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flock to us, asking about our backgrounds, where we live, even why my hair is “different” from most African American women’s hair. (White folks never say “not kinky” or “more Black.” They say, “Wow, your hair is so thin!”)

    At some point they tell us every detail about the lovely Black couple who attends their church or lives in their neighborhood. They want to introduce us. The logic goes something like this: They’re nice Black people. The Andersons are nice Black people. Nice Black people will like each other. And if both husbands play basketball, as I’m sure they must, well, we’re working up the Black friendship of a lifetime.
    They try very hard and are well intentioned, and we appreciate it—really. But something starts to grate. Chris Rock jokes about it in his 2009 stand-up routine, Kill the Messenger .
    I will give you an example of how race affects my life. I live in a place called Alpine, New Jersey. My house costs millions of dollars.... In my neighborhood, there are four Black people. Hundreds of houses, four Black people. Who are these Black people? Well, there’s me, Mary J. Blige, Jay-Z and Eddie Murphy.... [M]e, I’m a decent comedian. I’m a’ight. [applause] Mary J. Blige, one of the greatest R&B singers to ever walk the Earth. Jay-Z, one of the greatest rappers to ever live. Eddie Murphy, one of the funniest actors to ever, ever do it. Do you know what the White man who lives next door to me does for a living? He’s a fucking dentist! He ain’t the best dentist in the world . . . he ain’t going to the dental hall of fame . . . he don’t get plaques for getting rid of plaque. He’s just a yank-your-tooth-out dentist. See, the Black man gotta fly to get to somethin’ the White man can walk to.
    In other words, we have to make it to the top 1 percent of the Black population in terms of wealth, education, and professional status just to earn such a welcome into the average, White, middle-class experience. John and I frequently discuss this issue with other Black professionals. Invariably, someone says, “With most White people, except maybe for the rednecks, it’s not about race anymore. It’s about class. They’d probably invite us to dinner before they’d invite some other White couple who works in a factory.”
    Then someone says, “Yeah, but they still don’t want John marrying their daughter!”

    And we all break out laughing. Oh, aren’t we something. How nice it is that we’ve accomplished so much and went about it honestly, despite the obstacles our skin color and our country’s history imposed. Doesn’t this make us different, special, entitled? Haven’t we earned our exemption from the misery that most everyone else in our community endures? Being wonderful is so great.
    Of course, that is only part of the story. The more relevant and painful part involves tensions within the African American community, and we don’t discuss these as often because, although the Johns and Maggies of this country socialize with their White counterparts, they never spend time with the lower classes in the Black community. That gap is widening. It’s an issue discussed by various intellectuals, sociologists, and writers, the most prominent perhaps being the distinguished academic and author William Julius Wilson, who served as a social and public policy adviser to President Bill Clinton.
    Professor Wilson started talking about the importance of class differences in Black America at least as far back as the late 1970s. In his groundbreaking book The Declining Significance of Race , he points out that political, social, and economic changes from about 1950 to the end of the century did away with barriers that restricted economic success to all Blacks. But those barriers have remained for the Black underclass, making life much tougher on them. In addition,