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Zusatztext "[Newman] balances the personal experience of her subjects with thorough reasearch! analysis! and ideas for policy reform but the stories of the people working for minimum wage are what stay with you." -- The New Yorker "Extremely valuable...extremely engaging."-- The Denver Post Informationen zum Autor Katherine S. Newman Klappentext "Powerful and poignant.... Newman's message is clear and timely." --The Philadelphia Inquirer In No Shame in My Game, Harvard anthropologist Katherine Newman gives voice to a population for whom work, family, and self-esteem are top priorities despite all the factors that make earning a living next to impossible--minimum wage, lack of child care and health care, and a desperate shortage of even low-paying jobs. By intimately following the lives of nearly 300 inner-city workers and job seekers for two yearsin Harlem, Newman explores a side of poverty often ignored by media and politicians--the working poor. The working poor find dignity in earning a paycheck and shunning the welfare system, arguing that even low-paying jobs give order to their lives. No Shame in My Game gives voice to a misrepresented segment of today's society, and is sure to spark dialogue over the issues surrounding poverty, working and welfare. Leseprobe Jamal's World From the outside, Jamal's building looks like an ordinary house that has seen better days. Shingles are strewn about the foundation and the cement steps are cracked and broken, but it is not hard to imagine that with a little bit of paint and a thorough sweeping, the place might not be too bad. A family--like Jamal's family--could live in a home like this and be comfortable. But once you walk through the front door, all resemblance to a real home disappears. For at least a decade, the building has been broken up into separate living quarters, a rooming house with whole families squeezed into spaces that would not even qualify as bedrooms in most homes. Toilets, such as they are, sit at the end of a dark hallway. Six families take turns cooking their meals in the only kitchen and argue with one another about the provisions they have squirreled away in the refrigerator they share. The plumbing breaks down without warning--the bane of everyone's existence. Most rooms sport windows that are cracked and broken, pieced together by duct tape that barely blocks the steady, freezing draft blowing through on a winter evening. Jamal is of the opinion that for the princely sum of $300 per month, he ought to be able to get more heat. But the landlord isn't buying his argument, so a feeble electric space heater hums away in the corner of his room, providing just enough warmth to get through the night, if you huddle under the covers and wear a lot of clothes. Jamal's room, which he shares with his common-law wife, Kathy, is big enough for their bed, the television (tuned, always, to a shoot-'em-up western or a kung fu video), and a few shelves that hold canned goods and pasta. The walls are covered with posters of their favorite stars--Michael Jackson, Tupac Shakur--which is just as well, because the wallpaper is peeling underneath, an unsightly mess that resists any attempt to smooth the surface. The room is a major step up from the basement they used to occupy in the same building; its only windows were up near the ceiling, making fresh air scarce. A hot plate in the corner of the room gives Kathy the freedom to cook in her "own space," even though the super would throw a fit if he knew she uses it. Fires have erupted in the past when hot plates were left on, so they have been banned for some time. Still, Jamal and Kathy are hungry for a modicum of privacy, the illusion that they live in a real home where an ordinary family can cook a meal without the hovering intrusions of neighbors who live on the other side of the bedroom wall. Despite Kathy...
