This is not the book I intended to write. I have written previously on the emergence of race, national and class identity, and varying forms of mobilization in South Africa. In doing so, I became intrigued by the parallels with ideology and strategies of protest pursued by African-Americans. There seemed to be odd similarities, given the dramatic differences in context, not least demographic differences. I then became further intrigued by the case of Brazil. Given South African and American experiences, it seemed surprising that comparable racial inequalities in Brazil were not more fully challenged. So I added Brazil to what expected to be a comparative study of racial mobilization.
What then accounts for the divergences? The obvious answer was that South Africa and to a lesser extent the United States had imposed legal segregation, with nothing comparable having been enforced in post-abolition Brazil. If this helped to explain the corresponding difference in levels and forms of identity consolidation and mobilization, then I had to explain why Jim Crow segregation and apartheid developed, and such legal institutions did not in Brazil. A comparative study of black politics forced me into a related study of different forms of white supremacy, which themselves required explanation. And addressing this new concern forced me back in time, for surely such policies were grounded in the legacies of slavery, colonialism, culture, earlier solidarities, and economic development. Thus, to answer the initial question of what accounts for differences in black protest, I was propelled into a much bigger and broader comparative study of interacting institutional and identity formation.
The results of this study are here presented in the reverse order in which they emerged in my initial thinking. Logic and consistency suggest beginning with the historical contexts, particularly in regard to determinants of Brazil’s “exceptionalism.” I then incorporate past legacies into an explanation of “race making” as connected to the processes of nation-state consolidation, beginning with analysis of the most draconian case of South Africa. The state emerges as a major actor in explaining the imposition of official rules of racial exclusion and domination. But this obvious point does not account for why states, responding to both external pressures and internal divisions, did or did not establish such rules. Nor does it explain how race was so constructed and used in varying forms. It is this dependent outcome that this book seeks first to explain. I then argue that black identity and protest – building upon earlier emergent racial solidarity – were shaped by state policies, and those policies were later reversed in response to the protests they had provoked. Thus, “white” and “black” politics were inextricably connected in racial dynamics, though they have too often been studied in relative isolation. Analysis of race making requires examination of processes and assertions from both above and below.
To pursue this comparison, it is imperative not to reify what is meant by race. To do so would be to fall into the trap of essentialism. Assumptions of primordial difference and pervasive race prejudice did emerge, but from distinct histories, and informing varying practices. This study seeks to explain how such different meanings and uses of race emerged. Even the terms “black” and “white” remain unfortunate shorthand for socially constructed and varying identities. Indeed, the process by which who is signified by these terms was established remains a central concern, logically prior to the more conventional political question of who gets what, when, and how.
To explain how and whether prejudice was legally encoded, I put forward a theory of race making that acknowledges the intentionality of actors within and outside the state. I argue that amid contestation elites strike bargains and deploy state authority to unify a core constituency of whites within the nation-state by excluding blacks. Put simply, racial domination or the lack thereof did serve strategic purposes of coalition building by those in power. The nation-state and economy were thereby preserved and developed. But racial domination had unforeseen consequences, most notably in provoking “black–white” conflict.
Again, I am eager not to reify. The state is not a unitary actor, and policy outcomes cannot be explained by reducing all else to the state. The social science tendency to talk about what states “do” gives a false impression, for states are multifaceted and permeable to outside influences. States do act, for instance in codifying racial orders, but such policies emerge in fits and starts, shaped by different histories and state structures, trial and error, continued conflict and competition. State elites do pursue the goal of stability, and did effectively use racial domination toward that end. But what appears “functional” in retrospect was not, for “the system” was itself divided and fought over, rather than unitary in its impositions. Indeed, the very nature or form of states, and of nations, was shaped by such contestation. It is this process that I also hope to elucidate, suggesting a new approach to understanding nation-state building and related social cleavages.
The story that emerges here has one driving force. Those pursuing or in power in each country seek to gain or preserve that power by “whatever means necessary.” Elites generally seek peace, among themselves and with subordinates, for stability preserves them in power and maintains the aura of legitimacy. Even when elites engage in war, they often do so to preserve or restore the status quo and stability. Peace is also essential for economic development, by which elites enrich themselves and fund the instrument of the state. Race making emerges from this combined political and economic imperative. That said, I hasten to add that who the elites are, their own divisions, how they understand and categorize themselves, are also fluid. Similarly, the historical challenges that elites face also change and mesh. History does not present “problems” or “solutions” in discrete stages. I will try to avoid implying the contrary in what follows, despite the temptations of periodization.
What I present here is an analytic essay on historical variation inside and across cases, with all the defects and virtues of this form. To account for important historical processes, I may be accused of selectivity, though I hope thereby to reveal key issues that are decisive and not otherwise clear. There are of course other stories and explanations, but as in all such attempts, I make wagers of willful distortion, as it is impossible to capture fully all complexity. Others will judge if these wagers pay off. Those committed to alternative explanations may not be convinced, but I hope they will be provoked to further consideration.
A note on methodology and research is important. This study is informed by historical studies and by sociological theory, but it remains an instance of comparative politics. I combine a focus on historical institutions, such as the state, with analysis of the social forces that built, impinged upon, and divided institutional actors and identities. The result is a rather eclectic approach, incorporating the histories of three countries, itself an impossible task to fulfill, relying on secondary sources checked for bias, archives, primary documents and interviews, and building narratives to solve problems that have long bedeviled analysis.
This study seeks to explain major developments in three countries, though I am cognizant that the experiences of each interacted and informed each other. Brazilians were eager to avoid the sort of conflict that had torn apart the United States in the Civil War. South Africans were aware of Jim Crow in the United States. Americans were eager to avoid the sort of conflict that came to engulf South Africa after the mid-twentieth century, and were inspired by the image of Brazil’s “racial democracy.” Afro-Brazilians and black South Africans were inspired by the American civil rights and Black Power movements. African-Americans were inspired by South Africa’s anti-apartheid movement. The stories are interconnected, though they are presented here somewhat more discretely. Presenting this study in thematic sections, rather than by fully separating the cases, encourages consideration of both general patterns and historical interconnections.
The complexity and interconnectedness of the history of South Africa, the United States, and Brazil emerge in historical narrative, but were reinforced for me by my own research experiences. Informants were often fascinated by the comparison, as were earlier analysts and actors. The timing of my study surely reinforced my own engagement with the comparison. I found myself interviewing George Wallace in his Montgomery sickbed, and a month later attending Nelson Mandela’s inauguration in Pretoria. The South African Defense Force saluted its new commander and former adversary with a dramatic fly-by of jets. Central state authority was passed to its former nemesis. Back in the United States, such central state authority was itself being newly challenged by an assertion of states’ rights led by the Republican Party – the same party that had defended the Union under Lincoln. And then I found myself in Brazil talking to black activists just before a former scholar of Brazilian race relations was elected to the presidency. Under such circumstances and juxtaposition, comparison came alive.
Living in and studying contentious issues of race in three countries also reaffirmed for me the importance of getting the comparison right. In each country, historical interpretations and policy prescriptions often made reference to the other two cases. Such comparison was often ill informed and problematic in its implications. For instance, in 1991 Nelson Mandela traveled to Brazil, hailing that country’s “racial democracy” as a model for South Africa, much as American liberals had hailed Brazil’s tolerance during the 1960s. Afro-Brazilian activists were quick to correct Mandela’s false impression and analogy, urging him not to accept Brazil’s inequality as a model for his own country. Mandela’s staff described to me his dismay in finding that the impression of Brazil’s racial tolerance, so widely credited when he was jailed in 1963, was no longer accepted after his release twenty-seven years later. Understandings of Brazilian reality had progressed, informed by comparison. I hope here to add to such analytic progress.
My research was made possible by a number of collections. In the United States, I benefited from the Martin Luther King Center Archive in Atlanta, the Oral History project at Columbia University and its libraries, the New York Public Library, and the archive of the Joint Center for Economic and Policy Studies in Washington; in Brazil from the archive of the Center for Afro-Asiatic Studies in Rio de Janeiro; and in South Africa from numerous archives of political organizations, unions, universities, and individuals.
I also drew heavily from several hundred interviews, conducted in English and Portuguese (often combined with Spanish). Of course, interviews were limited to those living and willing, and then had to be subjected to cross-checking to diminish retrospective or self-interested bias. I remain most grateful to all those who agreed to be subjected to my note pads and tape recorder.
This leads me directly to acknowledge all those who have been of help in this project. I cannot hope to be exhaustive in this happy endeavor.
My first note of thanks is to an institution, Columbia University, where I have pursued this study over the last six years. I am acutely conscious of the shoulders on which I stand here, going back at least to Boaz, Schermerhorn, and Tannenbaum. I have often been inspired and amused to find myself in rooms or buildings named after these predecessors, some of whose findings I here dispute.
Among the current scholars at Columbia and Barnard, my debts are many. I can only here list those to whom I am most grateful: Karen Barkey, Alan Brinkley, Douglas Chalmers, Jean Cohen, Barbara Fields, Herb Gans, Charles V. Hamilton, Patrick Heller, David Johnston, Mark Kesselman, Herbert Klein, Robert Lieberman, Manning Marable, Peter Marcuse, Kelly Moore, Robert Shapiro, Jack Snyder, Steve Solnick, Philip Thompson, and Harrison White. Eric Foner and Charles Tilly in particular provided invaluable comments on the entire manuscript. And Ira Katznelson has throughout generously provided extraordinary guidance, valuable suggestions, and warm encouragement. These acknowledgments demonstrate how lucky I have been to pursue this study at this place.
For my research in and on Brazil, and for comments on the manuscript or ideas, I am most grateful to Carlos Hasenbalg, Nelson do Valle Silva, Rebecca Reichmann, Anani Dzidzienyo, Anthony Pereira, and all the folks at the Center for Afro-Asiatic Studies in Rio who offered their hospitality and help. Working at the Center was a great inspiration, as was the view from my office window looking out onto Guanabarra Bay and the Ilha das Cobras, from which Brazil’s last emperor set sail.
For study in and on South Africa, I continue to be indebted to John and Nora Samuel, Mark Orkin, Jenny Glennie, Francis and Lindy Wilson, Rupert Taylor, Dunbar Moodie, Tom Lodge, Stephen Ellman, Neville Alexander, and Tom Karis, who reviewed the entire manuscript. This help was all the more invaluable during the 1980s when the South African authorities sought unsuccessfully to prevent my research. An office I used at CASE in Johannesburg did not have the majestic scenic view I later enjoyed in Rio, but it did on occasion look out onto an impressive sea of protestors in the street.
I am also grateful for the advice offered by Benedict Anderson, Jeff Goodwin, David Laitin, Lloyd Rudolph, James Scott, Sidney Tarrow, Louise Tilly, and anonymous reviewers. William Julius Wilson and Jennifer Hochschild provided invaluable suggestions on the entire manuscript. Conversations with Mahmood Mamdani, Eric Hobsbawm, and the late Claude Ake were more helpful than they could imagine. Claude will now be much missed. Sheldon and Lucy Hackney have consistently offered warm encouragement and wisdom. And I continue to be guided by the inspiration of former teachers: Robert Lane, Robert Dahl, Henry Bienen, Albert O. Hirschman, and Theda Skocpol.
Opportunities to present summaries or sections of this study have been provided by the American Political Science Association, the African Studies Association, the Social Science History Association, the American Sociological Association, the Committee on Historical Studies at the New School for Social Research, the South Africa Study Group based at New York Law School, the Center for Afro-Asiatic Studies in Rio de Janeiro, the Faculty of Social Sciences of the Federal University of Rio de Janeiro, the Wilder House Workshop on Comparative Politics at the University of Chicago, Princeton University, and the Comparative Race Relations Initiative of the Southern Education Foundation. Similar opportunities were provided at Columbia, by the Institute for Latin American and Iberian Studies, the Identities Workshop of the Center for the Social Sciences, the Comparative Politics Workshop, and the Institute for Research in African-American Studies. I am also particularly grateful for the insights gained from my students, both at Columbia and at Yale. Logistical support has been provided by Columbia’s Institute for African Studies, under the leadership of George Bond and Ron Kassimir.
Funding for this project has been provided by the United States Institute of Peace, the Social Science Research Council and American Council of Learned Societies’ Joint Committee on Latin America, the National Endowment for the Humanities, the Tinker Foundation Fellowships of Columbia’s Institute for Latin American and Iberian Studies, and the Harry Frank Guggenheim Foundation.
At Cambridge University Press, Alex Holzman has been a much-valued critic, editor, and ally. It has been a pleasure to work with him and his colleague Aura Lippincott-Daluz, and with copyeditor W. M. Havighurst – all authors should be so fortunate.
Finally, thanks to my parents, family and friends – Mom and Dad, Jak and Tuna, Henri and Ellen, Debby and Chip, Andrew and Kristen, David and Monica, Josh and Cathy, Paul and Marisol, Claire and Tasia. But most importantly I am grateful to Joshua and Karen. If Joshua had not cooperated, not least by sleeping through the night during his first two years, when this book was largely written, I surely would have collapsed. Throughout, he remained an inspiration and joy. The next book will be for him. And without Karen’s love, support, ideas, and encouragement, I would not have made it to finish this project. She is my inspiration as teacher and scholar, and my life companion. I dedicate this book to her.