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Politics Politics Beat Blog

Shade in Shelby County: A Guest Viewpoint

In a discussion over the weekend among the candidates for Shelby County Mayor, candidate David Lenoir was asked to respond to charges that his campaign had darkened an image of his opponent, Lee Harris, in a recent mailer. Lenoir denied that there had been any doctoring of the image and cast the blame for the topic onto Wendi Thomas, the Memphis journalist who most recently ran the MLK50: Justice in Journalism project. Specifically, Lenoir said, “This … was all cooked up by Wendi Thomas and you know how divisive she can be.” This response was wrong on so many levels, I feel a need to throw some shade on Lenoir (pun intended).

Daniel Kiel

First, blaming a critical media is like blaming the doctor who delivers an unwanted diagnosis. It is rooted in denial of facts, or at least of the way things might be interpreted. Second, though media-bashing seems to be a wise political strategy these days, Lenoir did not actually bash the media — he targeted a single member of the media, one who is black and female and whose work regularly points out racial discrimination and disparity in our community. Several white journalists had pointed out the racial overtones of the Lenoir mailer before Thomas, yet the fault was solely laid at Thomas’s feet.

One reason other non-Thomas journalists have pointed out the racial overtones of the mailer is that the racial overtones of the mailer are kind of difficult to miss. I received one of these mailers, which feature a shadowy Harris seemingly juggling $100 bills amidst claims that he will not be a responsible steward of the county’s money, and immediately shook my head. (Disclosure: I’m white) That it traffics in stereotypes, seeking to elicit a response in the viewer rooted in beliefs about trustworthiness of African Americans, is difficult to deny. It could even be read to trigger fear that some sort of rapper is running for mayor to make it rain in the club of Shelby County after raising taxes to do so. That these stereotyping suggestions appear at all is troublesome, but that they appear next to a darkened image is egregious, in my opinion. Not surprising given the local and national history with race-baiting and dog-whistling in campaigns, but still egregious.

To deny that the mailer could be understood in this way has several effects. It denies to those who are offended the dignity of deciding for themselves what is offensive. It is as if Lenoir is suggesting that people not be allowed to trust their own feelings — again, feelings that are being felt by white and black Shelby Countians alike, though likely not in equal measure — and instead, trust that he meant no harm. It also displays either a high level of ignorance or disingenuousness about race in our community. Either Lenoir is truly surprised that the mailer might be offensive, in which case he is showing himself as woefully out of touch with the experience of the majority of Shelby County residents. Or he knows, even hopes, it could be understood this way, consciously or unconsciously, and will lead voters into the safety he is offering. To me, the scapegoating of Thomas, a favorite target of local whites in power, suggests that the latter explanation is in play.

Lenoir could have blamed the media, broadly, for misunderstanding him, but he chose to cite one black journalist. He also could have feigned surprise at the reaction, acknowledged error, claimed ignorance, apologized, maybe even committed to not sending any more copies of the mailer out. That may have helped the issue go away, but maybe that is not the goal. Perhaps the goal is to give some subset of voters the sense that his opponent is not Lee Harris, but is actually Wendi Thomas.

Of Thomas, Lenoir says, “we all know how divisive she can be.” Who is the “we” in that sentence? My guess: white people, specifically white people uncomfortable with criticism from the black community. That Thomas’s work is “divisive” is hard to dispute — it divides opinions because it unapologetically touches on the racial, gender, and socioeconomic divides in our community. Thomas did not create those divides, again, any more than a doctor creates symptoms. The divisions Lenoir ought to be concerned about are the attitudes, structures, and practices that give Thomas and others focused on local inequity so much to write about.

Of course, Lenoir is not literally running against Wendi Thomas, the person. Rather, he is running against ideas some might associate with her. It is instructive to consider what a campaign against those ideas might look like. Over the years, Thomas has repeatedly raised complex and often damning questions about the distribution and use of power in our community. These questions are often inconvenient to those in power, but they serve a crucial purpose of accountability. It is as though Thomas is sitting on the community’s shoulder, reminding us of things we ought to have been considering all along — things like diversity in media and in economic development, the crippling barriers generated by poverty, racial and gender discrimination faced regularly by individuals in all walks of life and across levels of income. Think of hers as a voice of conscience, critical and persistent, but rooted in the desire to make things better.

A symbolic campaign against “Wendi Thomas” is a campaign against criticism and a campaign against change from a status quo that benefits Shelby County residents unevenly. It is a campaign against learning from mistakes, against acknowledging the feelings of others, against critical self-examination, against acknowledging the possibility that the community might look different — and less flattering — from a different perspective, all things that we could use more of. And, of course, it is a campaign against a black voice for black empowerment, a black voice that dares to question the current dispensation. And to be clear, Thomas has never been critical solely of white leaders; her voice can be inconvenient for anyone in power. It is just that political, and particularly economic, power continues to be disproportionately wielded by whites in Shelby County.

The shading of an image of an African American opponent in a county mayoral race reflects poor judgment or callous disregard of others’ feelings. An individual standing for election as the county’s executive should expect questions on the topic and either defend the decision or acknowledge a mistake. Instead, Lenoir opted to pass the blame on to a Shelby County citizen who has been willing to sit on the shoulders of our community and make noise. Our community could use more such citizens.

Daniel Kiel is a Professor of Law at the University of Memphis, a recipient of the University’s Martin Luther King Human Rights Award and a widely published author, especially on the subject of race relations.

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Opinion Viewpoint

“Rhodes Must Fall” and Memphis’ Confederate Monuments

Cecil John Rhodes is both famous and infamous in South Africa. He is famous as an arch-imperialist, involved in the colonial expansion in Southern Africa in the late 19th century that generated much of the economic infrastructure that still underlies South Africa today. He is infamous also as an arch-imperialist, involved in the subjugation of native Africans to help drive economic expansion, generating much of the social division that has plagued this country.

When I arrived in South Africa two months ago, I didn’t anticipate thinking much about Cecil John Rhodes, who died more than a century ago. Yet the local news was abuzz with coverage of a movement called Rhodes Must Fall.

Furious over a campus display of a symbol of a colonial and oppressive past, black students at the University of Cape Town organized to demand the removal of a Rhodes statue. After a month of protest, the statue was removed by the university. The Rhodes Must Fall movement has spread to other campuses and communities in South Africa and beyond, targeting not only Rhodes but also other figures from complicated pasts.

All of this resonated with a Memphian abroad because of our own experience with a statue of a long-deceased famous and infamous man. There was some comfort in seeing a society 8,000 miles from home grapple with the same difficult issues. Particularly in places with deep histories of division, a universal part of confronting that past is struggling with persistent symbols of it. Freed from my identity as a Memphian, I am able to follow the Rhodes story without my own local baggage and preconceptions.

One thing that is obvious is that Rhodes Must Fall was only partially about the past. The students were demonstrating not only against a symbol of an oppressive history, but also against persistent racial inequities on campus. The removal of the Rhodes statue may address the former, but does not touch the latter. If the statue’s removal is to be more than a symbolic event, the university community will have to continue the difficult work of addressing today’s issues.

The movement to remove the Forrest statue in Memphis is similarly about both past and present. There is symbolism of one kind in the commemoration of a Confederate general and symbolism of a very different kind in the push for its removal. But the Forrest controversy is significant because it occurs in a community with persistent racial disparities in areas from education to economics to criminal justice.

Efforts like those to remove statues are only half-measures if limited to issues of monuments and flags and park names. This is because the statue issues and the contemporary issues of race are part of the same ongoing process of building a cohesive society out of disparate parts, of building a more perfect union.

Discussions about how to recognize our past should be a jumping-off point. Unfortunately, the model for working through our conflicted past, confrontational and divisive, often sucks the air out of efforts to confront the conflicted present.

To make the process more constructive, there must be a more thorough and honest look into the past and its effects on the present.That includes acknowledging the pain caused by symbols of oppression and the disadvantages and attitudes that linger from that era. Dismissals of the relevance and legitimacy of that pain with statements like “let’s move on” or “you can’t change history” only make productive dialogue more difficult.

But a constructive process also involves accepting the difficulty, even pain, of having to release a social order that was so central to a way of life. Ignoring the lingering psychological impact of that loss, evident in opposition to the Forrest statue removal, and focusing only on indictment and retribution only widen the gulf in the conversation.

In South Africa, a truth and reconciliation commission was convened in the aftermath of apartheid to attempt a constructive reckoning with parts of this nation’s past. If we in Memphis are ever to really begin tackling the central dividing issue of race in our community, it seems we will need a similarly deliberate effort, a truth and reconciliation project, Memphis-style. The discussions about our controversial statue could be the beginning of that process.

Without it, we are likely to spend another decade or longer stuck arguing over infamous dead men rather than working to improve the place in which we live.

Daniel Kiel is a professor at the Cecil C. Humphreys School of Law. He is spending the semester at the University of the Free State in South Africa as a Fulbright scholar.