a justice-oriented, bookish newsletter by Austin Channing Brown
Footnotes
A Word on Hope
Residents demonstrate against the Trump administration on the steps of City Hall in Hattiesburg, Miss., during the No Kings Day protests on June 14, 2025. Photo by Ashton Pittman via the Mississippi Free Press
2000 scheduled protests were planned for Saturday in response to the administration's frivolous military parade. As pictures rolled out of gatherings from one coast to the other, opinions were just as rampant. Maybe you've heard much of the critiques too.
Some were quick to point out that if all the people protesting had voted, we might not have this administration to begin with.
Others wondered how much of the protests had become performative, rather than seeking specific change.
Lots of people were commenting on who attended the protests and who needed to (or didnt need to as the case may be... *hello to the 92%*)
And many folks who felt hopeful about the feeling of community generated during protests were asked why. Why does something so "little" bring hope?
And I get it. No one has seen more performative allyship than Black women. No one has done more deep work of understanding the nuances of protesting vs organizing than Black women. Those of us who have been in justice work for a long time are not easily impressed, having had our hearts broken time and time again over promises that "there are more of us". The longer you've been in justice work, the harder it is to generate hope.
So were the protests worthy of hope?
I think that answer depends on what you are hopeful for. It is probably unrealistic to look at the protests and walk away believing that the current administration has been put in its place and will start leaning left, right? That is a misguided place for hope to live.
But. If what you needed was a moment offline, in person, surrounded by people who were excited to respond "hell yeah" to your calls for humanity- that seems like a pretty solid cupful of hope.
If what you needed was to see folks not just in Chicago or NYC or LA- but small towns, southern towns, conservative towns where protesting may actually be risky for those who attended (especially if you live in one of those towns), I think taking a deep breath to realize you are not alone, is worthy of a little hope.
If you were signing people up to become a part of organizing efforts or community meetings, and you feel good about your new list, that is worthy of hope.
It's okay to live in the tension of knowing that any single action we take isnt nothing and isnt everything.
Protesting isnt nothing, and it isnt everything.
Voting isnt nothing, and it isnt everything.
Volunteering isnt nothing, and it isnt everything.
Boycotting isnt nothing, and it isnt everything.
Being sober about our efforts doesnt necessitate our despair. We can acknowledge that the protests didnt come with specific demands and we can acknowledge that something special is possible when we are gathered together in real life to declare our displeasure.
Despair is not going to save us. And hope often feels tenuous.
And so we must dig. We must resist easy questions/answers about hope and get gritty. I *hate* the question: are you hopeful after 2020? Hate. Hate. Hate. Why? Because it is void of nuance. It is too simplistic. And I dont believe hope is simplistic. Am I hopeful that everything changed in 2020? NO. Am I hopeful that police are no longer going to take the lives of unarmed Black people? NO. Am I hopeful that all the corporations who made declarations are going to follow through? NO. That's all too simple.
But was I grateful that the nation was having a conversation about policing? Yes. Was I proud of the abolitionists whose work was uplifted as communities asked more questions about defunding police? Hell yeah. Was I stunned that words like "reparations" were being said on mainstream news outlets? Absolutely.
Am I hopeful that everything changed? No. Am I hopeful that something changed for someone somewhere? Sure.
Why?
Because I dont have an alternative. As soon as I am no longer hopeful that any of this matters- the organizing, the protesting, the boycotting, the meeting, the discussing, the educating, and everything that falls under Freedom Work- I will walk away, become a recluse, and enjoy nature. My hope isnt that everything will change. But I am hopeful that something could change. And that's why I keep showing up.
So get your hope tank filled, friends. Keep it gritty and honest... but hold on to hope because a gritty hope and an honest love are the drivers of our work.
*PLEASE BE AWARE, THIS NEWSLETTER CONTAINS AFFILIATE LINKS TO BOOKSHOP.ORG, WHICH MEANS I RECEIVE A SMALL COMMISSION IF YOU CHOOSE TO MAKE A PURCHASE USING THE BOOK LINKS. I WILL BE USING SAID COMMISSION TO FEED MY BOOK ADDICTION, OFFER YOU MORE REVIEWS, AND AROUND AND AROUND WE GO. THE COMMISSION DOES NOT COST YOU ANYTHING, AND I WILL ALWAYS LET YOU KNOW IF I RECEIVED ANY OF THE BOOKS FOR FREE99.
Bookworm
"Looking beyond the flashpoints of the border or the activism of the DREAMers, Cornejo Villavicencio explores the lives of the undocumented—and the mysteries of her own life. She finds the singular, effervescent characters across the nation often reduced in the media to political pawns or nameless laborers."
"Weaving timelines, languages, geographies, and genres, The Hollow Halfprobes the contradictions and contingencies that create “nation” and “history.” Blazing with honesty, urgency, and poetry, this stunning debut memoir is a fearless call to imagine both the self and the world anew."
"As an immigrant who came to the West, El Akkad believed that it promised freedom. A place of justice for all. But in the past twenty years, reporting on the War on Terror, Ferguson, climate change, Black Lives Matter protests, and more, and watching the unmitigated slaughter in Gaza, El Akkad has come to the conclusion that much of what the West promises is a lie. That there will always be entire groups of human beings it has never intended to treat as fully human—not just Arabs or Muslims or immigrants, but whoever falls outside the boundaries of privilege."
Thank you to everyone who signed up to become a book ambassador. More details coming via patreon very soon - so make you are signed up for your free account there!
Booked
I've been hard at work on figuring out the details for the Full of Myself book tour (which some of you have lovingly nicknamed Full Of Myself Summer. So far the cities we are working on include:
Austin Channing Brown is the author of NYT Bestseller and Reese Book Club pick, Im Still Here: Black Dignity in a World Made for Whiteness. Her next book, Full of Myself will release this fall.