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Kang Nguyen Nguyen من عند Hoz y Costean, Huesca, إسبانيا من عند Hoz y Costean, Huesca, إسبانيا

قارئ Kang Nguyen Nguyen من عند Hoz y Costean, Huesca, إسبانيا

Kang Nguyen Nguyen من عند Hoz y Costean, Huesca, إسبانيا

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كنت مستاء بشكل فظيع وكنت على وشك نوبة غضب عندما انتهيت من هذا الكتاب. لقد كنت غاضبًا جدًا من إيثان طوال الكتاب لأنني شخص كاذب يركز على نفسه. كنت متعاطفة حقًا مع زينة ، رغم أن صوتها كان مزعجًا إلى حد ما. أعتقد أنه إذا كانت إيثان ستحبها دون قيد أو شرط وتهتم بها ، فإنها تتوق إلى أن تكون أكثر ثقة وأقل من كونها مصابة بنقص السكر في الدم.

kangng

Isabel Wilkerson used ethnographic methodology in her story to explore migration of black citizens from the rural south into northern and western American cities. She weaves intimate stories of three individuals in with historical content; however, the individual narratives are broken up throughout the book. This tended to make my thoughts with the flow of the book more scattered as I tried to keep track of where she was in a particular story. I believe she provided a credible understanding of the cultural, social, and economic forces impelling many members of southern communities to leave and resettle in specific areas. The structure of the book also distorted the historical flow of the migration story and in the process seemed to provide more repetition of facts. I struggled between giving the book a "liked it" or "really liked it" rating. As generations pass I think it is important to share the stories of the struggles and triumphs that brought us to this point in history. Even though I read this book a bit slower and had to renew the book from the library several times, I appreciated that Isabel Wilkerson's extensive research brought this time frame a bit more to life with more than dry facts. As I read the book, many memories resurfaced of incidences when I was with black friends in the late 1960's and early 1970's. One memory I'd like to share did not involve a friend, but rather a trip below the Mason-Dixon line. My husband and I were hitchhiking and had just boarded a truck when we heard the police siren. The white policeman asked the driver for his license, turned to us and then asked, "Are you all related?" Our mothers did not raise any fools and I instantly knew he stopped us because we were white and the driver was black. It made me mad that the policeman did this. I pulled out the Army order papers for my husband and said as diplomatically as I could, "We needed to get to the Army base and this gentlemen kindly offered to drive us there." Thankfully the policemen decided he didn't want to mess with the Army and let us go on our way.