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I definitely liked this course more than I thought that I would, and I learned a lot of new material that I hadn’t learned in APUSH.
With that being said, I really think that the role of the white elites in US History set up the rest of the country’s history as a whole. Before the revolution, the white elites wanted to be equal to the elites of the Brits. When that didn’t happen, they fought for what they thought that they deserved. In the early years of the new nation, the government was trying to figure out how to represent its people to set up national success. Luckily, for the common man, the Bill of Rights slipped into the new constitution, and the people felt like they had a say in how their government was run. The question of ‘who do we serve?’ as a government, though was still unanswered. Does the government only serve the elites, or does it serve everyone? Andrew Jackson was the first person to vehemently agree with the latter, and he won the support of the people. As crazy as he may have been, he spoke on behalf of the ‘common man’ and gave the people a sense of citizens’ rights. This idea was the beginning of a sliding slope that eventually led to greater male suffrage, emancipation of slaves, women’s suffrage, civil rights, and greater equality that we have today. This may never have taken place, or it could have taken a completely different course if the rights of the common man as described through his politics by SYSTRAUSS weren’t, at least in theory, promoted by Jackson. Jackson forever changed the course of American History because of his brand new style of politics.
From the racism of John Henry Hammond to the staunch support of slavery by John Calhoun, we’ve addressed the various manifestations of the Southern proslavery ideology. But I don’t think we’ve entirely understood why such radical sentiment arose. Sure, we’ve postulated slavery’s economic incentives and the fear of slave revolts as possible motives for certain policy measures. But neither of these, I don’t think, sufficiently explain the vitriol of slavery’s Southern defenders. So, why were the proslavery ideologues so radical? While it’s certainly not a complete explanation–for proslavery radicalism in particular—I think that David Brion Davis provides a fair explanation for the rise of anti-abolitionism in the South. Great Britain, he insists, was largely responsible.
As we’ve discussed a number of times already in class, “anglophobia” was prevalent in the US for much of this period, particularly during the War of 1812 and the subsequent demise of the Federalist Party. But, as Davis points out, the pervasive opinion that Britain was “America’s ‘natural enemy'” led many to perceive British abolitionism as a veiled threat of imperialism (272). In fact, some Southern leaders, such as Robert Turnbull, feared that the rise of abolitionist sentiment in Britain in the 1820s coupled with the effects the abolition of the slave trade would drive an “entering wedge” into the public minds of non-slaveholders, leading to the destruction of plantations, human chattel, and the slave economy (281). Such fears, Davis suggests, explain why the nullification movement coincided with British abolition and were no doubt aggravated by the declaration of Lord Aberdeen, Britain’s Foreign Secretary, that “Great Britain . . . is constantly exerting herself to procure the general abolition of slavery throughout the world” (282). Humanitarianism appeared, to many Southerners, a very present threat to humanity, a British conspiracy to undue American prosperity.
As abolitionist sentiment slowly disseminated into the Northeast, Southern antipathy escalated as the “Northeast was becoming a perfect replica of the British enemy” (286). Not only had Northern states—with the exceptions of Delaware and Maryland—abolished slavery but much of the industrialized North was fraught, like Britain, with wage-labor issues. In many Southern minds, this illustrated the failure of the “great experiment” of abolition not only in Britain, but more generally (281). Just as Britain had experienced economically decline following the Slavery Abolition Act of 1833, so too did Southerners speculate that the US would suffer economic turmoil were emancipation declared nationwide. The Southern press subsequently published editorials from the London Times exclaiming that “slave emancipation had been a colossal failure” (285). Meanwhile, Southern leaders, such as Secretary of State Abel Upshur, sponsored American reports on the state of the free British colonies, stating that “England has ruined her own colonies, and . . . wishes to see other countries . . . in a similar state” (284). Restoring the memories of the anglophilic Hartford Convention and the Garrisonians’ support of British abolition, the Southerners stigmatized the North as in league with the British. The so-called humanitarian threat had formed on the home front.
I think Davis’ explanation of Southern radicalism might also explain certain features of our conversation in Tuesday’s class. In his post “The Mouth of the South,” Justin Hill notes the abuse of the Irish at the hands of the British as well as how “along with their mistreatment [by the British], the nativists of the north attacked the Irish immigrants” (http://sites.davidson.edu/his141/the-mouth-of-the-south/). Such injustices, he suggests, explain why Irish immigrants headed south. I agree. But I also think that, when viewed in light of Southern anglophobia, one might suggest that a shared animosity toward both the British and the Northeast more generally likely influenced Southerners’ acceptance of Irish immigrants.
So, reevaluating last class’ discussion, I would like to ask the class: Were Irish immigrants so willing to join the Confederacy merely because of their sense of “belonging” in the South? Or might the perceived threat of a British conspiracy brewing in the Northeast have inspired the Irish to join the Southern ranks?
Sherwood Callaway
HIS 141, Blog Post 10
I was interested in the different angles used in arguments preceding the Compromise of 1850. Clay suggested a compromise in eight parts, which seemingly favored the southerners, but left the fate of new territories to northerners. His legislative angle kicked off the discussion, and most parties followed suit.
Calhoun also described the issue as a legislative one, in which the north had repeatedly gained favorable national legislation at the expense of the south. As examples, he cited the Northwest Ordinance of 1787, which brought an expanse of free northern territory into the Union, and the Missouri Compromise, which restricted the majority of the Louisiana territory from becoming slave-affiliated in 1820. Wilentz adds that, “tarrifs and internal improvements had enriched northern business at the direct expense of the South”, blatantly hinting towards the Tariff of 1828, or the Tariff of Abominations, as it was called in the south (345). These restrictions made manufacturing more profitable in the north, and consumer goods more expensive in the south. Calhoun seemed to believe that the north had negotiated legislation with unfair aggression.
Webster encouraged a legislative compromise, and suggested that legislative taunts such as the Wilmot Proviso be stopped, out of respect for the southern position. Better than other northerners (he was from Massachusetts), Webster seemed to understand the southern predicament—being entrenched economically and culturally in a slave system. He demonstrated that “some sort of compromise was required to keep the nation from falling apart”, deviating from the unreasonable inflexibility he had once shown as a supporter of the Proviso (346). Like Clay and Calhoun, Webster saw the issue from a legislative angle.
But then there’s William Henry Seward, an antislavery northerner who argued on different terms—ideological terms. He was against compromise altogether, “condemning out of hand Clay’s compromise, and any such sectional deal” (346). Furthermore, he attacked the moral foundations for slavery, as “an oppressive and undemocratic institution”, and invoked language from the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution (346). Listeners interpreted his speech as arguing that “the forces of antislavery were above the law” (346). Personally, I respect Seward’s values and determination, but feel that pragmatism would have been a more effective way to disarm the situation. In fact, it seems as if Seward was hardly interested in disarming the situation at all, but in confronting the problem at its root. Maybe Seward’s direction was best, though; as my classmate MIHAN writes, “the truce of 1850 was [ultimately] fruitless, for it once again avoided the question of slavery instead of trying to solve it”.
I think that southerners were most afraid of unbending northerners like Seward because they represented the type of northern aggression that Calhoun had described. It was unreasonable and unsympathetic to make such demands of the south, when the south was so deeply a slave society. Whether or not Calhoun considered the institution of slavery morally defendable, he knew it was integral to southern economy and culture, and thus could not be removed without uprooting southern society itself. Legislators like Clay and Webster recognized this, and subsequently proposed compromises instead of making demands. I can imagine that Seward, and other inflexibles like him, made southerners feel as if backed into a corner. But maybe his approach was necessary, and just poorly delivered?
Sherwood Callaway
HIS 141, Blog Post 9
The “coffin handbill” that Roediger describes acknowledges an incongruity between the spirit of ’76 and the persistence of slavery—something that my classmates and I have been hung up on since the pre-revolutionary period.
The journeyman tailors who wrote this handbill use the language of slavery to describe their condition, although there are certain fundamental differences between workers and slaves that they do not acknowledge. The tailors are afforded a wage, while the slaves are not. The tailors are free not to work, should they wish, while the slaves are not. Furthermore, the tailors are not bound and whipped and abused like slaves. So why make the comparison?
These are not the parallels that the journeyman tailors are trying to make, when they said “freemen of the North are now on a level with the slaves of the South” (319). These “freemen” sought to demonstrate the deprivation of their freedom, above all else. Roediger writes: “They were cast as slaves not because they were “hirelings” but because the state had deprived them of the freedoms necessary for defending their rights” (319). In order to manipulate peoples’ liberal sensibilities, this document acknowledges the incongruity between the spirit of ’76 and the persistence of slavery. America was founded to protect our freedoms, right?
The level of comfort with which the tailors treat this incongruity is new and astounding, but it doesn’t necessarily imply that slavery was out of fashion. The tailors were not so inclined to make a full comparison between themselves and slaves, because they weren’t abolitionists; they probably didn’t have a problem slavery, and were definitely used to it being around. The journeyman tailors, like other wage laborers, used only half the analogy and ignored the rest.
Of course, it didn’t take much longer for people to fill in that other half. The language of wage labor movements questioned the ethics of forced labor, and “chattel slavery stood as the ultimate expression of the denial of liberty” (319).
Sherwood Callaway
HIS 141, Blog Post 8
I found it interesting that the Whigs and Democrats were such political enemies during the buildup to the election of 1844, because the primary views of either party seem to be somewhat compatible. If I’m allowed to oversimplify here: the Whigs are against having a powerful executive figure, and the Democrats are in favor of empowering the common people. I can imagine a platform in which both of these principles are endorsed, and I think the political players of the 1840s could too. I think this apparent similarity made the political environment super convoluted and dynamic.
We’ve got the Whigs all shaken up, because of sectionalism. No one knows what to do with John Tyler suddenly in the White House. Henry Clay is trying to consolidate Whig support behind his typical legislative agenda. Calhoun is beginning to embrace Jacksonian democracy. Tyler considers dissolving his Whig ties completely, in favor of the Democrats. Meanwhile, within the Democratic party, we’ve got sectionalism as well— “radicals, hunkers, and calhounites.” (276). The name of this chapter, “Whig Debacle, Democratic Confusion” is definitely appropriate.
Because of this dynamism and ambiguity, the election of 1844 was more about the subtleties of the political spectrum than the major ideologies—we can’t really make generalizations about this one, like we have in the past.
This emphasis on the subtleties of the political spectrum, I think, is best represented by rampancy of realignment during the buildup to the election. Realigning one’s views to suit the voting public is an element of every election, but Wilentz seems to pay special attention to it with regards to this particular election.
For example, John Tyler was completely alienated from the Whig party, for which had supposed to be VP, and to which former president Harrison had been aligned with. This was in large part because of Henry Clay’s aggressive legislative maneuvers. When Clay attempted to recharter the bank, for example, Jacksonian Tyler shut down the initiative. Afterward, Tyler offered to support “some sort of national fiscal institution so long as it passed constitutional muster”, but ended up vetoing that as well (273). Taylor ultimately began to gravitate to the Democratic party, which seemed to best represent his ideals, over the annexation of Texas.
Another example: John C. Calhoun finally decided to expand beyond his southern, landed, slaveholding constituency. In order to win the presidency, he realized he would have to appeal to “the Jacksonian’s popular base outside of the South” (275). Presumably, this meant the urban working poor. Calhoun appeared a true Jacksonian when he blocked Clay’s “proposed constitutional amendment that would permit Congress to override presidential vetoes”—in doing so, he simultaneously protected the executive power (which Jackson had repeatedly expanded, especially during the Bank war) and “denounced efforts by Congress “to substitute the will of a majority of the people” (257). Suddenly, Calhoun appeared to be more than just the defender of a southern planter aristocracy, but a true democrat as well.
These are just two examples of political shifts during the period prior to 1844. Shifts like these make it hard to generalize the nature of the election.
Sherwood Callaway
HIS 141, Blog Post 7
Jackson’s vision of democracy was implemented with force, and predictably, the result was destruction. The two subjects that best characterize this phenomenon are indian removal and the bank war, both of which Wilentz covers in chapter 14.
Indian Removal was a violent and clumsy process. He pursued it to please his constituency, much of whom resided in areas of population growth and frontier expansion. And although the government desperately needed to implement national Indian policy, Jackson’s was a crude proposal. The stories vary, but in every case, moving Indians across the country was inefficient and cost unnecessary lives. In some cases the natives responded violently, as in the Black Hawk War and the Seminole War. In other cases the natives attempted to deal with the Americans on their on terms, through the courts. In Cherokee Nation v. State of Georgia they were defeated “when Chief Justice John Marshall declared…that because the Cherokees were a “domestic dependent nation,” they lacked standing to sue” (223). Worcester v. Georgia had a more promising result, in which Marshall declared that “the Cherokee Nation was “a distinct community, occupying its own territory”” (223). But ultimately, legislators had little tolerance for even those Indians who were most similar to whites.
In the case of the bank, Jackson vehemently sought its destruction, because he thought it favored northeastern states over western and southern states, and because it seemed to serve only to make the rich richer. He managed to quash its rechartering, and withdraw funds from it, thereby rendering the institution impotent. Striking against state banks as well, he passed the Specie Circular, which demanded that federal lands be bought with gold or silver. Suddenly, the paper currency issued by these state banks became worthless, and speculators demanded specie in exchange—specie that the banks did not have. Ultimately, Jackson’s violent dismembering of banking within the US spiraled the country into panic and recession, and left the government ill equipped to deal with financial matters.
By the time Jackson’s presidency ended, his successor was left with a real mixed bag. Indian Removal had been a long and costly process, and the Specie Circular had incited a national financial crisis. Jackson’s constituency had degraded and Van Buren was forced to establish political friendships upon different principles, as well as make new allies altogether. Frontiers people disliked the restrictions of Jackson’s Specie Circular, Southerners objected to the tariff that Jackson had defended, and the planter aristocracy was upset with the loss of the BUS. Despite the mistakes of his predecessor, Van Buren was able to win his election by gaining a popular reputation amongst southerners as “eager to mollify southern slaveholders and silence the abolitionists” (236). Hard to believe.
Sherwood Callaway
Blog Post 6
In chapter 13, Wilentz writes:
“Abolitionism represented a new kind of American political community. Its activists, at great personal risk, defied widely and deeply held social conventions. This community set itself apart from sinful complicity with slavery and racism and created a new humane model of equality, freedom, and love.”
To synthesize and summarize his argument, within American society, the abolitionist movement sought unprecedented goals and held unprecedented values. But though the idea of ending the institution of slavery may have been radical and new (which it wasn’t), the movement itself was founded on principles that were both well recognized and well liked—which contributed to the movement’s widespread popularity.
For example, Wilentz mentions that abolitionism appealed to the “revival-soaked areas that defied greater New England.” This is because revivalism and abolitionism both emphasized similar values—individualism and progressivism. Revivalists encouraged a personal relationship with God, unlike traditional forms of Christianity. Both men and women, whether free or enslaved, were accepted as converts and allowed to profess their new faith. Subsequently, revivalists often came from the margins of society—the frontier, for example, or poverty, or slavery. Revivalism also represented a departure from ceremonial traditions; churches, priests and sacraments were no longer necessary for worship. Revivalists would have been excited about furthering the causes of individualism and progressivism through the abolitionist movement, which proposed to liberate slaves from oppression and end a tradition that primarily benefited the white landed elite.
The first great awakening, which saw the initial emergence of revivalism in British America, was during the 1730s and 40s. The second enveloped this period of abolitionism, running from the 1800s to the 1840s. It is no coincidence that these periods coincide; rather, because they held similar values, they energized one another. Revivalism during the 18th century laid the foundations for Abolitionism; revivalism during the 19th century popularized it.
But the goals and values of the abolitionist movement cannot only be tied to those of revivalism. Consider also, the spirit of 1776. Wilentz says abolitionism favored “equality, freedom, and love.” I cannot account for the latter of these, but I can certainly account for the former two. The notion of “equality” featured heavily in pre-revolution dialogue, as American-born Britons sought the same rights and representation as those across the pond. Of course, these sentiments did not stretch to the margins of society, as they did during abolitionism, but the language of equality was very much present. “Freedom”, also, was obviously associated with the spirit of 1776—personal freedoms such as the right to expand along the frontier, and the right to refuse quarter to visitors, for example.
Wilentz argues that abolitionism was a wholly new phenomenon in the United States. But rather, it seems as if the US would have been a hotbed for such a movement.
With brand new political ideologies coming out of the rise of Jacksonian democracy, the federal government was once again left with many questions about what it could and could not do. As the new political era began, many different issues gained importance during Jackson’s second term. The federal government had to decide first, whether or not it had the power to issue a second state bank, and second, to decide whether or not it wanted to issue a second state bank; disagreement led to economic hardship for the country as a whole, and the recession led to a rise in worker’s unions. The rise in union participation gave way to a new political force. Finally, the abolition movement continued to grow to the point where it greatly affected politics in the north while increasing sectionalism.
I agree with MASPEED that the economic section (as well as the political/union section) was hard to understand, but I think that Wilentz’s main point is that Jackson had to deal with many issues in his second term, and when he dealt with them, he greatly increased federal and executive power. With many differing opinions about the magnanimous issues of economics, labor, and slavery, political parties became more fragmented. If the Jacksonians and anti-Jacksonians were more established, or if the first party system of the United States was still in tact, I think that the federal government may have been more capable in dealing with the issues. Because Jackson’s supporters’ opinions varied between the three major issues, he did not know how to lead one party, and Jackson’s weak followers led to him making controversial executive decisions in trying to appease different supporters while upholding his own values.
Perhaps the greatest issue of the 1830s was the abolitionist movement and attitudes toward slavery. Not only did people argue about whether or not slavery should be abolished, but they also argued about how it should be abolished (e.g. gradual vs immediate). Abolitionists appealed to both selfish and selfless ambitions in order to try to grow their movement. In the lead up to the Civil War, the abolitionists tried to throw many blows to the Southern pro-slavery advocates, and the South counterpunched right back, but when the time came to solve the issue once and for all, the only ammunition (no pun intended) that the Southern states had was to secede from the Union.
Our readings this week addressed a number of topics: Indian Removal, American Populism, and Abolition. And while each might seem entirely unrelated from the others, I think that we can draw a number of connections between them—from the rift in the Jacksonian Democrats and Abolitionists to the ostracization freedmen in the North and Native peoples in the West. For this blog, however, I would like to raise a question and explore it in light of our readings:
Could either of the popular proposals for abolition—colonization and “immediatism”—fall under the category of “structural genocide”?
First, let’s examine “structural genocide.” Patrick Wolfe approaches the topic of genocide under the umbrella of what he calls the “logic of elimination,” whereby he asserts that settler colonization—his primary topic of interest his essay—is “inherently eliminatory but not invariably genocidal” (387). Nevertheless, genocide, he asserts, did occur along the frontier via Indian removal. This genocide, however, was not the generally understood sense of the term, in which a powerful group (usually the state) carries out the systematic mass murder of another group (usually singled-out according to race, class, or religion), but rather a “structural genocide”—contrary to Wolfe’s opinion, one might also call it “cultural genocide”—in which individuals “relentless sought the breakdown of the tribe” either by physically removing a group or by socially dissolving a group into individuals (400). Thus, Wolfe urges that both Captain Richard Pratt, the founder of Indian boarding schools, and General Phil Sheridan, the bloodthirsty “scourge of the Plains,” were guilty of genocide (397; 398). Through this two-fold form genocide, the “progressive individualism” and property rights of White American society retained their permanence under the cloak of land grants and cultural assimilation(400).
Now, let’s consider the popular proposals for abolition in early 19th-century America: colonization and “immediatism.” I think that the former could certainly be categorized under the “logic of elimination.” As Davis describes, colonizationists called for the emancipation of enslaved Africans—most likely gradually—and the subsequent transportation of freedmen to then-prospering Liberia because “racial prejudice and racial difference were simply too strong . . . for whites and blacks to live together as equals” (256). Moreover, colonizationists in the predominantly white American Colonization Society (ACS) feared the disproportionate violent crime rate amog free blacks and, inspired by such racism, believed that the not only slavery but also the presence of the Africans, slave or free, were “detrimental to the nation’s long-term interest” (257). Considering their racist motives and pursuit of white solidarity, I think it would be difficult to claim that the notion of colonization did not imitate the Indian Removal in the West and the Wolfe’s “logic of elimination.”
But what about “immediatism?” Inspired both by black anti-colonizationists and their British contemporaries, immediatists—as their name would suggest—called for the immediate abolition of slavery. But even more, being led by notable abolitionists such as William Lloyd Garrison, immediatists believed that the true abolition required the “equal coexistence . . . of blacks and whites and [combated] racial prejudice in the North” (258). In doing so, these abolitionists encouraged interracial marriage and equal rights for those liberated from centuries of oppression—not only blacks but women as well (260). It was, indeed, a direct response to the great hypocrisy of American democracy, a call for true egalitarianism. The movement, however, employed some rather demeaning tactics. In addition to antics which no doubt created a poor public image—think of Garrison burning a copy of the Constitution on the Boston Common—immediatists, as the abolitionist leader Gerrit Smith described, incited “whites to develop ‘a black heart,’ in the sense of seeing the world ‘through Negro eyes'” (263). Relying on notable black leaders, such as Frederick Douglass, abolitionists sought to undermine the widespread beliefs of black inferiority and promote the idea of “civilized Negroes” (260). Certainly, they were well-intentioned. However, the thought of appealing to literate, genteel freedmen to prove the possibility of the social integration calls to mind the words of the allegedly-genocidal Richard Pratt to “kill the Indian, save the man.” So, I would like to ask my colleagues this question: in the pursuit of equal rights and emancipation, were the American abolitionists guilty of “structural genocide” by insisting on the integration and cultural assimilation of freed blacks?
In his post this week entitled “You Can’t Take It With You,” Matthew Gilliland discussed the effects of Indian Removal in light of Patrick Wolfe’s article, stating that “[the] Native Americans that were removed from their land were not stripped of their heritage” (http://sites.davidson.edu/his141/you-cant-take-it-with-you/). And while I wish I could agree, I unfortunately cannot. Certainly,the removed Native peoples carried their culture and heritage with them, but they also lost their permanence (as described by Patrick Wolfe). Moreover, those who were allowed to retain their land, such as the Choctaw peoples in Mississippi, eventually lost their culture to their tribes’ assimilation to White society. Or, as Wolfe writes, “they had become ‘homesteaders and American citizens’ . . . . individuals” (397). The “logic of elimination” was two-fold, entailing both the removal of certain groups and the dissolution of others. So, while it might be easy to focus our attention on the removal of the Cherokee, we cannot forget the genocide of the Choctaw.