Obama rode a wave of hope, change, and younger voters to the Democratic nomination, upsetting the seemingly unbeatable Hillary Clinton, and is ahead in surveys at this writing. But one historical pattern should give him pause: Political “trailblazers” are often seen as “too much change, too risky, and too exotic” — and rejected.
From the first Republican to the first conservative Sun Belt Republican to the first Catholic, they’ve all faced barriers that were too tough to overcome. Still, they’ve often paved the way for future candidates.
In 1856, the Republican party was organizing itself to replace the Whigs in challenging the Democrats. Their first nominee, John Fremont, lost with 33 percent to James Buchanan’s 45 percent. Four years later, Abraham Lincoln led the Republicans to victory and the North to victory in the Civil War, thus clearing the way for GOP dominance of the next two generations.
Over a century later, another Republican came up short. In 1964, Goldwater was the first ideological conservative from the Sun Belt. He disdained the moderate “Eastern Establishment” and openly courted the South, saying conservatives should “go hunting where the ducks are.” Goldwater was attacked vigorously for opposing the 1964 Civil Rights Act and for advocating using nuclear weapons in Vietnam. Lyndon Johnson buried him in a record 61.1 percent landslide, with Goldwater winning only the South and his own Arizona.
But he carried a clear majority of the white southern vote, a fact that would have huge significance in the future: The south has emerged as the most Republican part of the country. Sixteen years after Goldwater’s crushing defeat, Ronald Reagan became the first “movement conservative” president. Bloc Southern votes helped elect George W. Bush in 2000 and 2004.
But perhaps the best comparison to Obama is the groundbreaking campaign of New York governor Alfred Emanuel Smith 80 years ago.
Why emphasize such an old race? Because scholars often compare Irish-Americans’ rise in urban politics to that of blacks: Both groups entered politics and city government as a way to fend off discrimination, used municipal jobs as a path to the middle class rather than small business, and sought votes as the way to respect. The cities where Irish power first flowered in the form of urban political machines — New York, Chicago, Philadelphia, Jersey City — have all had black mayors.
Al Smith grew up the poor son of immigrants in the Lower East Side of Manhattan. He served 15 years in the New York State Assembly, where he crusaded for higher wages and better working conditions, particularly after the famous “Triangle Fire” in the Garment District in 1911. In 1918, he became the first Irish Catholic elected governor of any state. In 1928, after a decade of trying, Smith finally won the Democratic presidential nomination.
He faced Republican Herbert Hoover in a campaign filled with ethnic and religious innuendo. As major-party Catholic nominee, Smith was repeatedly asked to prove he was more loyal to America than to the pope. Critics used to claim that if Smith were elected, the pope would be “packing his bags” to come rule America. (Smith joked after his defeat that he had sent the pope a one-word telegram: “Unpack.”) Voters were not ready for a Catholic president, and in any case, Hoover was running on a platform of peace and prosperity. Smith lost the rural areas badly, even in half of the Democratic south, and got swamped nationally 58 to 41 percent. It was said that Smith was defeated by the “3P’s: Prejudice, Prohibition & Prosperity.”
Smith, like Fremont and Goldwater, blazed a trail others could follow: He swung the northern cities into the Democratic column, where they have remained ever since. This set the stage for a revived Democratic party that Franklin Roosevelt and Harry Truman rode to five straight victories.
A generation later, Smith’s fellow Catholic John Kennedy was the Democratic frontrunner. The biggest challenge Kennedy faced was convincing party leaders that a Catholic could win sufficient Protestant votes. Kennedy answered that question by winning over 60 percent in West Virginia, which was less than 5 percent Catholic. After being nominated, Kennedy disposed of any remaining religious questions with a famous speech before Protestant ministers in Texas. (“I believe in an America where the separation of church and state is absolute. . . . I am not the Catholic candidate for president. I am the Democratic candidate for president who happens to be a Catholic.”)
His sharp performances in television debates also helped people forget the religion question. He went on to defeat Richard Nixon by the narrowest of margins with the traditional Democratic coalition of labor, urban Catholics, minorities, and the South. (After this election, the “Catholic issue” pretty much disappeared from national politics: Numerous Catholics from both parties have run, and their religion has been only a footnote.)
Both Smith and Kennedy received roughly 80 percent of the Catholic vote, according to precinct studies. But three important things changed between their elections. One was that Kennedy won roughly 40 percent from the white Protestant majority, while Smith had received less than a third.
Another was that the Catholic voter base had grown significantly — Catholics cast an extra ten million votes for Kennedy in an election he won by roughly 100,000. Here’s what Theodore White had to say about this:
Only hubris could have explained Al Smith’s adventure of 1928; with Catholics still estimated at only 16 percent of the national population, and few accepted in leadership positions. . . . Smith’s campaign was hopeless. But the Catholic birth rate rose [to an estimated half of the population]. . . .
The third crucial difference between Smith and JFK was that Smith ran when Democrats were a minority outside the South. By contrast, Kennedy ran after the New Deal had established Democrats as a national majority. In effect, Kennedy stood on the shoulders of Roosevelt (who unified the nation on economic issues) and Truman (who brought the black vote in en masse by endorsing civil rights in 1948).
So is Obama more similar to Smith, or to Kennedy? Like Smith’s Irish constituency, Obama’s black voters are probably not large enough in number to deliver key states on their own. And like Smith, Obama is the first of his group to win a nomination, though he does have predecessors in presidential politics overall. (Another New Yorker, former representative Shirley Chisholm, was the first black candidate to run in the Democratic primaries.
A dozen years later, Jesse Jackson was the first black candidate to win a presidential primary, scoring a 67 percent landslide in the majority-black District of Columbia. In 1988, Jackson did even better, winning five primaries and finishing second overall.)
But Obama is stylistically and politically similar to Kennedy: He has excellent media skills, and is running at a time when the Democrats are reviving themselves. Just as the 1958 Democratic landslide put strong winds in Kennedy’s sails, the Democratic victory of 2006 and the mood for change help Obama.
The historical pattern is clear. Voters are usually reluctant to try new movements, parties, and ethnic groups, even if the known and familiar isn’t exactly the best in the world. This election rests on a question: Can Obama’s similarities to Kennedy help him beat the trend?
— Patrick Reddy is a Democratic political consultant in California.