As an up-and-coming Chicago lawyer and politician during the
1990s, Barack Obama courted key players in the city’s black
community — including his longtime pastor Jeremiah Wright — to
bolster his aspirations for higher office. But after being beaten
by Congressman and former Black Panther Bobby Rush in a 2000
congressional primary, Obama realized he that still wasn’t widely
recognized among black voters. So he sought the support of other
black clergymen such as James Meeks, a protege of the Rev. Jesse
Jackson who later became a state senator.
Such ties have now proved to be a drag on Obama’s effort to win
the Democratic presidential nomination, especially after Wright’s
fiery, sometimes cartoonish, criticism of American foreign policy
and support for Nation of Islam leader Louis Farrakhan, came to
light.
Obama’s ties to gay-bashing clergymen, including gospel singer
Donnie McClurkin (who claimed he cured himself of homosexuality)
and Meeks — whose church once burned in effigy two gay men adorned
in body glitter — have also forced Obama to reconcile these
relationships with his vision of a post-racial, post-ethnic,
tolerant America.
The Illinois senator has so far managed to overcome these ties.
But his struggles also show one of the biggest difficulties faced
by black politicians aspiring for higher political office. The very
churches and mosques that have helped them gain power in their
gerrymandered, mostly-black wards can hinder them among a more
diverse collection of voters less knowledgeable of — and less
tolerant of — their rhetoric.
Distancing themselves from these power bases also leaves these
politicians vulnerable to the charges of racial betrayal. They know
that they cannot win office without the less-savory elements of
their base. And yet, they may not be able to move up with them in
tow.
OBAMA IS JUST the most prominent black politician dogged by such
ties. Andre Carson, the Indianapolis political scion now
representing the Seventh Congressional District — one of the most
demographically diverse House districts in the nation — proclaimed
that his faith was “multifaceted” after being criticized for his
relationship with the Nation of Islam, especially after its leader,
Farrakhan, endorsed his candidacy last December.
Carson’s House colleague, Keith Ellison of Minnesota — who, as
a law school student, once wrote articles praising Farrakhan —
denounced the Muslim leader in 2006 in order to win the Fifth
Congressional District seat held by Martin Sabo and become the
first Muslim in Congress. He also had to disavow ties to others,
including Siraj Wahhaj, an alleged un-indicted co-conspirator in
the 1993 World Trade Center bombing.
Ordinarily, such ties would not be a winning formula in the
current American landscape. But like Christian fundamentalist
clerics on the right, black clergymen are key political organizers
in black communities throughout the country, offering politicians a
network of volunteers and voters, along with forums through which
they can electioneer.
Many black churches are still run by old-school pastors who came
of age during the Black Power movement of the late 1960s. Their
black liberation theology embraces a philosophy of black pride, and
a view of American history and life, which can at times verge on
separatism.
The clergymen and their older parishioners tend to harbor
sentiments about homosexuality that are sometimes more
philosophically conservative and less-tolerant than those expressed
by some Christian fundamentalists. This despite the fact that
closeted gays often make up the gospel choirs, are some of the most
popular black cultural icons, sit in the pews as prominent civic
leaders, even stand in the pulpit.
But thanks to middle-class blacks, whose more tolerant social
tendencies conflict with their desire for community and scarce
choices in the religious marketplace, black churches remain an
influential political force. That power has grown over the past six
decades because of the civil rights movement, the decline of more
secular groups such as Masonic lodges, and the efforts by
Republicans and centrist Democrats in the 1990s to use faith-based
organizations to deliver social services.
These same forces have made Muslim mosques, a fixture in the
black community since the 1920s, even more prominent. The Nation of
Islam, with its mishmash of black nationalism, anti-Semitism and
calls for self-sufficiency, have long appealed to poor, urban
blacks who felt their concerns were ignored by whites and
middle-class blacks alike. The settlement of Arabs in black
communities, along with the growth of the Nation’s more moderate
splinter groups since the 1970s, has fueled the growth of more
traditional Sunni and Shiite mosques, some of which are tied to
more virulent brands of Islamic fundamentalism.
The identity politics favored by the Democratic Party has
bolstered these ties. So has the federal Voting Rights Act, which
governs the redistricting of congressional and legislative
districts. Since its passage in 1965, Democrats and Republicans,
with the backing of black civic leaders, have embraced a more
modern form of segregation by caring out districts with largely- or
majority-black populations.
This political segregation continues even as former congressmen
Gary Franks and J.C. Watts, along with Obama, have proven that they
can win over a variety of racial, ethnic and social groups.
THEIR PANDERING TO black clergy, along with the traditional
post-civil rights era formula of appeals to racial pride and the
doling out of welfare benefits, didn’t prepare most black
politicians for the kind of broad coalition-building — including
appeals to people of non-color — that they need to win
governorships and senate seats, the key offices that lead to the
presidency.
The politicians themselves, like many of their fellow
parishioners, may not embrace the inflammatory rhetoric, but they
tolerate it. Those outside the pews of black churches, however,
won’t let them off the hook for doing so.
As a result, black politicians must coyly distance themselves
from the rhetoric of their supporters without going so far as to
break with them. It’s difficult to have a Sister Souljah moment
when that person isn’t a smack talking rapper, but an influential
supporter.Obama attempted this in Philadelphia last March with his
speech on race relations. While arguing that “I can no more disown
[Rev. Wright] than I can disown the black community,” he actually
did so throughout the entire speech. All it did was lead to
backlash from Wright and his fellow clergymen, along with criticism
from Obama’s archrival, Hillary Clinton, and pundits.
This balancing is especially problematic for the emerging
younger, more centrist generation of black politicians, who prefer
to focus on improving schools, economic conditions, and ending
unwed parenthood than to dwell on matters of race and sex. It’s
difficult to offer a different vision when old-school clerics view
such ideas with disdain.
A key Obama supporter, Massachusetts Gov. Deval Patrick, faced
this opposing problem two years ago during his successful
gubernatorial bid. Ministers in such black clergy groups such as
the Black Ministerial Alliance of Greater Boston complained that
his eschewing of old-style race-baiting and support for gay
marriage were too far out of the black mainstream. As a result, the
former Clinton administration appointee reached out beyond the
churches and outside the black community in order to win
office.
Younger black politicians, learning the lessons from Obama’s
experience, may have to go even further than Patrick in breaking
with these clerics, even at the expense of being accused of racial
betrayal. The growth of Latinos, Asians and even whites in once
solidly-black districts may also help force black politicians to
look outward. Either way, it will be a hard transition.
