Race + Class: The Political & the Personal

All discussions of mainstream American politics start with an affirmation of the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution of the United States. Acknowledged or not, we kneel to the “unalienable Rights” that are “Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness,” and we worship a “more perfect Union… Justice…domestic Tranquility…the common defence…the general Welfare, and…the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity.”
We carefully ignore that the Constitution’s “Three-Fifth Compromise” codified both racism and class structure by classifying the slave, indentured servant, and Indian as three-fifths a person. We sidestep the Constitution’s assumption that “the Woman’s realm was inferior and private,” a falicy that denied women political rights. We ignore James Madison’s council on class & politics and that the Constitution sanctioned denying voting rights to the property-less.
Our American history is a constant struggle between wealthy, white, Anglo-American men and the majority of the country for political rights. Here are key moments in this fight:
1789: The Constitution of the United States is adopted.
1790: White men born outside of the U.S. are allowed citizenship with full rights.
1792–1856: States abolish property qualifications for white men.
1868: 14th Amendment guarantees citizenship to all persons born or naturalized in the U.S.
1870: 15th Amendment guarantees people of color and freed male slaves the right to vote.
1877: Reconstruction ends. Southern states use Jim Crow laws to suppress the voting rights of blacks and poor whites.
1887: Through the Dawes Act, Native Americans are granted the right to vote if they reject their tribe (this was considered forward thinking at the time).
1920: 19th Amendment guarantees women voting rights. States still use class and race to restrict the vote.
1924: Citizenship for Native Americans granted regardless of tribal affiliation. Citizenship includes the right to vote. States still use class to restrict the vote.
1943: Magnuson Act allows Chinese immigrants to become US citizens with the right to vote. States still use class to restrict the vote.
1961: 23rd Amendment grants residents of Washington, D.C. the right to vote in U.S. presidential elections. States still use class to restrict the vote.
1964: 24th Amendment abolishes the class-based Poll Tax. States still use class to restrict the vote.
1965: Voting Rights Act of 1965 protects of voter voting rights for “racial minorities, later applied to language minorities.” States still use class to restrict the vote.
1966: Supreme Court strikes down “tax payment and wealth requirements for voting in state elections.”
2013: Shelby County v. Holder. Supreme Court strikes down the Voting Rights Act “coverage formula,” which helps prevent states from instituting voter suppression laws and engage in race-based gerrymandering. By requiring ID cards and certification, states start using class to restrict the vote.
For most of this country’s history, wealthy, white men have used class in combination with race, gender, and ethnicity to deny people voting and political rights. This is not an opinion. It is historical fact. The proof is enshrined in the nation’s founding documents.
I’ve known this historical reality for a long time. I’ve known that the proper approach to progressive/radical politics is to integrate race, gender, sexuality, all of what we think of as “identity” with class. Instinctively, I’ve known that this is a winning strategy that builds toward the kind of just, equitable, bottom-up society that I want to live in, but what was there to back me up?
On August 22, the Washington Post ran a piece by Ian Haney López and Anat Shenker-Osorio on how potential voters respond to political messages based on race and class. López and Shenker-Osorio write, “In empirical testing, we found that Democrats can prevail by telling a story that ties together race and class, calling out the right’s exploitation of racial anxiety as a tactic to divide and distract.” Moreover, class-based arguments (“color-blind economic populism”) are more effective when combined with race than centered on class alone. Also encouraging is their finding that the race-class combo resonates with people across the political spectrum.
Let’s start with the Democratic base. López and Shenker-Osorio “define the ‘base’ as those who held progressive positions on racial justice, economic equality and a positive role for government.” Progressives “made up 23% of the study’s national sample and was 56% white, 19% African American, 18% Latino and 5% Asian American.” López and Shenker-Osorio find that 73% of progressives polled respond positively to a race-class argument, while 68% are moved by color-blind economic populism. Additionally, 77% are willing to share a race-class argument with other people, white 68% are okay with sharing a color-blind populist message.
López and Shenker-Osorio surveyed the “American Middle,” people who “find merit in both progressive and conservative views, tending to toggle between them.” Demographically, these people mirror the nation. They are 63% white, 16% Latino, 12% African American, 6% Asian American. López and Shenker-Osorio finds that the “race-class narratives outperformed color-blind economic populism across the board.” Depending on the wording, 70% to 67% of the American Middle responds positively to a race-class narrative. Class-only titillats 64% and a conservative narrative appeals to 66%.
The study also finds that:
Overt mentions of race outperformed color-blind statements in rebutting conservative talking points. In one example, respondents considered this language: “We need elected leaders who will keep us safe from terrorists, secure our borders and prevent illegal immigrants from taking advantage of our country.” They weighed that against one of two progressive statements. One called for rejecting division and helping working people but did not name race directly: “We need elected leaders who will reject the divide and conquer tactics of their opponents and put the interests of the working people first.” The other repeated the first message, but it ended by naming race: “put the interests of working people first, whether we’re white, Black or brown.” In both cases, the base resoundingly rejected the Trump-esque message, by 79% to 16% in one and by 86% to 11% in the other. But among the nearly 60% of U.S. adults who are persuadable [the American Middle], we failed to break even with a message that was silent on race: 45% preferred the message promoting racial fear to 42% for putting “working people first.” In contrast, when we asked about putting working people first “whether we’re white, Black or brown,” the progressive statement won [the American middle] 48% to 41%, a 10-point swing in net approval.
That last point is important. It shows that combining race and class is a winning message and that Trump’s message falls flat when divorced from Trump, especially when placed side-by-side with something decent. Also heartening is this finding:
Republicans require dog-whistling to win. In our head-to-head match-ups, conservative arguments for cutting taxes and reducing regulations lost by big margins when competing against progressive ones about expanding economic opportunity and investing in people, even among respondents in red states. In our separate Indiana survey, for example, a progressive economic platform polled 40 points ahead of the conservative economic pitch. (In Indiana, where we had a smaller sample, the margin of error was plus or minus 4 points.) But when the conservative messages we tested included racially coded phrases like “illegal immigrants” or “people expecting handouts,” the reactionary messages beat race-neutral progressive ones among [the American middle]. Only the progressive race-class theme bested them. In Indiana, for instance, a dog-whistle message scored a positive dial rating of 66 among [the American middle], compared with 63 for color-blind economic populism — and 70 for the race-class message, spoken, we would note, by an African American man.
The reason people respond to a progressive race-class narrative is because they sense that it is true and sense that the “reactionary rich” use “racism as a strategy…against all people.” Framed this way, discussions of racism escape the mainstream definition of “identity politics” (“Vote for me because I am [a minority]”). Race-class also gives white people a reference point that they can understand and aren’t defensive about, thus easing their resistance to change.
It is no shocker that white people and people of color perceive racism much differently. Polling shows that while 66% of people of color think that racism is a serious problem in America, only 39% of white people do. Only 56% of white people think that racism against black people is widespread. When it comes to racial discrimination in the workplace or by the police, white people are even more clueless.
There are two reasons for this cluelessness. First and foremost is that white people only experience what white people experience. They don’t personally experience racism against people of color. They might witness it. It might impact members of their family, but that is far different from being a direct target of racism or experiencing institutional racism. No moral judgement needs to come of this. We have no control over what we experience.
Second is that most white people don’t see themselves as racist, and, on a conscious level that is true. They participate in racism, they act racist, they even think racist thoughts (I know I do), but these things not overt, aggressive, obviously racist acts like a white cop beating on a black child or burning a cross on someone’s lawn. No one gets a pass for being a subconscious racist (or having implicit bias). However, it is necessary to acknowledge that most racism is not a result of someone waking up one morning with the thought, “I think it is time for me to hate black people.” Rather racism is a result of conditioning, from parents, relatives, friends, media, and culture - basically from living in a racist society.
White people who don’t understand this dynamic react defensively when “white people” are identified as “racist.” White people take “white people” as meaning them personally. For most white people, “racist” is not a descriptor but an epithet, and they do not want to be identified as such. They believe that they are living morally upright, non-racist lives. They don’t personally discriminate against people of color. They don’t use racist words. They dig “black music.” They like their black coworkers. They have black friends. They believe that they are doing everything they can do be a decent person and, consciously they are. Subconsciously, that is a whole ‘nother mess-around.
I became consciously racist at 13-years old, when I went from a 98% white Hubert H. Bancroft Elementary School to a 50% black/50% white Kit Carson Middle School. My transformation to teenage racist came about more because of tribal affiliation than any strong feelings about race. I was a white kid with white friends from a white neighborhood transported to a mixed-race school that had a long history of racial violence, accentuated by a deep class divide. To escape peer disapproval, I identified as white and pledged allegiance to my tribe.
Our tribal mores demanded that we associate only with other white kids. We were to reject all blackness, except for whatever had been appropriated or claimed as white, such as rock & roll. The only black people who were okay were Jimi Hendrix and Phil Lynott. A black kid who liked heavy metal was alright, but he wasn’t one of us. Listening to funk or soul was so forbidden that owning “black” records was treason to the race. I hid my Earth, Wind, & Fire and Cameo records in my closet lest I be called a “nigger lover.”
Before I turned 15, I got into punk rock and chose to become The Other. I rejected conscious racism and became anti-racist. I thought that was that. I was mistaken. No matter how many black friends I had or how much I loved “black music,” racism was in my core. My subconscious was saturated with racist stereotypes and racial fear. My musical tastes doubled as cultural signifiers (“I like Miles Davis and Grandmaster Flash!”). I framed interactions through a racist lens, completely unaware of it, even when it damaged close friendships and preempted romantic relationships.
My ignorance of this subvert racism was destroyed by five words. My brother dropped by the Loft with a friend of his who is black. I asked his friend why black people didn’t rebel against racist white people, something I had ranted about to my black work friends. My brother’s friend’s matter-of-fact reply was, “I don’t know. I am not black people.” Those five words — I am not black people — challenged me to examine my racism. Without knowing anything about the subconscious or implicit racism, I started rooting around my insides to see what was there. Of course, what was there was ugly, but getting to know the ugliness was vital.
Through time and reading, I understood why I act different among white people than I did among people of color. I talk different to people of color? Yeah, I do. I started cuing in on cultural stereotypes (there are a lot. My parents loved ethnic humor, especially about their own — Italians and Poles). I learned how the media portraying black men as dangerous and physically imposing (or athletic) resulted in my fear. I realized that my racial attitudes would always be with me. However, I also learned that being conscious about my racism meant that I could mitigate and control it when it crept out of my subconscious.
(My acceptance of my sexism came much later, not until my forties. My mom had raised my brother and I to believe we were feminists. Mom taught us that feminism is not being told what to do, her boys doing their fair share of the chores, and knowing the importance of Billie Jean King! Over the years, I set my feminism bar a bit higher, but not high enough to recognize my own sexism. That realization came through crisis and harsh self-examination.)
Prior to my self-realization, if you were to call me racist or sexist or any kind of bad-ist, my defenses would take control. If you were a person of color or a woman, you’d probably see a stoic outside, maybe a nod of acceptance, but inside I would be saying, “What a crock of shit!” I would fight you by internally rejecting any need to self-examine or change. Your words wouldn’t move me. They’d only make me feel attacked.
You see, I am not a bad person. I’ve read W.E.B. DuBois. I know why Robert Williams is important. Jo Freeman has had a profound influence on my thinking. I’ve met bell hooks. I’m part of the solution, not the problem. I do good things. I’ve felt pain. Yeah, sure historically, the pain of your people is worse than the pain of mine (but let me tell you about how Italians were lynched in the South yabba dabba babba…), but I suffer, too. I feel pain and rejection and fear and shame. I am alone and apart. My country has failed me. My government doesn’t care. I hurt, too.
This injury, this unexamined, festering wound rots in isolation. Infected with rage and resentment, I negate your pain and become a victim in denial, ignorant of what created and perpetuated my injury, isolation rage, resentment, negation, pain, feelings of victimization, denial, and ignorance. Of course, I hurt. I am drowning in all this shit. I need a lifeline, any lifeline. Ah, there’s racism and sexism. It is easy to lash out at the faggots, the retards, that fat cunt. But this hate, it furthers my isolation, my loneliness, my pain, and, ultimately my self-immolation. I need something more, something that leads me to an empathetic community.
My lifeline is my embrace of two ideas. The first is Dostoyevsky’s “The degree of civilization in a society can be judged by entering its prisons.” The second is the IWW’s motto “An injury to one is an injury against all.” These two statements hit me intellectually and emotionally, they reflect the society I want to live in. I see myself in these words through class consciousness.
I am a white, seemingly straight, fully-able man. But, for most of my life, I have been poor. Not desperately poor, but too often living from paycheck to paycheck, without a safety net, knowing that one misstep will wipe me out. I have never felt financial security. When my parents die, I get nothing. I have no sugar daddy. I’ve never had a big payday. Every luxury requires extra work. I’ve worked very hard, often for free or poor wages, and I am more-or-less fine with that in a “c’est la vie” kinda way, but I know that I deserve more. And, I know that you deserve more, whether you are white, black, whatever ethnicity, whatever gender, whatever whatever. None of us deserve to struggle.
López and Shenker-Osorio write:
By moving away from conversations about racial prejudice that implicitly pit whites against others, the race-class message makes clear how strategic racism hurts everyone, of every race. It signals to whites that they have more to gain from coming together across racial lines to tackle racial and economic injustice than from siding with politicians who distract the country with racial broadsides. “The politicians,” a white guy in our Ohio focus group said, are “telling us you have to hate the black man because he does all the bad stuff . . . They’re dividing us so they can conquer.” A white woman in the group responded, “If we would all come together, the politicians wouldn’t have the strength they have.”
All we have is each other. When we recognize that and are conscious of our strengths and weaknesses, we are very, very powerful thing. We might not know that, but those in power sure do. That’s the god damn truth of it.
This originally appeared in Soriano’s Comment, №21, a newsletter I publish. Sign up for a fee subscription. I don’t share info and I don’t mine data.
