This Is the Fire: What I Say to My Friends About Racism

The year 2020 exposed much of the country to realities about Black life in America. The high-profile deaths of Black men and women in police incidents drove people to the streets. People of color had a disproportionately high percentage of deaths during the COVID-19 epidemic because of low-wage frontline jobs and limited access to medical benefits. President Donald Trump “poured gasoline on” America’s social problems and reflected the nation’s latent bigotry (21). Don Lemon urges empathy and discourse at a time of insurmountable division.

The new generation of activists are young and represent a changing America. They come from multiracial families and accept different sexual orientations. They recognize systemic racism in America, where police officers can shoot a young Black man 20 times if they think he is holding a gun but are slow to arrest a White person after he kills two protestors. To them, the system is broken, and tearing down historically unjust monuments and institutions is justifiable. Lemon swears to his nephew that he will stand against injustice, and he frequently talks with leaders and experts about how change can happen in America. However, he disapproves of buzzwords like defunding the police and cancel culture. These slogans offer simplistic solutions to complex problems and are easy for antagonists to distort. Multicultural movements are also easy to divide across race, gender, and sexual orientation, and Lemon implores them to avoid “what-aboutism” (179).

Importantly, White Americans are joining activist groups and want to be part of social change. However, this means overcoming racial fault lines. It is one thing to be critical of Amy Cooper for claiming that she isn’t a racist when she feigns panic to the police so that they will confront a Black man—but White people in general are quick to change the subject or point to multicultural friends when a topic edges close to race, such as the handwaving that Lemon’s friends gave him after the kitchenware incident. White people must be open to different opinions about race and their own microaggressions without needing a special guide to navigate them.

Donald Trump is symptomatic of an enduring form of White supremacy that ignores inconvenient truths. Picking apart Trump’s defund-the-police commercial, Lemon shows that reducing funding to a bloated, overworked department makes “conservative common sense” (81), but the fear of not having access to help at a critical moment supersedes that logic. Arguments that Confederate monuments are important for national heritage overlook how northern Neo-Nazis appropriate the Confederate flag. Lemon is not surprised that 74 million Americans voted for Trump in 2020 despite his actions over the preceding year, but he is hopeful that Trump and his ilk reflect the “death throes” of White supremacy as changing demographics and greater accountability on the free market render it an unviable business model (164).

Lemon contrasts false leaders and performative social media stunts with real change that requires anger, solidarity, compassion, and vision. He points to Nelson Mandela’s reconciliation commission. Despite its flaws, it represented a meaningful attempt to address the evils of apartheid and create a unifying future for all South Africans. Lemon implores Black Americans to put aside their justified outrage and for Whites to overcome their defensiveness to have a frank discussion about what an ideal America would look like and the measures necessary to create it. If not, he warns, the country will careen into a greater crisis in the future.

Lemon mixes his family life into This Is the Fire as he navigates racism and cultural issues in the US. Once the youngest child in his family, Lemon is now an elder who sees himself as important to shaping his and his family’s future.

Lemon’s father, Wilmon, passed away early in his youth due to complications from diabetes, a reminder of the challenges that Black Americans have with treating chronic conditions. Lemon recalls his father’s work with a prominent Louisiana civil rights attorney and notes that “he’s in every Black person who ever rode the bus in Baton Rouge” (190). His mother, Katherine Clark, is a close confidant who shares his interest in classic movies and offers him a different perspective. When Lemon questioned if his family would have been better off if they were never sold into slavery, his mother recognized both the pain they went through and the opportunities they have today. She hates the racial caricatures in Song of the South and other classic movies yet enjoys the revisionist Gone with the Wind.

Lemon’s grandmother, Mame, grew up during segregation, where she could get only a fifth-grade education and could not vote due to rigged literacy tests. Lemon tells Trushaad about this in his opening letter and compares it to the innovative education he receives today. While filming a CNN special, Lemon learns that Mame’s father was a White overseer who bought her a home and later committed suicide. This leaves Lemon with complicated questions, and more research into his ancestry makes him believe that most African Americans have some White lineage and “Our ability to reconcile that within ourselves may be the key to our nation’s ability to confront the painful aspects of our past” (184).

Lemon venerates his older sister, Leisa, as a “lioness” who helped raise him after his father’s passing (76). In turn, Lemon cared for her child while he was in college. Her sudden passing rattled the family, leaving Lemon wading through a dirge of unpleasant news and Katherine questioning her potential role in her passing. Lemon recognized that Stevante Clark’s outburst during their interview as his own way of navigating grief, unconsciously connecting their mutual suffering. While on the bridge to her funeral, Lemon’s family shared stories and jokes about her as part of the healing process. Her memory reminds the journalist of the importance of remembering loved ones as they were rather than as perfect people.

When Lemon came out, his family welcomed him, and he alludes to his fiancé, Tim, throughout the book. Early on, Lemon recalls joking to Tim when they discussed the low purchase price of Long Island’s real estate in the now ultra-exclusive market. Other times, he notes how Tim’s and other White people’s well-meaning assurances about the kitchenware store incident feel like gaslighting. However, Lemon notes that their time together is less about political issues and more about the dull pleasantries of life. He looks forward to a long marriage and eventually having children of their own.

Lemon addresses the opening letter of This Is the Fire to his nephew, comparing their skin tones, their life experiences, and the challenges ahead. Lemon notes that this generation of children will include a substantial portion of multiracial children, weakening the racial silos that often lead to tensions. In addition, their definition of family—with its growing acceptance of LGBTQ+ people—will differ from that of his generation. However, Lemon knows that age-appropriate conversations about race will be important in the future and warns that their classmates may carry on their parent’s bigotry. Ultimately, though, these changes give him more hope for solving this challenge than any political party or initiative.