Every student of American history knows the
basic outlines of this story – the South, initially split in its partisan
allegiances, began to vote monolithically Democratic in the 1830s or 1840s in
response to the links between the rising abolitionist movement and the Whig Party.
From there, the party was dominant in Dixie
until 1) the rise of a white-collar middle-class in growing and industrialising
southern cities, and 2) a backlash against national Democrats’ support for
civil rights. Conversely, African-Americans were largely loyal Federalists,
Whigs, and Republicans until the New Deal, and became firmly locked into the
Democratic column as a result of the civil rights movement. It is difficult to
argue against the proposition that the ideological descendants of the Dixiecrats
found their way into the GOP, especially when they were the same people.
In order to make his argument, Williamson
relies on some odd arguments and spurious claims – Lyndon Johnson’s desire to
be seen as a champion of civil rights in the North and an opponent in the South
is singled out as if it were abnormal behaviour for a politician. He tells us
that General Eisenhower began desegregating the military before President
Truman, but Ike had no partisan affiliation until around one year prior to his election,
and actually considered taking a spot on the Democratic ticket in 1948. The old
saw about Woodrow Wilson segregating the federal government is another
half-truth: he completed a process begun under McKinley, Roosevelt, and Taft,
Republicans all. And the Republican Party’s shifting and calculating positions
on race are presented as one linear narrative from Lincoln to the 1957 Civil Rights Act – in
fact, its willingness to pander to segregationist sentiment dates from the
immediate aftermath of Reconstruction.
There is one aspect of the article on which
Williamson is (mostly) right: the fact that the GOP had been growing in the
South prior to the backlash against civil rights. Williamson throws out
examples of pre-WWII Republican victories in southern congressional seats, seemingly
without noticing that most of his examples would be in Appalachian districts,
where a Whig/Republican political culture had been strong since the Jacksonian
era. In 1960, for example, the Party of Lincoln held seven seats in the South: four
were in Appalachia (eastern Tennessee [two], southwestern
Virginia [one], and western North
Carolina [one]) and three in middle-class suburban areas (Dallas [oil], Tampa
[tourism and retirees], and northern Virginia [civil servants]). Other areas of
Dixie with Republican voting patterns were explainable by factors which
pre-dated the New Deal: sugar barons’ need for tariff protection in coastal Louisiana or the abolitionism of the pre-statehood German
settlers of central Texas .
Moreover, the Republican ascendancy drew its support from multiple sources.
Take Georgia as an example:
in 1960, Kennedy carried the state while Nixon carried Atlanta ;
four years later, the rural areas swung heavily to the Republicans and gave the
state to Goldwater, while Atlanta
voted for the pro-Civil Rights Act LBJ.
To dress up the modern-day GOP as the best
friend of black America ,
Williamson has to perform a conscious mystification of congressional electoral
history. He points out that the southern states which elected anti-civil rights
Democrats to the Senate continued to do so after the national party began to
support civil rights. As anyone who knows anything about American politics
knows, the two major parties are the very definitions of ‘big tents’, and congressional
seniority was also a reason that some of the old Dixiecrats hung on well into
the 1970s and 1980s. Williamson jokes that “[t]hey say things move slower in
the South – but not that slow”, as if congressional seniority, presidential
voting patterns, and local factors didn’t tell us anything. Similarly, he
reminds us that the majority of southern Representatives were Democrats until
1994, omitting that the Democrats had controlled the House since 1958, and that
the South’s shift at the presidential and senatorial levels was already
complete long before the Newtslide of 1994.
The article’s treatment of Barry Goldwater
is also one of its blind spots. The Arizona Senator is described as not being
“strongly identified with racial issues one way or the other”. In fact, he
helped found the Cactus
State ’s chapter of the
NAACP, a point which Williamson overlooks but which have helped his argument.
Other 1960s-era GOP figures more friendly to African-American concerns (Nelson
Rockefeller, George Romney, John Lindsay) are also ignored, presumably because they
aren’t conservative enough. In addition to the rise of a southern middle class,
Williamson adds anti-communism and law ‘n’ order to the reasons for the South’s
partisan shift, as if either were unrelated to questions of race.
Anti-communism was a key feature of opposition to civil rights: reactionaries
were always quick to seize upon the Soviet bloc’s condemnation of Jim Crow and
upon the communist connections of prominent African-American figures such as Martin
Luther King and Paul Robeson. As for law and order, we only need look at the
Willie Horton ad to see its potential as a racist dog-whistle.
Littered throughout the article is the
usual neoconservative stuff about welfare creating a culture of dependency –
apparently a topic on which Williamson has a book forthcoming. To argue, as he
does, that over nine-tenths of African-Americans vote for a party which
deliberately denies them economic opportunity is little more than an inverse of
the ‘false consciousness’/‘voting against their economic interest’ argument put
forward by liberals such as Thomas Frank to condemn working-class white
conservatives. Surely the best people to consult as to which party is the best
defender of African-Americans are African-Americans themselves.
Lastly, there’s something missing from
Williamson’s narrative of a GOP committed to civil rights from Reconstruction
to the present – the various attempts by the party to court southern
segregationist votes throughout that time. Just because these attempts were
largely unsuccessful in ending the Democrats’ control of the Solid South
doesn’t mean the Republicans were committed to civil rights throughout this
time.
The Republican Party didn’t ignore the
South between Reconstruction and the civil rights era. Rutherford Hayes
appointed a southern Democrat as his Postmaster-General (then the most powerful
position in Cabinet because of the patronage its occupant could dispense).
Chester Arthur tried to exploit the emerging Greenback/Populist movement to
split the South, but its antipathy to Republican economic policies was
insurmountable. Although the party tried to legislate for federal enforcement
of voting rights during the Harrison Administration, the GOP of the 1880s and
1890s gradually neglected its black and Appalachian southern voters in order to
win over a larger share of the non-Appalachian white population there. By the
early twentieth century, it was common for different sets of Republican
delegates (one ‘lilywhite’ and one ‘black and tan’, i.e. multi-racial) to
arrive at national conventions claiming to be the true Republicans of some
southern state or other – it was credentials fights over these delegations,
rather than care for the welfare of African-Americans that made it necessary
for GOP leaders to pay homage to their concerns. (Hence Theodore Roosevelt’s
invitation to Booker T. Washington to dine at the White House, or the tentative
support of Presidents Harding and Coolidge for anti-lynching bills.)
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