White fear: a history of violence
The history of racial violence in the United States reveals a consistent and troubling pattern: each significant stride toward Black progress is met with a violent and often systemic white backlash, or "whitelash." This cycle is evident across different eras—post-Emancipation violence that gave rise to the Jim Crow era, the establishment of a system of mass incarceration following the Civil Rights Movement, and the resurgence of racism and violence, as starkly illustrated by the January 6th insurrection in the wake of Barack Obama's presidency. The Lost Cause narrative, which emerged after the Civil War, is a critical component of this cycle, as it romanticized the Confederacy and sought to reframe the war as a noble struggle for states' rights rather than a fight to preserve slavery. This mythology reinforced white supremacy and justified the violent repression of Black people during Reconstruction and beyond. The persistent pattern of white fear, often cloaked in the guise of preserving heritage or law and order, underscores the enduring force of white supremacy in the face of Black advancement.
This post is part four of a four-part series examining white fear and its role in establishing a system of institutionalized racism through violence. As there should be with any discussion on something as complex as systemic racism, there is an inherent overlap in these blog posts. The story of racism in America is not linear, nor is systemic and institutional racism one-layered systems of oppression. Rather, there is a deeply-entrenched and multifaceted structure, shaped by a complex history of nuance and violence with each layer of the system interacting with others, creating a pervasive network of discrimination and inequality that continues to impact society in profound ways.
The Lost Cause narrative emerged in the aftermath of the Civil War as a powerful and pervasive ideology that sought to reshape the memory of the Confederacy and the Southern fight. It portrayed the Confederacy’s cause as a noble defense of states' rights and Southern heritage, rather than an effort to preserve the institution of slavery. Proponents of the Lost Cause glorified Confederate leaders like Robert E. Lee, portraying them as honorable figures fighting against overwhelming odds. This revisionist history ignored the central role of slavery in the conflict and reframed the Southern defeat as a tragic but heroic struggle and it quickly became ingrained in Southern culture through monuments, literature, and education, fostering a sense of victimization and resentment among white Southerners.
This reimagining of the Civil War had profound implications for race relations in the post-war South. The Lost Cause myth served to justify the systematic disenfranchisement and oppression of Black people during Reconstruction and beyond. It fueled the belief that the South’s traditional social order—rooted in white supremacy—needed to be restored. This ideology provided a moral and historical foundation for the rise of Jim Crow laws and the violent suppression of Black political and economic power. The Lost Cause became a rallying cry for white Southerners who sought to resist the integration and empowerment of Black Americans, framing their efforts as a defense of a way of life rather than an attack on racial equality.
The Wilmington Insurrection of 1898 is a stark illustration of how the Lost Cause ideology directly incited violent racial conflict. In Wilmington, North Carolina, during the post-Reconstruction era, a thriving Black community had gained considerable political and economic influence. However, white supremacists, driven by the Lost Cause narrative and their fears of Black political empowerment, orchestrated a coup d'état to overthrow the legitimately elected, racially integrated local government.
This event stands as one of the most violent and significant episodes in American history, yet it remains relatively obscure in public memory. Also known as the Wilmington Massacre, it was not merely a bloody coup but a pivotal moment in the post-Reconstruction era that signaled the rise of Jim Crow laws across the South. The insurrection was fueled by a toxic mix of white supremacy, economic envy, and political power struggles, leading to the violent overthrow of a legally elected, racially inclusive government. This essay delves into the details of the Wilmington Insurrection, offering a comprehensive account of the events leading up to the massacre, the violence itself, and its far-reaching consequences.
In the late 19th century, Wilmington, North Carolina, was a unique city in the South. It was the largest city in the state, boasting a robust economy based on its port and emerging industries. More significantly, Wilmington had a large Black population, making up more than half of the city’s residents. This demographic reality translated into substantial political and economic power for Black citizens, many of whom were successful businessmen, professionals, and landowners.
During Reconstruction, Black citizens in Wilmington and across the South gained political power, supported by the federal government’s efforts to rebuild the war-torn region and safeguard the rights of newly freed slaves. By the 1890s, Black men in Wilmington held various public offices, including positions on the city council, police force, and board of aldermen. The local newspaper, The Wilmington Daily Record, was Black-owned and edited by Alexander Manly, a prominent and influential voice in the community.
However, this period of Black prosperity and political engagement triggered deep-seated anxieties among white supremacists determined to reassert their dominance. The Democratic Party in North Carolina, dominated by white supremacists, saw the upcoming 1898 elections as an opportunity to reverse the gains made by Blacks during Reconstruction. Their strategy involved a campaign of intimidation, propaganda, and, ultimately, violence.
In the months leading up to the 1898 election, white Democrats in North Carolina launched a relentless campaign to undermine Black political power. They employed inflammatory rhetoric to stoke fears of “Negro domination,” spreading the false narrative that Black men posed a threat to white women. This racist propaganda, disseminated through speeches, pamphlets, and newspaper articles, was designed to inflame white fears and justify the need to “redeem” the state from Black influence.
A turning point in this campaign occurred when Alexander Manly published an editorial in The Wilmington Daily Record that challenged the prevailing justification for lynching—namely, the claim that Black men were rapists preying on white women. Manly argued that consensual relationships between Black men and white women were not uncommon and that the widespread accusations of rape often masked white men’s sexual exploitation of Black women. This editorial outraged the white population, particularly because it directly confronted the racist myths that underpinned their campaign of terror.
White supremacists seized upon Manly’s editorial as a rallying cry. They demanded that Manly retract his statement and leave the city. When he refused, tensions in Wilmington escalated further. Led by prominent figures such as Alfred Moore Waddell, a former Confederate officer and U.S. Congressman, white Democrats began openly discussing plans to forcibly remove Black leaders from power, using violence if necessary.
The insurrection reached its bloody climax on November 10, 1898. On that day, a mob of white men, numbering between 1,500 and 2,000, gathered in Wilmington with the intent to carry out their plan. The mob, heavily armed and including members of white supremacist groups like the Red Shirts, who had been terrorizing Black citizens in the lead-up to the election, marched first to the offices of The Wilmington Daily Record, which they set on fire. Although Alexander Manly managed to escape the city, the destruction of his newspaper symbolized the silencing of the Black voice in Wilmington. The mob then turned its wrath on the city’s Black residents, moving through Black neighborhoods and opening fire on anyone they encountered. Estimates of the number of Black people killed that day vary, but some place the death toll as high as 300.
As the violence raged, the white mob stormed City Hall, forcing the legally elected city officials—many of whom were Black or aligned with Black political interests—to resign at gunpoint. Waddell then declared himself mayor of Wilmington, installing an all-white government in the city. This coup d'état remains the only instance in U.S. history where a duly elected municipal government was overthrown by force.
In the aftermath of the insurrection, the violence did not immediately subside. White mobs continued to terrorize Black residents for days, driving many out of the city. Thousands of Black residents fled Wilmington, leaving behind their homes, businesses, and possessions. The once-thriving Black middle class was effectively destroyed, and those who remained were relegated to second-class citizenship under the new white supremacist regime.
The coup had profound and far-reaching consequences. In North Carolina, it marked the beginning of a systematic disenfranchisement of Black voters. White supremacists in the state used the Wilmington Insurrection as a model for other Southern states, leading to the widespread adoption of Jim Crow laws that enforced racial segregation and voter suppression. The successful overthrow of a biracial government in Wilmington also sent a chilling message to Black communities across the country: any attempts to assert political power would be met with deadly force.
Nationally, the response to the Wilmington Insurrection was muted. Although newspapers in the North condemned the violence, the federal government did not intervene. President William McKinley, though aware of the events, chose not to act, reflecting a broader national reluctance to challenge the emerging Jim Crow system in the South. This lack of federal response effectively sanctioned the coup and set a dangerous precedent for the use of violence to achieve political ends.
For many years, the Wilmington Insurrection was deliberately obscured in American history. Southern historians and public officials downplayed the violence or portrayed it as a necessary response to Black misrule. This revisionist history contributed to the erasure of the event from national consciousness, allowing the myth of the Lost Cause to take root and flourish.
It was not until the late 20th and early 21st centuries that the true nature of the insurrection began to be widely acknowledged. Scholars and activists worked to uncover the full extent of the violence and its consequences, challenging the long-accepted narrative. In 1998, on the centennial of the massacre, the state of North Carolina established a commission to investigate the events of 1898 and their legacy. The commission’s report, published in 2006, was a critical step in recognizing the injustices that occurred and the need for reparative action.
The violence and subsequent political re-organization in Wilmington serve as a stark reminder of the lengths to which white supremacists have gone to maintain racial dominance in the United States. It also highlights the fragility of democracy when confronted with the forces of hate and intolerance. The event’s legacy is felt not only in Wilmington’s history but also in the broader narrative of American race relations, where the echoes of 1898 resonate in contemporary struggles for racial justice and equality.
The Wilmington Insurrection of 1898 was more than just a violent episode; it was a turning point that reshaped the course of American history. The massacre and coup effectively ended Reconstruction-era efforts to create a racially inclusive society in the South, paving the way for the Jim Crow era and the systemic oppression of Black Americans for decades to come. The insurrection demonstrated the power of white fear and the lengths to which white supremacists were willing to go to protect their perceived interests.
And the insurrection was not an isolated incident, but the culmination of racial tensions exacerbated by the Lost Cause ideology. It showed how the myth of the noble Confederacy and the defense of white supremacy could be weaponized to justify and perpetuate racial violence. The insurrection had lasting consequences not only for Wilmington but also for the broader South, emboldening white supremacists and setting a precedent for violent resistance to Black progress. The events in Wilmington underscored the deadly impact of the Lost Cause and its role in shaping the violent, oppressive landscape of the Jim Crow South.
The modern-day consequences of the Wilmington Insurrection are starkly reflected in the city's current racial dynamics, particularly in political representation and economic disparities. As of the most recent data, Wilmington's political landscape remains predominantly white, with over 80% of city council members and other key local government positions held by white individuals, despite the city having a significant Black population. Economically, the Black community in Wilmington continues to face significant challenges, with Black households earning significantly less on average than their white counterparts, and the poverty rate among Black residents being more than double that of white residents. These disparities highlight the enduring legacy of the insurrection, which not only destroyed a once-thriving Black middle class but also established a precedent for racial inequality that persists in Wilmington to this day.
This precedent set by the Wilmington Insurrection was not an isolated incident but rather part of a broader, deeply entrenched ideology known as the Lost Cause, which sought to justify and perpetuate white supremacy in the post-Reconstruction South. The Lost Cause narrative glorified the Confederacy and demonized Black political and social advancements, fueling widespread racial animosity. This same ideology laid the groundwork for the nationwide racial violence seen during the Red Summer of 1919. As Black veterans returned home from World War I with heightened expectations for civil rights and equality, they encountered fierce resistance from white supremacists who viewed their aspirations as a direct challenge to the established social order. The violent backlash that erupted during the Red Summer, including lynchings, riots, and targeted attacks against Black communities, was a direct continuation of the racial terror that began with events like the Wilmington Insurrection.
The racial violence of the Red Summer did not occur in a vacuum; it was the result of escalating racial tensions in the years leading up to 1919. The early 20th century saw significant demographic changes, with the Great Migration bringing millions of Black Americans from the rural South to Northern and Midwestern cities in search of better economic opportunities and an escape from the oppressive Jim Crow laws of the South. This migration led to increased competition for jobs and housing, exacerbating existing racial tensions in many urban areas.
At the same time, cultural and political forces were stoking the flames of white supremacy. The release of D.W. Griffith’s film The Birth of a Nation in 1915 played a significant role in glorifying the Ku Klux Klan and portraying Blacks as a threat to white society. The film, which became the first blockbuster in American cinema, was viewed by millions across the country and was even screened at the White House by President Woodrow Wilson, who reportedly praised its message. The Birth of a Nation depicted Black men as violent and predatory, reinforcing deeply ingrained racist stereotypes and portraying the KKK as heroic defenders of white civilization. This cultural milestone significantly contributed to the resurgence of the Klan, which capitalized on the film's popularity to expand its influence beyond the South. By the early 1920s, the KKK had grown to an estimated 4 to 5 million members nationwide, with strongholds in the Midwest and West as well as the South, making it a powerful force for racial terror across the country. The Klan's revival, fueled by the idolization in The Birth of a Nation, directly contributed to the wave of racial violence and terrorism that characterized the Red Summer, as the Klan and other white supremacist groups sought to reassert white dominance in the face of growing Black empowerment.
The end of World War I also contributed to the volatile atmosphere. Returning Black soldiers, who had served their country with distinction, were unwilling to accept the second-class citizenship imposed on them at home. They demanded respect and equal rights, leading to clashes with a white population that was determined to maintain the status quo. This tension set the stage for the violent outbreaks that characterized the Red Summer of 1919.
The nation's capital was one of the first cities to experience the violence of the Red Summer. On July 19, 1919, a white mob, incited by sensationalist newspaper reports of alleged attacks on white women by Black men, took to the streets of Washington, D.C. The mob, which included off-duty servicemen and police officers, began attacking indiscriminately, beating and lynching Black residents. For several days, the city was engulfed in chaos as the Black community fought back against the violence. Despite the involvement of federal troops, the attacks continued for nearly a week, leaving at least 15 people dead and many more injured. The Washington riot was a clear indication that the post-war racial tensions were not confined to the South but were a national issue.
One of the most infamous incidents of the Red Summer occurred in Chicago, where racial tensions had been simmering for some time due to competition for jobs and housing. The trigger for the violence was a tragic incident at a segregated beach on Lake Michigan on July 27, 1919 when Eugene Williams, a Black teenager, drifted into an area of the lake unofficially reserved for white swimmers. White beachgoers began throwing stones at him, causing him to drown. When the police refused to arrest the white man responsible, Black residents protested, and tensions quickly escalated.
Over the next several days, the city descended into chaos as white mobs attacked Black neighborhoods, looting and burning homes and businesses. African Americans fought back, resulting in pitched battles in the streets. The violence continued for eight days, leaving 38 people dead and over 500 injured. Thousands of Black residents were left homeless as their homes were destroyed in the riots. The Chicago race riot was one of the deadliest and most destructive episodes of the Red Summer, highlighting the deep racial divisions in American society.
The Elaine Massacre in Phillips County, Arkansas, was one of the most brutal and deadly events of that summer. The violence began on the night of September 30, 1919, when Black sharecroppers, who had gathered to discuss ways to secure better wages and working conditions, were attacked by a group of white men. A shootout ensued, leaving one white man dead. In response, white mobs, including local law enforcement and federal troops, descended on the Black community with the intent to "put down" what was described as an "insurrection." Over the next two days, Black men, women, and children were hunted down and killed. Estimates of the death toll vary, with some reports suggesting that as many as 200 Black people were massacred, although the exact number may never be known. The Elaine Massacre was emblematic of the broader pattern of racial violence during the Red Summer: white fears of Black empowerment and resistance to systemic injustice were met with extreme and disproportionate violence.
In Omaha, Nebraska, the racial tensions that had been building for months exploded into violence on September 28, 1919. The immediate trigger was the arrest of Will Brown, a Black man accused of raping a white woman. A white mob, whipped into a frenzy by inflammatory newspaper reports, stormed the Douglas County Courthouse, where Brown was being held. The mob set the courthouse on fire, forcing officials to hand over Brown to prevent further destruction. Once in the hands of the mob, Brown was brutally beaten, lynched, and his body was mutilated and burned in the street. The mob then turned its fury on the Black community, attacking homes and businesses. The violence in Omaha highlighted the power of mob mentality and the deep-seated racism that could turn entire cities against their Black residents in an instant. Despite the accusations, there was never any substantial evidence against Brown. In fact, after his death, it became increasingly clear that Brown was innocent.
In Knoxville, Tennessee, the Red Summer violence was sparked by the arrest of Maurice Mays, a Black man accused of murdering a white woman. Mays, who was politically active and had connections with both Black and white communities, was quickly assumed guilty by the white population. On the night of August 30, a white mob stormed the jail where Mays was held, intent on lynching him. When they found that Mays had been moved to another location, the mob turned its wrath on the Black community, looting and burning homes and businesses. For two days, Knoxville was under siege as African Americans fought back against the mob's attacks. The violence only subsided after the National Guard was called in to restore order. The Knoxville riot, like others during the Red Summer, was a stark reminder of how quickly racial animosities could turn deadly. In the years following Mays' death, many have come to believe that he was innocent, and that his conviction was a result of a racially charged atmosphere rather than any real evidence of his guilt.
The violence of the Red Summer had profound and lasting effects on the Black community and the nation as a whole. The sheer scale of the violence and the level of brutality displayed by white mobs shocked the country, although the response from authorities was often inadequate or complicit. In many cases, local law enforcement either failed to protect Black citizens or actively participated in the violence. This lack of accountability deepened the sense of injustice and despair within the Black community.
That summer also had a significant impact on the emerging Civil Rights Movement. The violence underscored the urgent need for Blacks to organize and fight for their rights. In the wake of the Red Summer, organizations like the NAACP (National Association for the Advancement of Colored People) grew in strength and influence, advocating for federal anti-lynching legislation and greater protections for Black citizens. Leaders like W.E.B. Du Bois and James Weldon Johnson used the events of the Red Summer to rally support for the cause of racial equality, emphasizing the need for both legal and social change.
There were also international implications. The United States, which had recently emerged as a global power following World War I, found its moral authority undermined by the blatant racial violence occurring within its borders. African American leaders and intellectuals highlighted the hypocrisy of a nation that claimed to champion democracy and human rights abroad while failing to protect its own citizens from racial terror. This contradiction would continue to haunt the United States, particularly as it engaged in the ideological battles of the Cold War.
The legacy of the Red Summer is one of pain, resistance, and a continuing struggle for justice. For many years, the events of 1919 were downplayed or ignored in mainstream historical narratives, a reflection of the broader tendency to marginalize the Black experience in American history. This same pattern of racial violence and historical erasure would soon be tragically repeated during the Tulsa Race Massacre of 1921, where a thriving Black community known as "Black Wall Street" was decimated by white mobs, further cementing the deep scars of racial injustice in the United States.
In the early 20th century, the Greenwood District of Tulsa, Oklahoma, was a thriving Black community, often referred to as "Black Wall Street" due to its economic prosperity. Founded in 1906, Greenwood quickly became one of the most affluent Black communities in the United States. The district boasted a wide array of businesses, including grocery stores, hotels, theaters, and professional offices, all owned and operated by members of the Black community. The residents of Greenwood had built a self-sufficient and vibrant neighborhood, a rare achievement in an era of pervasive racial segregation and economic inequality.
Greenwood's success was not only a source of pride for Black Americans but also a symbol of Black resilience and ingenuity in the face of systemic racism. However, this prosperity also attracted resentment and envy from the white population of Tulsa, who viewed the success of Greenwood as a threat to their social and economic dominance. This simmering tension would eventually explode into one of the most violent racial conflicts in American history.
The events that led to the Tulsa Race Massacre began on May 30, 1921, when Dick Rowland, a 19-year-old Black shoeshiner, was accused of assaulting Sarah Page, a 17-year-old white elevator operator, in the Drexel Building in downtown Tulsa. The exact details of the encounter remain unclear, but it is generally believed that Rowland accidentally brushed against or stepped on Page's foot as he entered the elevator, causing her to scream. Page did not press charges, but a white clerk who witnessed the incident reported it to the police, leading to Rowland's arrest the following day.
News of Rowland's arrest quickly spread throughout Tulsa, fueled by sensationalist reports in the local newspapers. The Tulsa Tribune published an inflammatory front-page story on May 31 with the headline "Nab Negro for Attacking Girl in Elevator," which was accompanied by an editorial calling for Rowland to be lynched. The article further inflamed the already tense racial climate in Tulsa, prompting a white mob to gather outside the courthouse where Rowland was being held, demanding that he be turned over to them.
As the white mob outside the courthouse grew in size and intensity, word spread to Greenwood, where residents feared that Rowland would be lynched. A group of about 75 armed Black men, many of whom were World War I veterans, went to the courthouse to offer their assistance in protecting Rowland from the mob. They were met by the sheriff, who assured them that Rowland would be safe and urged them to leave. The men reluctantly complied, but as they were departing, a white man attempted to disarm one of the Black veterans, leading to a scuffle in which a shot was fired.
The gunshot triggered a chaotic exchange of gunfire between the Black men and the white mob, marking the beginning of the violence. The situation quickly spiraled out of control, as more white Tulsans, many of them armed, rushed to the scene, while the Black defenders retreated to Greenwood. The white mob, now numbering in the thousands, followed them into the district, intent on destroying the community.
Over the next 16 hours, from the night of May 31 into the morning of June 1, 1921, the white mob unleashed a wave of terror on Greenwood. The violence began with sporadic shootings and soon escalated into a full-scale assault on the district. Armed white men indiscriminately shot Black residents in the streets, broke into homes and businesses, and looted anything of value. Those who resisted were killed on the spot, while others were forced to flee for their lives.
The mob set fire to buildings throughout Greenwood, using torches, gasoline, and other incendiary devices. By dawn on June 1, much of the district was engulfed in flames, with the fire department unable or unwilling to respond. Eyewitnesses reported seeing airplanes flying overhead, dropping incendiary bombs on the buildings below, although the extent of aerial involvement remains a subject of debate among historians. What is clear is that the destruction was systematic and thorough, reducing one of the wealthiest Black communities in America to ashes.
The scale of the violence was staggering. By the time the National Guard arrived to restore order, more than 35 square blocks of Greenwood had been destroyed, including over 1,200 homes, as well as churches, schools, and businesses. The death toll from the massacre has long been disputed, with estimates ranging from 100 to as many as 300 African Americans killed. The exact number may never be known, as many of the bodies were buried in mass graves, and the records were either lost or deliberately suppressed.
In the immediate aftermath of the massacre, the surviving residents of Greenwood were rounded up and detained in internment camps on the outskirts of Tulsa. They were only released if they could prove they had a white employer to vouch for them, effectively placing them under the control of the white population. Many of the survivors were left homeless, with nothing but the clothes on their backs, as their homes and possessions had been looted or destroyed. Despite the overwhelming evidence of the white mob's responsibility for the violence, no one was ever held accountable for the massacre. The city of Tulsa and the state of Oklahoma failed to provide any compensation to the victims, and insurance companies refused to honor claims for the damages, citing a "riot clause" in their policies. Instead, the narrative that emerged in the immediate aftermath of the massacre blamed the Black community for inciting the violence, a distortion of the truth that persisted for decades.
Evidence suggests that Rowland was innocent. Sarah Page never pressed charges, and there was no substantial evidence to support the allegation of assault.
The destruction of Greenwood had long-lasting effects on Tulsa's Black community. Although some residents eventually rebuilt parts of the district, the economic prosperity that had once defined "Black Wall Street" was never fully restored. Many Black families were permanently displaced, and the trauma of the massacre left deep psychological scars on the survivors and their descendants.
It was not until the late 20th century that efforts to uncover the truth about the Tulsa Race Massacre gained momentum. In 1996, on the 75th anniversary of the massacre, the state of Oklahoma established the Tulsa Race Riot Commission (later renamed the 1921 Tulsa Race Massacre Commission) to investigate the events of 1921 and make recommendations for reparations. The commission's final report, published in 2001, confirmed the scale of the violence and the complicity of local authorities in the massacre.
Between the Tulsa Race Massacre of 1921 and the murder of Emmett Till in 1955, white violence against African Americans continued to be a pervasive and destructive force in the United States. The years between these events were marked by the rise of Jim Crow laws, which institutionalized racial segregation and disenfranchised Black citizens, reinforcing a social order built on white supremacy. During this period, lynchings and acts of mob violence against Black individuals were common, particularly in the South, where white mobs terrorized Black communities with impunity. The resurgence of the KKK in the 1920s further fueled racial violence, as the Klan's influence spread across the nation, promoting terror against Blacks, as well as Catholics, Jews, and immigrants. The pervasive culture of racial violence and intimidation was a constant threat to Black lives, reinforcing the deeply entrenched racial hierarchy that sought to suppress any attempt at Black progress or equality. This period set the stage for the Civil Rights Movement, as the African American community increasingly organized and fought back against the systemic racism and violence that defined their lives.
Throughout history, the perception of danger and fear toward Black individuals, deeply rooted in historical racial biases, has consistently led to their oppression and the justification of violence against them, as seen during the Wilmington Insurrection of 1891, the Summer of 1919, and the Tulsa Race Massacre in 1921. This perception has not always been perpetuated through violence, however, but also covertly through various channels, including media portrayals, political rhetoric, and societal narratives that frame Black people as inherently threatening or criminal. These portrayals have shaped public opinion, reinforcing stereotypes and justifying discriminatory practices, such as harsh policing and unequal treatment under the law. Over time, these racial biases have become deeply ingrained, influencing societal attitudes and actions that continue to marginalize Black communities. Understanding these biases and their impacts is crucial for addressing contemporary issues of racial inequality, as it allows us to confront the underlying assumptions that drive systemic racism and to work towards more equitable and just policies and practices.
In the 17th and 18th centuries, pseudo-scientific theories and religious justifications were frequently employed to rationalize racial hierarchies and the subjugation of Black people. Early American society, influenced by European Enlightenment thought, developed and embraced stereotypes of Black inferiority and criminality, often rooted in distorted interpretations of science that sought to categorize humans into hierarchical races. These theories falsely claimed that Black people were biologically predisposed to servitude and moral degeneracy. Concurrently, Christian theology was sometimes misused to justify these beliefs, with proponents arguing that slavery was sanctioned by the Bible and that Black people were destined to be servants due to the so-called "Curse of Ham." Such religious rationalizations reinforced the notion that Black people were naturally inferior and deserved to be oppressed, further entrenching these harmful stereotypes within American society.
In the 19th century, newspapers and literature often portrayed Black individuals as inferior, dangerous, or even subhuman. These portrayals were rooted in the prevailing racial ideologies of the time, which sought to justify slavery and later, segregation. Newspapers frequently depicted Black people as inherently criminal, prone to violence, and morally degenerate, thus reinforcing the idea that they needed to be controlled or suppressed. Literature of the era, including popular novels and political pamphlets, similarly depicted Black characters as either pitiable or menacing, further embedding these stereotypes in the public consciousness. This widespread racial propaganda laid the groundwork for the persistent view of Black people as a threat to white society.
Films like The Birth of a Nation in the early 20th century played a pivotal role in reinforcing these racial biases. The film, which glorified the KKK as defenders of white civilization, depicted Black men as savage brutes who posed an existential threat to white women and society at large. This portrayal was not an isolated incident but rather a continuation of the racist depictions prevalent in 19th-century media. Hollywood, for decades, perpetuated these harmful stereotypes, frequently casting Black men as violent criminals and Black women as hypersexualized figures. These depictions reinforced a national narrative that associated Blackness with criminality and deviance, further entrenching racial prejudices and justifying discriminatory practices against Black Americans.
Biased reporting in crime stories has long contributed to the racialization of crime in America. Black suspects are often portrayed more negatively than white suspects, with media outlets emphasizing their criminal records, physical appearance, and supposed threat to society. In contrast, white suspects are more likely to be depicted as troubled individuals or victims of circumstance, with headlines and stories that elicit sympathy rather than fear. This disparity in reporting shapes public perceptions of race and crime, leading many to associate criminality with Blackness while excusing or minimizing similar behaviors in white individuals. The media’s role in shaping these perceptions is profound, as it informs public opinion and influences policy decisions that disproportionately impact Black communities.
Modern-day media portrayals, including those in news outlets, television, and films, continue to either perpetuate or challenge racial biases. While some progress has been made in representing Black people more accurately and positively, many portrayals still reinforce harmful stereotypes. News coverage often emphasizes crimes committed by Black individuals, creating a distorted perception of Black criminality, while failing to address the systemic factors that contribute to crime. Television shows and films, too, can either reinforce these biases by casting Black characters in stereotypical roles or challenge them by offering more nuanced and diverse representations. As media remains a powerful tool in shaping societal attitudes, it is crucial to critically examine these portrayals and advocate for more balanced and accurate representations that reflect the true complexity of Black experiences.
Politicians have historically exploited racial fears to garner support, often using rhetoric that taps into deep-seated prejudices. During the Reconstruction era, Southern Democrats rallied white voters by stoking fears of Black political power and social equality, painting Reconstruction policies as a threat to white supremacy. This fear-mongering played a crucial role in the rise of Jim Crow laws and the disenfranchisement of Black voters. Moving into the 20th century, politicians continued to use racial fears to their advantage. The Civil Rights era saw the rise of "law and order" rhetoric, a phrase that became a thinly veiled code for opposing the civil rights movement and maintaining racial hierarchies. By framing civil rights protests and Black activism as threats to public safety, politicians were able to rally support for policies that disproportionately targeted Black communities without explicitly invoking race.
The use of subtle, coded language in political discourse has been a powerful tool in stoking racial fears while avoiding overtly racist language. Terms like "urban crime," "welfare queens," and "inner-city violence" have been employed by political figures to evoke negative stereotypes about Black Americans without directly mentioning race. During the War on Drugs, such language was used to justify harsh sentencing laws and aggressive policing in predominantly Black neighborhoods, policies that have had devastating and long-lasting effects on those communities. This strategy of using coded language allows politicians to appeal to racial biases while maintaining a facade of neutrality, making it difficult to challenge the underlying racism. As a result, racial fears have been perpetuated and amplified through political rhetoric, shaping public opinion and policy in ways that continue to harm Black Americans.
A modern parallel to these historical patterns can be seen in the case of the Central Park Five, a group of Black and Latino teenagers wrongfully accused and convicted of assaulting a white woman in New York City in 1989. The media sensationalized the case, with headlines labeling the teenagers as "wilding" and portraying them as inherently violent. Donald Trump, then a prominent businessman, took out full-page ads in four major New York City newspapers calling for the reinstatement of the death penalty, reflecting a rush to judgment steeped in racial bias. Despite their eventual exoneration in 2002, the damage had been done, with the case fueling racial tensions and reinforcing stereotypes of Black and Latino youth as dangerous criminals. This case, much like the historical examples before it, illustrates how media and political figures can manipulate racial fears to devastating effect, perpetuating a cycle of prejudice and injustice that continues to affect Black communities today.
The narrative of Black criminality has also been perpetuated through history textbooks, curricula, and academic discourse. For much of American history, the education system has played a significant role in shaping public perceptions of race and reinforcing racial biases. History textbooks, in particular, have often downplayed or omitted the contributions of Black Americans while emphasizing their supposed criminality and inferiority. For example, textbooks have traditionally focused on the accomplishments of white Americans while relegating the history of slavery, Jim Crow, and the Civil Rights Movement to the margins. When these topics are discussed, they are often framed in ways that minimize the impact of systemic racism and instead focus on individual Black figures, perpetuating the myth of Black criminality by omission.
Academic discourse has also contributed to the perpetuation of racial biases. For much of the 19th and early 20th centuries, fields such as anthropology, sociology, and criminology were dominated by theories that sought to justify racial hierarchies and the subjugation of Black people. These disciplines often produced studies that claimed to provide scientific evidence of Black inferiority, criminality, and moral degeneracy. While many of these theories have since been discredited, their influence can still be seen in contemporary discussions about race and crime. The lingering effects of these biased academic discourses continue to shape how Black people are perceived and treated in society, from policing to education.
The Lost Cause ideology, which romanticized the Confederacy and portrayed the Civil War as a noble struggle for states' rights rather than a conflict over slavery, played a significant role in shaping the content of history textbooks, particularly in the South. The Daughters of the Confederacy, a prominent organization dedicated to preserving Confederate memory, was instrumental in promoting this revisionist history. Beginning in the late 19th century, The Daughters of the Confederacy exerted considerable influence over the education system by lobbying for textbooks that reflected their Lost Cause narrative. These textbooks glorified Confederate leaders, minimized the brutality of slavery, and downplayed the role of African Americans in the nation's history. By controlling how history was taught, The Daughters of the Confederacy and other proponents of the Lost Cause ensured that generations of students were exposed to a sanitized and biased version of history that reinforced white supremacy. This manipulation of educational content not only perpetuated the myth of the benevolent South but also contributed to the broader marginalization of Black Americans in historical discourse, further embedding racial prejudices in American society.
Compounding these issues are current efforts by Republican lawmakers to ban books and remove discussions of critical race theory (CRT) from classrooms. These actions further exacerbate the problem by attempting to silence conversations about systemic racism and the true history of racial injustice in America. By restricting access to diverse perspectives and critical analyses of race, these bans effectively perpetuate a one-sided narrative that ignores or downplays the impact of racism, thus reinforcing harmful stereotypes and misconceptions. For instance, when students are not taught about the historical roots of racial inequality, such as the criminalization of Black Americans or the role of systemic racism in shaping current societal structures, they are left with an incomplete and distorted understanding of history. This not only prevents meaningful dialogue about race but also perpetuates the very myths that have long been used to justify discrimination and inequality. In this way, the push to censor discussions on race in education is not just an attack on academic freedom but also a continuation of the same efforts to marginalize and criminalize Black Americans that have existed for centuries.
Overall, a white-dominated culture with the help of it’s control of media has long played a significant role in whitewashing history, selectively portraying events to diminish the focus on white violence against Black Americans while simultaneously painting Black communities as inherently violent. Throughout much of American history, newspapers, films, and other media have often depicted racial conflicts in a way that obscures the true nature of white aggression. For instance, the media frequently framed race riots and lynchings not as acts of terror by white mobs against Black communities but as chaotic events instigated by Black people themselves. This deliberate distortion of facts served to exonerate white perpetrators of violence while criminalizing Black victims, reinforcing the notion that Black people were the primary source of racial unrest.
This misrepresentation is critically important because it shapes public perception of Black Americans and perpetuates systemic racism. When the media consistently portrays Black individuals and communities as violent, it reinforces negative stereotypes that influence how the public, law enforcement, and policymakers view and treat Black people. This skewed perception justifies discriminatory practices, such as racial profiling, over-policing of Black neighborhoods, and harsher sentencing in the criminal justice system. Moreover, it feeds into a broader narrative that views Black people as inherently criminal or dangerous, making it easier for society to accept and perpetuate inequality and oppression.
The impact of these media portrayals extends beyond individual biases; they help to sustain structural racism by normalizing unequal treatment and dehumanizing Black Americans. When the history of white violence is minimized or erased, and Black resistance is cast as lawlessness, it becomes difficult to challenge the status quo or advocate for meaningful change. The continuous reinforcement of these distorted narratives allows systemic racism to persist, as it becomes ingrained in the collective consciousness of society. Therefore, addressing the media’s role in whitewashing history and perpetuating harmful stereotypes is essential to dismantling the structures of oppression and advancing racial justice.
In summary, White fear has been a profound and pervasive anxiety among white Americans regarding the potential threat posed by Black individuals. This fear originated during the era of slavery when the sheer brutality of the system created a constant concern among slaveholders about possible insurrections. Events such as the Stono Rebellion and Nat Turner's revolt (as discussed in part one of this series) were not merely isolated incidents but were emblematic of a broader, systemic fear that Black people would rise up against their oppressors. This fear was further inflamed by the success of the Haitian Revolution, which reinforced the white population's dread of losing control. Over time, this fear became ingrained in the American psyche, manifesting as a deep suspicion and hostility toward Black communities, which was perpetuated through sensationalized media, cultural narratives, and legal frameworks.
The significance of white fear in creating and sustaining a system of oppression and institutionalized racism in America cannot be overstated. This fear was a driving force behind the enactment of laws and social practices designed to control and subjugate Black people, from the Black Codes and Vagrancy laws (discussed in part two of this series) to redlining and mass incarceration in the modern era (discussed in part three of this series). White fear justified the use of violence, both legal and extralegal, as a means to maintain racial hierarchies and suppress any challenges to white supremacy (as discussed in this post). It also fueled the construction of racist ideologies that portrayed Black people as inherently dangerous, criminal, and inferior—stereotypes that continue to influence public perception and policy today. By institutionalizing these fears, white society was able to legitimize and perpetuate a system of racial inequality that has endured for centuries, shaping the social, economic, and political landscape of the United States.
