Writing on race is no easy task because the term has no clear meaning. What are, for example, the boundaries that distinguish one “race” from another? Given that there are no biological bases for deciding whether there is such a thing as the “Irish race,” the “Jewish race,” or the “black race,” perhaps it is better to avoid such a loaded term altogether. And if the word is so ambiguous, controversial, or counterproductive, what purpose is served by devoting a book to the subject of “race politics” and “race policies”?

The topic of race arrived brusquely on my agenda when I was wrongfully arrested in December 1995 in Brixton, South London, during what was characterized by some as a race riot. My one phone call after a long night in jail was to a friend who, instead of recommending a lawyer, put me in touch with a journalist. Very early in our discussion, the reporter said that she hated to ask this, but was I by any chance black? One year later, while conducting interviews in Paris, a learned scholar stopped me short upon entering her office: What ethnicity was I, that I was writing a book on race?

Race is certainly an ambiguous word. It is a problematic concept that must be investigated rather than simply accepted. Yet, it remains incredibly meaningful.