Bernie Sanders and the Black Vote: An Analysis of Why He Lost It

Black voters are, on the whole, Democratic party loyalists. This isn't just a stereotype—it's a tried-and-true fact. According to Pew Research Center, as of 2014, 64% of Blacks identified as Democrats, 5% as Republican, and 26% as independent. Of those who lean toward a certain party, alignment with Democrats increases to 80%. With two Democratic contenders campaigning all the way to the last primary (better luck next time, O'Malley), one might expect a fair amount of variance among who black voters supported. But that's not really what happened. Black support of Hillary Clinton was up across the board, state after state. Why Hillary? Why not the lifelong civil rights activist, the staunch progressive—why not Bernie Sanders?

It might not seem like there are many answers, at first; it could easily be just a matter of name recognition. A big problem, recently revealed by ex-Bernie staffers to Terrell J. Starr in "How Bernie Sanders Lost Black Voters", was that the campaign did not seem to value black voters in the first place. But there's actually much more dynamism to the "black vote" than meets the eye, and when you look past the surface, you'll see that Bernie winning the black community was a long-shot from the start—a long-shot that prefaced his overall inability to clinch the nomination.

History & Black Political Context

Bernie’s campaign and supporters have touted his involvement with the Civil Rights Movement as a testament to his longtime support of issues that matter to Black Americans. People who criticize Bernie, on the other hand, ask what he’s actually done since the Civil Rights Movement. As admirable as the former point is, when it comes to garnering support among Black Americans in 2016, the latter is going to be more important.

To break it down, though, you don’t have to look very hard to understand why Bernie struggled to amass black support. He inherited a struggle by going up against one of the most well-known Democratic politicians in the nation. Black Americans have known Hillary since her husband’s initial presidential campaign decades ago, whereas they have utterly no history with Sanders, nor have they had any reason to. He is a senator from Vermont, literally the whitest state in the country. Not only does this mean Black Americans are unfamiliar with him, it means he has no experience in courting the black vote. And his campaign was apparently either uninterested or unprepared to tackle it. Compare that to Hillary, whose husband's presidential runs required black voters in order to win and who has been in the national political arena for decades. Though many question what she has actually done, negative or positive, for Black Americans, she is well-acquainted with campaigning for their support. Even if Sanders' political history is dotted with support for civil and black rights, that’s absolutely not his foundation, nor what he ran on. He used it, certainly, but his platform was based heavily in economics and even much of his racial analysis pivoted back to poverty and economic inequality. (Never forget the time he said that white people "don't know what it's like to be living in the ghetto" or "be poor.") The mere idea that his proposals should be appealing to black voters does not mean they necessarily are, or that they’re enough to overcome support for Hillary, who has been around far longer and at least theoretically has much less to prove.

In addition, the strong Democratic bloc of black voters is often mistakenly reduced to a monolith of unvaried viewpoints or as staunchly liberal. The dynamism of black politics is regularly ignored and undermined. By being reduced to Democrats or being construed as liberal, the conservative leanings of black voters on certain issues are ignored. The mainstay of the black Democratic bloc is that it is economically liberal. Other issues like foreign policy, terrorism, immigration, and other social issues might also play a role as to why Hillary is more appealing than Bernie. While true that black voters would arguably have more to gain from Sanders' proposals, at least in theory, that won't necessarily warm voters to semi-radical politics overnight, particularly if the message is not being effectively campaigned to their community.

The Democratic Party & Barack Obama

The black community has solidly been in the Democratic Party's corner since the 1960s. Bernie Sanders? Not so much. Though essentially a leftist who sometimes works with the party and certainly often votes with the party in Congress, Sanders is an independent whose views have remained steady through most of his lifetime, even as the political parties have shifted ideologically. In that way, it makes complete sense that black voters would gravitate toward the option who has always (well, almost always) been a Democrat. And although Black Americans and concepts of socialism in this country go far back, as various great Black American thinkers and activists leaned toward it or communism at some point, that's not really the case anymore. Since black representation in government has progressed, Black American politics have become much more mainstream and, as a result, been pulled to the center. 

Further, to understand current trends among the black electorate necessitates understanding of Barack Obama’s legacy. The scars of 2008 aside, Hillary served in the Obama administration and is a link to him. Bernie is much more of a political mystery. He advocates for restructuring the systems we have, while Hillary campaigns on protecting and expanding them (i.e., the Affordable Care Act). One option seems much safer and more politically viable, and at a time where little seems possible politically, it only makes sense for Black Americans, as a relatively vulnerable group, to choose that safer option.

Sanders also represents an anti-establishment wing of the left, which greatly contributed to his relative success against Hillary, but also decimated his chances at winning the nomination. How? Well, like Trump's support, these disaffected voters are more likely to be brought in by his message, as opposed to already making up the party base. That means more voters, yes, but less votes proportionately from Democrats, who are still for the most part loyal to Obama. The establishment Bernie rails against is still being headed by a pretty well-liked (partisanship notwithstanding) Democratic president, and that's not likely to sit well with most of the Democratic Party. This ties right into his low support among black voters—few black voters are being brought in to the Democratic Party; they're already there. And they are much less likely to criticize Obama, both out of genuine policy support and racial affinity.

Message & Issues

A common criticism of Bernie’s campaign is that his message is too narrow. Although practically all Americans would be better served by economic reforms he’s suggesting, that doesn’t mean this benefit is necessarily translatable to everyone. The point is that the economy is not the only issue that matters to people, and attempting to swerve every other issue back to it is not adaptive or persuasive. This is especially true when you’re talking to different population groups. The fact that root problems of many issues source back to economic inequality is not going to convince a voter that you care about solving that problem, since many issues go far beyond that. Further, consider the context of speaking out about economic inequality with no racial analysis when factors like black unemployment have been consistently double the rate of white unemployment for decades, even when you control for education level.

Bernie's success has not necessarily been in bridging great political divides, but in his ability to convey a promise of change to a disaffected electorate. Trump has been able to do much of the same thing. While their messages and policy proposals are often very different, their actual base is a lot more similar than not. As evidenced by his political history, though, Bernie’s platform is de facto geared toward working-class whites who have not felt served by the Democratic establishment in particular. Just because this dissatisfaction might translate across racial lines does not mean that the dissatisfaction actually stems from the same source. Opinions that have characterized as black voters as not “really” progressive because they don’t support the "most progressive" candidate are obnoxiously simplistic. Black politics have always been distinct from white politics, and it’s ultimately a candidate’s fault for not being able to adapt their message in a way that can appeal to multiple groups. Sprinkling in mentions of police brutality isn’t actually enough to court a significant portion of the Democratic electorate.

Despite his low rating from the NRA and various remarks in favor of gun control, some of Sanders' constituent-repping, anti-gun control votes in Congress came back to haunt him during this campaign, and Clinton emerged as the clear and unequivocal gun control candidate. As of a 2015 Pew Survey, a majority of Blacks (72%) polled just behind Hispanics (75%) in support of increased control over gun ownership (Whites, 40%). With recent spates of high-profile police killings of unarmed Blacks, the continual problem of violence in urban communities, as well as the endurance of discriminatory Stand Your Ground laws, this is a significant issue for the black electorate and put Sanders at a disadvantage.

Demographics

The “black vote,” despite tendency to associate blackness with maleness, is actually a female majority. In fact, black women vote at rates higher than any other group. But Bernie’s major black endorsements have not equitably represented this trend whatsoever.* All of his heavy-hitting black endorsements (Cornel West, Spike Lee, Killer Mike) have been black men. And frankly, none of them have been particularly relevant black men. Cornel West comes closest, but Cornel West does not have the same public sway as more mainstream intellectuals like Michael Eric Dyson. Clinton, on the other hand, has many women of various races publicly in her corner, in addition to several black politicians in national office. That’s not to say that this is the only “get” or that either could make dramatic inroads with the black vote by high-profile endorsements alone, but there’s going to be somewhat of a hesitance in general to support a candidate who has few supporters that look like you.

Bernie’s strongest support has been among millennial voters, and that success shouldn't be minimized. But millennials still tend to vote at rather low rates. This was his struggle in general: voters bend more toward Clinton the older they get. Based on exit polls, this has been true of black voters as well, with the bend being even more extreme. That said, older voters turn out to vote in higher concentrations than young ones in addition to voting more consistently. With these trends, older black women are the foundation of the black vote, and they've been firmly in Clinton's corner. This compounds with issues like gun control, where many mothers of sons lost to racist and/or police violence have publicly come out in support of Hillary Clinton.

The Other Options

Finally, there’s no talking about this presidential campaign without noting the utter lack of options on the Democratic side. At its largest, the Democratic debate stage was just a quarter of the size of the Republican field—and it was whittled down quickly. From the start, Hillary seemed like the presumptive nominee, and for all of Sanders' impressive gains, he never did quite catch up. All of the aforementioned problems considered, as one of two options, Sanders had his work cut out for him among the black community—and he never proved he was up to the task.

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*My attention was first drawn to this by Feminista Jones on Twitter many months ago, though I can't find those tweets to save my life.

Why I Support Our Food Service Workers

On Thursday, I went to an action at IUPUI in support of our campus food service workers who are in the midst of re-negotiating their contracts. I was glad to be a part of the sheer number of people who joined the workers—though I can’t for sure say how many, because being in the crowd can make it difficult for me to really get perspective on the size, there were easily over a hundred of us; knowing my limited approximation abilities, there might have been many more. It was an encouraging mix of the workers themselves, students, and faculty. The action itself was frustrating—initially planned to be a march to the office of the food service higher-ups, it was derailed when we arrived to find the office empty and with the door(s) locked. So we headed from the Campus Center across the street to the Tower, which has the other main food service locations on campus, where they were presumed to be. Eventually, we found them. My view partially obstructed due to being unfortunately short, I could see three of them—I later found out there were four—but the complete and utter ambivalence and disrespect of those I could see was frankly appalling. Three or four of the workers passionately and succinctly spelled out their grievances and their demands, and a student (a fellow soc major!) spoke in solidarity on behalf of the students. One of the men had his face to his phone the entire time. The other two I could see barely looked at the workers when they spoke, if they looked at them at all. They didn’t even appear to be listening. I was not paying all that much attention to them, primarily focused on the words of the workers; but when I did notice them, I was enraged at how little they seemed to care.

General knowledge about and observation of our current economy will tell you that service jobs make up the largest share of our labor force. But for record’s sake, the U.S. Department of Labor can tell you as well. The services some provide—medical care via doctors, for example—is fairly well valued. Many others do not carry the same prestige, due to the low “skill” and education required, despite their undeniable significance to our overall economy and society. But the ability for a job to exude prestige does not necessitate a poverty wage.

I say poverty wage not to be dramatic. I can’t know the lives of every single food service worker, but I am fairly familiar with some of the workers on campus. Many of them are older, and because of this, are much more likely to be supporting other dependents as well as themselves. I work with our student-run food pantry, and a decent percentage of our regular shoppers are campus workers, not students. At the action, one of the workers gave an incredibly eloquent and passionate account of her grievances, and noted that she has to utilize our food pantry in order to eat. I teared up immediately when she mentioned this – what says more about the unfair state of our wages than people who work in food service and cannot afford to eat?

I currently take a class about social change, and last semester took a class about political sociology, with a professor who used to teach Labor Studies at IU. I’ve learned more in the last two semesters about the history of labor organizing than I had learned in my previous fifteen-odd years of schooling. I’m by no means an expert, but I now know a good amount to place actions like these within the contexts of history. And what I know is that good wages are not offered up willingly. As Martin Luther King Jr. in his Letter to Birmingham Jail, “We know through painful experience that freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed.”

And though I'm definitely no economist, I can’t imagine that the low level of wages for much of our labor force has no relationship with the poor and slowly-recovering state of our economy. How can people participate in an economy if they are struggling to purchase basic necessities and acquire even a small semblance of financial stability?

Prior to the aforementioned sociology courses, I was regretfully and painfully ignorant about the idea that modern worker’s rights are a relatively recent invention. Even things we ostensibly take for granted, like weekends and the 8-hour workday, are products of labor organization, protest, and resistance. Companies will not provide decent or even livable wages unless given an adequate incentive to do so. And that takes a lot. But it’s not impossible—relatively low-skill work has been capable of providing a living wage in the not-too-distant past. That only happened, however, when workers had the ability to band together and organize to level the power imbalance between themselves and their bosses. This is why I stand with our campus workers, metaphorically and physically—because there is power in numbers, and we can do so much more together than we can do alone.

Finally, I can’t not acknowledge that the food service workers, those who attended the action and in general, are over-represented in minority statuses. This is true across the nation; minorities, of gender and race and otherwise, are disproportionately engaged in low-wage work. The reasons for this are multifaceted, but it remains in fact. I am utterly incapable of ignoring the fact that the majority of these people struggling to make ends meet are racial minorities and/or women, and that their calls for wage increases are ignored. Thus, to me, supporting actions like these are as much about racial and gender justice as they are about economic justice.

I participated in this because I hate the idea that people who do so much for our campus—we have to eat!—are struggling to get by. I would hope that the money I spend on arguably overpriced food is at least providing adequate support to the people who make and serve it. As a part of this campus, I think it’s my duty to show up when I don’t like the way things are being run. And I most definitely don’t. 

Racism and White Supremacy in the Post-Civil Rights Era

The following is a final paper I wrote for my Social Problems course at Ivy Tech Community College in the 2013 fall semester. A few people requested to read it so I decided to post it online. It has been sitting in the drafts of this blog for months, because without a concrete deadline, I have a hard time feeling like anything I've written is every truly ready to share. But this is a concept that I need to have written somewhere so it can be referred to as folks continue to use outdated definitions of racism while trying to address modern problems. Without further ado:

When topics of race or racism come up, many enter the discussion with shallow conceptualizations of what racism actually is. For many people, especially white people, racism can be considered anything done or said disparately against one race, particularly in favor of another. Dictionaries commonly define racism as simply hatred or intolerance of another race and/or the belief that one race is superior over another. By either of these, or a combination of both, definitions, racism is mostly attitudinal and usually individual, and unless someone is purposely being prejudicial or discriminatory, then they’re not racist. Based on this line of reasoning, most of our analysis of race and racism occurs after the fact, and it is sensible to believe that following the Civil Rights Acts of the 1960s, the U.S. began to enjoy a period that some call post-racial, or post-racist – meaning that racism, and race, as we have understood and defined it in the past is no longer relevant in U.S. society. However, others – particularly the members of racial minority groups whom racism has most disparately impacted in the past – maintain that racism is still not only present in U.S. society, but has managed to thrive in the past several decades that followed the Civil Rights Movement. I doubt anyone would argue that racism as it existed in the 1950s and ‘60s still exists in the same way and still manifests the same way that it did then. Obviously, segregation and other solely race-based policies are no longer explicitly written into law; the KKK are no longer staples in every white community, they’re considered fringe extremists. But the fact remains that black Americans and other racial minorities continue to lag behind whites in various areas of society. In a land of purported equality, black and white Americans continue to have vastly different experiences, especially due to race (Douglas E. Schoen, 2012). What can explain this? In this paper I will explore how racism has transformed in society following the “success” of the Civil Rights Movement, particularly how prejudicial attitudes have allowed for racially oppressive systems in the U.S. to continue to thrive.

This paper will predominately focus on racism against black people, not because racism against other people of color is less important or significant, but because the black/white racial divide is and has always been the most visible in U.S. society, black people have consistently been the largest U.S. racial minority group, and the forms of racism enacted against black people (enslavement, lynching, etc.) have manifested in the most violent and widespread forms. It is important to acknowledge that while all racial minorities face racism, certain groups (such as Asians, particularly East Asians) due to their financial and educational success in America, in addition to “model minority” stereotypes, do not face the brunt of hostilely negative prejudiced beliefs, violence, and discrimination that other groups (such as blacks, natives, and Latinos) do. The term “racial minorities” can apply to all people of color in America, but it is important to keep in mind that racism manifests differently across different racial groups.

One of the most significant ideas supporting the claim of a post-racial society is understandable and follows a general pattern of social change: as time goes on, society progresses. I doubt more than a small minority of people would argue that society has not progressed at all since the Civil Rights Movement, particularly regarding how racial groups are treated. However, a bit of a larger minority – myself included – would argue that while improvements have no doubt been made, the success of the Civil Rights Movement, and the subsequent end of racism, has been far overblown. Some say that due to the election of a black president, it is impossible for racism to exist in the U.S., and that instead, an epidemic of “reverse racism”, i.e., racism against whites, has taken its place. I wholeheartedly reject both of these claims, and instead maintain that racism has not disappeared, but merely transformed. Social psychologist James Waller defines two distinct forms of racism as either “old-fashioned racism” – which is what most people assume is meant by the word “racism” – and “modern racism,” (James Waller, 1998) which has developed following the passage of the Civil Rights Acts of the 1960s, when discrimination was outlawed and a new age dawned where “old-fashioned” racist beliefs slowly became less and less acceptable in mainstream America. “Old-fashioned racism” as defined by Waller is a three-pronged belief system consisting of beliefs in white racial superiority, in sanctioned segregation (in schools, communities, public areas, etc.), and in justification for racial discrimination against those races deemed inferior; in addition, the trademark of the old-fashioned racist is that they are blatantly open about these beliefs (James Waller, 1998). Based on this definition, which is what many infer by the term racism alone, then it is true that racism in U.S. society has diminished. However, what Waller calls “modern racism” is a much different beast – modern racist beliefs include 1) denying that racial discrimination against minorities continues, thereby 2) influencing their hostility to minority demands for equal treatment, and finally that 3) the “equal treatment” given to minorities is in fact an unfair advantage over whites, because in the modern racist view, minority groups are already given equal treatment by the normal functions of our society: anything extra is excessive and thus reverse-discriminatory (James Waller, 1998). If the term racism were to apply to this modern racism as opposed to old-fashioned racism, then from my perspective it would be far more common than uncommon in U.S. society. However, the main ability for these “modern” racist beliefs to persist and thrive is in that they are not considered racism by the general populace, particularly by the people who hold these beliefs. Waller (1998) says that, in fact, “[Modern racists] abhor, and avoid, all expressions of old-fashioned racism” (p. 121). He goes on to discuss how although these modern racist beliefs stem from the same underlying prejudices as old-fashioned racism, the social acceptability of openly, “old-fashioned” racist beliefs have declined, which is why these subtler beliefs have taken its place and are simultaneously not considered racism of any type by the general populace (James Waller, 1998). A subset of modern racism is symbolic racism (James Waller, 1998; David O. Sears, et al, 1997) which includes the previously addressed beliefs of modern racism, but also include absence of positive feelings for black people and the assertion that blacks should work harder (David O. Sears, et al, 1997), implying that where black people and other minorities lag behind in society is not due to discrimination – modern/symbolic racists believe discrimination is a relic of the past – but due to their (blacks’) own personal failings, such as lack of work ethic. The very belief that the majority of blacks have a lower work ethic than whites, since the majority of blacks lag behind whites in overall wealth, income, and employment, is fundamentally racist – even in the “old-fashioned” sense – by assuming blacks’ work ethic is inferior to that of whites. But because of how the belief is framed, those who hold these beliefs can escape the label of racism by refusing to examine the undercurrent of prejudice in their beliefs.

Somewhat ironically, one of the main concepts used to justify the post-racial theoretical view of society is arguably the same thing that causes racist beliefs and structures to continue to function with ease: colorblindness. Simply put, colorblindness is the concept of one not seeing color, or more accurately, not seeing race as a defining factor in any one person or people. Colorblindness is a common solution for racial inequality, and individuals as well as institutions claim to utilize it. But this theory has one major glaring problem: why is race so significant to someone’s identity that in order to treat everyone equally, one must pretend that that they can’t see it, that it doesn’t even exist? Surely if one had a purely egalitarian perspective, they could see all manner of different people and those differences would have no bearing on how one treats them. This brings me to my point that ultimately, the theory of colorblindness actually fosters racial biases. By refusing to “see” race, one simultaneously refuses to see the differences in experience, culture, history, and identity of individual people, for whom that status may be of importance. As Monica T. Williams suggests in “Colorblind Ideology is a Form of Racism,” it is mostly white people who ascribe to this doctrine, since their perspective as white people directly reinforces the concept that race doesn’t matter – for them. Because white people in America enjoy being both the majority in size and power, they have no history or understanding of how race impacts one’s identity except as to how it affects “others” (Monica T. Williams, 2011).

Of course, many white people would disagree with this assertion, claiming they do understand what it is like to experience discrimination. What about affirmative action? Affirmative action as it is referred to today consists of the policies put in place in compliance with Executive Order 11246, which banned discrimination based on gender, race, national origin, disability or veteran status, among other things (United States Department of Labor, 2002).  Many assume that because affirmative action policies take minority social statuses into account (although race is the most popular talking point), that they must be discriminatory against the dominant social statuses. But this assumption has little basis in reality. What affirmative action policies intend to do is prevent discrimination; they do so by determining numerical goals of minority-status individuals for hire “based on the availability of qualified applicants in the job market or qualified candidates in the employer’s work force” (United States Department of Labor, 2002). This clearly states that in hiring, the social status of candidates is only considered among those who are already qualified for the position. Opponents of affirmative action claim that affirmative action policies give minority status individuals an unfair advantage; again, this has little basis in reality. In reality, white students with privileged backgrounds who have connections to a university are far more likely to attend a university for which they did not meet the admission qualifications than black or Latino students who benefited from affirmative action policies (Paul Pryse, 2008). Myths about affirmative action run rampant, perhaps the greatest one being that affirmative action puts white students at a disadvantage by favoring students of color. In truth, studies have shown time and time again that the greatest beneficiaries of affirmative action are white women (Tim Wise, 1998) due to affirmative action policies including gender as a consideration. Finally, I believe that any growing opposition to affirmative action from white people is very often a misunderstanding of the practices, chalking it up to “reverse discrimination” instead, or simply feeling their privileged position in society is attacked when racial minorities are given a chance to excel at the same level. After all, affirmative action explicitly for white people – otherwise known as racial discrimination – persisted in U.S. universities, hiring practices, and just about everywhere else from before the dawn of the U.S. as a nation until the 1960s.  Michael K. Brown (2003) notes, “Yet when power and wealth were being invested in their side of the color line, white Americans registered hardly any opposition to the arrangement” (p. 28). 

The bottom line is that affirmative action was enacted to reverse the centuries of discrimination that white people (specifically, white men) had benefited from at the expense of people of color (and white women). To use a metaphor, it is not opening a door for people of color and explicitly keeping white people out – it is opening a door for people of color that only white people were allowed to use for centuries prior. What stringent opposition to affirmative action tells me is that white people either enjoy benefiting from discrimination too much to give it up, or they truly believe that people of color are incapable of being hired or admitted based on their qualifications alone – both possibilities seem connected to racist beliefs that people of color should not enjoy the same educational and economic opportunities as whites, or that their inferiority makes it impossible for them to compete on the same level.

Colin Wayne Leach identifies a theory for the persistence of racism even after attempts have been made to reform racial inequality, which is first suggested in Gunnar Myrdal’s book An American Dilemma (1944) (Colin Wayne Leach, 2002). While many identify democracy and egalitarianism as sources of equality, Myrdal predicts – and Leach confirms – that while they ideally would dismantle systems of racial inequality, “the hope that U.S. egalitarianism will eventually reform racism and racial inequality ignores the fact that racism and inequality are as central to the society as egalitarianism” (p. 284). The United States, since its conception, has been considered a land of fairness, equality, and liberty; that is the reason colonists rebelled against British colonial rule. However, what many fail to remember and acknowledge is that this supposed liberty only applied to certain groups of people. Though many feel that this period (of racial inequality in particular) is over, it is worth acknowledging that whites have apparently felt this way for a while. Leach notes that around the time Myrdal’s book about democracy and the Negro was published in the 1940s, a minority of whites (40%) believed that blacks were treated unfairly despite this being a time when segregated public facilities and explicit discrimination was the norm (Colin Wayne Leach, 2002). Today, though many whites feel blacks are nowhere near as disadvantaged as they used to be and in fact are sometimes favored over whites (Colin Wayne Leach, 2002; David O. Sears, et al, 1997) it remains a fact that black unemployment, black homelessness, black poverty, and black arrests are all higher than the rate for whites, and that their income, and especially wealth, levels are lower. Myrdal and Leach argue that to protect their beliefs about American fairness and equality, whites will justify the disparities by inferring that blacks must be inherently inferior (Colin Wayne Leach, 2002). In other words, whites will not see the problems unique to blacks in America as a failure of democracy or proof of societal racism as they are far too invested in the former idea, and in the belief that the latter does not exist. Therefore the only way to rationalize the social standing of black Americans is to fall back on the assumption that has persisted for most of American history – that black suffering is a result of blacks’ own inherent inferiority. It also must be acknowledged that as such a democratic society progresses and the severity of racial inequality lessens, this belief will be much easier to justify as the severity of problems that blacks face will decrease (since it is easier to imagine that blacks are responsible for their own high unemployment levels than their enslavement, for example).

So far this paper has examined only attitudinal, or prejudicial, racism, but obviously prejudice is the foundation for discrimination and structural racism. Studies and statistics abound that show racial disparities continue to exist not only in employment and education, but in housing, the criminal justice system, and even healthcare. To verify that the source of disparity is intentional racism would be faulty, as someone could believe and claim that they are acting indiscriminately but regardless still treat members of different races unequally. One jarring example of racial disparity is shown in Devah Pager’s 1998 Princeton study of discrimination in hiring practices. Her experiment used men of equitable qualifications, age, physical appearance, and speaking style of different racial and ethnic backgrounds (white, black, and Latino). A second set of men were used to determine how a criminal background would affect results, but only the white man in the second group was given a criminal record. All were fielded to 171 employers in New York City. What may not be surprising is that in the first group, the white man received the highest percentage of callbacks (31%), with the Latino and black man receiving considerably less (25% and 15% respectively) (Devah Pager, 1998). What is shocking is that in the second group, the white man with a criminal record received more callbacks (17%) than the black men with clean records from each group (15% and 13%) (Devah Pager, 1998). The results of the study suggest that to employers, a white man with a criminal record is equally, if not more so, preferable for employment than a black man without one.

Studies like these suggest that racial discrimination is alive and well, and combined with the high incarceration rates of blacks – being 6.5 times more likely to be arrested than whites (James Williams, 2011) – the odds are stacked dramatically high against black Americans. Claims that we live in a post-racial society are mistaken, despite what people may think about the election of Barack Obama. While it may be true that intentional and explicit racial biases have faded from American society, that says nothing about the reality of unintentional and implicit racial biases – the only difference being that the latter is dramatically harder to identify and subsequently combat. Aptly summarized in the track “Never Let Me Down” from his 2004 debut The College Dropout, Kanye West raps, “Racism still alive / they just be concealin’ it.” As racism has existed since the dawn of our nation, its defeat can only be accomplished by an active and intentional campaign to totally dismantle the systems, institutions, and beliefs that support it. Unfortunately, this will likely never happen, as far too many people are invested in the current operation of the status quo. However, my hope is that through increased education and awareness about the reality of racial inequality, more people will begin to stand up and demand that something be done.

References

Brown, M. K., Carnoy, M., Currie, E., Duster, T., Oppenheimer, D. B., Schultz, M. M., & Wellman, D. (2003). Whitewashing race: The myth of a color-blind society. Berkley and Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press.

Leach, C. W. (2002). Democracy’s dilemma: Explaining racial inequality in egalitarian societies. Sociological Forum, 17, 681-694.

Pager, D., Western, B., & Bonikowski, B. (2009). Discrimination in a low-wage labor market: A field experiment. American Sociological Review, 74, 777-799.

Pryse, P. (2008, October 23). In defense of affirmative action. Socialist Worker. Retrieved from http://socialistworker.org/2008/10/23/in-defense-of-affirmative-action.

Schoen, D. E. (2012). Newsweek/The Daily Beast Poll. Retrieved from http://www.thedailybeast.com/content/dam/dailybeast/2012/04/06/Newsweek_DailyBeast_Race_In_America_Survey.pdf.

Sears, D. O., Van Laar, C., Carillo, M., & Kosterman, R. (1997). Is it really racism?: The origin to white American’s opposition of race-targeted policies. Public Opinion Quarterly, 61, 16,-53.

Waller, J. (1998). Face to face: The changing state of racism across America. New York, NY: Plenum Publishing Corporation.

Williams, J. (2011). Racial disparities in the criminal justice system. Retrieved from http://criminaljustice.ncbar.org/newsletters/criminaljusticefeb11/racialdisparities.

Williams, M. (2011, December 27). Colorblind ideology is a form of racism. Psychology Today. Retrieved from http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/colorblind/201112/colorblind-ideology-is-form-racism.

Wise, T. (1998). Is sisterhood conditional?: White women and the rollback of affirmative action. Retrieved from http://www.timwise.org/1998/09/is-sisterhood-conditional-white-women-and-the-rollback-of-affirmative-action/.

(2002, January 4). Facts on executive order 11246 – affirmative action. United States Department of Labor, Office of Federal Contract Compliance Programs. Retrieved from http://www.dol.gov/ofccp/regs/compliance/aa.htm.

Who Is Black in America?

Image credit: CNN's Black in America.

On Sunday night, I watched a CNN special hosted by Soledad O'Brien called Who Is Black in America?, a look at racial identification in modern America among people who do not clearly fit into a predetermined category of either black or white. I wasn't planning on tuning in, but then I saw a preview video and it spoke precisely to what I have been going through recently that I felt I needed to at least check it out. After watching, it only seemed necessary that I share my thoughts about it.

I'm black and white mixed, but I have had no problem self-identifying as black as long as I've been cognizant of race, because to me it's what I always have been. It surprised me to see other people who looked just as black, if not more so, than me, to struggle with their diverse background and resist being put into an either/or category such as black or white. But it similarly opened up my eyes and made me realize that my personal struggle with racial identification is not as rare, and that I'm not as alone, as I first thought. Questions began popping up in my mind: How do we decide what black "looks" like anyway? Or what it feels like? Is there a common black experience? Furthermore, who decides this? Is it other black people, or white people, or just people in general?

I consider myself to have had a unique experience of growing up biracial in a very small, rural, 98% white town. I was the only black girl in my class from kindergarten until graduation. I can loosely quote a man from the show in saying, "White people will let you know what you are and what you aren't really quick." I was lucky as a kid to not feel too heavily "othered" by my classmates, and hardly ever in a negative way. But from people touching my curly hair unannounced to getting singled out in class on Martin Luther King, Jr., Day, I was regularly reminded of what I was and what I was not, even if I was technically both. Even when you are both, or somewhere in the middle, people are too eager to put you in a box rather than let you be whatever you want. Rarely will you find an obviously-mixed person identifying or being identified as white or anything other than black, because being black is somehow this all-consuming identifier that grabs onto you whether you want it to or not.

Who Is Black in America? spotlighted a project called (1)ne Drop, which draws its name from the historical One Drop Rule, a rule adopted by most of America that declared you as being black if you had but one drop of black blood in your ancestry. This rule declared that even the smallest bit of black in your bloodline tarnished the purity of an otherwise white person and made them black. Despite no longer being in place officially, the rule brings the question of who is and isn't black to the surface. We're not likely to classify anyone with a drop of black in their bloodline to be black nowadays -- in fact, many people who would be otherwise racially ambiguous can actually "pass" as white. So if not that, what is it that actually makes someone black or white or "other"?

My answer: skin color is only one fraction of the whole equation. Race is, although predominately decided by skin color, a combination of shared physical features, including facial structure and hair texture. For example, Soledad O'Brien, host of Black in America, is half-black but could "pass" as white or as another racial minority due to her light skin color, straight hair, and European facial features. She essentially lacks many of the racial markers that identify someone as black. There are many lighter-skinned people who look "blacker" than her due to their facial features and hairstyle. So to say race is determined only by skin color is dishonest and simplifies the complexity of racial identity in America.

CNN reporter Soledad O'Brien, who has a Black, White, and Latina background. Image credit: CNN.

Ultimately, who is and is not black can only externally be decided by society at large. Identification starts with the person whose identity is in question. Due to my light skin, absence of a tan, and chemically straightened hair, I may not look black to someone at first glance, but I am and always have been black. Myself and people like me are merely testimonies to the ever-diversifying image of America, stretching and changing and molding anew the image of what it looks like to be black.

Is Your Feminism Inclusive? (Probably Not)

I feel as though most feminists automatically shut down any critique of the feminist movement because they are so used to moving in circles where feminism is taboo, where they have to explain and defend feminism’s legitimacy over and over again, thus any criticism automatically feels dismissive and threatening. While many men and some women may be weary of the “point” of feminist activism, when I criticize feminism, I’m not discounting feminism’s core philosophy or discrediting the good that feminism has done in achieving some progress regarding gender equality, nor am I claiming that there’s no need for feminism anymore. My qualms with feminism lie much deeper than that, at the root of the movement, from how we are conversing about certain issues to who is primarily doing the talking. Mainstream feminism is worth criticism when you have popular feminists like Lena Dunham totally failing at racial inclusivity, the majority of feminists toting transphobic messages by making womanhood all about uteri and vaginas, or thinking that talking about women as a whole is the best and only way to tackle “women’s issues”. So let me give a long overdue Inclusivity 101 to all those feminists who Just Don’t Get It or think that asking them to be inclusive of other identities is inherently sexist, or something. 

Ø    Who am I supposed to be including?

So you know that you want to help women, yeah? But what about those women who have to deal with more than just the struggle of being a woman? Some feminists choose to ignore these intersections as though mentioning them detracts from feminism as a whole, but by doing so they theoretically erase the identities of so many women who are already near-invisible in society. There are about five major intersections that contribute to the oppression of some women: race, class, sexual orientation, gender expression, and physical/mental ability. So women of color have to deal with sexism and racism. Transgender women have to deal with sexism and transphobia. Gay women have to deal with sexism and homophobia, and so on. Not only do the separate factions of identity add to what these women face, but the intersections of those oppressions manifest in completely unique ways. For example, women of color do not solely face racism and sexism separately – they must deal with a hybrid of the two, called racialized misogyny, which suppresses their ability to live fully without being boxed into stereotypes based on their race and their gender. (Black women are expected to expound endless strength, Asian women are believed to be naturally submissive, and Hispanic women are hypersexualized, for one set of examples.) This applies to any and all intersections, and hey, it may sound ridiculous when you spell it out in plain, but there potentially are gay, disabled, working-class women of color out there who probably do not feel all too welcome, included, or represented in the feminist movement, and it’s not their responsibility to squeeze their way into a hostile and exclusive space, it’s your responsibility as a feminist to make room for them with the space you already have.

Ø    All right, I get what you’re saying, but how am I supposed to include these women?

Feminist writings typically don’t divulge into other factions of womanhood. They assume a general, default definition of “woman” that should more accurately be described as “white, straight, middle-to-upper-class, cisgender, able-bodied woman,” but since that is rather a mouthful, no one usually takes the time to make such a distinction. However, if you’re not going to make the distinction every time you discuss womanhood, you should divulge how that definition differs when other intersections come into play. Say you’re talking gender inequality in income in the US, so you illustrate pay inequality by stating that women make seventy-seven cents to every dollar a man earns. This isn’t an untrue claim, but it is misleading, as the pay rate across racial lines is even more disparate – this statistic only works for white men and women. Black women only make 70 cents to every white man’s dollar, and Latina women make even less at 61 cents. To ignore these further inequalities when discussing income inequality means further alienating the struggle of women who are already largely ignored by society.

In general, it’s a good idea to at least make regular note of how women who are not heterosexual, not white, not cisgender, not middle to upper class, and not able-bodied face more difficulty than women who are – it should be universal language within the feminist movement. It’s also important to keep in mind that men who do not fit the aforementioned categorical norm are sometimes less privileged than women who do; i.e., not all men are directly responsible for upholding oppressive systems, even if they do still benefit from patriarchal male privileges, because there are other social privileges that they lack (enter race, class, disability, etc.) But if you’re feeling particularly driven, you can actually investigate how patriarchy most adversely affects its lowest common denominators, men and women alike.

Ø    Okay, but why is being inclusive so important? Can’t we get more done by talking about the issues all women can relate to? – Doesn’t subverting issues take more away from the conversation than it adds?

Inclusivity in a movement that intends to support the betterment of all women is so necessary when the least privileged women are some of the most vulnerable in our society. Not only does it lift up women who need more help, it is beneficial for other women to learn more about each other’s struggles and hardships as well as how we all, as individuals, fit into this society that is so heavily built on the suffering of others. And naturally, it draws more women to the movement itself. There are women who are not sold on feminism because of how little it offers outside of its criticism of patriarchy, and how little it offers them as women who have more than just sexism to concern themselves with.

If you think that talking about these subsets of issues that women minorities face is detracting from the whole of feminism, you would be wrong. I always say that working from the bottom up ensures that you take care of the needs of everyone, not only the most vocal or most privileged women. While sexual assault, for instance, is an issue all women can empathize with, it is true that minority groups such as disabled women and women of color all face higher rates of sexual assault. The problem of sexual assault is still addressed, and women whom are most vulnerable to it are acknowledged. After all, these less-privileged groups of women are still women. Working class and poor women are still women. Women of color are still women. Trans women, disabled women, and queer women are still women. There is nothing relevant to being a woman that these women experience and their more privileged counterparts do not; ergo there is nothing about their existence irrelevant to feminism. Referring to the intersections of oppression that these women face as “distractions” is ingenuous at best and downright insulting at worst. It is not a distraction to extend care and support to those whom patriarchy most adversely affects, although it may seem like it to those who are not used to repositioning their feminist lens around someone other than themselves.

So, your feminism – is it inclusive or not? What do you think you can do to highlight issues other women face to make sure your feminism is intersectional? I’m personally trying to educate myself about transphobia and combat the rampant cissexism in mainstream feminist discourse. It seems many people are still struggling with the concept that gender and sex are not interchangeable, so we still have quite a way to go. As always, let me know your thoughts in the comments!

The N Word, in My Humble Point of View

This past semester, I was assigned a final position paper for my Exposition and Persuasion class, and I chose to write about the "N" word. It's something I've gained a weird passion for, and that I feel really strongly about. A few people have shown interest in reading it, so I decided to post it here for all to see! Feel free to let me know what you think.

Growing up, I knew little about this word other than that it was a relic of America’s intensely racist past, and at the time I was naïve enough to believe that it had been buried, dead and gone, long ago – just like racism. So one can imagine my surprise when, while standing with my friends on the playground during recess, one of them commented on the braided hairstyle of another girl who had just passed us by saying, “She looks like a nigger.”

I had never heard the word said aloud, and I never expected that I would hear it among a circle of so-called friends, and that those friends – who were all white, next to me, the sole black girl in the entire class – would say nothing in response to this. The few nanoseconds of awkward silence that followed the other girl’s laughter was enough to prompt me to turn on my heel and walk away in the opposite direction. I was lucky, I would later realize, that my first real-life encounter with the hateful world was not directed at me or hurled as an insult (although the sneer and laugh with which she spoke was clue enough that to look like a nigger was not a good thing). It’s very possible that other black students in a vastly white environment would not fare so well; some others at my school could testify to that.

It also did not take long until I discovered that, outside of my sheltered life in small-town Indiana, the word had not died with the Civil Rights Movement. It lives on not only in its original use and meaning, but also in the black community with its variant “nigga”. Usage in this context spans from blacks addressing one another as a term of endearment, to branding other blacks in the same negative light as its predecessor. Perfectly explained by TIME Ideas writer Touré, “Nigga is nigger with an ironic twist, but the venom is still in its fangs” (Touré, 2011). Today in 21^st century America, the word is used far too carelessly among blacks and whites alike, because so many are out-of-touch with the racial issues that face America today. Because the Civil Rights Movement is 40 years behind us, because an African-American president now leads our country, equality has been achieved – that’s how it might seem, anyway. But anyone with more than general understanding of America’s racial history knows that the enslavement and degradation of an entire race for centuries cannot be overturned with an act of legislation, or even in the years that follow it. Racism is far and well alive today, and because of that, the pain in which the N word was founded cannot be forgotten easily, if ever, and is only “just a word” to the people who lack an understanding of the deep and extensive history of racism, racial disparity, and white supremacy in America. My position is that only blacks have the authority to use the word for whatever purpose, and that the use of it by any other racial group should be discouraged as it is directly offensive to the centuries’ worth of blacks who suffered as second-class citizens in America.

The N word is thought to have originated as a deliberate slur of “Negro,” or the variations thereof (niger, neger, etc.) which early white American brandished blacks with to mark and remind them of their lower status (Kennedy, 2004). Randall Kennedy’s essay “A Note on the Word Nigger” (2004) quotes Hosea Easton who in 1837 wrote:

[Nigger] is an opprobrious term, employed to impose contempt upon [blacks] as an inferior race…The term itself would be perfectly harmless were it used only to distinguish one class from another; but it is not used with that intent…it flows from the fountain of purpose to injure (Kennedy, 2004).

To examine the word, there must be a thorough examination of race implications throughout American history, which is an admittedly overwhelming task. Jabari Asim’s book The N Word: Who Can Say It, Who Shouldn’t, and Why (2007) is an excellent, while somewhat depressing, journey through the reality of black oppression in America. It turns on its head the notion that slavery was a sore spot of American history that merely happened, that black oppression was an unfortunate aspect of our journey as a nation, that the Civil Rights Movement resulted in equality, and that we have now moved on. What history tends to gloss over, perhaps in embarrassment, when it comes to matters of protest or rebellion is the wrongful system and governance which made that protest necessary. The N Word instead spells out history for what it is: a deliberate oppression of all people of color, especially blacks, in the name of the so-called natural superiority of the white race (Asim, 2007).

The racism blacks experienced went far beyond just enslavement; free blacks, of course, faced mounting discrimination, ridicule, and oftentimes fatal violence. After emancipation, racism suffered no casualties; it only transfigured itself, taking on new shapes and forms. Ferris State University’s “Nigger and Caricatures” (2001) highlights the demeaning portrayals of blacks beyond the Civil War, associating them with negative stereotypes and Jim Crow-type caricatures such as “Coon” and “Mammy” – as well as how “nigger” was integrated into them all, a continually-present reminder of black inferiority (Middleton & Pilgrim, 2001).

But the N word has never just been a tool used solely by whites to demean blacks. As early as the 1830s, there were reports of the word employed among blacks to refer to each other, not unlike how “nigga” has taken off in recent decades as a term of endearment. But back then, the N word was just as often used by blacks in the same vein as by whites: as a declaration of black inferiority, used in reference to lower-class blacks, especially dark blacks, and newly-arrived southern immigrants (Asim, 2007). This correlates with the many implications of the N word and its variants that were in no way directed toward blacks, but were always used with negative meanings: “nigger” as a verb meant “to wear out, spoil or destroy”; “nigger luck” was exceptionally good luck that was particularly undeserved; “nigger work” was a demeaning, menial task. Essentially, “nigger” could be tacked onto any word or phrase to lower its meaning or associate it with blacks (Middleton & Pilgrim, 2001). “Nigger is the ultimate American insult…Jews are called white-niggers; Arabs, sandniggers; or Japanese, yellow-niggers” (Middleton & Pilgrim, 2001). These are prime examples of the deep and pervasive racism that birthed this ugly slur.

Of course, the N word has evolved since the dawn of its usage. Blacks in America have made grand strides toward equality, especially in the latter half of the 20^th century with the Civil Rights Movement. In fact, America today has a much stranger relationship with the word. In its “true” form (“nigger,” as opposed to “nigga”), the word rarely appears in a racist context like it used to, with the exception of it being preserved in some literary works – Mark Twain’s The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn is a primary example. The N word appears throughout its pages a whopping 215 times (Asim, 2007). In recent years, controversy has arisen over copies of Huck Finn that replaced the racial epithet with “slave” to make them more suitable for classroom use. But what those who decide to censor books, like these, fail to see is that the word is used deliberately, and as in all literature and artwork, context is important. Removing such a word from a book set in a time where it was used regularly is, on a small scale, rewriting history. As stated in “Huck Finn and the N Word: Taking it out doesn’t educate,” from the Anniston Star, “Replace the N-word with ‘slave’ and you take the story out of its context, a time when casual conversation revealed how little the lives of black people were valued, beyond their labor.” (Anniston Star, 2011). Context is important regarding the N word – it essentially clarifies its meaning. In the 1800s and much of the 1900s, it would be no surprise to hear it scathingly directed at blacks, and it would not be out of the ordinary. This is what history and literature teaches us, and it defines how and why the N word is not acceptable today – it’s about us moving toward equality.

Today in America, not only is the N word least widespread in its racist usage, but it is most popular among blacks. As mentioned earlier, “nigga” is often employed within the black community casually as a term of endearment, favored over more neutral terms of past decades, like “brother.” It’s ironic among blacks, using a word that has caused them so much pain at the hands of whites and putting it in a positive context. This is the only use of the word that I can support – I feel it is the right of the black community to use or not use the word however they like. But that doesn’t erase the problematic implications that occur as the word has gained popularity, not just in the black community, but in mainstream society, through the vessel of hip-hop music.

The N word broke into the mainstream media when gangsta rap group N.W.A. (Niggas Wit Attitude) released “Straight Outta Compton.” Among lyrical appearances of violence and drugs, N.W.A. employed a generous application of the N word – it was counted on the record 46 times (Asim, 2007). N.W.A.’s “Niggaz for Life” begins “Why do I call myself a nigger, you ask me?” In The N Word, Asim writes about their answer to this question: “In their [N.W.A.’s] view, blacks will be called ‘nigger’ by the larger society no matter what they accomplish … so there’s little purpose in trying to shake off the word” (Asim, 2007). Even while not agreeing with this view, the sentiment is understandable. Fighting with the word, distancing oneself from it, seems impossible and unnecessary when considering one can instead grab hold of it, like N.W.A. and many modern hip-hop artists have, and shape it into something new. Reclaiming the N word – “nigga” – is precisely what some African Americans have done. And with the word appearing on the tracks of hip-hop artists more often than not, the spread of “nigga” has easily crossed over ethnic and color lines.

I have personally encountered many people who hold the opinion that it is unfair that “blacks can use the word, and whites can’t.” But this view, again, suffers from a lack of contextual understanding. The difference between whites and non-blacks saying “nigga” is that blacks use it in an ironic sense, since the word is something that has scarred them for centuries. Even the newest generations know of the disparity of blacks vs. whites; our place in society is instilled in us and is not easy to ignore, even without a full knowledge of the history of our struggle – because racism and discrimination is still very much something blacks experience in the present day. The irony immediately disappears when “nigga” is used by whites or non-blacks, regardless of its friendly context. The irony is in blacks using it positively. American society is not yet at a place where racial tension is so eased and racial inequality is irrelevant that use by whites is non-offensive or can be treated the same as when it is spoken by blacks, regardless of how “positively-intended” it is. This often results in the claim that, ‘If we want equality, we should treat everyone the same way.’ However noble this ideology, it undermines the extensive pursuit of equality by African-Americans for centuries. It also somewhat offensively disregards the differences between races and cultures, especially differences between African-American culture and the broader, “white” American culture. We are equal, but we are different. Employing the same code of conduct across the racial spectrum certainly undermines those differences – and blinding oneself to those differences does not eliminate them.

Finally, the only way to ensure a proper understanding of the N word among all people is to open intelligent discourse about it. That is precisely what Neal A. Lester of Arizona University did. He has taught two college courses on the N word in order to delve into the complexities of it, to examine and discuss how one word came to be the most painful in the American lexicon. In an interview, “Straight Talk about the N Word” for Tolerance Magazine (2011), Lester talks about how the ignorance of much of the history fosters the spread of the word, most especially among youth, and how important it is that discussion and teaching about the word occurs: “There’s no way to know all of its nuances because it’s such a complicated word, a word with a particular racialized American history,” Lester says. “But one way of getting at it is to have some critical and historical discussions about it and not pretend that it doesn’t exist” (Price, 2011).

To conclude, I think that one single, standard rule about the usage of the N word among all people – something I formerly believed in – is inefficient. I do, however, believe that the widespread use of it in modern society, most of which is triggered by the continually-rising popularity of hip-hop music, is far too gratuitous in nature. Even if the music is created to mirror reality, it is only the reality of black Americans that is portrayed, but black Americans are by far not the sole audience. The complexities of the word and its implications are ignored far and wide, and I have personally encountered many white teenagers calling each other “niggas,” which is disconcerting. Most of them were not racist, they were simply ignorant. Having likely heard the word more often in the music they listen to than in a racist context, they lack the depth of understanding of what this word really means. Because no matter how hard one may try, there is no word that equals the power of “nigger”, and it did not achieve that power overnight.

“Nigger” is the permanent stamp of the hatred, degradation, enslavement, pain, torture, suffering, and more that African Americans have faced from the moment they were first shipped to North America and sold into slavery. Even over two hundred years later, the remnants of the racial hierarchy upon which this country was founded have yet to fade; therefore, when a white person utters “nigger,” regardless of how they say it or what they intend by it, the damage is done. The word is an automatic reminder of the endless and continual pain experienced by the people who suffered at the very bottom of society and were forced to crawl their way up to reach the threshold of equality. There has been no greater insult to anyone than to call them a nigger, which exemplifies how deep racial disparity goes – reminding us that the worst thing you can be in this country is black.