Three or More is a Riot: Notes on How We Got Here 2012-2025 by Jelani Cobb
Three or More is a Riot book cover
Author, Dean, and Scholar Jelani Cobb
Big thanks to Random House, One World, and NetGalley for sending
me an advanced copy of Jelani Cobb’s essential and relevant collection of his
writing Three or More is a Riot: Notes on How We Got Here 2012-2025. Cobb,
who is not only a skilled and astute writer whose pieces critically examine
politics, culture, entertainment, and history, is also the current dean of
Columbia’s Graduate School of Journalism. I was really impressed with how deep
and critical he gets with many of the subjects in these pieces, and yet how he
is able to make them so accessible and relevant, and so moving and impactful. I
found myself challenged with maintaining my composure while recounting the
articles that detail some of the most horrific crimes in American history. The essays
that recount the Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church shooting were
emotional and powerful, but not just because of the utter brutality and
violence of the act; it’s Cobb’s focus on the victims and their lives that
gives the piece it’s emotional punch. It’s been some time since I’ve read about
this crime, and yet it’s hard to believe that it happened over 10 years ago. Cobb’s
pieces often provide us with this perspective, understanding the impact on
those whose narratives are often overshadowed by perpetrators or whose voices
have been highjacked by louder, more presumptuous and privileged personalities.
Furthermore, his pieces all help to understand that while these events happened
in the past, we continue to see these clouds on the horizon, recognizing that “Storms
don’t stand still so it’s important to understand what direction they’re headed
in.” He presents this storm metaphor in the epilogue, but I think it’s
important to reinforce this idea from the beginning, especially since these essays
are so informative and educational. I felt like I learned so much from this
collection, and even though I lived through and can remember many of the events
Cobb analyzes in his writing, I gained new perspectives and understandings from
these essays. I feel like so many of these pieces would function well in the
classroom since Cobb provides readers with perspectives that are often
overlooked, forgotten or beaten down, and it’s this fresh look at recent events
(and some older instances of history) that help us better understand our
present situation.
The book is organized into 3 sections that ostensibly grapple
with the complexities of the first Black president (The Parameters of Hope),
the first white president (Winter in America), and some of the unprecedented
events that have occurred since (History Lessens- focused on COVID, 1/6/21,
Impeachment, George Floyd, Hip Hop at 50, and the recent presidential
election). I felt a kinship with Cobb in his use of Gil Scott Heron’s classic
album Winter in America. I found myself listening to this album in 2016
and 2017, pulled by Scott Heron’s mournful, yet also hopeful songs, written in
the aftermath of Watergate. I found the songs both critical and uplifting at
time when things seemed so off kilter. It was interesting to also see Scott
Heron’s music also have relevance in 2025 with One Battle After Another,
another piece of media that critically examines the times we are in. Nevertheless,
Cobb’s use of this title and his reflection on its meaning in 2016 and beyond
were completely relevant. Although the book details critical instances in
recent history like Michael Brown’s death and the loss of other prominent Black
luminaries and leaders like Ruby Dee, Gwen Ifill, Elijah Cummings, and John
Lewis, there were many other essays where I learned so much from Cobb’s reporting
and analysis. For example, in “Hard Tests,” Cobb examines the complexities of
Black leaders in HBCUs in the time of Trump, whose leadership has to walk a
fine line between challenging the implicit racism of statements like DeVos’s
school choice line to ensuring the future viability of HBCUs’ funding through
government support. Cobb mentioned Ellison’s Invisible Man and the
DeBois-Washington debate about the Atlanta Compromise, and I could understand
the kind of complex ambiguity that writers like Ellison and Wright evoked in
their work through characters like Trueblood and Bigger Thomas. The essay about
Stacy Abrams was also revealing in how much we need more efforts to resist
voter suppression and in general how important it can be to maintain state
control of governorships and legislatures. We are witnessing vast efforts to
minimize or outright erase gains from the voting initiatives of the past 60
years. I also loved the two essays about hip-hop- “D-Nice’s Club Quarantine is
What You Need” and “Hip-Hop at Fifty: An Elegy.” I definitely agree with Cobb’s
assessment of “My Name is D-Nice” as a gem, although I wouldn’t call it
semi-obscure. I had no idea about this effort during the pandemic; I was
probably too wrapped up in discovering some older shows or just trying to
navigate having my kids home during the pandemic, but I think that these two
essays offer some of the alternating themes of hope and community and forgetting
and death in others. The “Hip-Hop at Fifty” brings up important issues about
how hip-hop, often viewed as a young person’s game, has struggled with aging. I
remember being shocked about the deaths of Guru, who died at 48 from
complications related to cancer, and Professor X from X-Clan, who also passed
away at 49 from spinal meningitis. I just remember thinking about how these
illnesses were not always fatal, and I wondered how these elder statemen of
hip-hop took care of their health. Cobb touches on some other more recent
deaths, especially Phife Dawg, whose death in 2016 months before the release of
their last album (We Got if From Here…Thank You 4 Your Service) and also
right before the election was both shocking and preventable. It was also
interesting to read this after listening to the latest Public Enemy album Black
Sky Over the Projects: Apartment 2025 where Chuck D, still hitting hard as
hell, reminds listeners that he’s currently a senior citizen. I couldn’t
believe Chuck D is eligible for AARP, but if anything, his hard lyrics are a
reminder of the indomitable nature of his spirit as much as Cobb’s essay is a
reminder of not only the violence and threats to Black men, but also the social
determinants of health that often create these disparities in health care and
life spans. These essays challenged my thinking, and although they resonated
with many of my beliefs and ideas, they also opened me up to new avenues of
thought and perspectives that are too often overlooked, dismissed, or pushed
aside. Cobb’s writing is clear and accessible, but also incredibly moving, even
when he’s dropping science and teaching. Furthermore, even though these essays
span the last 12 years, it is so important to revisit the memories of Trayvon
Martin, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, Tamir Rice, Freddie Gray, and George
Floyd, as well as the victims of the Emanuel AME Church, the Tree of Life
Synagogue, as well as the victims of the Christchurch killings in New Zealand,
especially since we continue to witness the continued dehumanization and
attempts to denigrate other people of color, minorities, and immigrants, and we
see that this current violence is state sanctioned. Voices and perspectives like
Cobb help to remind us about the cost of silence in these periods, as well as
remind us of the communities and hope that can arise after these storms wreak
havoc. I also forgot to mention one of the more powerful and important essays “The
Man Behind Critical Race Theory” from September 2021. I loved reading about Derrick
Bell, whose concern about the implications of desegregation and his fight for
equality was complicated by a long history of violent opposition to equality
and inequities in political and systemic power, was fascinating to learn more
about. It was also essential reading since Bell’s ideas and concerns have been
highjacked by the right whose willful misrepresentations and shameful ignorance
about critical race theory have ultimately lumped it into something that it is
not. If anything, Cobb’s essay helps to elucidate the complications of inequality,
representation, power, and access that Bell was wrestling with, and presents a
fuller, more complete picture than is often provided. Toni Morrison once wrote
in Beloved that “Definitions belong to the definers, not the defined,”
and sadly bad actors like Christopher Rufo have plunged the public into willful
ignorance about this important topic by rebranding Bell’s ideas as toxic.
However, Cobb’s essay paints a more realistic and complete picture not just of
the ideas, but also of Bell’s interesting life and continued fight against the
system. It was one of the many stand-out essays that I loved reading in this
collection and will probably revisit again. Highly recommended and important
reading!
Big thanks to Random House, One World, and NetGalley for sending
me an advanced copy of Jelani Cobb’s essential and relevant collection of his
writing Three or More is a Riot: Notes on How We Got Here 2012-2025. Cobb,
who is not only a skilled and astute writer whose pieces critically examine
politics, culture, entertainment, and history, is also the current dean of
Columbia’s Graduate School of Journalism. I was really impressed with how deep
and critical he gets with many of the subjects in these pieces, and yet how he
is able to make them so accessible and relevant, and so moving and impactful. I
found myself challenged with maintaining my composure while recounting the
articles that detail some of the most horrific crimes in American history. The essays
that recount the Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church shooting were
emotional and powerful, but not just because of the utter brutality and
violence of the act; it’s Cobb’s focus on the victims and their lives that
gives the piece it’s emotional punch. It’s been some time since I’ve read about
this crime, and yet it’s hard to believe that it happened over 10 years ago. Cobb’s
pieces often provide us with this perspective, understanding the impact on
those whose narratives are often overshadowed by perpetrators or whose voices
have been highjacked by louder, more presumptuous and privileged personalities.
Furthermore, his pieces all help to understand that while these events happened
in the past, we continue to see these clouds on the horizon, recognizing that “Storms
don’t stand still so it’s important to understand what direction they’re headed
in.” He presents this storm metaphor in the epilogue, but I think it’s
important to reinforce this idea from the beginning, especially since these essays
are so informative and educational. I felt like I learned so much from this
collection, and even though I lived through and can remember many of the events
Cobb analyzes in his writing, I gained new perspectives and understandings from
these essays. I feel like so many of these pieces would function well in the
classroom since Cobb provides readers with perspectives that are often
overlooked, forgotten or beaten down, and it’s this fresh look at recent events
(and some older instances of history) that help us better understand our
present situation.
The book is organized into 3 sections that ostensibly grapple
with the complexities of the first Black president (The Parameters of Hope),
the first white president (Winter in America), and some of the unprecedented
events that have occurred since (History Lessens- focused on COVID, 1/6/21,
Impeachment, George Floyd, Hip Hop at 50, and the recent presidential
election). I felt a kinship with Cobb in his use of Gil Scott Heron’s classic
album Winter in America. I found myself listening to this album in 2016
and 2017, pulled by Scott Heron’s mournful, yet also hopeful songs, written in
the aftermath of Watergate. I found the songs both critical and uplifting at
time when things seemed so off kilter. It was interesting to also see Scott
Heron’s music also have relevance in 2025 with One Battle After Another,
another piece of media that critically examines the times we are in. Nevertheless,
Cobb’s use of this title and his reflection on its meaning in 2016 and beyond
were completely relevant. Although the book details critical instances in
recent history like Michael Brown’s death and the loss of other prominent Black
luminaries and leaders like Ruby Dee, Gwen Ifill, Elijah Cummings, and John
Lewis, there were many other essays where I learned so much from Cobb’s reporting
and analysis. For example, in “Hard Tests,” Cobb examines the complexities of
Black leaders in HBCUs in the time of Trump, whose leadership has to walk a
fine line between challenging the implicit racism of statements like DeVos’s
school choice line to ensuring the future viability of HBCUs’ funding through
government support. Cobb mentioned Ellison’s Invisible Man and the
DeBois-Washington debate about the Atlanta Compromise, and I could understand
the kind of complex ambiguity that writers like Ellison and Wright evoked in
their work through characters like Trueblood and Bigger Thomas. The essay about
Stacy Abrams was also revealing in how much we need more efforts to resist
voter suppression and in general how important it can be to maintain state
control of governorships and legislatures. We are witnessing vast efforts to
minimize or outright erase gains from the voting initiatives of the past 60
years. I also loved the two essays about hip-hop- “D-Nice’s Club Quarantine is
What You Need” and “Hip-Hop at Fifty: An Elegy.” I definitely agree with Cobb’s
assessment of “My Name is D-Nice” as a gem, although I wouldn’t call it
semi-obscure. I had no idea about this effort during the pandemic; I was
probably too wrapped up in discovering some older shows or just trying to
navigate having my kids home during the pandemic, but I think that these two
essays offer some of the alternating themes of hope and community and forgetting
and death in others. The “Hip-Hop at Fifty” brings up important issues about
how hip-hop, often viewed as a young person’s game, has struggled with aging. I
remember being shocked about the deaths of Guru, who died at 48 from
complications related to cancer, and Professor X from X-Clan, who also passed
away at 49 from spinal meningitis. I just remember thinking about how these
illnesses were not always fatal, and I wondered how these elder statemen of
hip-hop took care of their health. Cobb touches on some other more recent
deaths, especially Phife Dawg, whose death in 2016 months before the release of
their last album (We Got if From Here…Thank You 4 Your Service) and also
right before the election was both shocking and preventable. It was also
interesting to read this after listening to the latest Public Enemy album Black
Sky Over the Projects: Apartment 2025 where Chuck D, still hitting hard as
hell, reminds listeners that he’s currently a senior citizen. I couldn’t
believe Chuck D is eligible for AARP, but if anything, his hard lyrics are a
reminder of the indomitable nature of his spirit as much as Cobb’s essay is a
reminder of not only the violence and threats to Black men, but also the social
determinants of health that often create these disparities in health care and
life spans. These essays challenged my thinking, and although they resonated
with many of my beliefs and ideas, they also opened me up to new avenues of
thought and perspectives that are too often overlooked, dismissed, or pushed
aside. Cobb’s writing is clear and accessible, but also incredibly moving, even
when he’s dropping science and teaching. Furthermore, even though these essays
span the last 12 years, it is so important to revisit the memories of Trayvon
Martin, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, Tamir Rice, Freddie Gray, and George
Floyd, as well as the victims of the Emanuel AME Church, the Tree of Life
Synagogue, as well as the victims of the Christchurch killings in New Zealand,
especially since we continue to witness the continued dehumanization and
attempts to denigrate other people of color, minorities, and immigrants, and we
see that this current violence is state sanctioned. Voices and perspectives like
Cobb help to remind us about the cost of silence in these periods, as well as
remind us of the communities and hope that can arise after these storms wreak
havoc. I also forgot to mention one of the more powerful and important essays “The
Man Behind Critical Race Theory” from September 2021. I loved reading about Derrick
Bell, whose concern about the implications of desegregation and his fight for
equality was complicated by a long history of violent opposition to equality
and inequities in political and systemic power, was fascinating to learn more
about. It was also essential reading since Bell’s ideas and concerns have been
highjacked by the right whose willful misrepresentations and shameful ignorance
about critical race theory have ultimately lumped it into something that it is
not. If anything, Cobb’s essay helps to elucidate the complications of inequality,
representation, power, and access that Bell was wrestling with, and presents a
fuller, more complete picture than is often provided. Toni Morrison once wrote
in Beloved that “Definitions belong to the definers, not the defined,”
and sadly bad actors like Christopher Rufo have plunged the public into willful
ignorance about this important topic by rebranding Bell’s ideas as toxic.
However, Cobb’s essay paints a more realistic and complete picture not just of
the ideas, but also of Bell’s interesting life and continued fight against the
system. It was one of the many stand-out essays that I loved reading in this
collection and will probably revisit again. Highly recommended and important
reading!
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