Quotes of the Day
The Buffalo Soldiers are invading the diners and barbershops of South Carolina. The political soldiers, named after a 19th century black Army regiment, once stormed black neighborhoods to get out the vote for Bill Clinton. This year they are canvassing for Wesley Clark, but the battle isn't so simple this time. Last Thursday, as Buffalo Soldiers in black cavalry hats and boots gathered around Rhonda Court, 40, an apartment-complex manager eating lunch at LJ's Soul Food Cafe in Charleston, she wasn't satisfied with the cowboy pitch. "What's Clark all about on Medicaid and getting lower-income families better access to health coverage?" she wanted to know.
Bill Clinton is gone, and so is Jesse Jackson. This time there is no easy or natural choice for black voters. Next week will be the candidates' first real test among this constituency in the "Southern gateway" primary in South Carolina, in which African Americans will probably make up as much as 50% of voting Democrats. This year the candidates are finding they must do more if they are going to capture the imagination and the votes of the demographic that is critical not only to a victory in the primaries but also to giving a Democrat a chance against George Bush. "Just saying the name Martin Luther King a couple of times is not enough," says Joy-Ann Lomena Reid, who writes on black issues for the Miami Herald.
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For decades, African-American voters have rallied behind one clear Democratic contender in the primary season: Jackson, then Clinton and then Al Gore. This time, though, the vote looks as if it may be scattered across the pack. "There is no messiah among them," says the Rev. Joseph Darby, pastor of the Morris Brown A.M.E. Church in Charleston and one of the city's most prominent black leaders. But is the difficulty this time caused by the message or the messenger? Or by the contemporary political landscape, where the black demographic is no longer so monolithic, and where leaders do not dutifully line up behind one candidate, and where the black church is no longer a guaranteed kingmaker?
Howard Dean, for example, has won the backing of more black congressional caucus members than any other candidate, but each candidate has his own bragging roster. Clark has the support of New York Congressman Charles Rangel and Andrew Young, and John Kerry can claim the leader of South Carolina's legislative black caucus as well as Senator Fritz Hollings of South Carolina, who had overwhelming support from African-American voters in his 1998 re-election. All of the candidates are in the hunt for the blessing of South Carolina Congressman James Clyburn, who had originally endorsed Dick Gephardt. It's not clear whether the divided endorsements mean that black politicians are getting more savvy, as many black leaders claim, or that they are diluting their strength by not working as a bloc.
So far, the strongest unifying force among most black voters is a shared rage against Bush. That resentment was ignited during the Florida recount fiasco, which many blacks perceived as rigged against them in all too familiar ways. Says four-term Georgia state senator Vincent Fort: "After Florida and four years of an extreme right-wing agenda, after seeing George W. Bush lay a wreath at the tomb of Martin Luther King Jr. and then turn around and go back to Washington and appoint a [Mississippi judge] Charles Pickering [Sr.] to the federal bench — I think the African-American voter will be energized." The anger remains strong, and no one has yet fully tapped into it. At the same time, African-American voters know that anger alone is not going to defeat George Bush.
The traditional quandary for white candidates is, Do you court black voters by emphasizing "black issues," or do you treat them like all other voters? The answer is both — especially in the South, where black voters can be more conservative on social policy. "The only important color in this country anymore is green," says Gilda Cobb-Hunter, a social worker and state representative from rural Orangeburg, S.C. "Black people have the same worries that white people do: Will I have a job, will my kids go to a decent school, and can I afford to get sick?" But in South Carolina, where the median income for blacks is $14,750--about half that of whites — and where almost half the school districts are suing the state for not adequately funding a basic public education, black voters also want some recognition of their special needs.
In the general election, the Democratic nominee has often taken the black vote for granted. In the primaries, though, the candidates can't afford to do that — they have to go to the people. "It's more of a retail rather than a wholesale vote," says Andi Pringle, Dean's deputy campaign manager. "You have to go get it." Dean has one of the best organizations in South Carolina. But when Dean visited Darby's church last fall, more white people attended than black.
"It's a cliche that whenever candidates want to speak to the black community, they go to a church," says John Simpkins, an African-American associate director of the Richard Riley Institute at Furman University in Greenville, S.C. "But the people they really need to reach aren't in the church." Over the past 25 years, the black middle class has grown exponentially in the South — which is another reason black voters no longer need ministers to put up stained-glass voting instructions. Black churches have also turned down their political megaphones since they saw that the Christian Coalition lost its tax-exempt status in 1999 as a result of its political activities. In any case, younger African Americans are less likely to be in church — and less likely to automatically vote Democratic. "Older voters view it as a sacred responsibility to vote. They're closer to the civil-rights movement," says Democratic Louisiana state senator Cleo Fields. "Younger voters, you have to inspire them."
If stereotypes ran elections, Clark would be the dream candidate of Southern blacks. Another Rhodes scholar from Arkansas, he's trying to come across as Bill Clinton with a military pedigree. Last week he dutifully turned up in Columbia for Martin Luther King Day, marching at a rally against the Confederate battle flag and clapping his hands at a service at Zion Baptist church. "The military's full of African Americans, and a number of them are dying in Iraq," notes Buffalo Soldier Blair Talmadge, 41, of Philadelphia. But like all voters, African Americans want to know what the candidates will do about health care and education, which is why Clark often glides through a quick section on foreign affairs to get to his domestic promises (a higher minimum wage, universal preschool). As Darby puts it, "Sure, we'll be happy if they bring the Confederate flag down. But we know the schools will still be crappy."
If Iowans saw the gleam of electability in Kerry, Southerners might see it in John Edwards, who has been a frequent presence in South Carolina. He exudes the closest thing to Clintonian charisma on the Democratic roster and was born in the state. He grew up in a poor North Carolina mill town, so he can speak with authenticity when he goes to places like Orangeburg, where unemployment is 15%. Like Dean, he says blacks have the same interests as all other voters — only he says it with a Southern accent. "Race, equality and civil rights," says Edwards. "This is not an African-American issue, a Hispanic-American issue, an Asian-American issue — it's an American issue."
Compared with Edwards, Kerry looks like a tourist in South Carolina and still has minimal staff on the ground. His military pedigree may appeal to black voters, but his more remote style may be a liability. Not surprisingly, Al Sharpton has had one of the strongest presences in South Carolina, handing out Thanksgiving dinner to homeless people in Charleston and bringing congregations to their feet across the state. But as the black vote becomes less uniform, a boutique black candidate suffers. "A lot of blacks in South Carolina want the same thing as people in Iowa," says David Bositis, a scholar at the Washington Joint Center for Political and Economic Studies. "They want somebody who can beat Bush."
- Amanda Ripley