From the WSJ Opinion Archives
THE WESTERN FRONT
Why 'Macaca' Matters
George Allen's dismaying indifference to Virginia's racial history.
Sen. George Allen of Virginia was born in Southern California, is the son of a former football legend, and is a political conservative. He's strong on national defense, favors tax cuts, and, as a former governor, has a record of being tough on crime. He is also a budding GOP presidential candidate who has been considered a top contender for the top job.
But while campaigning for re-election to the Senate recently, Mr. Allen stumbled to reveal a weakness that could keep him from a spot on the national ticket. At a stop near the Kentucky border, Mr. Allen poked fun at S.R. Sidarth, a 20-year-old Virginia native of Indian descent who was there to gather opposition research for Democratic challenger Jim Webb. "This fellow here, over here with the yellow shirt, macaca, or whatever his name is," Mr. Allen said, "he's with my opponent." The senator then went on to welcome the man to "real America."
Mr. Allen's comments drew a laugh from the crowd and criticism in the national media. The Washington Post pointed out that Macaca is a genus of monkey, and that in parts of Europe the word is used as a derisive term for African immigrants. This led to accusations of racism. National Review editor Rich Lowry, apparently hoping to cool the criticism, called the senator's comments simply "mean."
Neither criticism fits. Mr. Allen's problem is neither that he is a vicious campaigner nor that he is a modern-day George Wallace. Rather, it is that for more than two decades in state and federal office, he has displayed a dismaying indifference to his adoptive state's racial history. And it is this political tone-deafness that is now weighing down his political future with Southern baggage.
Had these comments come from someone with a different political history and from a different part of the country, it would be easy to dismiss them as a harmless error. Mr. Allen himself said, somewhat convincingly, that he didn't know what the word "macaca" meant when he used it. And the senator's campaign staffers had nicknamed Mr. Sidarth, "Mohawk" in reference to his haircut (which by some accounts was more of a mullet). So it is possible that Mr. Allen simply "misspoke." In his defense, Mr. Allen is now pointing to his political record that includes pushing legislation to apologize for the Senate's failure to enact national antilynching laws in the early 20th century. As governor, he supported increasing funding to historically black colleges.
But his political record also contains less flattering details. As a state legislator in the 1980s, Mr. Allen opposed making Martin Luther King's birthday a state holiday. While running for governor in 1993 he admitted that he had displayed a Confederate flag in his living room as part of a "flag collection." Mr. Allen was also found to have a noose hanging from a ficus tree in his personal law office, something he called part of a "Western motif." And while serving as governor Mr. Allen proclaimed April as Confederate Heritage Month. These are not the actions of a politician who understands legitimate sensitivities over his state's racial history--a history that includes slavery, Jim Crow and, more recently, resisting integration of its public schools in the late 1950s. Nor are they the actions of a politician who is working fastidiously to overcome this history.
Indeed, as governor, when leadership on race issues required political courage, Mr. Allen was noticeably absent from the fight. One battle stands out. In 1996, the city of Richmond erected a statue in honor of the late Arthur Ashe Jr., a native of the city and tennis star who was black. The statue drew opposition because it was placed on Monument Avenue, a place long reserved for statues honoring Confederate war heroes. The placement of the statue had become a flashpoint in state politics; its dedication drew protesters waving Confederate flags. Gov. Allen elected not to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with those who had fought to erect the Ashe statue. He did later laud Ashe as one of Virginia's heroes, along with George Washington and Thomas Jefferson. But on that day the governor was not in attendance and instead sent along a simple note of congratulations.
Perhaps my view on this matter is informed by personal experience. I got my start in journalism in the 1990s in rural Virginia, where I saw up close the lingering racism in local political fights. One of those fights included resistance to placing a plaque in Warren County High School commemorating the 40th anniversary of the admittance of its first black students. The plaque was installed, but one local official admitted privately to me that she had drawn fire from angry voters on the issue.
A legacy of the South's long struggle with racism is that today its elected officials must take a stand on racially sensitive issues. What Mr. Allen is finding out is the same thing Trent Lott learned a few years ago: that Southern politicians who don't appreciate the sensitivity of race issues may pay a political price.
Mr. Miniter is assistant editor of OpinionJournal.com. His column appears Tuesdays.
