{"product_id":"in-the-shadow-of-statues-isbn-9780525559467","title":"In the Shadow of Statues","description":"\u003cb\u003eThe New Orleans mayor who removed the Confederate statues confronts the racism that shapes us and argues for white America to reckon with its past. A passionate, personal, urgent book from the man who sparked a national debate.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"There is a difference between remembrance of history and reverence for it.\" When Mitch Landrieu addressed the people of New Orleans in May 2017 about his decision to take down four Confederate monuments, including the statue of Robert E. Lee,  he struck a nerve nationally, and his speech has now been heard or seen by  millions across the country. In his first book, Mayor Landrieu discusses his personal journey on race as well as the path he took to making the decision to remove the monuments, tackles the broader history of slavery, race and institutional inequities that still bedevil America, and traces his personal relationship to this history. His father, as state legislator and mayor, was a huge force in the integration of New Orleans in the 1960s and 19070s. Landrieu grew up with a progressive education in one of the nation's most racially divided cities, but even he had to relearn Southern history as it really happened. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEqual parts unblinking memoir, history, and prescription for finally confronting America's most painful legacy, \u003ci\u003eIn the Shadow of Statues\u003c\/i\u003e contributes strongly to the national conversation about race in the age of Donald Trump, at a time when racism is resurgent with seemingly tacit approval from the highest levels of government and when too many Americans have a misplaced nostalgia for a time and place that never existed.\u003cb\u003eOne of \u003ci\u003eTime \u003c\/i\u003emagazine's “Best Memoirs of 2018” \u003cbr\u003eFeatured in \u003ci\u003eNewsweek's\u003c\/i\u003e \"50 Coolest Books to Read This Summer\"\u003cbr\u003eIncluded in \u003ci\u003eEsquire's \u003c\/i\u003e\"Best Nonfiction Books of 2018\"\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“[Mitch Landrieu] has done something, in his speech and his book, that other politicians should emulate. He’s tried to reckon with America’s sins while offering an optimistic, big-hearted and deeply patriotic defense of cosmopolitanism as the source of American greatness.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe New York Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“[A] thought-provoking piece of political writing...Uncomfortable as it might be to think of our country’s history...we have to do so, if we want to live within the truth. Landrieu has shown the way.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Washington Post\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Landrieu is an example of a politician who acknowledges that America’s past isn’t pretty, but he’s also working to shift a damaged culture that he feels has been ignored for too long. This is an inspiring tale that is both political and personal — urging readers to understand the country’s past and the work that is needed to change the present.\"\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eTime\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"[A] compelling reconsideration of what it means to be a Southerner in contemporary America.\"\u003cb\u003e—Esquire.com\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"A powerful manifesto.\"\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eNewsweek\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"A powerful, welcome manifesto in the cause of a new and better South—and a 'better America.'\"\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"[A] timely message of racial reconciliation.\"\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eNational Journal\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Mitch Landrieu takes us on an extraordinarily powerful journey that is both political and personal. With a balance of humility and conviction, he recounts his path to a more profound understanding of racial justice and explains how this journey led him to remove the Confederate monuments in New Orleans. It’s an important book for everyone in America to read, because it shows how intellectual honesty can lead to moral clarity.\" \u003cb\u003e—Walter Isaacson, #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eLeonardo Da Vinci\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eSteve Jobs\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003ePraise for Mitch Landrieu and his May 2017 speech:\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The masterpiece we needed at the moment we needed it” —\u003ci\u003eThe New York Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “A remarkably compelling speech about race in America...stunningly eloquent” —CNN\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Evocative” —POLITICO Magazine\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Courageous, controversial and frankly long overdue” —\u003ci\u003eUS News \u0026amp; World Report\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Eloquence, power and humility” —\u003ci\u003eChicago Tribune\u003c\/i\u003eMitch Landrieu is the mayor of New Orleans. He was elected in 2010 and is now completing his second four-year term. A Democrat, Landrieu served as lieutenant governor of Louisiana from 2004 to 2010. He is also president of the U.S. Conference of Mayors. His father, Moon Landrieu, was mayor of New Orleans from 1970 to 1978 and a leading civil rights pioneer.\u003cb\u003eChapter 1\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e Broadmoor\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Your daddy ruined the city.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I was thirteen when the woman yelled those words at me, a newly      minted eighth grader at Jesuit High School, where my father had      been a star athlete a quarter century before. Earlier that day,      Father Harry Tompson, the principal, a jovial man but quite the      disciplinarian, summoned me to his office. \"There has been a      threat made against your life,\" he said gravely. Someone had      called the switchboard with an alarming message. With a wary eye,      Father Tompson escorted me across Banks Street to the gym, letting      me go in for basketball practice early.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It was 1973, and three years since my father, Moon Landrieu, was      inaugurated as mayor of New Orleans. He had spent those years      fulfilling campaign promises to give African Americans access to      public contracts and jobs in city government, while prodding      hotels and restaurants to do more than simply welcome black      customers-that is, to hire black people above the level of      dishwashers, maids, and bellhops. Segregation practices were      eroding after federal court decisions, which angered and      frightened many whites, who feared the political power of newly      registered African American voters in a city that was still at      that point 65 percent white. New Orleans might have been among the      crown jewels of the South, but with white flight to the suburbs,      the demographics, power structures, and economy were changing      quickly. Today the city is 60 percent black.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e My father was a pragmatist, and a pro-business New Deal-style      Democrat. He was also morally grounded. The credo he stressed to      my siblings and me was simple, if profound: \"Be honest, and be      fair.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Growing up, I was vaguely aware of my dad taking heat over      politics, but when he sat down for dinner with us, which he did      nearly every night, he didn't mention rabble-rousers who jeered at      City Council meetings. We had free-flowing conversations, warm      with humor, as he asked about us, our lives, what we did that day.      We often had guests in those years, too. But a backlash was      building, and about to catch me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e That day at practice, I joked about the death threat as guys came      into the locker room; everyone thought it was cool. A few minutes      later, one of my friends ran in and said, \"There's some lady      outside calling your name, cursing you, saying she wants to kill      you.\" We did the only thing that teenage boys would do-go outside      and see the threat. From the cement platform above the field-house      steps, I recognized her right away, an older woman who had a fiery      presence in local politics. I had seen her on TV news in the late      sixties, protesting when my father was a councilman-at-large and      they took down the Confederate flag in the City Council chambers.      She kept on protesting after that. As I stood there, she began      yelling profanities. \"You got black blood!\" she finally snarled.      \"That explains it all!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e My friends were riveted. She stuck a hand into her purse. Someone      yelled, \"She has a gun!\" They all scattered, leaving me to face      what was to come. I had a shaky sense that she wouldn't shoot an      unarmed Jesuit prefreshman in cold blood. She pulled out a      business card with her name, wrote on it \"Your father is a nigger      lover,\" and threw it at me. \"He is sending this city to hell!\" she      shouted. Then she bolted off.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I was in a churn of confusion, but what I felt more than anything      was pity. I didn't think that she would hurt me; I could tell that      she was challenged, not in full control-that in some awful way she      was crippled by her beliefs. That night I told my father what had      happened. \"She's harmless,\" he said. I knew he had been dealing      with people like her for some time; his optimism and upbeat      politics registered on me in a calm, steady way. That encounter at      school marked the first time I felt the hater's pain, the      frustration and fury spilling out at things beyond her control. I      have seen this expression of spirit throughout my life since then.      Art and music engage the human heart and transcend time; sadly, so      does hatred. I learned this one early.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e When I announced in 2015 that we were going to take down four      icons of the Confederate past, the front desk at City Hall logged      a flood of calls from people burning with anger. The familiar hate      was back.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"He's ruining this city, just like his father. He's gonna pay!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"He better watch out!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e And yet, other voices from the past came back to comfort me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Say, baby, how's your daddy? Best mayor we had.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Hey, young man! Tell your momma hello! Love that woman.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I cannot remember a time when the issue of race was not part of my      life or our family's. It's like a song that you cannot get out of      your head; it keeps playing over and over. Race is a soundtrack      that stays with me. New voices roll in: hostility at one side; a      benevolent approval-love, if you will-at the other; and a swirl of      voices in the middle range, hashing out what it means to be      American, our common identity as citizens. I take heart that many      white people have traveled far in their views on race. Many young      people embrace diversity as a natural order of things, with no      memory of a South governed by segregationists and white      supremacists. And yet, today's public square teems with hatred of      an intensity we haven't seen since the 1960s. The violence by      white nationalists in Charlottesville, Virginia, shows that hatred      will grow if we do not shine the light of God's love and human      reason on the darkness and chart a path of healing for the country      as a whole.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e New Orleans mirrors a map of the world, a city where people of      many countries have settled, shaping a beloved culture that has      been enriched with jazz, Creole and Cajun cuisine, and so much      more. We've shared culture across racial lines, but we also have      played a seminal role in some of the saddest chapters in American      history. More humans were sold into slavery in New Orleans than      anywhere else in the country. Hundreds of thousands of souls were      sold here, then shipped up the Mississippi River to lives of      forced labor, of misery, of rape, of torture. As we entertain      visitors from around the world along our beautiful riverfront, it      is hard to fathom that at this very spot, ships emptied their      human cargo from Senegal, marching their captives down the street      to what is now one of our famous hotels, but there are no      historical markers on that path. No monuments or flags to the      lives destroyed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e New Orleans is where black Creoles launched a legal challenge to      segregated public transportation, a case that led to the 1896      Supreme Court decision Plessy v. Ferguson, which enshrined Jim      Crow's \"separate but equal\" into law. In 1892 a mixed-race man      named Homer Plessy attempted to board a whites-only train car but      was arrested because he was one-eighth black. Sixty years later,      Freedom Riders coming to New Orleans were beaten to a bloody pulp.      Today, though, even as white identity politics rage, I take      comfort that my city understands that diversity is our strength,      greeting visitors with warmth and a cultural effervescence, even      as we resolve to work hard to evolve and heal. We all have so far      to go.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I'm struck by how often people describe others first by the color      of their skin-black people, African Americans, people of color.      When I think about the people I love and have learned from, I      don't think about their color; I remember their words. My family      set me on a path, but many others helped guide me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"The most important thing to remember is that no one can take away      from you anything that you learn,\" Norman Francis told me when I      was just a boy. Dr. Francis served forty-seven years as president      of Xavier, the historically black Catholic university in New      Orleans. He was one of the first two African American students at      Loyola University New Orleans law school in the 1950s, where he      and my father met and forged their lifelong friendship. Dr.      Francis received a Presidential Medal of Freedom from President      George W. Bush for his work in rebuilding Xavier after Hurricane      Katrina. \"The future belongs to those who are educated,\" Norman      often said in his calm, comforting way.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Other voices echoed that woman's on the steps of the Jesuit gym.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Moon the Coon!\" barked a man when I picked up the phone as a kid,      long before caller ID. The man hung up. I have no clear memory of      my father talking about the hate calls we got; maybe I've blotted      it all out, because the more vivid, lasting memory of my      adolescence is jumping into the car with my dad on Saturdays as he      drove around the city, visiting playgrounds, police stations, fire      stations, and city work sites. The city was in his bloodstream, as      it is in mine.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Maurice Edwin Landrieu was born in 1930, the younger of two      brothers. They grew up on Adams Street, a working-class      neighborhood in the Uptown area. The house was twelve feet wide      and fifty feet deep and faced a graveyard. Dad slept with his      brother, Joe, in the storage room of a storefront grocery run by      my grandma, Loretta Landrieu. My grandpa, Joseph Geoffrey      Landrieu, had a third-grade education and worked for the public      utility company, then called NOPSI, in one of the power stations.      I remember him tenderly; Grandpa Landrieu died when I was seven.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The nickname \"Moon\" was apparently given to Dad from Uncle Joe      early on, that's all we know. Everyone called him Moon, even in      college, law school, and after he established his law practice and      got into politics; in 1969 he had his first name legally changed      to Moon.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e My father, Uncle Joe, and their parents would by any definition      have been classified as working-class poor, but from everything      Dad has told me, his childhood was happy. He never knew or felt      that he was poor. Miraculously, my grandparents steered both sons      to Jesuit, the leading Catholic high school for boys. Dad entered      Loyola University in 1948 on a baseball scholarship, where he met      Father Louis J. Twomey, S.J., an important mentor. Father Twomey      was an adviser to labor unions, and in lectures on ethics at the      law school, insisted that racial segregation was morally wrong.      This was the earliest stirring of the civil rights movement in New      Orleans. Father Twomey hosted organizational meetings for early      civil rights activists. In the 1950s he published a mimeographed      newsletter, \"Christ's Blueprint for the South,\" which was years      ahead of Southern elected officials in advocating for greater      social justice for African Americans.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The other pivotal person from those years in Dad's life was the      woman he would marry. My mother, born Verna Satterlee, met my      father in the 1950s when they were undergraduates at Loyola. Verna      was one of seven children born to Kent Satterlee and Olga Macheca.      Unlike my dad's family, the Satterlees were comfortably middle      class; my mother was born on the corner of South Prieur Street and      General Pershing, just across the street from the house where she      would live most of her life. She had uncommon energy, nerves of      steel, and a heart filled with a servant's spirit. She had gone to      Loyola after high school at Ursuline Academy, the same high school      all five of my sisters and both of my daughters would attend      through middle school.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e When people ask me where my father got his progressive views on      race, it takes a while to explain how the convergence of these      people-Father Twomey, Verna Satterlee, and Norman Francis-changed      Dad's idea of race relations. My parents were both serious young      Catholics. In 1956 Archbishop Joseph Rummel announced that New      Orleans parochial schools would enroll black children-a      controversial move that brought white protesters outside the      Church offices (it took till 1962 to desegregate the schools).      Committed to Rummel's policy no matter how long it took, Twomey      was a driven Jesuit on the right side of history. And Norman      Francis, with his polite tenacity, opened my father's heart and      mind; their friendship sealed Dad's conviction that segregation      laws were morally unjust and economically unfair. He knew that      Norman was every bit as good as himself, but because of his color      he had been denied the benefits that Dad had had every step of the      way. They were tough, courageous, honest, and fair-minded men. But      above all else, they were just friends.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Dad graduated from Loyola two years ahead of Mom. He entered      Loyola law school on an army scholarship that committed him to      service as a military lawyer after graduation. Mom took another      route. She entered an Ursuline convent to train for the life of a      nun. But God had other plans for her. She left the convent; they      married in 1954, at just about the time Dad's friend Norman      married Blanche Macdonald. The Francises had six children; we all      grew up together, the Francis kids a daily reminder that the      racist things some of our white friends said about black people      were untrue according to what my eyes had seen and my ears had      heard. The ties we had with the Francis family-and other black      families as my dad got deeper into politics-shaped my family's      rejection of the racial mentality of the Old South. My dad today      also insists he was being somewhat selfish- because Norman was and      is his best friend, the stances he took were often to benefit      himself.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e After Dad finished law school, my parents moved to Arlington,      Virginia, where the young lawyer worked in the Judge Advocate      General's Corps at the Pentagon. Their first child, Mary Loretta,      was born there in 1955. They moved back to New Orleans in the late      fifties; Dad began practicing law and raising kids. The idea of      electoral office was quite a leap for an attorney approaching      thirty, with four young children and a fifth (yours truly) on the      way; he won a seat in the legislature in 1959 with the support of      the reform mayor deLesseps Story \"Chep\" Morrison.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Louisiana's governor at the time was Jimmie Davis, a      country-western entertainer famous for his song \"You Are My      Sunshine.\" He had served a term as governor in the 1940s and made      a comeback as an avowed segregationist in 1959, at a time when the      Louisiana legislature was purging African Americans from the      voting rolls. Southern white resistance was growing against the      Supreme Court's 1954 Brown v. Board of Education ruling that      racial segregation in schools was unconstitutional. In Baton      Rouge, the legislature in 1960 pushed laws to thwart desegregation      of the schools, which under federal law would soon begin in New      Orleans. Governors like Orval Faubus in Arkansas, Ross Barnett in      Mississippi, and George Wallace in Alabama all used ruses like      this along with fearmongering tactics to keep African Americans      out of white schools and colleges. The racial demagoguery      triggered violent behavior; two men died in the 1962 riot at the      University of Mississippi sparked by the registration of James      Meredith, the first African American student to attend the school.","brand":"Penguin Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46301657333989,"sku":"NP9780525559467","price":16.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780525559467.jpg?v=1767729985","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/in-the-shadow-of-statues-isbn-9780525559467","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}