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Carol Swain's Long, Strange Academic Trip

Swain testifies before Congress on immigration, September 24, 2010. Photo credit: NEWSCOM

Political scientist and law professor Carol Swain retired from academia just when some of her research had become remarkably relevant. She doesn't see it quite that way, though. Swain prophesied the rise of the alt-right 15 years ago, but she won't call Donald Trump's election victory a vindication of her prediction that a new white nationalism would infiltrate mainstream politics. It might be because the 63-year-old Southern black woman and distinguished, though increasingly controversial, scholar supports the populist president's most contentious policies.

Days after the election, Vanderbilt University publicized Swain's prescience, pointing to her 2002 book The New White Nationalism in America: A Challenge to Integration. "The alt-right is not a new development. It is an effort to rebrand the white nationalism I described in 2002, as a more intellectual movement that uses social science data, rhetoric and civil rights laws to advance its agenda," Swain stated in Vanderbilt's press release, which also advertised her press availability via the Nashville, Tennessee, school's "24/7 TV and radio studio."

"I could have revived my career just by saying, 'Oh, this was it. This is the white nationalism I was talking about.' It's not that simple," Swain told me in a recent phone interview. "I don't think Mr. Trump is a white nationalist. But I do think there's an increasing white consciousness and awareness. And I think the political left helped create it."

The university's PR office left off that last bit—along with the fact that Swain had chosen months before to take early retirement, a parting of ways not made public until January. Cross-references to previous press releases all but denouncing Swain for thoughtcrimes didn't make the cut either.

Swain doesn't deny that the Trumpian trolletariat of the alt-right poses the same danger to racial integration that she identified in the late nineties' breed of articulate white nationalist. And she agrees with the most enlightened progressives that there's nothing new in a repackaged nativism. But rather than call it a systemic white supremacy set free by Trump's ascent—Hillary Clinton's definition of the alt-right—Swain blames an isolating worldview, endemic to elite college campuses like Vanderbilt's, that promotes racially determined interests at the expense of a common cause.

Hers is a complicated cosmology, not exactly suited to the press release genre—nor to the modern university campus. In the late nineties, she left a tenured faculty seat at Princeton to complete a master's in law at Yale before taking joint appointments in law and political science at Vanderbilt. In the meantime, she also quit the Democratic party and became reborn in Christ. "I jokingly say they hired one person, a very different one showed up," she told me. "I showed up a born-again Christian, and I would say my Christian conversion was very dramatic. It has shaped everything I've done since then, and it affects how I see the world."

An uptick in racial violence at the turn of the millennium compounded with what she describes as a religious calling to warn the world inspired her refocused research. There was a misunderstood but dangerously persuasive white nationalism on the rise: "Energetic, articulate, and skilled in the use of the Internet, the carriers of this new voice now pose the most serious ideological challenge to the ideal of an integrated and racially pluralist America since the passing of the Jim Crow order in response to the great civil rights revolution of the 1950s and 1960s," she would write. "In the decades ahead its influence will expand well beyond its current scope."

Civil rights policies that seemed to stack the deck too much in favor of minorities stoked white resentment, while the code of political correctness barred white students from complaining of unfairness lest they be labeled racist. "I had seen the convergence of issues that were creating and were going to create a devil's brew for racial unrest—unless we moved away from identity politics and multiculturalism," Swain told me. Instead, America recommitted to identity politics with a vengeance during the Obama years. That "devil's brew" finally coalesced: "The missing ingredient was Obama."

Until 2008, she stayed out of the partisan fray, watching Barack Obama's ascent with scholarly interest. In her first book, 1993's Black Faces, Black Interests. she argued that linking race and representation would only undermine political gains. Party affiliation matters more than race in representing voters' interests. Or, in poli sci lingo, substantive representation outweighs descriptive representation; she showed that voters don't need their elected officials to look like them.

White voters would gladly support a black candidate if he were a convincing enough moderate to promise racial healing across party lines, she predicted. Our first black president, Swain wrote in December 2006 for Ebony. would be someone like freshman senator from Illinois Barack Obama or former national security adviser Colin Powell, men whose immigrant backgrounds relieve them and their voters of the "baggage" of the civil rights era. (Obama declared his candidacy in early February following a family vacation, a typical time to catch up on magazine reading, Swain slyly noted in our first call.)

She lost hope, however, when the influence of Obama's spiritual mentor, black liberation preacher Jeremiah Wright, came to light: "I know that if you really are interested in bringing together people of different races, you don't belong to a black nationalist church." President Obama "did everything to start a race war," she continued, arguing that he and Democrats during his two terms in office "racialized every issue" while declining to condemn racially or religiously motivated violence by name. "You can't stir it, bring up all this stuff," she said, "and then put it back in this box to pull it out during election time." She finds common ground with those who criticize Obama's racial legacy from the left: He took political advantage of racial anxiety but did not deign to address it. The agreement stops there, though. Swain voted for Mike Huckabee in the 2008 primary, according to one former student. Last year, she held out for Ted Cruz as long as he held on.

She's taken to Facebook, YouTube, newspaper columns—and even shelled out for a paid-programming talk show—to carry forth her truth unto a more willing audience than academia offers. Appearing on Fox News with increasing frequency in the last decade signaled to colleagues and friends, those who first knew Carol Swain as a promising young political scientist in the 1990s, that she's not as interested as she used to be in being a serious scholar, I'm told. Her latest books, Be the People: A Call to Reclaim America's Faith and Promise (2011) and Abduction: How Liberalism Steals Our Children's Hearts and Minds (2016), aren't exactly pitched to her peers in the professoriate either.

She's a thorny nationalist on the matter of mass immigration, illegal and otherwise, but welcomes debate while making her position unequivocally clear: "I cannot condone illegal immigration, nor can I close my eyes to the negative impact of mass immigration on the quality of life and opportunities of native-born American citizens who so desperately want their own taste of the American dream," she wrote in Be the People. after noting that immigrants she's known have "blessed my life enormously." (She's curating a second volume of scholarly essays on immigration.) She called for heightened monitoring of Muslims—in a fatefully controversial 2015 op-ed, for one—before it seemed a political possibility.

The newly minted retiree is also working on a memoir, a project several of her friends said they've often suggested. Before she became an "accidental professor" and television pundit on a mission, Swain grew up in "an abusive and impoverished farm household of 12 children" in rural Bedford, Virginia. As a child she would escape into vivid daydreams. "While it may not be politically correct to share this aspect of my life, my fantasy family was white. I cast myself into the role of a rich white male named David, who was able to do what he wanted. Race was not an issue, because it never came up in my fantasy world. David was too busy traveling the world and dealing with his servants, who for some strange reason were not black." (She described recounting this fantasy to former Princeton colleague Toni Morrison, the revered novelist: "Without the slightest tinge of judgment in her voice, Toni said, 'That's so amazing. Even as a child you knew enough to want to be the best thing that one can be in America [a white male].' ")

The brood moved in the late 1960s to Roanoke and into an integrated school district. Swain dropped out of eighth grade but earned a GED. She married in her teens and wound up a "divorced welfare mother of two sons." It was a fellow shift worker at the Liberty House Nursing Home, an African immigrant named Abou, who persuaded to try her hand at higher education. Against these steep odds, she climbed the academic ladder all the way from Virginia Western Community College to a law degree at Yale and professorships at Princeton and Vanderbilt. Prominent mentors along the way—at Roanoke College, where she completed her bachelor's; Virginia Tech, her first master's degree; and University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, her doctorate in political science—helped make it possible. But these days, she reflects, "In some ways, I feel like I didn't always turn out the way people had hoped I would turn out."

Her undergraduate mentor is still proud. Roanoke College professor William Hill headed the history department and oversaw her chosen major, criminal justice. He might have planted the conservative seed in Swain, she said: "I don't know if he was a factor in my becoming a conservative, but he exposed me to Thomas Sowell, Glenn Loury, Milton Friedman—and I think it could only have broadened my mind." Professor Hill recalled having told her, "You're a conservative Republican, and you just don't know that yet." But that wouldn't have been until she was a graduate student, he clarified—by which time they were colleagues and friends, not just student and teacher. Hill does not believe professions of political bias belong in the classroom. "I have too many colleagues who are evangelistic liberals for me to follow what they do," he told me. His former student, on the other hand, "She doesn't follow the same rule I do," he laughed. "You ask Carol what she thinks, she'll tell you and she'll tell you why you ought to think the same thing."

"I agree with most of what she says, I just wouldn't say it the way she says it," Hill added. "With all said and done, Carol probably will have done more good for the world than I will have," daring as she does to stake public positions that are "hugely unpopular in a college community." But, he pointed out, "where Carol is today is not where she was five years ago or five years before," and five years from now, she may well have moved on yet again.

When Carol Swain first showed up in Professor Hill's class, after transferring from community college—a nontraditional full-time student who, he would later learn, was also working full time and raising children on her own—she sat in the back and kept quiet. He didn't notice her especially until it came time to grade her first essay test. "Hers was the best of them by far." Ten years after her Roanoke graduation, she published her first book to wide acclaim; Black Faces, Black Interests became required reading for some of Hill's classes.

When she wrote it, she was still a committed liberal, she pointed out. The book was a warning to her then-party: "I took a position against the creation of majority black districts because I knew it would help elect Republicans." Creating districts that were more than 65 percent African-American, a widely promoted practice, undermined Democrats' influence such that in 1992 there were more black people in office but fewer Democrats. Because, Swain observed, the neighboring districts these black constituencies were being carved out of would tend to skew Republican without them. White representatives served their black constituents' interests just as capably as black representatives could, she found through her research and the many candid interviews she conducted with lawmakers and often racially diverse staff.

As long as racial demography decided districting, Democratic—and African-American—gains in Congress would be vulnerable. "I actually had a chapter that talked about what would happen if the Republicans took over Congress," she recalled, one the '94 midterms would validate. "Black influence would change, and they would lose committee chairmanships," she predicted. "And that happened the next year, after the book was published. A lot of people wondered, 'How did you see that coming?' " In 1995, the Supreme Court struck down racial gerrymandering. While prevailing wisdom held that black representatives wouldn't win reelection without it—because white voters wouldn't support them—Swain disagreed in a Congressional Quarterly column. "Again, people said, 'How did you see that coming?' And I said, 'Well, it was just the political times.' "

The times were on her side then. Another longtime friend, political scientist and Dartmouth professor Linda Fowler, noted the relatively tepid reviews and responses The New White Nationalism received—disappointing compared with Black Faces, Black Interests. which had swept that year's political science book awards circuit and was cited in two Supreme Court cases. "Of course if we'd had the 2016 election in 2004, it would have gotten a very different reception, but we didn't," Fowler told me.

It can't have helped that in The New White Nationalism. Swain explained the dangers of an oppressive multiculturalism that none dared defy. She delineated the perceived double standard: "Every group has a right to celebrate their unique heritage and who they are and where they're from, every group—except white people." Identity politics' exclusion of a "white interest" would turn more young white people toward the new white nationalism, threatening racial integration, a tenuous and hard-won harmony the book's introduction called "the fragile racial situation in America and elsewhere."

Ten white nationalist leaders, interviewed over the phone, generally cited the same social conditions singled out today as fuel for growing "white consciousness"—the grievances that inflamed the Trump coalition. These nine men and one woman railed against unaccountable immigration from the Third World, complained of civil rights policies that indoctrinate a racial double standard, scratched at a flawed but infallible political correctness that cements the double standard, and mourned with varying degrees of fighting spirit whatever else might have washed away the White Man's former greatness.

The Internet was already an essential tool for white nationalists' organization and dissemination in the late nineties and early aughts, Swain found. White students disturbed by perceived racial double standards had "few legitimate mainstream arenas in which to discuss some of their deepest anxieties and concerns" she observed. "When the boundaries of acceptable discourse are set so narrowly in our national conversation about race, it is easy to understand why some aggrieved European Americans turn to white nationalist websites for comfort and direction."

While pan-European identitarian-populism feeds in part on familiar nationalistic reflexes, the alt-right, a mostly millennial, white, male group of radicals, has developed a new, Internet-native language. The new white nationalist—whether he's violent in thought, deed, or both—thrives and multiplies in a digital underworld. As long as the policies and cultural frameworks that diminish him persist, he will grow in number and influence, Swain predicted. And indeed he has. But critics said that in her warning, Swain was giving a platform to people who didn't deserve one. (Even her publisher had misgivings about printing the interview transcripts.) Swain defended the interviews—and the publication of their full transcripts in a companion volume, Contemporary Voices of White Nationalism in America —saying that when it comes to white nationalist ideology, "What you don't know can hurt you."

The first group of new white nationalists—the relative moderates Jared Taylor, Michael Levin, and Reno Wolfe claim to be "white advocates" rather than separatists or supremacists, per se—loathe affirmative action policies and complain of underreported black-on-white crime. On these counts, Swain warned, their case would be dangerously persuasive to college-educated, middle-class whites the Ku Klux Klan and skinheads couldn't reach: "The arguments that were being made about a double standard and inconsistencies were logical enough that they would resonate with young people." Young people who, crucially, have lived entirely in the post-civil-rights era.

Critics have charged that Swain was too taken by her subjects, as though she'd followed interviewees too far in their racist reasoning and been swayed by it herself. To Mark Potok of the Southern Poverty Law Center, for instance, she is "an apologist for white supremacists." She once received a fact-checking call from SPLC's Intelligence Project director Heidi Beirich, following up on false reports that Swain would be the first African-American speaker at the white nationalist conference led by Jared Taylor, one of her interviewees, a self-styled "racial realist" and today an elder statesman of the alt-right. On the call, Beirich referred to him as "your friend Jared Taylor," Swain laughingly recounted to me.

Taylor in fact has said he did not think black people were capable of civil acquaintance with white people until he met the professor. Swain and Taylor, whom she called the most frightening of the new white nationalists, both believe legitimate, overlooked concerns have given rise to a growing "white consciousness." Both supported President Trump's immigration proposals, and they broadly agree on Islam's cultural incompatibility with mainstream American life. In all else, however, their thinking crucially diverges: Taylor celebrates precisely what Swain's work presciently forewarned. Race-specific advocacy—the flawed, multiculturalist logic of identity politics—undermines our universal humanity.

New data, from Princeton scholars Anne Case and Angus Deaton, showing mounting rates of "deaths of despair" among working-class whites prove her point, Swain believes: "Back when I was in school we talked about black consciousness—the idea that people realize they have a linked fate. I think that what we are witnessing is rising white consciousness, self-awareness of white people, feeling that they're falling behind." Then she went one tick further on the empathy scale. "If I were poor, white, and I were hearing some of those arguments, I don't know what side I would be on."

Swain invited Jared Taylor to debate anti-racist author and activist Tim Wise at Vanderbilt in 2002, so that students might understand the dangers of an intellectualized racism. She first told me William Pierce was the most frightening of her interviewees. Pierce meant to inspire a race war with his novel The Turner Diaries —and apparently did inspire Oklahoma City bomber Timothy McVeigh. Her white male colleague had to conduct the interview with Pierce, who refused to meet with black or Jewish people. But later on, she declared it was Taylor who scared her the most: He might have been any one of her students' white male professors. Her students told her after the debate that if they hadn't read Taylor's more extreme treatises in advance of the event, he could have persuaded them. What you don't know, as she would say, can hurt you.

Swain was on sabbatical two and a half years ago when students, faculty, and a broader public raged against an opinion column she wrote for Nashville's daily newspaper, the Tennessean. When Saïd and Chérif Kouachi, jihadist brothers born and bred in the 10th arrondissement, charged the Paris offices of the satirical paper Charlie Hebdo. guns blazing, and mowed down cartoonists, editors, journalists, police officers, and a janitor to avenge the prophet against parody, Swain had seen enough. Her op-ed condemned Islam's innate militancy: "What would it take to make us admit we were wrong about Islam? What horrendous attack would finally convince us that Islam is not like other religions in the United States, that it poses an absolute danger to us and our children unless it is monitored better than it has been under the Obama administration?" Islam, she wrote, is not like other Abrahamic religions, as she once believed, because those Muslims "that are religiously devout—if they actually follow what their religion teaches, they are going to be more extreme." If only American public schools still taught Western Civ, we could hold out hope for cultural assimilation, she wrote. In its absence, rigorous monitoring of Muslim organizations and individuals would have to suffice. Students, predictably, seethed.

"This protest is not about Carol Swain," organizer Farishtay Yamin declared: "This protest is about the fact that a member of Vanderbilt's faculty attacked her own students, that a member of the faculty published hate speech against the very young adults that she seeks to inspire." The Muslim student group forgave Swain in an open letter. And the provost penned a statement to condemn the column—"deeply offensive to many members of our community"—while reaffirming "our support of free speech, which is put to the test when polarizing speech such as this is shared."

The next fall, anti-Swain momentum still simmered. When a student protester threatened to call for her firing if she posted anything offensive to Muslim, LGBT, or other minority groups, Professor Swain stepped up. "Being the personality that I am, as soon as read his post, I searched for an article that would offend as many of those groups as possible and I posted it." The Change.org petition to suspend her—for the offenses of sullying Vanderbilt's good name and goading sensitive students on social media—included a link to one of her brasher Facebook posts: "Only an idiot would think a 61-year-old black woman who has spent much of her life in academia would benefit from sensitivity training." It was the petition's proof that she'd "resorted to name-calling."

Swain and her controversial opinions make what cynical network executives call "good television." The image that probably best encapsulates her take-no-prisoners punditry is a still from a CNN segment last summer discussing the swiftly scuttled Drudge Report banner "Black Lives Kill." (The headline, its critics contended, crudely sensationalized the killing of five police officers amid a Black Lives Matter demonstration in Dallas.) Host Michael Smerconish and civil rights lawyer Areva Martin stare out under furrowed brows, mouths slightly agape, while Swain between them wears a beatific smile. Asked whether the movement had seen its last, she pronounced in her honeyed drawl: "I hope so.   .  . It's been a very destructive force in America." She continued, "It's not really addressing the real problems affecting African Americans and so it's problematic, it's misleading black people."

Swain believes the approaches to public policy and activism that have held back black people have also failed poor white Americans. "The policies and the programs pushed by the Democrats have been counterproductive for minorities," she told me. "The bottom line is Americans of a particular social class are suffering."

No such sentiment—adjacent to Trump's "What do you have to lose?" entreaty to African-American voters—made it into her CNN hit. What instead hardened into the headline "Black Professor Slams Black Lives Matter" would have doubtless haunted Professor Swain on campus come September. Shortly thereafter, she decided to take early retirement. "It was right after that piece on CNN was controversial. I didn't think it was going to be controversial, but I criticized Black Lives Matter."

And students wouldn't let that stand. "The press release just said, 'Carol Swain doesn't represent Vanderbilt University. Vanderbilt stands for diversity, inclusion, and free speech'—something like that, the standard thing that they had been sending out." She guessed they'd sent it out at least three times by then. "This time I realized for the first time that they were right." She no longer fit in at her academic home of almost two decades.

Recent graduates who worked closely with Professor Swain tend to echo her old friend Jane Mansbridge, a Harvard Kennedy School political scientist whose studies of face-to-face democracy and representation differ from the findings of Black Faces, Black Interests —most evident in the title of a 1999 Mansbridge article, "Should Blacks Represent Blacks and Women Represent Women? A Contingent 'Yes.' "

Lively debate in Professor Swain's classes, former students say, offered valuable practice in the art of disagreeing intelligently and openly. And for Mansbridge, scholarly cross-pollination and a richly productive disagreement was the foundation of their friendship—she'd sought out Swain because she greatly admired her methods, while diverging from her conclusions in certain contexts—and they've continued learning from each other. "I have great respect for Carol's integrity and her vision, her capacity to see things differently, and her capacity to awaken me to insights and perspectives," Mansbridge said. She told me she continues to quote from Black Faces, Black Interests in her work on representation, a topic from which Carol Swain has long since moved on. "I think she got candid, thoughtful responses from the representatives and staff she interviewed for that book in part because of who she is and the authenticity she conveys as she talks with anyone," Mansbridge said.

A relationship like theirs, Swain said, is "what universities are supposed to be about." On this, Mansbridge agrees. "Many people will see something that they think is wrong and stop listening, and then others will protest because they not only see it as wrong but as inappropriate for a college campus. But I would not take that last stance. I think a college campus should be a place where people can say many many things."

One of Swain's Vanderbilt Law School colleagues, university professor James Blumstein, wonders whether Swain overestimates the opportunities she'll find to deliver her singularly unfiltered message beyond the university setting. He also believes she's taking away some opportunities from others: "She underestimates the loss to the community, losing her."

Students have likewise underestimated the advantages of being exposed to Professor Swain's peculiar wisdom, one mentee said. Sylvia Precht-Rodriguez, 23, was a senior when her classmates protested Professor Swain. But for her, Swain's office was safe space where she could voice her dissenting views or just vent her feelings. She described coming to Professor Swain for comfort, overwhelmed and weary under the weight of her coursework. "She told me to breathe, told me it would be all right. That was my first real moment with her." Thereafter, Precht-Rodriguez would assist with projects in the law school, a "tremendous opportunity": A middle-school math teacher in Dallas finishing her second year with Teach for America and planning for a third, she sees law school in her future.

Their relationship fostered "uncomfortable learning," as the sterile yet sentimental vernacular of social-emotional campus discourse would have it. "I grew up in Brooklyn, and I grew up in an extremely liberal situation: My family is liberal, my extended family is liberal. I really had not been exposed to opposing political viewpoints," Precht-Rodriguez told me. "And to this day she's probably the person I became closest with of the Republican party, so definitely I think that my relationship with her taught me a lot." (Most Republicans are fairly boring compared with Professor Swain, I regretfully informed her.)

They also disagree on the role of race in mentorship: Precht-Rodriguez, who identifies as a multiracial woman of color, believes having an African-American woman to turn to for advice made all the difference, while Swain considers the safe space ethos a curse on minority students. The idea that "you're chained unless you have a role model who looks like you," Swain told me, is "destructive for minorities because it discourages them from even trying to be their best selves."

Swain's op-ed about Islam and the ensuing protest didn't color the student's opinion of her beloved mentor, but Precht-Rodriguez didn't go to bat for her either. Among students, there was no such safe space for dissent or discussion. "I think that a lot of the issues that people were disagreeing with were disagreements from afar—with their computers, with their phones, from Twitter—and to my recollection, when I was there, the loudest who disagreed with her didn't take the time to actually sit down and speak with her," Precht-Rodriguez said.

The coalition of concerned students who were protesting then might want to listen now. A course Swain taught on hate groups, for instance, would have drawn a longer than usual wait list had she still been teaching after the election. In recent years, her presence on the elite campus offered a rare, if not unique, chance to engage the ascendant right-wing populism Swain's punditry has increasingly supported. If the students who tried driving her off campus believe they triumphed, they should realize it's a Pyrrhic victory—the learning lost far outweighs whatever was won. Or, to put it another way: What we don't know can hurt us.

Alice B. Lloyd is a reporter at The Weekly Standard.

Web Link: http://www.weeklystandard.com/article/2007984

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The Weekly Standard 2017 Washington, DC Politics 2017-05-10 http://www.weeklystandard.com/carol-swains-long-strange-academic-trip/article/2007984 2017-05-10T07:52 2017-05-10T07:52 Carol Swain's Long, Strange Academic Trip Political scientist and law professor Carol Swain retired from academia just when some of her research had become remarkably relevant. She doesn't see it quite that way, though. Swain prophesied the rise of the alt-right 15 years ago, but she won't call Donald Trump's election victory a vindication of her prediction that a new white nationalism would infiltrate mainstream politics. It might be because the 63-year-old Southern black woman and distinguished, though increasingly controversial, scholar supports the populist president's most contentious policies. Days after the election, Vanderbilt University publicized Swain's prescience, pointing to her 2002 book The New White Nationalism in America: A Challenge to Integration. The alt-right is not a new development. It is an effort to rebrand the white nationalism I described in 2002, as a more intellectual movement that uses social science data, rhetoric and civil rights laws to advance its agenda, Swain stated in Vanderbilt's press release, which also advertised her press availability via the Nashville, Tennessee, school's 24/7 TV and radio studio. Academia, diversity, liberalism, Alice B. Lloyd, magazine_repost, home page, Carol Swain http://cdn.weeklystandard.biz/cache/280x280-15ee1f4a27204865f0da2f12b6ebddb8.jpg

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