical change, but is inspirational in its ability to make us look at ourselves and our complicity in hatred and injustice.

I believe there are several other problems with his thesis and analysis. At one point, Gladwell argues that Mayella is treated as a women so desperate for sex she is willing to plot for a year to seduce a Black man. I think this is an absurdly naïve analysis. Mayella is interested in a particular Black man, Jim Robinson, serving as an exemplar of the complex relationship between Black men and white women in the South and beyond. Her desire not only ostracizes her from society and bring up one of the greatest taboos in the South, but hints at the underlying fear of White men of perceived Black virility. As bell hooks among many has argued, White men are essentially emasculated by white female desire for Black men and have thus centered racism on any hints of sexual desire related to this relationship. The novel captures this complex dynamic, showing white male hatred built on the large Black man that actually had little interest in the white girl who desired him. On top of this, the novel contemplates the racial dynamics of the town – as Mayella and her father are poor and Atticus clearly a man of some means.

The class aspect of the book is important, and yet Gladwell gives us a simplistic leftist argument that the final scene with Boo Radley has a class dynamic that undermines Atticus’ deeper sense of justice. This is the same problem with his analysis of race. Atticus may not be an activist, but he is a purveyor of justice irrespective of skin color. He is a brave man for standing up to the town and trying, though failing, to save a Black man from unfair prosecution. His quiet dignity and bravery is, in fact, emblematic of a particular type of American hero that persists up to the present day (think of Clint Eastwood in most of his movies in the 70s – though here against violence). Is Atticus a hero? I think he is. And what’s more, I believe To Kill a Mockingbird is one of the most beautifully written American novels and thus transcends how radical its politics were. Yet even here, I believe they are far more radical than anything Gladwell has ever offered us (while making a ton of money in the process).