Nor, of course, should anyone condonenthe inciting of such violence tonfurther a cause, a strategy that Wilkinsndeplored and Branch implicitly endorses.nThis is not surprising when onenremembers that Branch is more interestednin reinvigorating the spirit of activismnthan he is in deepening our understandingnof a necessary but painfiilntransformation. To accomplish his goal,nhe set out to uncover the roots of NewnLeft radicalism. Once these roots werensevered, he knew, radicalism wouldnwither and die. That is why, in a recentninterview, he showed himself able tonrecall the precise moment in 1963nwhen, as a high school student innAtlanta, he put down his own radicalnroots. It was the day he opened annewspaper and saw the infamous photographnof a Birmingham police officernsetting an attack dog on a young black,nman. “Until those dogs in Birmingham,nwhich penetrated my little world of highnschool sports and chasing girls, Inthought that everything in America wasnwonderhil. I had the rosy view that all ofnthe authority figures were doing thenright thing.”nBy the time he came to write thisnbook, the former magazine editor andnghostwriter had convinced himself thatnall authority figures were doing thenwrong thing. In the apparent belief thatnAmerica is a “sexist” country, for example,nhe consciously places womennactivists — Septima Clark (to whom hendedicates the book), Rosa Parks, DianenNash, Ella Baker — on an equal footingnwith men. To be sure, CorettanScott King constitutes an exception,nbut that may be because Branch takes anbenign view of Martin Luther KingnJr.’s infidelities. Not only did King’snclose friends tolerate his “demon delights,”nthey (and Branch) “even applauded”nthem. “They saw sexual adventurenas a natural condition ofnmanhood, or of great preachers obsessednby love, or of success, or ofnNegroes otherwise constrained by thenWhite World. . . . Some of them grewntired of King’s insistence that it was ansin. . . .” What, one wonders, wouldnBranch say about Jim Bakker’s similarninsistence?nThat is not the only example ofnBranch’s double standard, however.nHe discourages as irrelevant andnunenlightened any criticism of BayardnRustin’s open homosexuality, whilenleaving the distinct impression that J.nEdgar Hoover’s alleged closet varietynwas utterly contemptible, of a piecenwith the director’s secretive mentality.nFor Hoover and the FBI, in fact.nBranch betrays a particular animosity.nIn part, I suspect, that is because he lostna court battle to gain access to Bureaundocuments pertaining to King’s closestnwhite friend and advisor, StanleynLevison. Then, too, he regards it as anscandal that the FBI should have suspectednLevison, Levison’s friend JacknO’Dell, and King himself of harboringnCommunist sympathies.nNow I do not dispute for a momentnthat Hoover was an obsessive and vindictivenman or that government officialsnand the American public generally havenoften exaggerated the dangers of interna!nCommunist subversion. It is clear, Inbelieve, that King was no part of anCommunist. Still, it is curious thatnBranch wants to have it both ways. Henspeaks more than once about the Communists’ncommitment to civil rights,nconcedes that Levison lent financialnsupport to Communist organizations,nand quotes O’Dell to the effect that henwas proud of his Communist associations.nWhy then is he so certain that thenFBI’s charge that Communists had infiltratednKing’s inner circle was groundless?nEvidently the answer is that he considersnthe CPUSA to be nothing morenthan a “protest group,” one limb of thenradical tree, the roots of which arenplanted deeply in the fertile soil of thencivil rights movement. In the movement,nnot in King himself Parting thenWaters is anything but an uncriticalncelebration of the revered leader. Rather,nit is a critique from the left, dramatizednas the struggle for his soul, orn”identity.” For Branch, King serves asna symbol of liberal America in thenpostwar years, torn between the old,ncautious, religiously-framed, anticommunist,nrespectable, white world, andnthe new, activist, secular, anti-anticommunist,n”disreputable,” blacknworid; between, as he suggests in morenthan one place, the prim popular musicnof the 1950’s and the uninhibitednrock beat of the 1960’s.nIt is this struggle that Branch makesnhis principal theme. He begins bynintroducing us to the young King,ndominated by a crusty, conservativennnfather, burdened by an exaggeratednsense of sin, and preoccupied with hisnown salvation. Intelligent and ambitious,nhe matriculates at white schoolsnand eventually earns a Ph.D. Havingnin that way entered the white man’snworld, he is reluctant to rock society’snboat. At his best, he is a mere “fireman,”nwho comes to the aid of hisnracial brothers and sisters but whoninitiates nothing, a man whom othersnmust pressure to act. Simple folk suchnas Rosa Parks push him, by the force ofntheir example, to take up the cause ofncivil rights. And even after he achievesnnational prominence following thenMontgomery bus boycott, he prefersn”safe, prestige politics over . . . gritty,ndangerous protest.”nIn particular. King looks to liberalnleaders. President John F. Kennedynand Attorney General Robert F. Kennedy,nto carry out the civil rightsnrevolution from above, peacefully andnwithout personal risk to himself.nBranch makes it clear on virtually everynpage that he considers that ambition tonbe unworthy and futile, a sign of King’snfailure of nerve. He draws exceedinglynunflattering, and quite unconvincing,nportraits of the Kennedy brothers.nThey are unscrupulous and unreliable,nmore interested in their careers than innthe plight of Negroes, whom theynregard as politically embarrassing nuisances.nWe watch with Branch as theyncut deals with segregationist officials,nplace wire taps on King’s phones, andnwax hot and cold about the extensionnof civil rights.nThere was, however, another, andnmore radical, side to King. It wasnprecisely the infidelities of which henwas so ashamed. Branch hints, thatnawakened the civil rights leader to thenfact that he could act recklessly, withnless thought for his person and reputation.nHis personal demons, his study ofnliberal theologians such as WalternRauschenbusch, Reinhold Niebuhr,nand Paul Tillich, his friendship withnRiverside Baptist’s Harry EmersonnFosdick, and his fascination with MahatmanGandhi combined to lead Kingnslowly to set aside his distracting interestnin the next world and to fix his gazensteadily on this one; henceforth, “socialnjustice” would be the sum and thensubstance of his religion. A Unitarian,nBranch heartily approves.nThat was still not enough, however.nJUNE 1989/35n