How Jesse Jackson’s populist fight for economic and racial justice resonates today

At the recent Democratic Party Convention in the United States, delegates roared their approval when civil rights leader Jesse Jackson was brought on stage to wave to delegates.

In the 1980s, Jackson became the first African American to make a serious run for the presidential nomination of the party (though the late Shirley Chisholm was the first to vie for the party’s leadership in 1972).

Many herald Jackson’s strong showing as breaking barriers for African-Americans in politics.

But those applauding at the convention were also acknowledging the fact that Jackson, who celebrates his 83rd birthday soon, proved that white working-class voters in the Rust Belt states — the very people who will likely decide the 2024 presidential election — will support a racialized candidate like Kamala Harris if the message is right.

If Jackson’s first attempt in 1984 captured the imagination of Black voters, his second four years later was a historic breakthrough as he mobilized working people of all races to fight what he called the “economic violence” of global capitalism.

As journalists Gerald Seir and Joe Davidson observed in a March 1988 edition of The Wall Street Journal, “to listen to Mr. Jackson on the stump is to get a high-octane shot of economic populism.”

Jackson’s message differed from Missouri’s Richard Gephardt, who proposed legislation to erect import barriers and was the only other progressive candidate in the race.

Took aim at corporations

In his ‘84 presidential run, Jackson focused his anger on U.S. corporations that moved American jobs offshore for tax incentives, warning against the chauvinistic appeal of trade nationalism. How foreign was foreign competition really, he asked? It was a good question.

“Taiwanese and South Koreans are not taking our jobs,” he told audiences across the country. “GE (General Electric) and GM (General Motors) are taking our jobs to Taiwan and South Korea.”

Speaking to 10,000 trade unionists in California, Jackson declared:

“Just as 30 years ago, we marched to end racial violence. Today we march to end economic violence. We fight for the rights of working people.”

His economic message resonated with many white working-class voters. Leonard Shindel, a white steelworker from Baltimore, told The Wall Street Journal that the “thing that he says that’s different from any other Democrat is we need to build a movement against economic violence, like the civil rights movement in the 1960s.”

Jackson did well in the early state primaries in 1988. He got 26 per cent of the votes in Vermont, including the endorsement of a young Bernie Sanders, then the mayor of Burlington, Vt.

Jackson placed second behind Massachusetts Gov. Michael Dukakis, who ultimately went on to become the Democratic presidential candidate.

Jackson also did well on Super Tuesday, when 16 southern states voted. He won several states, including South Carolina, where he garnered 54 per cent of the primary vote — more than double the next three candidates combined.

Solidarity with workers

In his run for the nomination, Jackson joined auto-assembly workers in Flint, Mich., meat-packers in Milwaukee, Wis., hospital orderlies in Philadelphia, Penn., and firefighters in St. Louis, Mo. In Mobile, Ala., he urged Black replacement workers to respect a local picket line. UAW Local 72 in Kenosha, Wis., an overwhelmingly white union local, endorsed Jackson, defying its national leadership.

Asked why it did so, the local president said: “Jesse Jackson might be Black, but [Chrysler CEO] Lee Iacocca’s white and he’s taking our jobs away.”

The high point of the Jackson campaign was when he beat Dukakis decisively in Michigan.

For a moment, it seemed that history was in the making. Jackson criss-crossed the battleground state of Wisconsin appealing to working-class voters. In the industrial city of Sheboygan, he drew 1,500 people, prompting three standing ovations.

Despite the sea of white faces, journalist David Finkel, writing in The St. Petersburg Times on April 3, 1988, described a remarkable scene:

“When Jackson walked in, most everyone leaped to their feet and cheered. They stood on chairs. They held out their babies for him to hug. They held out their hands, too, and when he shook them, they actually danced around with excitement.”

Arthur Fuller, a white Reagan Democrat, vowed to vote for Jackson: “If he’s elected, he’s going to think about the small guy, which is what we are.”

Jackson’s demise

Ultimately, however, it was the state of New York that broke Jackson’s insurgent candidacy. His pro-Palestinian views did not endear him to many in the state’s large Jewish community. Nor did his economic populist message resonate with many socially liberal but economically neoliberal white voters, or the Democratic Party establishment.

The Washington Post warned that “what Jackson is selling is a powerful and dangerously seductive brand of economic populism and economic nationalism.” The Boston Globe went so far as to say that even the idea of Jackson being selected as the party’s vice-presidential candidate should be avoided as he “would not balance the ticket.”

Dukakis, a colourless technocrat who championed workfare and workforce retraining, won the party’s nomination but was demolished in the election that followed.

Looking back, what stands out from Jackson’s quest to become the first Black president of the United States was his populist message based on economic and racial justice. He was the first to reveal that white working-class voters are willing to respond to the right economic message even if it comes from a racialized person.

Since then, of course, the Rust Belt states of Pennsylvania, Michigan, Wisconsin, Ohio and Iowa all voted for Barack Obama. Not once, but twice. And Harris is starting to nudge past Trump in some of those states.

Ultimately, the 2024 election will likely turn on whether the Democratic Party can reconnect with the same working-class voters. Jackson still has much to teach American politicians and voters.

Steven High, Professor of History, Centre for Oral History and Digital Storytelling (COHDS), Concordia University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.