Maybe Roland Burris, the African-American candidate for Illinois governor, was not altogether accurate or civil when he called his three Caucasian opponents in the Democratic primary “non-qualified white boys.”
After all, a good many people would argue that a congressman, a former associate attorney general in the Justice Department, or a former U.S. attorney might indeed be qualified for the office. And even if “white boy” isn’t the most offensive of racial slurs, it is a rather crude remark coming from a man who aspires to represent Illinoisans as their chief executive.
But anyone familiar with Chicago-area politics must acknowledge the fundamental truth underlying Burris’ ill-advised and imperfect remark. Indeed, in the minds of many commentators, strategists and voters–black and white–the most defining feature of the Democratic race for governor is the one Burris alluded to: It pits a black man against three white men.
That may sound harsh. But it is the raw nature of politics in Chicago. Very often skin color, more than issues, dictates campaign strategies, determines voters’ preferences and influences journalists’ commentary.
Unfortunately, such thinking demonstrates just how far Chicago lags behind other cities in the evolution of race and politics. Chicago was one of the last major cities to elect a black mayor. And it appears to be one of the last to pull itself out of the quagmire of racial politics.
In other cities, blacks are winning public office with the support of white majorities. Black mayors, in particular, have won in recent years in the predominantly white cities of Seattle, Denver, San Francisco and Dallas.
Even in cities with large black populations, black mayors are running and getting elected on race-neutral platforms that reach out beyond a black community power base to appeal to business and regional interests. Detroit’s Dennis Archer and Cleveland’s Michael White operate in stark contrast to the black political bosses who once thrived in their cities by waving the banner of black unity.
“There has been a significant deracialization in politics nationally,” says David Bositis, a senior researcher for the Joint Center for Political and Economic Studies, a Washington think tank that focuses on African-American issues.
But Chicago, it seems, can’t shake the shackles of racially tinged politics. While the Burris controversy was lingering, Cook County Board President John Stroger was charging Democratic challenger Cal Sutker last week with playing to white anxieties by featuring Stroger’s dark-skinned visage on campaign literature. Sutker, a county commissioner, insists his appeal was not motivated by race. But if it was, he wouldn’t be the first to use such tactics.
Prior to those incidents, a racial issue surfaced in the Democratic primary campaign for Illinois secretary of state, with white candidate Tim McCarthy and black candidate Jesse White arguing about whether state Sen. Penny Severns should be allowed to stay on the ballot with them. The fallout meant that the last news coverage the popular Severns received before she died of cancer Feb. 21 was not concerning whether she was qualified for the office, but just how much her forced removal from the ballot would benefit the white guy.
The reasons for the local electorate’s fixation with race are numerous. Bositis says much of it has to do with the large pool of experienced black politicians in Chicago.
Most states are lucky to field even one qualified black for a prominent office each election cycle, let alone contend with the effects of four blacks running at once for top county, state and federal offices. That is the case in Chicago this year, where along with Burris, Stroger and White, who is Cook County recorder of deeds, U.S. Sen. Carol Moseley-Braun will appear on the March 17 ballot.
But the deeper causes for the slow withdrawal of race from the political process are embedded in Chicago’s political history.
At the heart is the legacy of machine politics. Mayor Richard J. Daley masterfully used the system of patronage and material favors to reward black leaders and diffuse organized opposition among an ever-growing black population. Under the influence of powerful 2nd Ward Committeeman William Dawson, a black congressman in Daley’s inner circle, blacks supplied the margin of victory in three of Daley’s six victory campaigns between 1955 and 1976.
Consequently, as black voters in such cities as Detroit, Cleveland, Atlanta, Los Angeles and Washington began exercising their collective political clout to elect black mayors in the late 1960s and 1970s, Chicago’s growing black electorate remained loyal to a white political boss.
It was not until the machine proved itself blatantly insensitive to black demands and intensified its role as protector of white interests–endorsing segregationist housing policies, for instance– that an anti-machine movement took hold among blacks.
Within this climate, the machine suffered its most severe defeats with the elections of Jane Byrne in 1979 and Harold Washington, Chicago’s first black mayor, in 1983.
In both cases, the candidates ran on anti-machine platforms and depended on black voters to carry them over the top.
But while Chicago was just realizing the euphoria and tension of electing its first black mayor, other cities were realizing that merely putting a black in the mayor’s seat did not change the economic and social conditions that were hurting cities.
Many believe Washington was getting around to convincing voters he was more than just a “black mayor” when his second term rolled around in spring 1987. By distancing himself from the black radicals who had first fueled his candidacy and declaring his movement had moved “from the margins to the mainstream,” he was poised to destroy the notion that most perpetuates racial politics: that putting a black in a high office necessarily means preferential treatment of blacks at the expense of whites.
But later that year, Washington died at his desk and with him went that invaluable lesson. Black politicians reverted to protest mode, closing ranks at the expense of reaching out, and the fears of whites were stoked again.
Meanwhile, Washington’s coalition strategy was becoming the model for a new breed of leaders of all racial stripes who were winning office in cities and districts with diverse populations.
Ironically, one of those who later would pick up on the strategy is Mayor Richard M. Daley. Over the past several months, he has wooed gays, Hispanics and middle-class blacks by advancing progressive policies, such as using merit selection to promote minority supervisors in the police force and providing benefits to partners of homosexual city employees.
In many cases, this has put him at odds with his traditional base of support–the largely Catholic, white ethnic communities on the Southwest and Northwest Sides.
Still, it remains to be seen whether Daley’s gambit will pay off at the polls. The last time he ran, in November 1995, he picked up just over 20 percent of the vote in black wards despite running against independent black candidate Roland Burris, who mounted a late campaign. Daley has defeated six prominent black opponents since Washington’s death, garnering a bit more of the black vote each time. But he most certainly will face another popular black leader in 1999, presumably U.S. Rep. Bobby Rush, the South Side Democrat.
Likewise, it will be interesting to see whether U.S. Rep. Jesse Jackson Jr. (D-Ill.)–who seems to be fashioning himself as a non-traditional, coalition-type candidate–will help bridge the racial divide. He represents an ethnically diverse district, and his alliance with Republican stalwart U.S. Rep. Henry Hyde of Illinois in favor of a regional airport in the south suburbs shows his willingness to reach across ideological lines.
But whether Jackson will be attractive to white voters if he makes his much-anticipated run for mayor or governor remains to be seen.
