The Other Talk: Reckoning with Our White Privilege
The Other Talk: Reckoning with Our White Privilege
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Atheneum
Annotation: Award-winning and bestselling author Brendan Kiely starts a conversation with white kids about race in this accessible introduction to white privilege, ally ship, and anti-racism.
Genre: [Social sciences]
 
Reviews: 5
Catalog Number: #319706
Format: Perma-Bound from Publisher's Hardcover
Publisher: Atheneum
Copyright Date: 2021
Edition Date: c2021 Release Date: 09/21/21
Pages: xviii, 253 p.
ISBN: Publisher: 1-534-49404-9 Perma-Bound: 0-8000-2209-2
ISBN 13: Publisher: 978-1-534-49404-6 Perma-Bound: 978-0-8000-2209-9
Dewey: 305.809
LCCN: 2021018958
Dimensions: 21 cm
Language: English
Reviews:
Starred Review ALA Booklist (Thu Apr 28 00:00:00 CDT 2022)

Starred Review Alluding to "The Talk," a discussion many parents of color have with their children about the dangers of racism, Kiely presents his own thought-provoking talk about racism to white teen readers. Following an introduction by Jason Reynolds, who cowrote the Coretta Scott King Award-winning All American Boys (2015) with Kiely, the author opens with stories of two teens, one Black and one white, at convenience stores. By the end of the night, the innocent Black teen would be shot dead because of his skin color; the white teen (who Kiely reveals to be his younger self) would steal a drink and get away with it because no one saw him as a threat. Using a direct, conversational style, Kiely expands on this story and adds more unflinching ones along the way as he explains white privilege and how the social construct of race was developed. He also includes a wealth of data and examples to describe how systemic racism has impacted all areas of society, from education and business to housing and health care. In the latter part of the book, Kiely implores young white people to recognize their own privilege and stand up to racism, emphasizing that sometimes the best way to step up is to first listen to those affected. A heartfelt, motivating, and necessary call to action.

Starred Review for Kirkus Reviews

White people don't need to have "The Talk" about how to survive racism-they need to have a different talk about taking responsibility for and trying to change it.Jason Reynolds introduces this informal memoir about young adult author Kiely's experiences of Whiteness, which also serves as a call to action for White people to make similar reckonings. With humility and feeling, Kiely narrates his growing understanding of White privilege: that "what we've earned often comes at the expense of other people not being able to earn it as easily." He mixes pithy anecdotes from his own life with trenchant statistics and historical context that make clear the huge extent to which people in power have "legalized, institutionalized, and systematized racism in America." One section lays out all the opportunities Kiely's White grandfather had to build wealth for his family, starting with the GI Bill, alongside all the ways these opportunities were denied to veterans of the Global Majority (a phrase he credits learning from Tiffany Jewell's This Book Is Anti-Racist). His personal stories are equally demonstrative: When teenage Kiely was pulled over for reckless speeding, the police officer let him off with caring, paternal instructions to "go home, be safe, and keep your friends safe." Kiely doesn't mince words when it comes to accountability, but his conversational tone invites readers to grow with him.Well-executed and long overdue. (author's note, endnotes, bibliography) (Nonfiction. 12-18)

School Library Journal Starred Review (Wed Dec 01 00:00:00 CST 2021)

Gr 7 Up The phrase "the talk" often refers to the conversation parents of children of color have with them to help them survive encounters with the police. In this important work, Kiely names "the other talk" and discusses why it is so important in our society. The other talk is about white privilege and how those with that privilege can and should work to combat racism. He shares several stories from his life growing up with white privilege and parallels them with some of the tragedies that result from racism. For example, Kiely writes how he was rightfully pulled over by police several times but never got a ticket. He also relates how he wasn't caught committing petty theft numerous times as a teen alongside a story of a Black teen who was shot and killed during an encounter over playing music loudly. Kiely teaches readers what white privilege is and about its many forms; not only how it has helped him but also examples in our larger society such as the negative consequences of discrimination in housing. He argues that it is the responsibility of those with this privilege to fight racism in its many forms, not only when it makes the headlines but also, equally important, in smaller instances such as in private conversations. This deeply personal narrative also succeeds at being a page turner. The stories are absorbing and the engaging, conversational writing style is, at times, surprisingly humorous and other times truly upsetting. VERDICT A compelling call to action that belongs in all collections serving middle and high school students.Karen Bilton, Franklin Township P.L., NJ

Horn Book (Mon Feb 06 00:00:00 CST 2023)

An introduction by Jason Reynolds, coauthor with Kiely of All American Boys (rev. 11/15), begins this honest and informative reflection on what it means to be white -- and a call for white readers to take anti-racist action. After stating that conversations about race and racism often occur between caregivers and children of the Global Majority (the term Kiely uses throughout), the author opens the door to a conversation on whiteness for an assumed white readership. Using the first-person perspective, and with a casual tone but a deliberate use of language, the author relates personal stories, while acknowledging the contradictions of his authorship and of de-centering whiteness. Voices of youth and of those not always recognized by mainstream society are celebrated. Section breaks pace readers and invite them to pause and reflect; questions offer further opportunities for reader engagement. Kiely carefully scaffolds content, embraces discomfort, rejects either/or binaries, and owns his mistake-making: "I know I'm not going to get everything right. But I think I have to try." Charts and timelines showcase facts about history and racist systems and institutions; extensive back matter is included. Throughout this heartfelt model of white racial identity development, the emphasis remains on self-interrogation, group responsibility, and anti-racist accountability. elisa gall

Kirkus Reviews (Fri Oct 04 00:00:00 CDT 2024)

White people don't need to have "The Talk" about how to survive racism-they need to have a different talk about taking responsibility for and trying to change it.Jason Reynolds introduces this informal memoir about young adult author Kiely's experiences of Whiteness, which also serves as a call to action for White people to make similar reckonings. With humility and feeling, Kiely narrates his growing understanding of White privilege: that "what we've earned often comes at the expense of other people not being able to earn it as easily." He mixes pithy anecdotes from his own life with trenchant statistics and historical context that make clear the huge extent to which people in power have "legalized, institutionalized, and systematized racism in America." One section lays out all the opportunities Kiely's White grandfather had to build wealth for his family, starting with the GI Bill, alongside all the ways these opportunities were denied to veterans of the Global Majority (a phrase he credits learning from Tiffany Jewell's This Book Is Anti-Racist). His personal stories are equally demonstrative: When teenage Kiely was pulled over for reckless speeding, the police officer let him off with caring, paternal instructions to "go home, be safe, and keep your friends safe." Kiely doesn't mince words when it comes to accountability, but his conversational tone invites readers to grow with him.Well-executed and long overdue. (author's note, endnotes, bibliography) (Nonfiction. 12-18)

Reviewing Agencies: - Find Other Reviewed Titles
Starred Review ALA Booklist (Thu Apr 28 00:00:00 CDT 2022)
Starred Review for Kirkus Reviews
School Library Journal Starred Review (Wed Dec 01 00:00:00 CST 2021)
Horn Book (Mon Feb 06 00:00:00 CST 2023)
Kirkus Reviews (Fri Oct 04 00:00:00 CDT 2024)
Bibliography Index/Note: Includes bibliographical references (p. [227]-253).
Word Count: 50,094
Reading Level: 7.0
Interest Level: 7-12
Accelerated Reader: reading level: 7.0 / points: 9.0 / quiz: 516069 / grade: Upper Grades
Chapter 1: Bottle of Nesquik, Bottle of Long Since Forgotten 1 Bottle of Nesquik, Bottle of Long Since Forgotten
Here's the situation:

Two teenagers go to a convenience store.

Actually, two different convenience stores.

Kid A is in a car that pulls up outside one at a gas station in Jacksonville, Florida. Music's bumping. Got "Beef" by Lil Reese, Lil Durk, and Fredo Santana cued up on the playlist.

Kid B walks into one on a busy street near Boston, Massachusetts. Headphones on. Head bobbing to A Tribe Called Quest's "Can I Kick It?" Yes you can, he mouths along as he pulls open the glass door.

Kid A's there with three friends. One of them goes into the store to grab some snacks and a bottle of something long since forgotten.

Kid B's there to get a bottle of Strawberry Nesquik.

They're just two kids, two kids loving their music and going to the convenience store--but then everything changes.

Kid A's waiting in the car. "Beef" blasting. He's out with friends. They're having a good time.

Kid B, though, grabs his bright yellow bottle of Nesquik and slips it into the folds of his puffy down coat. Yes you can! Then he strolls right out the door without looking back. He hasn't paid for the Strawberry Nesquik. He's stolen it. And he's done this before. He's got a crush on a girl who loves Strawberry Nesquik (even though it's gross--and it is--it's gross!), and he loves giving her a bottle in the hallway before homeroom because he likes the coconut smell of her hair and the way her high-sprayed bangs rise off her forehead like a flag. He likes the way roller coasters run wild loops through his gut whenever their eyes meet. He gives her one of these stolen bottles of Strawberry Nesquik about once a week, maybe more, and he's been doing it for the past month.

He hasn't thought twice about the people in the store.

Or anybody else, really.

Just the girl with the bangs climbing toward the sky.

More than one thousand miles south on Route 95, Kid A's bumping to the music with his buddies, still waiting for the friend in the store, when a car pulls up beside them. The two adults in the car start giving the friends dirty looks. The clock starts ticking. In three and half minutes everything will be different. Lives will have changed. But when the car pulls up, Kid A has no idea. All he sees are the scowls. Scowls he's seen before. He's not doing anything wrong. He's just a kid and his music is loud. And if the adults would just take a breath and let it go, let this boy be a kid and let his too-loud music thump, only a few minutes later his car would be gone, the music would be gone, and there'd be no story to tell.

Instead, the woman in the car opens her door, and before she leaves to go into the store, the man who's with her turns to her and says, "I hate this thug music." This man, the scowler, starts yelling at Kid A and his friends, starts calling them names. One of Kid A's friends turns down the music, but Kid A's sick of the scowler's scowls. Sick of the way this man, this adult, keeps talking to him, so he turns the music back up and tries to drown him out. Tries to drown out everything the man's saying. Those scowls. Those kinds of arguments. He's all too used to them. He's heard it all before, and all too often, he's heard the slurs and the name-calling that follows. He's heard it all before and he's heard it enough--so up goes the music, bass rattling the car doors. Up goes his voice too, yelling back at the man, matching him insult for insult. But the clock is still ticking.

The clock is still ticking when Kid A's friend comes out of the convenience store and gets back in the car. The clock's still ticking as Kid A and the man keep yelling, their voices loud enough to climb up and over the music. The clock's still ticking when the adult man shouts at Kid A, "You aren't going to talk to me like that."

And it's supposed to be kids driving around through the night, shouting their lyrics--In the field, we play for keeps/I'm out here, no hide-and-seek--like kids all over the country do, are doing, will do later. The clock is still ticking when the man reaches into his glove compartment and pulls out a 9 mm pistol--and then everything goes into hyperspeed.

He fires.

The man fires and fires. Bullets crash through the door beside Kid A. Bullets rip through the car around and into Kid A. Bullets explode and crack open the night as the kids throw the car into reverse, try to escape, but the man steps out of his own car, crouches in a shooting stance, and fires and fires and fires. Ten bullets in all.

The clock only stops ticking when the kids pull into a nearby parking lot and find Kid A gasping for air. Losing his breath. No chance to drink that bottle of who-knows-what soda or whatever as his blood spills across the car seats, down onto the concrete, where it stains the parking lot, the whole town, the whole state, the whole country, because Kid A's blood is the blood of another innocent, unarmed child who has been called names, called all kinds of things, like a thug, and who hasn't done anything illegal, hasn't done anything wrong, except be a kid--and murdered all the same.

Kid B's the one who did something wrong. Kid B's the one who did something illegal. Kid B's the actual thief.

But nobody's ever called him one. Nobody knows he is one. Because nobody's ever even suspected he's one.

In fact, later that spring, when Kid B is working for a talent agency in Boston, auditioning to model for a series of magazine ads, the casting director will lean forward and say to Kid B, "Hey, yeah, we definitely want you. You look like the kid next door. You look like the all-American boy."

Now let me tell you more about Kid A.

He was someone's son. He liked Jacksonville, where he lived. He liked to play basketball and PlayStation. But his singular passion was music. All the music. In the field, we play for keeps... Making mixes for his buddies. He had dreams and family and friends.

You might say he was just another "all-American boy," except I fear not enough people told him that. The adults who pulled up in the car beside him certainly didn't. That man took one look at Kid A and suspected... assumed... profiled Kid A as a "thug." As someone who was up to no good. Even though he wasn't. The man prejudged Kid A--and his prejudice did all the thinking. And Kid A paid the price for it.

But Kid A wasn't a thug. He wasn't a thief.

Kid B was the thief. The way Kid B acted, you might call him the thug.

But here's what else I have to tell you:

Kid A was Black.

And Kid A was a real person. His name was Jordan Davis.

And Jordan Davis was murdered because of racial prejudice--because of racism.

Kid B was white.

And Kid B was a real person too. That kid? He's me. Brendan Kiely. I'm the thief.

And I'm alive because... well, we're going to get to all that.


Excerpted from The Other Talk: Reckoning with Our White Privilege by Brendan Kiely
All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

A School Library Journal Best Book of the Year

Award-winning and New York Times bestselling author Brendan Kiely starts a conversation with white kids about race in this “well-executed and long overdue” (Kirkus Reviews, starred review) introduction to white privilege and why allyship is so vital.

Talking about racism can be hard, but...

Most kids of color grow up doing it. They have “The Talk” with their families—the honest talk about survival in a racist world.

But white kids don’t. They’re barely spoken to about race at all—and that needs to change. Because not talking about racism doesn’t make it go away. Not talking about white privilege doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.

The Other Talk begins this much-needed conversation for white kids. In an instantly relatable and deeply honest account of his own life, Brendan Kiely offers young readers a way to understand one’s own white privilege and why allyship is so vital, so that we can all start doing our part—today.


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