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Frontmatter -- Contents -- Illustrations -- Tables -- Preface to the Princeton Classics Edition -- Preface to the 2005 Edition -- Acknowledgments -- Introduction -- Part One. Arsenal -- 1. "Arsenal of Democracy" -- 2. "Detroit's Time Bomb": Race and Housing in the 1940s -- 3. "The Coffin of Peace": The Containment of Public Housing -- Part Two. Rust -- 4. "The Meanest and Dirtiest Jobs": The Structures of Employment Discrimination -- 5. "The Damning Mark of False Prosperities": The Deindustrialization of Detroit -- 6. "Forget about Your Inalienable Right to Work": Responses to Industrial Decline and Discrimination -- Part Three. Fire -- 7. Class, Status, and Residence: The Changing Geography of Black Detroit -- 8. "Homeowners' Rights": White Resistance and the Rise of Antiliberalism -- 9. "United Communities Are Impregnable": Violence and the Color Line -- Conclusion. Crisis: Detroit and the Fate of Postindustrial America -- Appendix A. Index of Dissimilarity, Blacks and Whites in Major American Cities, 1940-1990 -- Appendix B. African American Occupational Structure in Detroit, 1940-1970 -- Abbreviations in the Notes -- Notes -- Index

Once America's "arsenal of democracy," Detroit has become the symbol of the American urban crisis. In this reappraisal of America's racial and economic inequalities, the author asks why Detroit and other industrial cities have become the sites of persistent racialized poverty. He challenges the conventional wisdom that urban decline is the product of the social programs and racial fissures of the 1960s. Weaving together the history of workplaces, unions, civil rights groups, political organizations, and real estate agencies, Sugrue finds the roots of today's urban poverty in a hidden history of racial violence, discrimination, and deindustrialization that reshaped the American urban landscape after World War II. This Princeton Classics edition includes a new preface by the author, discussing the lasting impact of the postwar transformation on urban America and the chronic issues leading to Detroit's bankruptcy.

"This is my story" : Obama, civil rights, and memory -- Obama and the truly disadvantaged : the politics of race and class -- "A more perfect Union"? : the burden of race in Obama's America

In 1936, the great Lincoln historian J.G. Randall provocatively asked, "Has the Lincoln theme been exhausted?" At a moment when close to four thousand Lincoln titles were already in print, it seemed a sensible question, but Randall's answer was, counterintuitively, "no." An advocate of empirical, professional history, Randall lamented that the study of the sixteenth president had been dominated by amateurs. Lincoln, he argued, needed to be brought into the academy and subjected to rigorous research. Randall's summons did not go unheeded. Beginning in the mid-twentieth century, Lincoln attracted some of the most talented historians of the age, among them Richard Hofstadter, David Donald, Eric Foner, and James McPherson. The results were extraordinary. Donald produced what is still the best political biography of Lincoln to date. Foner situated Lincoln's Republican Party in a decades-long struggle over labor, slavery, and territorial expansion. And McPherson turned from finely grained histories of abolition to sweeping accounts of Lincoln's leadership in the first modern war. But as fine as post-Randall Lincoln scholarship was, it did not stanch the flow of new books. Although there is no accurate count, by best estimate about sixteen thousand titles have been published on the sixteenth president of the United States. For those strapped for time, the federally-funded Lincoln Bicentennial Commission compiled a list last year of 155 books that belong on the "essential Lincoln book shelf." Even if a mere 1 percent of the output on Lincoln is indispensable, it might be time, two hundred years after Lincoln's birth, to ask Randall's question again, but this time to answer it differently.

For decades, the French have perceived themselves as immune to the racially polarized politics of the United States, liberated by a national rhetoric of "universalism" and color blindness. What was most striking about the tumult that swept through France last fall was not how distinctly French it was, but how much it looked like the United States during the "long hot summer" of 1967. The parallels were striking—and the lessons for France are grim.