By Paul A. Rahe
Thursday, April 11, 2013
One hundred years ago today, Woodrow Wilson brought Jim
Crow to the North. He had been inaugurated on March 4, 1913. At a cabinet
meeting on April 11, his postmaster general, Albert S. Burleson, suggested that
the new administration segregate the railway mail service; and treasury
secretary William G. McAdoo, who would soon become Wilson’s son-in-law, chimed
in to signal his support. Wilson followed their lead. He had made a bid for the
African-American vote in 1912, and he had attracted the support of figures such
as W. E. B. Du Bois, but, as he put it at the meeting, he had made “no promises
in particular to Negroes, except to do them justice.” Burleson’s proposal he
welcomed, but he wanted “the matter adjusted in a way to make the least
friction.”
Today, self-styled progressives are wont, with
considerable abandon, to label as racists those who object to their attempts at
social engineering. They would do well to rein in their rhetorical excesses and
curb their enthusiasm for the administrative state — for the Progressives of
yesteryear, on whom they model themselves, really were racists in the precise
and proper sense of the term, and in formulating public policy they were true
to their principles.
In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, ordinary Americans
may generally have been in the grips of ethnic prejudice of one sort or
another. The Progressives of that time were not, however, ordinary men, and
they knew it. Like their successors today, they dominated America’s
universities. With some justification, they thought of themselves as an
intellectual elite; and, with rare exceptions, they enthusiastically embraced
eugenics and racial theory. That the inchoate racial prejudices of their
contemporaries were grounded in fact they took to be a truth taught by science;
and, being devotees of rational administration to the exclusion of all other
concerns, they insisted that public policy conform to the dictates of the new
racial science.
Wilson, our first professorial president, was a case in
point. He was the very model of a modern Progressive, and he was recognized as
such. He prided himself on having pioneered the new science of rational
administration, and he shared the conviction, dominant among his brethren, that
African-Americans were racially inferior to whites. With the dictates of Social
Darwinism and the eugenics movement in mind, in 1907, he campaigned in Indiana
for the compulsory sterilization of criminals and the mentally retarded; and in
1911, while governor of New Jersey, he proudly signed into law just such a
bill.
Prior to the segregation of the civil service in 1913,
appointments had been made solely on merit as indicated by the candidate’s
performance on the civil-service examination. Thereafter, racial discrimination
became the norm. Photographs came to be required at the time of application,
and African-Americans knew they would not be hired. The existing work force was
segregated. Many African-Americans were dismissed. In the postal service,
others were transferred to the dead-letter office, where they had no contact
with the general public. Those who continued to work in municipal post offices
labored behind screens — out of sight and out of mind. When the National
Association for the Advancement of Colored People and the National Independent
Political League objected to the new policy, Wilson — a Presbyterian elder who
was nothing if not high-minded — vigorously defended it, arguing that
segregation was in the interest of African-Americans. For 35 years, segregation
in the civil service would be public policy. It was only after Adolf Hitler
gave eugenics and “scientific racism” a bad name that segregation came to seem
objectionable.
If Wilson’s new policy encountered little opposition, it
was because a change of sentiment had taken place. Jim Crow had not been the
norm before 1890, even in the deep South. As C. Vann Woodward noted nearly 60
years ago, in The Strange Career of Jim Crow, it became the norm there only
when it received sanction from the racist Progressives in the North. Their
influence was profound and pervasive. In 1900, E. L. Godkin, founder and
longtime editor of The Nation, saw the handwriting on the wall. In the pages of
that journal, he lamented that “the Declaration of Independence no longer
arouses enthusiasm; it is an embarrassing instrument which requires to be
explained away. The Constitution is said to be ‘outgrown.’” Those who once
“boasted that it had secured for the negro the rights of humanity and
citizenship” now listen “in silence to the proclamation of white supremacy” and
make “no protest against the nullifications of the Fifteenth Amendment.”
Wilson championed the trend identified by Godkin. In his
presidential campaign in 1912, he told his compatriots, “We are in the presence
of a new organization of society.” Our time marks “a new social stage, a new
era of human relationships, a new stage-setting for the drama of life,” and
“the old political formulas do not fit the present problems: they read now like
documents taken out of a forgotten age.” What Thomas Jefferson had once taught
is now, he contended, utterly out of date. It is “what we used to think in the
old-fashioned days when life was very simple.”
Above all, Wilson wanted to persuade his compatriots to
get “beyond the Declaration of Independence.” That document “did not mention
the questions of our day,” he told his countrymen. “It is of no consequence to
us.” He regarded it as “an eminently practical document, meant for the use of
practical men; not a thesis for philosophers, but a whip for tyrants; not a
theory of government, but a program of action.” For the rights of individuals
celebrated in that document and for the limits on the scope of government
implicit in its celebration of those particular rights, he had no use. They
were, he recognized, an obstacle to rational administration of the very sort
exemplified by his subsequent segregation of the civil service.
For similar reasons, Wilson was hostile to the
constitutional provisions intended as a guarantee of limited government. The
separation of powers, the balances and checks, and the distribution of
authority between nation and state distinguishing the American constitution he
regarded as an obstacle to the formation and pursuit of rational public policy.
“Government” he considered “not a machine, but a living thing . . . accountable
to Darwin, not to Newton.” Nothing of that sort could, he believed, “have its
organs offset against each other, as checks, and live.” Its health was
“dependent upon” the “quick co-operation” of these organs, “their ready
response to the commands of instinct or intelligence, their amicable community of
purpose.” Wilson was the first to call for there to be a “living” political
constitution “Darwinian in structure and in practice.” To this end, in running
for the presidency he openly sought “permission — in an era in which
‘development,’ ‘evolution,’ is the scientific word — to interpret the
Constitution according to Darwinian principle.”
Today’s progressives eschew Social Darwinism and the
pseudo-scientific racism espoused by their intellectual forebears, and they
oppose racial segregation and the sterilization of criminals and the mentally
retarded. But they are no less confident of their own righteousness than were
the Progressives of the late 19th and early 20th centuries, and they have no
more respect for the rights espoused in the Declaration of Independence, for
limited government, and for constitutional forms than did their predecessors.
On this day, the hundredth anniversary of Wilson’s segregation of the civil
service, they ought to reflect on the terrible damage apt to be done by an
unlimited government disdainful of the natural rights of man and dedicated to
rational administration as envisaged by fallible men.
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