The Finkelstein 5 by Nana Kwame Adjei-Brenyah

Say Their Names.

In the wake of racial injustice and the BLM protests, The Finkelstein 5 by Nana Kwame Adjei-Brenyah feels painfully relevant. Almost uncomfortably so. The hardest part is realizing that the story isn’t tapping into a distant historical moment; it’s speaking to a reality that hasn’t changed nearly as much as it should have. Police brutality and racial violence against Black Americans continue, and under the Trump regime, that tension and fear feels amplified. The story’s sadness, frustration, and simmering anger permeates beneath the surface, then erupts in an ending that’s as tragic as it is inevitable because we have seen so many versions of this ending play out in real life. 

One of the aspects that struck me most was the way the young Black protagonist must constantly calibrate his “acceptable” level of Blackness just to move safely through the world. He’s created a scale from 1.0 to 10.0 with 1.0 being the version of himself most palatable to white society, 10.0 being fully, unapologetically Black but also perceived as dangerous. That constant internal negotiation, that ever-present fear of how one’s Blackness will be interpreted, shapes every detail of his daily life. As someone who identifies as Black and is familiar with the mental gymnastics required to navigate predominantly white spaces, this portrayal hit close to home. It’s both surreal and deeply validating to see that experience reflected so clearly on the page.

At the center of the story is a court case involving a white man who brutally killed five Black children with a chainsaw (hence the title). He justifies his action in court by claiming that he feared for his life and those of his children whom the other black children were allegedly antagonizing outside the public library. It’s impossible not to think of so many high-profile cases of black people being senselessly murdered by police or racist bigots. The George Zimmerman and Trayvon Martin case seems most relevant here, hovering in the background. Adjei-Brenyah doesn’t shy away from calling out the grotesque failures of a judicial system that repeatedly upholds white supremacy. The story isn’t subtle about this at all, nor should it be. It forces you to confront the ugliness directly, and in doing so, it becomes a sharp political commentary on black oppression in America, a critical indictment of the systems that continue to fail us.

The Finkelstein 5 is powerful not because it shocks (although it certainly does) but because it resonates deeply with America in the here and now. Adjei-Brenyah captures the fear, exhaustion, and quiet resilience that define what it means to be Black in a society that too often refuses to see our humanity. It’s heartbreaking, furious, and unapologetically loud in all the ways it needs to be, making it one of the most memorable and emotionally charged pieces I’ve read in a while.