What small-town America is saying about Obama
In diners and mobile homes from New Mexico to North Carolina, I listened to working-class people try to make sense of a black president named Barack.
By Dan Hoyle
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Read more: Racial Issues, Politics, News, Barack Obama, 2008 election
Reuters/Jim Young
Sen. Barack Obama (right) and his vice-presidential running mate, Sen. Joe Biden (rear left), greet patrons at Yankee Kitchen Family Restaurant in Boardman, Ohio, Aug. 30, 2008.
Sept. 12, 2008 | With less than two months until voting day, there are doubts hanging over Barack Obama's campaign -- and they aren't just due to Alaska's top moose-hunting hockey mom jolting the race and electrifying the Republican faithful. Although Obama has touted himself as a post-racial candidate, whether America is ready to elect a black man for president remains a vexing question for his supporters. In a tight national race, Obama continues struggling to gain wider support, particularly among white working-class voters and independents in battleground states.
But Obama has also inspired tens of millions of Americans with a powerful and historic campaign. After eight years of Bush and widespread disillusionment with Republican governance, could Obama's inability to pull away from John McCain really come down to his skin color?
For three months during this summer and early fall, I've been traveling across America, exploring the nation's small towns and rural areas and meeting the people there. From Michigan to New Mexico to North Carolina, I've conducted dozens of interviews with white working-class voters across 18 states, gauging, among other things, their thoughts and feelings about the first black man to have a serious shot at winning the White House. Beyond Obama's race, what I found was a more complicated set of concerns -- whether accurately informed or not -- about his religious faith, values and cultural and educational background. That is, many of these white rural voters expressed a discomfort that may have more to do with unfamiliarity about the type of person Barack Obama is, rather than with direct concerns about his race.
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Although I encountered a scattering of openly racist views, they were among a small minority. (These voters would probably never vote for a Democrat for president anyway.) Many voters dismissed the notion that hesitancy about Obama is due to his race.
"Obama isn't even really black -- Bill Clinton is more black than Obama," said Mike Wallace, 44, of Dearborn, Mich. Wallace is a United Auto Workers pipe fitter who plans to vote for McCain, although he believes the vast majority of his co-workers at the local Chrysler plant will vote for Obama, as recommended by a UAW handout. Some voters revealed support for Obama even in blunt terms that seemed to run against their racial preferences. "I'm not a fan of the blacks," explained Dennis Rodriguez, 48, a restaurant manager from Manistique, Mich., "but I just think Obama is the right man for the job." Bob Morin, 53, a custodian and swing voter from Cubero, N.M. (a state Bush won by just 5,000 votes in 2004), told me, "I've got a few friends who say, 'There's no way I'm voting for a black guy,' but I think most people have gotten over it."
So why hasn't Obama gained better traction outside the big cities?
"He's just not someone I can personally relate to," explained Cathy Massingale, 33, of Cullowhee, N.C., a Democrat who first supported John Edwards this election, and then Hillary Clinton. "Obama just doesn't feel like someone who knows me." Massingale's husband is in the military, and she wants to see a withdrawal of U.S. troops from Iraq. But she said she remains undecided about Obama or McCain.
It may be that hesitancy about Obama stems from his being a type of black person that rural Americans are unfamiliar with. White rural Americans tend to identify two types of black Americans. They know local, churchgoing black people who like to hunt and fish, whose lives are similar to their own. On the other hand, they tend to think of urban blacks as a stereotype seen widely in pop culture (bling-wearing gangstas) or as the kind of black people they see on local TV news (often criminal suspects or convicts). Obama fits neither of these tropes, as a highly educated, upper-middle-class, self-made urban black man. (One with lighter skin and of mixed race, to boot.) He's not foreign because he's black, he's foreign because he's unknown -- especially as someone seeking a job held exclusively by white men for more than two centuries.
"Obama's like Jesse Jackson -- what does he know except a bunch of cities with lots of blacks?" asked 60-year-old construction worker Louie, in White Branch, Mich., a lifelong Democrat who said he probably won't vote for either candidate this year.
In the quaint and tidy town of Yellville, Ark., Cassie Gilley, 48, a soft-spoken school administrator, explained her view of white, rural America's evolving relationship to race. "There's a difference between racist and prejudiced," she said over sandwiches at Subway, after a service at Yellville's First Baptist Church. "A lot of people around here just haven't spent much time with black people. When they get to know a black person, it's OK. But they will bring their prejudice in at first."
In overcoming that formidable hurdle, the many lingering rumors, myths and paranoid fears that dog Obama's campaign make the task especially challenging. |
