Here’s an interesting piece by Ryan Reft on the website of KCET, the Los Angeles Public Television station, evaluating the racial and political contradictions of the “gentleman farmer” ideal that grew up in the Valley, and the way that that ideal fostered a quasi-rural sense of place within the boundaries of the west coast’s largest city. Reft mostly relies on the excellent work of Matt Garcia and my friend Laura Barraclough to evaluate the ways that industry and urbanization and agriculture intersected in the Valley.
I get a little love at the end too, on the subject of the Valley secession movement of 2002.
Interesting piece by Alec MacGillis in the New Republic on Scott Walker’s rise and the way that his political persona and base is rooted in the polarized landscape of metro Milwaukee.
There are some interesting nuggets about Walker’s early forays into student politics at Marquette, including the gem that he earned the name “Niedermayer” (after the uptight villain in Animal House). But the treatment of the rise of talk radio, the racial and economic segregation of Milwaukee and its suburbs, and the significance of resentments about taxes and a public sector perceived to benefit Milwaukee’s black residents are the real takeaways.
This resonates pretty strongly with something I’m writing about the 1990s tax revolts in Fulton County, and I have to point out this passage:
According to studies by the Brookings Institution and Brown University, the Milwaukee metro area is one of the top two most racially segregated regions in the country. The WOW counties were voting Republican at levels unseen in other Northern suburbs; one needed to look as far as the white suburbs around Atlanta and Birmingham for similar numbers.
Indeed, MacGillis refers to something that I’ve written about here before: that metropolitics are a great framework for understanding the contemporary tone and agenda of conservatism. The tumult over stripping collective bargaining from state workers was a surprise only because people hadn’t observed Walker’s tenure as Milwaukee County executive:
Nationally, the tumult was described as a kind of alien visitation on Wisconsin’s paradise of Upper Midwestern civility. In fact, the episode had simply brought the polarization between the WOW counties and liberal Milwaukee and Madison out into the open for the first time.
Let’s imagine a politician frequently described as “professorial”, who at various times made a living as a professor.
This politician also struggled to define a political identity in a biracial political environment where some whites suspected him of being a black militant and many black leaders debated whether he was “black enough.”
And, when this politician faced a right-wing populist uprising that protested public spending and taxation, the stuff really hit the fan. Critics accused him of taking his election as an “anointing as king” and accused him of wanting to confiscate their wealth to distribute it to political supporters and welfare deadbeats.
And, when those critics attempted to remove him from office, leading him toward the embrace of a previously skeptical black civil rights establishment, white critics went absolutely berzerk, treating this politician’s rallying of supporters as a betrayal of a tacit bargain to ignore race in the public sphere. As one editorial put it, “We thought that [Politician X] would be one black public official who wouldn’t run for racial cover the minute he feels heat. We were wrong.” In this construction, not only is the politician in question criticized, that criticism is embedded in not-at-all concealed stereotypes about black leadership generally. While this editorial validated readers’ stereotypes of black political leaders as incompetent and prone to bad faith invocations of racial oppression (the notorious “race card”), it shifted blame for continuing that stereotype onto an individual who had been presumed to depart from it. Another contemporary editorial asserted that “if we are ever going to be able to smother racism in this country, a good place to start would be to stop blaming it on racism every time a black person gets into trouble.”
I’m sure it’s obvious that, while I’m encouraging you to think of Barack Obama, I’m actually describing former Fulton County Commission chair Michael Lomax, who was the target of anger during an explosive tax revolt in 1991. I’ve written about that tax revolt and its consequenceshere before, but the reason I’m addressing it now is that the terms of engagement by which many white moderates accepted Barack Obama, and indeed under which Obama himself laid claim to legitimacy as a presidential candidate–that he address race as little as possible under the banner of postracial politics–were rehearsed in Atlanta’s metropolitics a generation ago. Lomax’s position in the tax revolt was an eerie precursor to Obama’s in the face of the Tea Party: a cerebral centrist with pretensions to creating a biracial political coalition, beset from the right by a populist anti-tax movement with substantial, though unacknowledged, racial undertones, but ideologically constrained from referencing the racial component of that opposition, and severely chastised by the media for “going there.” Most people outside of Atlanta would be unfamiliar with Lomax’s political career, but he exemplifies both a precursor to Obama-type “postracial” minority politicians and an early warning of the ways that evolving racism constrained them.
Historians have a great deal to contribute to developing understandings of color-blindness as a dominant racial ideology–engaging with the work of sociologists, political scientists, social psychologists, and increasingly media scholars. But I think it’s particularly important to identify metropolitan space as a formative arena for this mode of politics, a master space, if you will, that connects and organizes ideology, institutions, and media, and creates social and material stakes for negotiations and conflict around racial identities.
Coates’s piece has been making a big splash in my virtual circles, and with good cause. There is much to discuss about Coates’s argument, and I’ll probably update this post with links to other writers and bloggers who offer a constructive comment on it.
I would like to mention, however, that the impact the article made on me was in the way that it connected the historical processes of migration and urbanization to the perpetuation of racial inequality. If the typical American is willing to accept that slavery was a system of horrific racial abuse and exploitation, and that the Jim Crow practices of the post-Reconstruction South were likewise brutal and undemocratic, the case for reparations generally falls off the rails somewhere after the March on Washington. Understanding the ways that racial prejudice and economic, political, and cultural exploitation and exclusion work requires understanding the ways that race has been woven into the fabric of metropolitan America.
This is, of course, what urban and metropolitan historians of race and ethnicity do, and Coates shows his work, referring readers to an excellent reading list describing the ways that the housing markets, among other urban institutions, perpetuated segregation and thus grossly unequal opportunity networks for black Americans outside the South and both before and after the era of Civil Rights.
The Great Migrations of African Americans out of the South to northern cities, in particular come under scrutiny. These migrations were certainly transformative, but Coates disrupts the narrative of progress toward equality (with help from Beryl Satter’s Family Property and Isabel Wilkerson’s The Warmth of Other Suns) by explaining how predatory schemes like contract buying (how black buyers denied participation in the legitimate home credit markets were exploited by home sellers, who would receive monthly payments directly from buyers but retain title all equity in the home until the contract terms were fulfilled and could reclaim the property for any violation of a contract, including one missed payment).
The online version of Coates’s article is particularly useful because it provides multimedia supplements about historical figures and incidents like the Chicago Contract Buyer’s League, which in the late 1960s rallied residents of black Chicago neighborhoods to identify the terms of their oppression. Crucially, as both the League then and Coates now argue, the oppression of black Chicagoans was not a vestige of poverty or ignorance held over from the rural south, but an ongoing series of crimes against them, abetted by the state.
In return for the “deprivations of their rights and privileges under the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Amendments,” the league demanded “prayers for relief”—payback of all moneys paid on contracts and all moneys paid for structural improvement of properties, at 6 percent interest minus a “fair, non-discriminatory” rental price for time of occupation. Moreover, the league asked the court to adjudge that the defendants had “acted willfully and maliciously and that malice is the gist of this action.”
Ross and the Contract Buyers League were no longer appealing to the government simply for equality. They were no longer fleeing in hopes of a better deal elsewhere. They were charging society with a crime against their community. They wanted the crime publicly ruled as such. They wanted the crime’s executors declared to be offensive to society. And they wanted restitution for the great injury brought upon them by said offenders. In 1968, Clyde Ross and the Contract Buyers League were no longer simply seeking the protection of the law. They were seeking reparations.
This is the core of the claim to reparations: identifying racism as a massive series of crimes. Unfortunately, as George Lipsitz has argued in How Racism Takes Place, the “public pedagogy” of place tends to obscure the political action and racial intent behind segregation and naturalize it. Lipsitz uses the them of crime to critique the now-classic HBO series The Wire, noting that the state-sanctioned exodus of whites from the city of Baltimore and the systemic denial of housing credit and opportunity to black residents, underlying all of the failures of the city’s institutions, was “the crime The Wire couldn’t name.”
It’s worth noting here, as an aside, that viewing the case for reparations in the context of how metropolitan space organizes economic and social advantage and disadvantage totally undercuts an argument against reparations that most people regard as a conversation-ender: that it would be difficult to distinguish the descendants of slaves from other persons of African ancestry in the US. Of course, the case for reparations begins with slavery and the wealth expropriated from black slaves. But that expropriation has continued through the public crimes of metropolitan segregation, and any person who is black in America, regardless of the duration of their roots in the country, is adversely affected by living in a society organized this way.
Much of the best of metropolitan history is an attempt to understand these crimes, and the ways in which they have been abetted, ignored, and excused. Coates may not dig as deeply into the nuances of these historical issues as many academic historians do, he nonetheless does something that academic historians are somewhat reluctant to do, which is to connect knowledge of the past not only to understanding our collective arrival in the present, but to map out paths to an alternative future.
In totally unrelated news, the city of Boston’s public schools will no longer be maintaining independent history departments (h/t Erik Loomis @ Lawyers, Guns and Money)
Apparently the Koch Brothers have been threatening Republican state legislators in Michigan with well-financed primary opponents if they vote for a deal to fund part of Detroit’s pension obligations to its retired city workers as a condition of getting the city out of bankruptcy and state receivership (h/t Charlie Pierce).
This really should be an object lesson for one key point. The legacy of the New Federalism and the devolution of decisionmaking outward from Washington has not been aimed at bringing government closer to the people, except in the cases of affluent residents of privileged suburbs who need very little in the way of government except to pave them more roads and lock up anyone who looks enviously at their stuff. What we have is a strategic shift of power to the states. The obvious red flag when talking about decisions made at the state level comes from the history of desegregation and civil rights, but the more dire historical precedent for people living in urban areas is the nineteenth century. We’re facing a return to the age when the state houses control what happens in local communities, and wealthy special interests control what happens in the state houses. If that means defeating mass transit and forcing a city to welsh on its obligations to its own citizens so be it.
Despite the fantasies spun by libertarian chop shops like Cato, the public is frequently less aware of what’s happening in their state houses than they are of what’s happening in Washington, and the free market dynamics of the media industry aren’t helping–when a major media corporation decides to close its bureau in a capital where decisions are made that affect 38 million people (1 in 8 Americans!), what does that bode for the rest of the country?
Update: David Firestone (for the NYT) nails this as “kicking Detroit while it’s down.” If that explanation is too simplistic for you, he elaborates using the Demos study as evidence:
“Detroit may have mismanaged finances, but the state’s cuts to revenue sharing doomed the city. One option would have been for the state to restore revenue sharing to previous levels which would have been worth nearly $200 million to Detroit. The state could have afforded to do this if it had not cut business and income taxes in 2000, and then given business another $1.8-billion tax break in 2011.”
Under the circumstances, the proposed state contribution on behalf of vulnerable pensioners is a modest way to make up for Lansing’s decades of abandonment. But it’s too much for the Kochs to stomach. They apparently want city workers and retirees to publicly suffer for the sin of having been union members.
From the introduction of Christina Hanhardt’s Safe Space: Gay Neighborhood History and the Politics of Violence (Duke, 2013):
[i]n mooring a dominant understanding of sexual identity to place, the promotion and protection of gay neighborhoods have reinforced the race and class stratification of postwar urban space…. this has been enabled by the simultaneously flexible and fixed language of threat, in which violence is imagined as the central risk-and thus the defining feature– of gay visibility: the key term of mainstream LBGT politics since the 1970s. It is therefore impossible to understand LGBT political history outside of the social and spatial restructuring of U.S. cities during this time. Nor can one fully understand changing spatial development patterns apart from LBGT politics, especially as white gay men continue to be evoked as arbiters of quality in urban life. (9)
This seems a provocative use of urban historical analysis to understand not only the seeming absorption of mainstream gay politics within a neoliberal and property-driven urbanism but also the ways that neoliberalism, globalism notwithstanding, has developed by appropriating the material and symbolic forms of the multicultural city.
From Clarissa Rile Hayward’s How Americans Make Race: Stories, Institutions, Spaces (Cambridge, 2013):
By the later decades of the century, NAREB’s narrative of Americans as a home-owning people–a people whose good is served by state support for private, profit-driven development–functioned as a frame to many ordinary stories. When prospective home buyers considered moving to Wexner’s New Albany, they did not tell themselves “I plan to take advantage of public subsidies for private housing for the privileged, which I endorse as legitimate,” but instead, “It’s in my interest to move here,” and “I like this place.” (167)
Hayward’s most insightful observations in a work that is provocative throughout are that, contrary to some PoMo ideas that identities are fluid narrative constructions, certain narratives, rooted in individual and group interests, can be materialized and institutionalized so that even when elements of the narrative become “bad stories” that (if we’re being optimistic about society) violate contemporary ethical norms (“blacks lower property values and should be excluded”) or are internally incoherent (“the private market built the suburbs without help from the government”), they continue to frame the stories the privileged tell about their situations, thus depoliticizing what are in fact highly political decisions about the allocation of resources.
Chapter 5, “White Fences,” from which this quote is drawn, is really an impressive piece of scholarship, integrating a critical legal analysis of private school subsidy jurisprudence, a takedown of public choice theory, and a cogent set of thought experiments that demonstrate that public schools in elite suburbs are the functional, moral, and political equivalent of “segregation academies” though of course are unrecognized as such.