Revisionists have been making their case that the Vietnam War was winnable ever since Lyndon Johnson abandoned hope of a decisive American victory in the spring of 1968. Far more striking, however, is that even in the early 21sth century the idea that the United States stole defeat from the jaws of victory in Vietnam thrives as never before.
The through line for a collision between national anthem, sports, and protest that has persisted from 1968’s black-gloved fists in the air to #TakeAKnee is not as straight as you might believe.
The lessons and legacies of Vietnam in 1968, the year the war turned, are many. What endures above all, however, is a sense of tragedy, the bewilderment of a people who cannot understand to this day what they did wrong.
Because of its messiness, 1968 serves as a productive staging ground for imagining what feminist reproductive politics could mean today.
What happened in the tumultuous 50 years before 1968, why 1968 shaped the 50 years that would follow, and how that pivotal year may yet shape our future.
When Great Britain announced in January 1968 its military withdrawal from colonial holdings bracketing the Indian Ocean, it announced an era of reckoning in which colonial legacy and Islamically-oriented political parties vied for power across the Middle East. Today, Sudan and Yemen remain salient examples of that era's lasting effects.
Those familiar with Sowell’s major works will find little here that has not been argued in his other books. For his fans, this consistency gives his arguments greater validity and provides greater comfort.
What we have in Black Fortune is not just a proto-black version of the Rich and the Famous, although it is on some level precisely that, but also another kind of origin story of the black elite or of a black economic elite or leisure class and how it saw its racial duties, this last being a major obsession with successful blacks.
Growing up, there were few secrets to keep from my parents. When they asked how my day had been, the answer was simple and honest. After all, my days were consistently uneventful: school from 8 to 2:30, the occasional after-school hangout in a park or a neighborhood Starbucks, and then…
There was a time when I had dreams, infrequently but strikingly, that my mother had died. These occurred some years ago when I did not talk to her very regularly or see her often.