In 1992, I was Navy lieutenant serving as an exchange officer in Germany. As they are wont to do, one of my German colleagues asked me a blunt question: “Why are there so few Black officers in the United States Navy?” My response: “I don’t know, I never thought about it.” Looking back, especially after reading this excellent book by Retired Lieutenant Commander Reuben Green, my answer seems both uninformed, unsurprising, and more than a little embarrassing. Why? Read on.

When I pick up a book, I am usually looking specifically for one of two things; either a diversion or in order to learn something in particular. When I chose to read Black Officer, White Navy after connecting with the author on LinkedIn, I had no idea what to expect. What I got was a wild ride through a career that crossed paths with a few of my own friends and colleagues, a history lesson far beyond the Navy, and a personal insight into a journey that was so different from my own that it was difficult to swallow. Many of the stories of discrimination, both overt and covert, made the bile rise in my throat. “Not in my Navy,” I wanted to protest, but then the next anecdote made it clear that yes, this was my Navy. Is it better now? I think so. I hope so. If you are a leader in today’s Navy, and wonder how much things have changed, ask yourself the question that I was asked in 1992. Better yet, ask a Black flag officer—if you can find one.

Green’s story of a life interwoven with the Navy, from a sailor father whose advice he “largely ignored” but from whom he does seem to have learned a great deal, to his own personal anecdotes of both blatant racism and bold leadership, made me wonder if I could ever recall my career in such detail (I could not). Reading the book is like sitting in a bar with a fellow shipmate telling sea stories over a beer—sometimes jumping around, teasing with a follow-on story that you have to wait several chapters to learn the outcome, and an occasional journey into self-pity with a wink: “You can cry now—just a little,” he writes after such asides. His prose is straightforward, self-deprecating at times, and justifiably boastful at others. His book also is like a romp through Wikipedia, with stories from Admiral Elmo Zumwalt’s legacy to a gruesome lynching in Georgia, to serving on board an aircraft carrier named for a staunch supporter of the Navy who also happened to be a strong proponent of segregation (John C. Stennis). For a black sailor to walk up the quarterdeck of that ship, now that I know the background of its namesake (as the author says , “look it up”), must be like the same person attending Jefferson Davis High School. There are also a few good sea stories, like “flying” a Navy hydrofoil, lessons on procedural compliance and engineering readiness, that are still valid today.

Mr. Green self-published his book after a few unsuccessful attempts to find a published. His book has the unvarnished feel of a manuscript that has not been “polished” by a professional editor, but that is precisely what makes it so impactful—like a punch in the gut. From the grainy cover photo to the sometimes unexpected breaking of the “third wall” during the story, to the extensive list of self-invented “acronyms” (which I decided not to list here for reasons that will become clear when you read the book), it takes some getting used to. In the end, the book leaves the reader with hope, in that the good guys usually win over the racists (either in a fistfight or at captain’s mast), but wondering if there is ever enough “color (gender, sexual orientation) blindness” in the Navy today, given that is, in the end, a microcosm of American society. The book also reminds that discrimination can take many forms, from institutional bias to sins of omission, to well-intentioned but failed policies and programs. It certainly made me think back to my own career, wondering if I was really as fair and colorblind as I think I was.

I wish I had read this book while on active duty and hope it will be added to Navy reading lists as a reminder to us all that, as my LDO Navy father used to say, “your freedom ends where my nose begins.” This book is worth your time: read it. It will make you uncomfortable, but you will better for it. I am.