The Undertow

1. America's Condition: A Season of Coming Apart

The peril in which the country finds itself now is not natural; it is in the broadest sense of our own American making.

A nation unraveling. The author frames the current American landscape as a "season of coming apart," characterized by a pervasive sense of unease and impending crisis. This feeling is likened to being pulled by an "undertow" into deep, jagged waters, reflecting both environmental threats like wildfires and floods, and social fragmentation. The metaphor extends to the psychological state of many Americans, feeling trapped in a perilous situation of their own collective creation.

Delusion and distortion. A central theme is the power of delusion, particularly the recurring lie of "Whiteness," which the author capitalizes to emphasize its constructed nature as a racial identity. This delusion, often performed, disguises and reveals itself through desires, anger, and hate, distorting grief into fury. The author suggests that many narratives, like the sheriff's stunt with a fake weapon, highlight how "things that aren’t real can still hurt you."

Seeking new narratives. Despite the pervasive sense of dissolution, the book seeks a "thread of imagination" and moments of generosity and solidarity. It uses the songs of Harry Belafonte ("Day-O") and Leadbelly ("Goodnight, Irene") as anchors against the undertow, suggesting that new songs and better words are needed to navigate the current condition and reveal fault lines within our fears.

2. Music as a Code for Hope and Resistance

“All our songs are filled with metaphor and filled with subtext, and we’re always codifying.”

Belafonte's coded defiance. Harry Belafonte, a radiant figure of the mid-20th century, masterfully used his music and celebrity to challenge racial norms and advocate for civil rights. His hit "Day-O" (The Banana Boat Song), often perceived as a charming novelty, was for him a work song, a protest song, encrypted with meanings of oppression and the longing for freedom. He deliberately "sub-verted" popular songs, making them his own while embedding messages of resistance.

Art as a hammer. Belafonte viewed television as a powerful tool, a "hammer" to break chains. His 1959 special, Tonight with Belafonte, was a radical hour of network TV, featuring chain-gang songs, spirituals, and diverse Black artists like Odetta, defying network and sponsor demands for "safe" entertainment. He leveraged his "pay-or-play" contract to ensure artistic freedom, even if it meant being blacklisted for refusing to segregate his cast.

Solidarity and sacrifice. Belafonte's commitment extended beyond performance; he was a crucial financier and confidant for Martin Luther King Jr., bankrolling the movement and providing safe haven. His willingness to risk his career and even his life, as during the Mississippi Freedom Summer, demonstrated his belief in collective action and the power of shared humanity, using his fame to amplify the voices of the oppressed and summon care for one another.

3. Trumpism: The Prosperity Gospel of Winning and Rage

Trump knew his followers wanted what he had, and that what Trump had, that for which the plane and the gold and all the “green,” too, were merely symbols, was the freedom from want, economic and racial.

The allure of "winning." Trump's rallies tapped into a profound longing for "greatness" and an end to shame, transforming raw emotions like lust, envy, and anger into a collective sensation of solidarity and anticipation. His appeal transcended traditional politics, channeling the tension of the prosperity gospel – an American religion of winning that promises tangible, measurable "amazing results" for believers.

Vulgarity as candor. Trump's rhetorical style, characterized by vulgarity, smirks, and digressions, was perceived by his followers not as vanity but as the "public intimacy of a man utterly himself." His parables, like "The Snake" (a warning against immigrants) and "The Bullet" (a fictional account of General Pershing executing Muslim terrorists with pig-blood-soaked bullets), resonated by giving voice to unspoken desires for vengeance and strength, making the fantastical wealth and power he embodied feel imaginable and accessible.

A blessing of power. For Trump's "people," his strength was a blessing, a secularized prosperity gospel that offered deliverance here and now. His impious persona didn't reject faith but returned it to the roots of Christian business conservatism, where success was visible evidence of divine favor. This allowed followers to embrace his perceived racism and vulgarity, believing that his actions, however crude, were a necessary prelude to the "winning to come," a collective dream of violence and triumph over perceived enemies.

4. Modern Faith: A Theology of Fun and Superficiality

“I think fun is a big word,” he said.

Gospel of cool. Pastor Rich Wilkerson Jr.'s Vous Church embodies a "theology of gentrification," rebranding fundamentalist Christianity with a minimalist, hip-hop-infused aesthetic. Born from a reality TV show and propelled by celebrity connections like Kanye West, Vous prioritizes "fun" and lifestyle choices over deep theological engagement or social justice. The church's spectacle, from pulsing lights to praise bands, creates an "intimate" experience that erases the impoverished surroundings of its repurposed middle school venue.

Prosperity as righteousness. Rich's spiritual authority stems from his blessed upbringing and removal from suffering, presenting prosperity as a just reward for "righteousness"—defined less as morality and more as a desirable "look" and good habits. He preaches "positivity" and "taking control" of one's life, deflecting questions about systemic issues like poverty or racism by dismissing them as "deep" or "not cool."

Staging the divine. Rich's ministry is a meticulously staged performance, where Scripture is a script and encounters with celebrities are "collisions with Christ." He distills complex spiritual legacies into easily consumable messages, using fashion as evangelism and social media to cultivate his image. This approach, however, leaves a "spiritual void," as evidenced by the church's reluctance to engage with the actual needs of its community or allow unscripted interactions, prioritizing a curated message over genuine connection.

5. The Manosphere: A Digital Echo Chamber of Male Grievance

A red-pill moment, explained one men’s rights activist (MRA), “is the day you decide nothing looks the same.”

The "red pill" awakening. The manosphere is a vast online network dedicated to men's issues, often characterized by hostility towards women and feminism. The "red pill" concept, borrowed from The Matrix, signifies an awakening to women's perceived control over the modern world. This "born-again" experience fuels various factions, from pickup artists to "Men Going Their Own Way" (MGTOWs), all united by a sense of male victimhood and grievance.

Satire as rage. Paul Elam, founder of A Voice for Men, uses extreme "provocations" like "Bash a Violent Bitch Month" which he claims are satire, but which also function as a "Bat Signal" for angry men. This language blurs the lines between satire, rage, and a call for solidarity among men who feel marginalized, suicidal, or betrayed by women and society. The movement often reinterprets real male issues—like high suicide rates or false accusations—through a lens of "female privilege."

Conflating victimhood. The manosphere's analysis often mirrors feminist critiques of disposability (e.g., men in dangerous jobs, higher incarceration rates) but twists them into a narrative of "gynocentrism" and "entitlement princesses." This framework obscures the actual convergences of class and gender, making it difficult to address genuine male suffering while simultaneously promoting misogynistic and often delusional views, such as the belief in "female gang-rapers" or the desire to lower the age of consent.

6. The Trumpocene: A Gnostic World of Conspiracy and Internal Enemies

The gospel of Trump, like that of Thomas—noncanonical, antiestablishment—is Gnostic, a form of exclusive knowledge reserved for the faithful, a “truth” you must have the eyes to see.

A new religion of secret knowledge. By his second campaign, Trumpism evolved into a Gnostic religion, offering "exclusive knowledge" to the faithful. This "truth," accessible through "the gut" or "right here" (tapping his temple), bypasses traditional expertise and scholarship. Followers, like Yusif Jones, embraced conspiracy theories—from Democrats being pedophiles to the "deep state" coup against Trump—as self-evident facts, believing Trump was God's "Great White Hope" chosen to expose and eradicate internal enemies.

Codes and revelations. Trump's communication style, including his tweets and public statements, was interpreted as a series of "drops" or "clues" by his followers, particularly QAnon adherents. Every misspelling, strange capitalization, or seemingly contradictory statement was believed to hold deeper meaning, revealing Trump as a "five-dimension chess player" sending messages to the initiated. This created a shared, conspiratorial reality where "truth" was discerned through a collective interpretation of fragmented signals.

The enemy within. The shift from "Make America Great Again" to "Keep America Great" necessitated the eradication of America's internal enemies. This paranoia, fused with Christian conservatism's "spiritual war" against dark powers, identified "waterless canals" like Democrats, the media, and even disloyal Republicans as agents of evil. Trump's televised COVID briefings became mass spectacles for disseminating these codes, transforming public health measures into evidence of a hidden war and reinforcing the belief that a "Great Awakening" was imminent, requiring a "purge" of the godless.

7. Ashli Babbitt: A Martyr for a Fractured Nation

“#Sayhername,” the patriots will tweet, delighting in their twisting of a campaign created for Black women killed by police.

A death transformed. Ashli Babbitt's death on January 6, 2021, became an immediate flashpoint, transforming her into a martyr for the Trumpist cause. Her image, actions, and the circumstances of her death were quickly co-opted and reinterpreted by patriots, who used her as a symbol of White grievance and a call for "revolution." This narrative deliberately twisted existing social justice campaigns, like #SayHerName, to serve a different, often contradictory, political agenda.

Conflicting realities. The events surrounding Babbitt's death are presented through a "seesaw reality," where facts are fluid and interpretations are deeply polarized. While official reports detail her climbing through a broken window during a riot and being shot by a Capitol Police lieutenant, her supporters portray her as an innocent "sixteen-year-old" girl, a "lamb of God," or a "first Patriot Martyr" of a "Second American Revolution." This deliberate blurring of fact and fiction fuels the ongoing sense of conflict.

The politics of grief. Babbitt's mother, Mikki Witthoeft, publicly expressed profound grief and fury, accusing the "Goddamned media" of misrepresenting her daughter and demanding to know "Why don't people know who Ashli Babbitt is?" This personal sorrow is weaponized, becoming a rallying cry for those who feel their own "Whiteness" is under attack. Her death, whether seen as a tragic consequence of delusion or a heroic sacrifice, serves as a potent symbol in the ongoing "spiritual war" and the imagined civil conflict.

8. The Great Acceleration: A Society Preparing for Imagined War

“The thing to worry about is meanings, not appearances.”

Erosion of shared reality. The post-Roe v. Wade landscape, coupled with the ongoing fallout from January 6, reveals a society where "meanings" are increasingly fractured, leading to a "great acceleration" of fragmentation. Events like the overturning of Roe, the rise of militias, and the proliferation of conspiracy theories (e.g., "a thousand-year White Boy Summer") are not just political shifts but symptoms of a deeper societal unraveling, where historical context and shared understanding are replaced by individual, often contradictory, narratives.

The macabre in the mainstream. The author encounters individuals like Rob Brumm, a militiaman who views abortion through the lens of military readiness, calculating "bodies that never make it to my front line" for a future war with China. This "macabre" thinking, once marginal, has flowed into the mainstream, where concerns about declining birth rates, perceived invasions, and civil war are interconnected with personal grievances and a readiness for armed conflict.

Accelerationism and its dangers. The concept of "accelerationism"—hastening the end of a liberal order—is embraced by various factions, from fascists to anarchists, leading to a "schizowave" of colliding images and ideologies. This desire to "burn it all down" manifests in real-world violence, mass shootings, and political decisions designed to provoke conflict. The author suggests that this "great acceleration" is a simultaneous explosion and collapse of meaning, where the instinct to destroy is fueled by a profound sense of fear and a longing for a "future more modern."

9. Survival Through Collective Action and Embracing Loss

“The good fight is the one you lose.”

Beyond winning and losing. The concluding section introduces Lee Hays of the Weavers, a socialist folk singer who believed in the power of "four-part harmony" as a metaphor for collectivism. His philosophy, "The good fight is the one you lose," suggests that true change and survival come not from triumphant victory but from embracing struggle, acknowledging loss, and finding solidarity in shared humanity, even in defeat. This contrasts sharply with the "light-eating vanity of Trumpism" and its relentless pursuit of "winning."

The power of "sub-versions." Hays, like his idol Leadbelly, created "sub-versions" of songs, embedding radical messages within familiar tunes and adapting them to new contexts. This agile approach to language and art, "zipping" radical words into hymns, offered a means of resistance and communication in hostile environments. It highlights the importance of creative adaptation and the understanding that "no song belonged wholly to anyone," encouraging sharing and transformation rather than rigid adherence to purity.

Mourning as a miracle. The author reflects on the pervasive anger and grief in America, suggesting that "mourning is a miracle." This perspective, offered by Pastor Pete Garza, who himself experienced profound loss and violence, points to the necessity of acknowledging pain and loss as a path to healing and connection. The story of the "Book of Hot Dog"—a simple act of kindness saving a suicidal man—underscores that genuine human connection and empathy, rather than grand ideological battles, might be the true means of survival in a fractured world.