The politics of Vietnam was born in the early Cold War when Republicans made a concerted effort to undercut the national security advantage that Democrats enjoyed after a decisive victory in World War II. The years after the war are often remembered as a period when politics stopped at the water’s edge. Nothing could be further from the truth. Although there were a number of factors that moved the US military deep into the jungles of Vietnam, including a “domino theory” positing that if one country fell to communism everything around it would follow, partisan politics was a driving force behind this disastrous strategy. The same political logic and prowess that led President Lyndon Johnson to strengthen the legislative coalition behind his Great Society simultaneously pushed him into a hawkish posture in Southeast Asia.

This chapter traces the emergence of African American confinement literature in the contemporary African American literary tradition over the past six decades, paying careful attention to the subfield’s examination of racialized and gendered confinement in spaces that include but also extend beyond the carceral geographies of jail and prison. Highlighting the centrality of the literary work of former political prisoner and prison abolitionist Angela Y. Davis to the origins and development of this subfield, this chapter demonstrates how works of African American confinement literature fundamentally eclipse the narrow categorization of “prison writing.” These works explore confinement as both a complicated metaphor for and a recurring lived experience within socially and psychically constricting systems of anti-Black racism, gendered social control, racialized economic exploitation, political repression, and incarceration. In sum, authors of contemporary African American confinement literature draw compelling parallels between the confining racist and sexist institutions and practices from previous eras – such as slavery, the convict lease system, chain gang camps, peonage, lynching, and Jim Crow – and those that persist in the contemporary US carceral state, including racial profiling, state violence, prisoner abuse, policing, and the prison-industrial complex.

This chapter begins with the origins of "social justice," a term that emerged among Jesuits in the 1840s and ’50s and then infused the Catholic workers’ movements and social teaching of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. American essayists and activists have used the essay to persuade readers of the productive overlap of two utopian systems: Christianity and (democratic) socialism. This chapter explores five thinkers – Eugene V. Debs, Helen Keller, Peter Maurin, Dorothy Day, and Cornel West – who have been particularly prolific essayists, writing fluently and frequently about social justice in the earliest sense of the word. By recalling the earliest context of the term social justice, this chapter adds another dimension to contemporary debates on everything from Black struggle to economic inequality, from climate justice to equitable representation at all levels of government. The essay form allowed the writers studied in this chapter to articulate in a variety of styles, from the lyrical to the vociferous, the pedagogical to the morally urgent, the need for a compassionate understanding of human wretchedness in an industrialized world bent on breaking the worker.

President Lyndon B. Johnson and Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. stand out as remarkable co-architects of the movement for racial progress and just democracy that marked the decade of the 1960s. Individually, each put an indelible stamp of the civil rights and Great Society eras. Together, for a time, they formed perhaps the most formidable political tandem between a president and social justice movement leader in American history. Yet their relationship was also a fraught one,  filled with creative tension, political conflicts, and personal disappointments. This chapter delves into the arc of Lyndon Johnson and Martin Luther King Jr.’s relationship to tease out the extraordinary ways they were able to galvanize America toward some of the most remarkable achievements of the nation’s Second Reconstruction; yet, by the end of the public political careers, they grew increasingly distant, combative, and disappointed in the other. Ultimately, the chapter argues that, despite their political differences, their evolving relationship helped to fundamentally transform postwar American democracy even as it framed the limits of the political liberalism within which such change could occur.

This chapter responds to the objections raised by critics of moderation beginning with the famous remark of Barry Goldwater in 1964. It makes a case for moderation understood as a rebellious attitude that requires courage and non-conformism. It calls attention to the iinstitutional aspects of moderation that are often ignored or underestimated.