The woking class vs. the working class

In the past several years, a succession of nutty-sounding books have been the talk of the town in the various organs of the elite media. We had “Between the World and Me,” “White Fragility,” “How to Be an Antiracist,” and the book version of the “1619 Project.” One hears such books spoken of from afar. But the reality doesn’t truly hit home until, while riding the New York City subway, one feels the shock of seeing actual, living, breathing human beings — typically 30-something liberal women with asymmetrical faces, grave expressions punctuated by minimal makeup, thick-rimmed glasses, short, choppy hair, a denim jacket over a flowy, printed maxi dress, and canvas sneakers — flipping the pages of such books and seemingly, seriously reading them, fingers

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