In 2017, when Democrat Ralph Northam won the gubernatorial election in Virginia, politicians and pundits around the country recognized the important role that black women voters played in his victory. Suddenly, everyone was full of praise for black women—a key Democratic constituency that had always been actively organizing and voting, but in this moment made more visible as an oppositional force to Donald Trump.
“Trust black women,” they exclaimed.
“Remember who brought us this victory,” they cried.
As these celebrations of black women took place, what went unspoken (or perhaps ignored) is that while they gladly voted for Northam (in part because his racist opponent, Ed Gillespie, was simply an unthinkable prospect), they were even more excited about the election of Lt. Gov. Justin Fairfax. Fairfax, a young black man and up-and-coming rising star in Democratic politics, has deep roots in the state. And black women saw in him a successor to Northam and the possibility that he could become the state’s second black governor.
After all, Fairfax earned almost as many votes as Northam (Fairfax earned 52.77 percent to Northam’s 53.93 percent) in the general election, proving to many that he was certainly a viable candidate for governor when the time came. This is important to note because we often forget that black women vote strategically. Thus, they were casting votes for Northam (and against Gillespie) but also keeping the long game in mind. And the long game included the ascension of Fairfax in the not-too-distant future.
Our current mainstream political discourse demonstrates a fundamental lack of understanding about black political power. But black political power is about political empowerment and alliances that will ultimately serve the best interest of black communities. Data from the Pew Research Center shows that many black people (four out of 10, actually) believe that black political representation can have a positive impact on increasing racial equality. While progress has been made over the last 50 years, there is still a lack of representation in many areas. There have only been four black governors in American history and there are none currently serving. There is only one black Cabinet member in the Trump administration (Secretary of Housing and Urban Development Ben Carson). And in the age of Trump, when black voters overwhelmingly have said that their top voting issues are discrimination and racism, it isn’t an accident that black women voters in Virginia would have high hopes for Fairfax—who in turn might help reverse the disastrous, racist direction in which our country is headed.
For a time, things were going along well. Virginia seemed to be in good hands with the Democrats—that is, until February 2019 rolled around. On Feb. 1, Northam found himself embroiled in a scandal after a racist photo from his medical school yearbook turned up. While this act broke trust and caused pain among his black voters, especially those intimately involved in Virginia politics, it was also Northam’s flip-flop on this issue that made it go from bad to worse. It was also a painful reminder of the well-earned distrust blacks feel toward racist white doctors and medical institutions.
The Virginia Legislative Black Caucus scrambled to figure out next steps. So did black members of the state Democratic Party. The overwhelming consensus was that Northam should resign.
But all was not lost. In their eyes, Northam had a competent successor ready and waiting in Fairfax. And the ascension of a black governor in the wake of a blackface scandal could serve to soften the blow, both for black voters and the Democratic Party’s standing. That was until Fairfax himself was also embroiled in scandal. News that he was accused of sexually assaulting a woman broke a mere two days after Northam’s fiasco.
There’s a lot to be said about this. First and foremost, we should always remember that sexual assault is serious and claims of it should be taken seriously. Fairfax’s accuser, Dr. Vanessa Tyson, has come forward publicly and given a full and very disturbing accounting of her experience. She is a professor of politics and black history and is an advocate for victims of sexual assault. This is just to say that through her work as a scholar and advocate, she knows all too well what coming forward publicly means for her, her career, and her family. She did so anyway. She deserves to be heard and believed. We could argue that Fairfax does too, though due process in a court of law and due process in the political arena will likely mean different things. There are many opinions about this and whether or not Fairfax should step down. And, as horrific and traumatizing as blackface photos and klan robes are, they are not the same as potentially having committed a crime. Again, this deserves to be discussed and talked about with seriousness and respect.
As we’re having those discussions, though, it’s worth circling back to the black women of Virginia, the ones who voted overwhelmingly for Northam and who pinned their hopes on Fairfax becoming the state’s second black governor. Though they’ve been faithful to the Democratic Party, they are being let down by a sea of problems stemming from the behavior of men in the party. It also places them in a position of having to navigate between race and gender (supporting and preserving the political career of a black man or holding him accountable for possible sexual assault). Sadly, this is an age-old dilemma. Over the last week, I’ve been in contact with several black women intimately involved in Virginia politics. Overwhelmingly, they are exhibiting a tremendous sense of fatigue and frustration.
First, they are feeling fatigue and outrage at Northam (many of whom believe not only appeared in the photo in his yearbook, but was the one dressed in the klan robe). This is yet another reminder of the racial micro- and macrogressions that accompany being black in America. Those emotions are followed by feelings of shock and disappointment at the possibility that Fairfax sexually assaulted someone. There isn’t universal agreement among them about what to do, either. This has caused a painful schism when black women would normally be unified around Fairfax becoming the next governor. Instead, there’s vehement disagreement about whether or not to support him and hope that Northam resigns, which would make him governor, or believe the survivor of a potential sexual assault, who is also a black woman.
And as those two serious issues loomed large, there was yet a third blackface incident with the state’s attorney general, who also admitted to dressing in blackface several decades ago. Right now, black women in the state are carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders.
In an ideal world, none of this would be binary, or black and white. Black women in Virginia should be allowed to have the space to feel their collective disappointment and grieve, all while experiencing multiple truths. It’s understandable that they are angry about the two white men in their party who have acknowledged past racist behavior. Its also understandable why they’d want to support Fairfax. In a world where it gets harder to be black every day, the defense of him is visceral. It’s also intimately tied to black political and social well-being and the thought of a Republican governor, especially from Trump’s Republican party, could very well mean going backward in ways that actively harm black women.
But it’s also true that the allegation against Fairfax will likely prove insurmountable and that his accuser is one of our own. All it takes is another accuser to come forward for this to be a pattern. In the era of #MeToo and accountability, it’s hard to imagine that siding with a black man accused of sexual assault is politically expedient for black women. Black women are already the target of so much ire and abuse in society, precisely because of our race and gender, that supporting Fairfax will likely only cause further division in the long run.
This whole scenario is terribly ugly. It is damaging to the state and to the Democratic Party. It is damaging to the country. It only worsens race relations and forces us to take sides. But it also makes black women more vulnerable in a political, social, and economic climate where we already have little safety or protection.
Black women in Virginia were applauded and celebrated for Northam’s victory. They had much to lose by not supporting him, and they also had much hope in the potential of Justin Fairfax. In all the commentary about what’s happening, we’ve yet to hear anyone pivot back to black women voters and ask how they are feeling and what they think is next. They deserve to be heard from. Why isn’t anyone asking about the impact of all this on black women? More than anyone, they deserve to be in the conversation.
These scandals will forever taint Virginia’s history. And in the year that the state commemorates the 400th anniversary of the arrival of the first enslaved Africans to its shores, these scandals are a particular blow for black Virginians. This is especially true for black women, who did their best to usher in a season of political progress and racial equality. Too bad men in the Democratic Party didn’t respond in kind.