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The Sum of Us: What Racism Costs Everyone and How We Can Prosper Together Hardcover – February 16, 2021
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WINNER OF THE PORCHLIGHT BUSINESS BOOK AWARD • ONE OF THE BEST BOOKS OF THE YEAR: Time, The Washington Post, St. Louis Post-Dispatch, Ms. magazine, BookRiot, Library Journal
“This is the book I’ve been waiting for.”—Ibram X. Kendi, #1 New York Times bestselling author of How to Be an Antiracist
Look for the author’s new podcast, The Sum of Us, based on this book!
Heather McGhee’s specialty is the American economy—and the mystery of why it so often fails the American public. From the financial crisis of 2008 to rising student debt to collapsing public infrastructure, she found a root problem: racism in our politics and policymaking. But not just in the most obvious indignities for people of color. Racism has costs for white people, too. It is the common denominator of our most vexing public problems, the core dysfunction of our democracy and constitutive of the spiritual and moral crises that grip us all. But how did this happen? And is there a way out?
McGhee embarks on a deeply personal journey across the country from Maine to Mississippi to California, tallying what we lose when we buy into the zero-sum paradigm—the idea that progress for some of us must come at the expense of others. Along the way, she meets white people who confide in her about losing their homes, their dreams, and their shot at better jobs to the toxic mix of American racism and greed. This is the story of how public goods in this country—from parks and pools to functioning schools—have become private luxuries; of how unions collapsed, wages stagnated, and inequality increased; and of how this country, unique among the world’s advanced economies, has thwarted universal healthcare.
But in unlikely places of worship and work, McGhee finds proof of what she calls the Solidarity Dividend: the benefits we gain when people come together across race to accomplish what we simply can’t do on our own. The Sum of Us is not only a brilliant analysis of how we arrived here but also a heartfelt message, delivered with startling empathy, from a black woman to a multiracial America. It leaves us with a new vision for a future in which we finally realize that life can be more than a zero-sum game.
LONGLISTED FOR THE ANDREW CARNEGIE MEDAL
- Print length448 pages
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherOne World
- Publication dateFebruary 16, 2021
- Dimensions6.35 x 1.35 x 9.54 inches
- ISBN-100525509569
- ISBN-13978-0525509561
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Editorial Reviews
Review
“Illuminating and hopeful . . . McGhee isn’t a stinging polemicist; she cajoles instead of ridicules. She appeals to concrete self-interest in order to show how our fortunes are tied up with the fortunes of others. ‘We suffer because our society was raised deficient in social solidarity,’ she writes, explaining that this idea is ‘true to my optimistic nature.’ She is compassionate but also clear-eyed, refusing to downplay the horrors of racism. . . . There is a striking clarity to this book; there is also a depth of kindness in it that all but the most churlish readers will find moving.”—Jennifer Szalai, The New York Times
“One of the most fascinating things about The Sum of Us is how it challenges the assumptions of both white antiracism activists and progressives who just want to talk about class.”—The New York Times, “The Book That Should Change How Progressives Talk About Race”
“Required reading to move the country forward . . . Every so often a book comes along that seems perfectly timed to the moment and has the potential to radically shift our cultural conversation. [The Sum of Us] is one of those books. . . . It is a sometimes angry or frustrated book, rooted in McGhee’s long career at Demos trying and mostly failing to secure legislation that would benefit the public. But in the end, it’s a hopeful book because McGhee’s vision is so clear and so convincing.”—Chicago Tribune
“If everyone in America read this book, we’d be, not only a more just country, but a more powerful, successful, and loving one. A vital, urgent, stirring, beautifully written book that offers a compassionate roadmap out of our present troubled moment.”—George Saunders,New York Timesbestselling and Booker Prize–winning author of Lincoln in the Bardo
“Supported by remarkable data-driven research and thoughtful interviews with those directly affected by these issues, McGhee paints a powerful picture of the societal shortfalls all around us. There is a greater, more just America available to us, and McGhee brings its potential to light.”—BookPage
“[McGhee] takes readers on an intimate odyssey across our country’s racial divide to explore why some believe that progress for some comes at the expense of others. Along the way, McGhee speaks with white people who confide in her about losing jobs, homes, and hope, and considers white supremacy’s collateral victims. Ultimately, McGhee—a Black woman viewing multiracial America with startling empathy—finds proof of what she terms the Solidarity Dividend: the momentous benefits that derive when people come together across race. A powerful, singular, and prescriptive blend of the macro and the intimate.”—O: The Oprah Magazine
About the Author
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
“Why can’t we have nice things?”
Perhaps there’s been a time when you’ve pondered exactly this question. And by nice things, you weren’t thinking about hovercraft or laundry that does itself. You were thinking about more basic as-pects of a high-functioning society, like adequately funded schools or reliable infrastructure, wages that keep workers out of poverty or a public health system to handle pandemics. The “we” who can’t seem to have nice things is Americans, all Americans. This includes the white Americans who are the largest group of the uninsured and the impoverished as well as the Americans of color who are dispropor-tionately so. “We” is all of us who have watched generations of Amer-ican leadership struggle to solve big problems and reliably improve the quality of life for most people. We know what we need—why can’t we have it?“
Why can’t we have nice things?” was a question that struck me pretty early on in life—growing up as I did in an era of rising in-equality, seeing the wealthy neighborhoods boom while the schools and parks where most of us lived fell into disrepair. When I was twenty-two years old, I applied for an entry-level job at Demos, aresearch and advocacy organization working on public policy solutions to inequality. There, I learned the tools of the policy advocacy trade: statistical research and white papers, congressional testimony, litigation, bill drafting, media outreach, and public campaigns.
It was exhilarating. I couldn’t believe that I could use a spread-sheet to convince journalists to write about the ideas and lives of the people I cared most about: the ones living from paycheck to paycheck who needed a better deal from businesses and our government. And it actually worked: our research influenced members of Congress to introduce laws that helped real people and led to businesses changing their practices. I went off to get a law degree and came right back to Demos to continue the work. I fell in love with the idea that information, in the right hands, was power. I geeked out on the intricacies of the credit markets and a gracefully designed regulatory regime. My specialty was economic policy, and as indicators of economic inequality became starker year after year, I was convinced that I was fighting the good fight, for my people and everyone who struggled.
And that is how I saw it: part of my sense of urgency about the work was that my people, Black people, are disproportionately ill served by bad economic policy decisions. I was going to help make better ones. I came to view the relationship between race and inequality as most people in my field do—linearly: structural racism accelerates inequality for communities of color. When our govern-ment made bad economic decisions for everyone, the results were even worse for people already saddled with discrimination and disadvantage.
Take the rise of household debt in working-and middle-class families, the first issue I worked on at Demos. The volume of credit card debt Americans owed had tripled over the course of the 1990s, and among cardholders, Black and Latinx families were more likely to be in debt. In the early 2000s, when I began working on the issue, bankruptcies and foreclosures were rising and homeowners, particularly Black and brown homeowners, were starting to take equity out of their houses through strange new mortgage loans—but the problem of burdensome debt and abusive lending wasn’t registering on the radar of enough decision makers. Few politicians in Washington knew what it was like to have bill collectors incessantly ringing their phones about balances that kept growing every month. So, in 2003, Demos launched a project to get their attention: the first-ever comprehensive research report on the topic, with big, shocking numbers about the increase in debt. The report included policy recommenda-tions about how to free families from debt and avoid a financial melt-down. Our data resulted in newspaper editorials, meetings with banks, congressional hearings, and legislation to limit credit card rates and fees.
Two years later, Congress took action—and made the problem of rising debt worse. Legislators passed a bankruptcy reform bill sup-ported by the credit industry that made it harder for people ever to escape their debts, no matter how tapped out they were after a job loss, catastrophic medical illness, or divorce. The law wasn’t good for consumers, did nothing to address the real problems in family finances, and actually made the problem worse. It was a bad economic policy decision that benefited only lenders and debt collectors, not the public. This was a classic example of the government not doing the simple thing that aligned with what most Americans wanted or what the data showed was necessary to solve a big problem. Instead, it did the opposite. Why?
Well, for one thing, our inability to stop bankruptcy reform made me realize the limits of research. The financial industry and other corporations had spent millions on lobbying and campaign donations to gin up a majority in Congress, and many of my fellow advocates walked away convinced that big money in politics was the reason we couldn’t have nice things. And I couldn’t disagree—of course money had influenced the outcome.
But I’ll never forget something that happened on the last day I spent at the Capitol presenting Demos’s debt research to members of Congress. I was walking down the marble hallway of the Russell Senate Office Building in my new “professional” shoes—I was twenty-five years old—when I stopped to adjust them because they kept slipping off. When I bent down, I was near the door of a Senate office; I honestly can’t remember if it belonged to a Republican or a Democrat. I heard the bombastic voice of a man going on about the deadbeats who had babies with multiple women and then declared bankruptcy to dodge the child support, using the government to avoid personal responsibility. There was something in the senator’s invective that made my heart rate speed up. I stood and kept moving, my mind racing. Had we advocates entirely missed something about the fight we were in? We had been thinking of it as a class issue (with racial disparities, of course), but was it possible that, at least for some of the folks on the other side of the issue, coded racial stereotypes were a more central player in the drama than we knew?
I left Capitol Hill, watching the rush hour crush of mostly white people in suits and sneakers heading home after a day’s work in the halls of power, and felt stupid. Of course, it’s not as if the credit card companies had made racial stereotypes an explicit part of their communications strategy on bankruptcy reform. But I’d had my political coming-of-age in the mid-1990s, when the drama of the day was “ending welfare as we know it,” words that helped Bill Clinton hold on to the (white) political center by scapegoating (Black) single mothers for not taking “personal responsibility” to escape poverty. There was nothing explicit or conclusive about what I’d overheard, but perhaps the bankruptcy reform fight—also, like welfare, about the de-servingness and character of people with little money—was playing out in that same racialized theater, for at least one decision maker and likely more.
I felt frustrated with myself for being caught flat-footed (literally, shoe in hand!) and missing a potential strategic vulnerability of the campaign. I’d learned about research and advocacy and lobbying in the predominantly white world of nonprofit think tanks, but how could I have forgotten the first lessons I’d ever learned as a Black person in America, about what they see when they see us? About how quick so many white people could be to assume the worst of us . . . to believe that we wanted to cheat at a game they were winning fair and square? I hadn’t even thought to ask the question about this seemingly nonracial financial issue, but had racism helped defeat us?
Product details
- Publisher : One World (February 16, 2021)
- Language : English
- Hardcover : 448 pages
- ISBN-10 : 0525509569
- ISBN-13 : 978-0525509561
- Item Weight : 1.65 pounds
- Dimensions : 6.35 x 1.35 x 9.54 inches
- Best Sellers Rank: #16,157 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #23 in Sociology of Class
- #59 in Cultural Anthropology (Books)
- #95 in Discrimination & Racism
- Customer Reviews:
About the author

Heather McGhee designs and advances policy solutions to inequality. The former president of the think tank Demos, McGhee drafted legislation, testified before Congress, and became a regular contributor on news shows including NBC’s Meet the Press. Now the chair of Color of Change, the nation's largest online racial justice organization, McGhee holds a BA in American Studies from Yale University and a JD from the University of California at Berkeley School of Law. She lives in Brooklyn with her husband, her twenty year-old cat and their chatty toddler.
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The Zero-Sum Paradigm is the belief that there is not enough to go around, that in order for one to succeed, someone must lose. It's a belief that has haunted America since its inception, beginning with slavery, and, in our time, racism, (a.k.a. "the fear of the other"). The Solidarity Dividend, on the other hand, are the benefits we gain when people come together across race to accomplish what we simply cannot do on our own. Quite simply, that is the point of Heather McGhee's book--that people truly do need each other, and when working together they achieve the American Dream.
The author illustrates how the fear of "the other" is not only irrational, but has led to a number of clearly irrational--and costly--public policies; policies that have hurt both black and white Americans equally alike, many of which she cites, beginning with the building of public pools in the early twentieth century, pools sometimes big enough to hold thousands of swimmers.
RACISM DRAINED THE POOL -- Rather than share the pool with the local black community, a number of towns instead chose to drain them, and in some cases fill them in with dirt, and pave them over with concrete (as examples, she cites Warren, Ohio, and Montgomery, West Virginia). Where did white people (who through their property taxes paid for the pool) take their children to swim? To private clubs, where they paid for the privilege with stiff membership fees.
PUBLIC EDUCATION -- Another example is public education, where, in wealthy white communities (she sites Houston, Texas), white families refuse to send their children, choosing instead to send them to costly all-white private schools. The result is a generation of kids who feel superior and entitled, and ultimately unable to cope in a changing world.
Another example, is government funding of higher education, such as the G.I. Bill, and publicly funded colleges (she cites City University of New York, and the University of California system). The massive public investment wasn't considered charity; as individual states saw a return of three to four dollars back for every dollar it invested in public colleges. However, at some point law makers, from California to Washington D.C., yielded to short-sighted politics, and began cutting budgets, thereby shifting the cost of a higher education onto students in the form of student loans. Such policies hurt black and white students alike, with high-interest loans that take several years--even decades--to pay off.
SUBPRIME HOUSE LOANS -- Remember the global financial crisis of 2008? The cause was blamed on poor-lending practices (in the form of subprime loans) encouraged by the federal government's push to make home ownership easier for African Americans. The author presents statistics that reveal this not to have been the case at all. In fact, most of these subprime loans were not intended for first-time home buyers, but rather were loans designed to refinance existing home loans at a lower interest rate. Indeed, many disproportionally Black homeowners were targeted by aggressive mortgage brokers and lenders. An analysis conducted by the Wall Street Journal in 2007, revealed that the majority of subprime loans were sold to Black home owners who could have qualified for less expensive prime loans. So, why would homeowners switch to subprime loans in the first place, when it meant higher monthly payments, refinance fees, plus a higher debt burden? The short answer is they were never informed.
It turns out a number of these homeowners were making monthly payments and well on their way to paying off their home loan, and actually owning their own house. However, when the economy went south, they could no longer make monthly payments and, as a result, lenders foreclosed on them and took their home.
Why did this happen? Greed, says the author. "I'm sure most of the people in the industry (who made lots of money pushing subprime loans on unsuspecting Black homeowners) would claim not to have a racist bone in their body--in fact, I heard those exact words from representatives of lending companies in the aftermath of the crash. But history might counter: What is racism without greed? It operates on multiple levels. Individual racism, whether conscious or unconscious, gives greedy people the moral permission to exploit others in ways they never would with people whom they empathized with."
VOTING DOWN COLLECTIVE BARGAINING -- The author went to a Nissan Assembly plant in Canton, Mississippi, to find out why auto workers rejected collective bargaining. The victories unions won reshaped work for us all, she writes. "The forty-hour workweek, worker compensation, employee health insurance and retirement benefits--all these components of a 'good job' came from collective bargaining and union advocacy in the late 1930s and '40s. And the power to win these benefits came from solidarity--Black, white, and brown men and women, immigrant and native-born." Indeed, unions made the American middle class. So, why was it rejected in Canton, Mississippi, and, for that matter, throughout the South? The antiunion forces won in part by turning the union into a sign of weakness, as a refuge for the "lazy". Writes the author: "The word union itself seemed to be a dog-whistle in the South, code for undeserving people of color who needed a union to compensate for some flaw in their character."
RELIGION AND RACISM -- On her journey, the author met two white Evangelical ministers: pastor Daniel Hill, of River City Church, in Chicago, and Reverend Jim Wallis (retired). Both lead (or have led) deliberately multicultural churches.
Explaining the mission of his church, Pastor Hill said, "Well, Revelations 7:9 is a vision of heaven that is every tongue and every tribe that God's ever created." Furthermore, Pastor Hill says, "It's impossible to have a meaningful relationship with Jesus and not care about evil in our day and age. The ideology of white supremacy is, if not the premier form of evil, it's at least one of the clearest forms of evil on a large scale in our day and age."
Reverend Wallis confided to her of speaking to the heads of the several major Christian denominations in America. "Now," he told them, "you all have been told or taught or learned how slavery was common, and slavery was all over the world. We Christians, in fact--British and American--were the ones who decided that we couldn't do to Indigenous people and kidnapped Africans what we were doing, if they were indeed people made in the image God.
"So, we said they weren't. They weren't humans made in the image of God. What we did we threw away 'Image Dei'. We threw it away to justify what we were doing . . . white supremacy was America's original sin . . . At the heart of the sin was a lie," he said.
THE SOLIDARITY DIVIDEND -- The author's search for the American Dream ended in Lewiston, Maine, where in the presence of shuttered businesses on Main Street, and closed manufacturing plants on the edge of town, it appeared the American Dream had come to an end. Lewiston was an example of a town where the nation's textile industry had once thrived, but as with so many towns in northeastern United States, the big manufacturing companies had moved to the American South for cheaper labor, and eventually to China and Southeast Asia.
However, a closer look on the next street revealed that many of the stores and shops had reopened for business, and one street over from that the public school had reopened its doors to teach children again. The secret of Lewiston's renewed success was something of an accident: in the early 1990s the U.S. government accepted thousands of refugees from the Somali Civil War and resettled many of them in the now-empty towns in New England, such as Lewiston.
Writes the author: "Lewiston is not alone in this new wave of new people; for the past twenty years, Latinx, African, and Asian immigrants have been repopulating small towns across America. Pick a state, and you'll find this story in one corner or another." Further on, she writes: "Towns across the Texas Panhandle have been drying up and losing populations for years, but the potato farming stronghold of Dallart grew by 7 percent from 1990 to 2016 because of Latinx families. Low-paid farmland food-processing work is what draws foreign-born people to these small towns at first, for sure. But once there, immigrants have, as European immigrants did a century ago, started businesses, gained education, and participated in civic life . . . Today's immigrants of color are revitalizing rural America."
A NEW WORLD -- In summary, the author concludes: "This moment is challenging us to finally settle this question: Who is an American, and what are we one to another? We have to admit that the question is harder for us than in most other countries, because we are the world's most radical experiment in democracy, a nation of ancestral strangers that has to work to find connection even as we grow more diverse every day.
"But everything depends on the answer to this question. Who is an American, and what are we one to another? Politics offers two visions of why all the peoples of the world have met here: one in which we are nothing more than competitors, and another in which perhaps the proximity of so much difference forces us to admit our common humanity.
"The choice between these two visions has never been starker. To a nation riven with anxiety about who belongs, many in power have made it their overarching goal to sow distrust about the goodness of the Other. They are holding on, white knuckled, to a tiny idea of 'We the People', denying the beauty of what we are becoming. They're warning that demographic changes are the unmaking of America. What I've seen on my journey is that they are the fulfillment of America. What they say is a threat is, in fact, our country's salvation--for when a nation founded on a belief in racial hierarchy truly rejects that belief, then and only then will we have discovered a New World."
"The Sum of Us" is not an easy read for us white Americans, not at all. It can be excruciating. McGhee goes into every corner of our social, political, industrial and economic systems unsparingly, with history- and data-driven facts, and it’s never been made clearer to me just how pervasive racism is, how it was deliberately mapped out and built in—what that word “systemic” really means.
But I never, ever felt stigmatized or belittled. I never got that “Now YOU are the despised ‘other’” message I sometimes get from antiracist polemicists.
McGhee is profoundly merciful and even startlingly empathetic to us white folks, telling us how the upper echelon has bamboozled us into our untenable position, how much racism hurts us as well, its blowback hitting us too (as in toxic environments we mistakenly think we're safe from 'cause we're across "the tracks"), sometimes in even greater numbers than it does people of color, since there are more of us.
Her most vivid, urgent message is how much we can help ourselves by letting go of the lie of the “Zero-Sum Economic Model” that keeps us in constant fear and resentment by telling us that if those "others" gain anything, we will lose something— when in truth, an economic boom for Black Americans would expand both our public and private economies exponentially, and bring more prosperity to us all.
It’s the concept of the “solidarity dividend”—that whites could improve our lot (for we are struggling too, all over) by finding common cause with Black Americans, how it has already been proven that this happens when we make the effort and overcome our irrational fear.
Black America is a treasure we’ve buried at the behest of not just the hateful, vengeful former Confederacy and its Northern industrial and banking partners, but of the political ruling class, who want us to trust them more than each other. Remember that “trickle-down” mantra, about how we white folks on the floor would catch the best crumbs from the plutocrats’ table? It’s a baldly false promise.
Politicians helped raise up a prosperous white middle class with racially exclusionary government programs like the New Deal and the G.I. Bill, proving that government could do great things-- for us. Then, once so many of us were thriving, they convinced us that such government programs were downright evil-- and the beneficiaries lazy freeloaders-- when they benefited nonwhites. So now, there are no such bold, broad programs for anybody, of any race, but whites are brainwashed to console ourselves with the illusion that at least we’re not at the very bottom of the boat.
McGhee’s inspired, perfect recurring analogy is government-subsidized public pools, built for us in a midcentury surge, but that we shut down rather than comply with court orders to admit Black swimmers. The result? No one had a pool except rich people. And many of the remnants of that spite are still there in the shells of these public pools, still empty or half-buried like fossils, visions of a resource we decided we’d rather waste than share.
McGhee really reads our beads here. I promise you will twist and cringe if you’re white (though I hope Black readers scarf this book up too, so they’re armed with both its merciful vision and its irrefutable arguments). But you’ll see a path to redemption—our own.
Throughout this book, and leavening the pain, McGhee’s love for this country shines through, She ultimately endorses the idea of a true American Exceptionalism, reminding us that our work is so difficult-- so scarred with false starts, failures, conflicts and backlash-- because we’re still a new country, relatively, and because no one has ever tried anything like this before.
“Who is an American, and what are we to one another?” she writes. “We have to admit that this question is harder for us than in most other countries, because we are the world’s most radical experiment in democracy: a nation of ancestral strangers that has to work to find connection even as we grow more diverse every day.” After the rough ride we've taken in "The Sum of Us," it’s indescribably wonderful to hear our country affirmed-- and by a Black American woman, no less-- as young, radical, unprecedented and still brimming with potential.













