Treva B. Lindsey | Vox

The betrayal of white women voters: in pivotal state races, they still backed the GOP

2018-11-09T10:27:38-05:00

President Donald Trump speaks at a rally to show support for Ohio Republican congressional candidate Troy Balderson on August 4, 2018, in Lewis Center, Ohio. | Scott Olson/Getty Images

The midterm election confirmed once again that black women show up for progressive candidates. But white women? Not so much. As a black feminist historian, I’m not surprised, but I am always disappointed by the ways white women vote.

As exit polls roll in from some of the high-profile races of 2018, it appears that black women voted overwhelmingly — specifically, 92 percent nationwide — for progressive candidates. In three key races where Democrats challenged conservative incumbents, such as Florida’s Andrew Gillum, Texas’s Beto O’Rourke, and Georgia’s Stacey Abrams, black women turned out in similarly high numbers for these progressive candidates. The election of black women such as Massachusetts’s first black woman Congress member, Ayanna Pressley, Lucy McBath in Georgia’s Sixth Congressional District, and Connecticut’s first black woman Congress member, Jahana Hayes, were also important outcomes carried by black women. In all the races in which exit poll data exist, black men were not too far behind in turning out for progressive candidates.

But nationally, white women were a much more divided group. Forty-nine percent of white women voted Republican nationwide (49 percent voted Democratic too). Forty-seven percent of white women voted for Gillum, while O’Rourke only received 39 percent and Abrams 25 percent of the white female vote. This early exit poll data follows a disturbing recent political trend: The majority of white women have not been part of a Democratic voting bloc throughout the 2000s.

While many white women and the majority of voters of color tend to vote more progressively, disaggregating these polls by race and gender reveals some hard truths about the potential for building a progressive coalition. White women and even Latinx voters of all genders continue to lag behind black voters — in particular black female voters — when it comes to showing up for Democrats.

One of most repeated statistics from the 2016 election is that more than half of white women voted for Donald Trump. Despite recent polls suggesting the percentage might be slightly less, the headlines for the 2018 midterms could and should be similarly scathing in its critique of white female voters.

And, to be frank, a vote for a large percentage of GOP candidates at this point in our nation’s history is largely a vote for white supremacy, xenophobia, and misogyny. The Republican Party has not distanced itself from the rise of contemporary white nationalism — Florida GOP gubernatorial candidate Ron DeSantis spoke at a Muslim-bashing event alongside white nationalists Milo Yiannopoulos and Steve Bannon. Texas Senate candidate Ted Cruz refused to denounce the racist comments of Republican Rep. Steve King.

Beyond embracing bigoted rhetoric, today’s GOP has refused to acknowledge the pervasiveness of racist policing, pushed for restrictive immigration, and confirmed an alleged sexual predator to the Supreme Court. In spite of this, white female voters show up by the millions for the GOP.

It’s been said many times that we should “trust black women.” Those platitudes expressed by nonblack women through GIFs, memes, and cute T-shirts mean very little if black women cannot count on nonblack women to faithfully show up for the best interests of those affected by white supremacy, poverty, sexism, ableism, xenophobia, transphobia, or homophobia. So where do we go from here?

White women have a history of voting for conservative candidates in aggregate

Among women voters, white women voters continue to be the weakest link. They are also among the most visible in public discussions about the need for change. While white men remain the strongest opposition to electoral politics skewing left, white women heading to the polls continue to choose to uphold white supremacy and patriarchy. In the 2004, 2008, and 2012 presidential elections, the majority of white women voted for the GOP candidate. The numbers don’t lie.

The historical record bears a brutal truth: White women have always been active participants in sustaining white supremacy in America. Elizabeth Gillespie McRae’s groundbreaking book, Mother of Massive Resistance: White Women and the Politics of White Supremacy, offers a robust history of how white women reinforce white supremacy. White women educators censored textbooks and downplayed the role of slavery in the Civil War as a way to infuse the public education curriculum with white supremacist politics. White women were also an integral part of the Ku Klux Klan. White mothers virulently and violently protested the integration of schools. This abundance of evidence contextualizes what happened in this most recent election — it’s tradition.

Calling out white women’s continued support of conservative politicians isn’t excusing or ignoring white men’s commitment to electing these candidates. It’s an assertion of a profound and perpetual sense of betrayal. Far too many white women are willing to throw women of color under the bus — and, indeed, vote against their own best interests — in favor of white supremacy and, often, misogyny.

Latinx voters are also more conservative

Digging deeper, we also need to ask difficult questions about the growing Latinx voting demographic. In all but a few races such as the New York gubernatorial race in which 93 percent of Latina women voted for the Democratic candidate, Andrew Cuomo, both Latinx men and women fell below 70 percent in their support of more progressive candidates. For example, in the Florida gubernatorial race, only 49 percent of Latino men voted for Gillum and only 58 percent of Latina women voted for him. In the Texas Senate race, only 66 percent of Latina women voted for O’Rourke and only 62 percent of Latino men voted for him.

Exit polls don’t account for racial differences among Latinx voters. Nevertheless, it is unnerving that such a significant percentage of Latinx voters could vote for candidates who aligned with a president hell-bent on rhetoric and policies that criminalize and demonize people from Mexico, Central America, and the Spanish-speaking Caribbean. Because Latinx voters are composed of different nationalities and races, many may distance themselves from the Latinx people they see the Trump administration targeting.

Sociologist Helen Marrow refers to some anti-immigrant sentiments among Latinx voters as “racialized nativism,” whereby Latinx citizens and permanent residents feel they suffer a loss of economic opportunities as a result of undocumented Latinx immigrants. Additionally, religion plays a significant role in shaping a conservative segment of the Latinx electorate, including those opposing birth control, abortion, marriage equality, and the rights of trans people. This social conservatism has and does lead millions of Latinx voters to support conservative candidates, in spite of explicit racism and xenophobia.

Latinx voters are not yet a fully reliable progressive voting demographic. This is and will be a formidable challenge for organizing around progressive candidates — but perhaps not as insurmountable as galvanizing white women to repudiate white supremacy and sexism with their votes.

The exit polls from the 2018 midterms don’t give us the whole story. But the snapshot they provide does tell us that black women continue to lead the charge for progressive electoral politics. Despite voter suppression and disenfranchisement and gerrymandering, which are significant barriers for black voter participation, black women flip districts and make formerly “unwinnable” races highly competitive. If you’re not voting like a black woman, you are probably on the wrong side of history.

At this juncture, the building of a broad coalition of voters requires intentional work from progressive white female and Latinx voters, which includes voter education and organizing with these voting blocs in the years between and leading up to elections. Women as a cohesive progressive voting bloc may never be a reality, but progressive white female voters must continue to work in their communities to move more white women to the left.

Treva B. Lindsey is a professor at Ohio State University. Find her on Twitter @divafeminist.

First Person is Vox’s home for compelling, provocative narrative essays. Do you have a story to share? Read our submission guidelines, and pitch us at firstperson@vox.com.

Bill Cosby’s guilty verdict was made possible by decades of activism by black women

2018-04-27T10:00:40-04:00

Andrea Constand (left) hugs assistant district attorney Kristen Feden after the retrial of Cosby’s sexual assault case resulted in a guilty verdict, on April 26, 2018. | Dominick Reuter/AFP/Getty Images

Bill Cosby’s legal team was never afraid to invoke America’s history of anti-black racism. During the closing arguments of his trial on sexual assault charges —which just ended with a guilty verdict on three counts of indecent sexual assault — they referred to the #MeToo movement as a “witch hunt” and likened the men who had been accused of criminal behavior to the victims of lynchings. Earlier, they had sought sympathy for Cosby by suggesting he was the victim of the racist justice system.

Many of the complaints against Cosby predated #MeToo, but he became the first celebrity to be tried during this era of heightened awareness. While Andrea Constand, whose accusations led to the recent trial, is white, his dozens of accusers over the years were women of many races. The judge allowed testimony from five other women besides Constand as the prosecution set out to prove Cosby’s pattern of sexual predation.

The racial elements of the trial offer an opportunity to recall that the first “me too” movement — literally using those words — was launched a decade ago by an African-American woman, Tarana Burke.

Indeed, it’s important to recognize that years of black women’s anti-rape and anti-sexual assault activism have helped produce our current robust national conversation about sexual violence. It may not be a full moment of reckoning just yet, but the tireless organizing of black women has made it possible for us to have more productive conversations about rape culture and the meaning of consent.

Long before the Bill Cosby trial, black women were at the forefront of anti-rape activism

There is a decades-long modern history of black women’s anti-rape activism. Anti-rape activists such as Rosa Parks are part of a long tradition of black women advocating for the victims/survivors of sexual violence. Contemporary anti-sexual violence activism is deeply and directly indebted to the formation of organizations such as A Long Walk Home, Black Women’s Blueprint, INCITE Women of Color of Against Violence, and We Are the 44% Coalition. These groups center on the experiences of women of color while providing tools and strategies for ending sexual violence against all people.

Whether it’s demanding that R. Kelly finally be held accountable for his alleged predatory behavior or organizing to support the victims of Daniel Holtzclaw, the former police officer convicted of raping or assaulting eight black women in Oklahoma City, black women have been in the trenches of anti-rape activism. They have reframed conversations about sexual violence to account for the distinct experience of black women, girls, trans, and gender nonbinary people.

INCITE, for example asserts that “women, gender non-conforming, and trans people of color live in the dangerous intersections of sexism and racism, as well as other oppressions,” and that “it is impossible to seriously address sexual and intimate partner violence within communities of color without addressing these larger structures of violence.” These assertions anchor their work and the work of similar groups as organizing at the intersections and working toward inclusivity.

Anti-rape activism has achieved a certain “glamour” in the past year — witness the magazine covers, the mainstream media recognition, the accolades for reporters uncovering abuse. This is new. Often, speaking out has been quite costly — especially for black women calling attention to intracommunal sexual violence. They have faced accusations of being race traitors, sellouts, or puppets of white supremacy.

To be sure, there is a long and inglorious history of false cross-racial accusations that led to lynching as well as enduring racist stereotypes about black men as innately violent and hypersexual. People questioning the validity of rape accusations will cite everything from real cases of false, racially motivated accusations to fictional stories such as To Kill a Mockingbird to discredit rape and sexual assault allegations. Black women encounter these historically loaded land mines when advocating for accountability for sexual violence committed by black men both within and outside the black community. Shamefully, Cosby and his defense team tried to use this horrific history as a shield.

The Cosby trial was a case study in the challenges black women face in their activism

The Cosby trial in many ways epitomized the unique challenges black women encounter in anti-rape activism. Cosby is, or at least was, a powerful, “revered,” and beloved African-American man accused of rape and sexual assault by dozens of primarily white women — though quite a few are women of color.

And yet black women were among those demanding he be held accountable for numerous acts of sexual violence. Allegations corroborated through his words about drugging women were beyond alarming. What perhaps was equally disturbing were the responses to his behavior, which included some shrugs. It became clear that far too many people have no idea what consent means.

An important takeaway from this trial, despite the guilty verdict, is how far we have to go on making enthusiastic consent the norm. This has been the work of black female anti-rape activists and many others groups committed to ending sexual violence. Finally, in 2018, there appears to be a greater appetite for learning about consent and holding those who commit acts of sexual violence accountable.

This appetite was nurtured by black women and helped to shape the Cosby trial. From the powerful documentary NO! The Rape Documentary, directed by Aishah Shahidah Simmons, about sexual violence against black women to the #MuteRKelly campaign, black women have advocated through multiple mediums that we must hold all perpetrators accountable.

It remains an uphill and arduous battle, but it seems like the army of those warring to end sexual violence acquires new members every day. The effort crosses all races and ethnicities, but black women have played a central role in the fight.

Treva B. Lindsey is a professor at Ohio State University. Find her on Twitter @divafeminist.

The Big Idea is Vox’s home for smart discussion of the most important issues and ideas in politics, science, and culture — typically by outside contributors. If you have an idea for a piece, pitch us at thebigidea@vox.com.

Trump wants to pit black Americans against Latino immigrants. Don’t fall for it.

2018-02-21T13:37:22-05:00

The market for low-skill jobs isn’t as zero-sum as immigration opponents think. | TerryJ/Getty

For several years, “We are all immigrants” has been a rallying cry for immigration reform. A well-intentioned slogan, it gestures toward a supposed shared history of migration among Americans.

Unfortunately, the slogan either willfully or unconsciously ignores two important facts: the forced removal and mass murder of indigenous people, and the brutal trans-Atlantic slave trade. The creation of a false collective national-origin narrative by some immigrant rights activists fosters an unnecessary tension between recent immigrants and US-born marginalized communities.

So too, from the other direction, does brewing resentment stemming from the belief that undocumented immigrants take jobs from “hard-working Americans” — including African Americans.

Native Americans and most African Americans do not have a conventional immigrant story, yet they can and should be a part of the movement for immigrant rights.

The anti-immigrant argument that appears to resonate most among African Americans is the assertion that immigrants take jobs away from black people born in the US. African-American unemployment, though steadily declining since 2010, is still the highest of any racial or ethnic group in the country. It’s currently 7.7 percent.

While Trump has spared no opportunity to boast that African-American unemployment briefly hit a record low of 6.8 percent during his presidency, the story behind the unemployment rate for African Americans is more complicated than that number suggests.

This number — as Trump opportunistically noted during his campaign in his attacks on former President Barack Obama, only to drop the caveat when he took office — does not account for people who dropped out of searching for employment altogether after years of unemployment. Additionally, the percentage encompasses people employed in temporary jobs who might prefer full-time work.

The unemployment rate also fails to capture those working but not making a living wage as well as those working two or more nearly full-time jobs and scraping by. The unemployment rate doesn’t account for the widening wealth gap or income inequality between African Americans and white Americans. Those numbers provide a starker picture.

The dangers when one segment of the working poor turns against another

The growth of low-wage worker population has at least two distinct effects: first, the devaluation of low-wage work as unskilled and menial; and, second, the establishment of perceived competition for these jobs among the groups constituting the working poor.

Positioning one group of low-wage workers against another group of low-wage workers is an insidiously effective method of fomenting resentment and tensions among workers of different racial and ethnic backgrounds, which only buttresses the status quo.

In a 2013 poll on African-American perspectives on immigration reform, 34 percent of respondents stated that immigrants took jobs away from American workers. Thirty-nine percent of respondents believe that immigrants drive down wages for African Americans. (On the brighter side, roughly two-thirds supported a path to citizenship for undocumented immigrants.)

In truth, while there are a handful of studies that indicate a small but noticeable negative impact of immigration on African-American employment, those studies are highly contested by scholars. Anti-immigration advocates seize on those disputed studies to fuel anti-immigrant attitudes and policymaking.

We can understand the worries and also push back against them

Given that African Americans are overrepresented in low-wage jobs, it’s not irrational for them to fear that low-wage immigrant workers willing to work for less could replace US-born black workers. What this fear fails to account for, however, is that population growth can catalyze job growth, specifically in the fields of low-wage goods and services, and manual labor.

A 2016 study conducted by scholars at Penn’s Wharton School of Business found that the increase in the labor supply resulting from immigration could actually generate more employment in industries such as home construction and food production. More people means more consumption, and, specifically, more consumption by the working poor.

Existing data simply doesn’t support any definitive correlation between the stark unemployment rate of African Americans and the employment of recent immigrants. Nevertheless, those striving to push through xenophobic, racist, Islamophobic, and inhumane immigration restrictions find unusual allies among some African Americans seeking to lower the black unemployment rate.

Leaders of groups such as the Chicago-based Voices of the Ex-Offender link mass unemployment among formerly incarcerated African-American men to immigration. They even embrace the offensive term “illegals” for undocumented immigrants.

It’s both intellectually and politically lazy to attribute African-American unemployment to immigration. The receipts simply don’t exist. But there are receipts for racial discrimination and other barriers for African Americans seeking employment. Trump has sought to turn frustration over stagnant unemployment and intra-communal violence within the black community into support for his hardline measures: In his State of the Union, he attributed drugs and gangs in “vulnerable communities” to “illegal crossings” from Mexico.

Who else is likely to be hurt by the mobilization of stereotypes about Latinos and people from the Middle East?

But anyone genuinely concerned about addressing racial disparities in unemployment should be wary of supporting a position trumpeted by people who have rarely, if ever, cared about improving the status or collective well-being of African Americans. Racism and xenophobia propel a significant portion of anti-immigrant sentiment and proposed legislation; the mobilization of those sentiments hurts African Americans.

It’s not just Trump calling certain black countries “shitholes” that should alarm any black person tempted to buy into divisive anti-immigrant rhetoric. It’s also the mobilizing of racial stereotypes of depravity, criminality, and laziness, even if they have mostly been directed at immigrants from Latin America and the Middle East. These stereotypes are strikingly similar to anti-black racist stereotypes.

Let’s also not forget about black immigrants. Black immigrant dollars are essential to the financial health and growth of black communities in the United States. More importantly, black immigrants and their cultures are integral to African-American communities — and to the US as a whole. Undocumented black immigrants are also at great risk of deportation, as they encounter the double bind of anti-black policing and racist immigration laws and policies.

Organizations such as Black Alliance for Just Immigration, UndocuBlack, and African Communities Together are leading the way in promoting support in the African-American community for immigrant rights — for building bridges between black and brown communities. A broader coalition of people pushing for just immigration, a living wage, reproductive justice, and for a less racist society poses a threat to those who profit from exploiting and regulating the lives of the working poor in the US.

The fight for a more just and equitable society requires reframing the narrative of competition among the working poor to one of interconnectedness. Eliminating hostility to immigration in the African-American community could have powerful effects, rippling beyond immigration to other issues of social justice.

While Trump and Congress continue to pass the buck and trade blame over immigration reform, it’s imperative to build solidarity among all vulnerable communities. If we break down the distrust and expose harmful lies, a new bloc of political power could emerge.

Treva B. Lindsey is a professor at Ohio State University. Follow her on Twitter @divafeminist.

The Big Idea is Vox’s home for smart discussion of the most important issues and ideas in politics, science, and culture — typically by outside contributors. If you have an idea for a piece, pitch us at thebigidea@vox.com.