Election night is over here, and Barack Obama has carried our state with 60% of the vote. Unfortunately, from the looks of things, his victory is a mixed picture. According to MSNBC reporting, blacks came out by the thousands and voted almost unanimously for Obama, while whites voted roughly 3 to 1 for Hillary Clinton.
On the surface, this looks like an historic day. A black presidential candidate carries the state of Missisippi, and by a sizable margin. This has never happened before, and until about 6 months ago, it was inconceivable that it would this year. And yet, despite the historical milestone, deep down it was the same old story -- deep racial divisions, each voting for his own. There were only a few crossovers, and I was among them. For the most part, though, we had the usual, disguised as something new. Only because blacks voted with unprecedented unity did Obama carry the day.
My experience of life in the South is that this is how it goes. On the surface we get a string of firsts: first mixed school, first black valedictorian, first black police officer, first black mayor, first black presidential primary winner. Behind it all we see that most people behave as they always have; they have simply learned to do so with greater subtlety and discretion. What once was "the school for coloreds only," now passes as "the school for the poor kids."
In my examination room over the years, I have heard the most horrible racial epithets. It is remarkable what a white patient will tell a white doctor in the privacy of the exam room. I wish I could charge extra for having to listen to the n-word; I'd have made a tidy sum over the years. That being said, I have only rarely excluded a patient from my practice because they express racism. This is not a thing to be proud of, but on the other hand, racists have a right to decent medical care, too.
Not so very long ago, a patient was talking to me in my office, and mentioned in passing that my children probably attend a certain local school that is 100% white. (I have no proof this ratio is by design, but in a county that is roughly 51% black, it is highly suspicious.) When I told him I did not send my children to that school, there was a silence, much longer than seemed comfortable. He was genuinely surprised, and seemed to be puzzling something out.
It put me in mind of a story told about one of Mississippi's most famous sons, Elvis Presley. The story goes that on the night one of Elvis's records was first played at a Memphis radio station, someone called in to ask what high school Elvis went to. The question was an aphorism for asking what color his skin was, because Memphis high schools were universally segregated and everyone knew which schools were what color. I felt the same way about my patient's reaction to my choice of schools for my kids -- he was drawing a conclusion.
This is the South I know -- physically in the twenty-first century, and yet oddly, often unreasoningly, pointed towards the past. So why live here? Stubborn, I guess. If all the open-minded people left Mississippi to be with like-minded individuals elsewhere, what would happen to the South? The least I can be is a buffer in this volatile solution. I live here because I have seen changes on the surface, and hope that over time these changes will deepen. I would rather be a part of gradual, excruciating change, than puzzle over it from the comfort of distance.
Last night, for instance, black Mississippians swung behind a candidate like never before. This could be a good thing. Before other people believe in you, you have to believe in yourself. Maybe, perhaps, black Mississippians are finally believing in one of their own in an arena outside of sports or music. Maybe confidence in the black community that change can happen without violence and upheaval will persuade whites that change could be good for them, too.
Maybe. The Mississippi primary also shows we have a long way to go.