The Roots of the Agony
Reece McGee
The Nation, 21 December 1963, pp. 427–431
Reece McGee is an associate professor of sociology at the University of Texas. He is co-author of Academic Marketplace (Basic Books) and the author of Social Disorganization in America (Chandler).
A lady in Dallas said, “They ought to put this place
under martial law and keep it that way forever.” A man there told a
commentator, “I wouldn’t blame them if they sent a regiment in here and
wiped the city out.” My own first reaction was that it couldn’t be true,
that even in Texas they didn’t shoot Presidents. Curiously enough, a number of
my students, natives of the state, had identical reactions. Reflection on these
stunned and unbelieving first responses, however, convinces me that they were naïve,
and that barring the probability of Mississippi, in a doomed and fated way it
had to be Texas and, in Texas, Dallas.
To truly understand the necessity of
Texas, and this strange land itself. One must live here awhile. The time
required is indeterminate. In the November, 1963, Harper’s, Barbara
Solomon wrote a moving and perceptive evocation of the place after a year’s
residence in it. On the basis of my seven years here, I found it generally
accurate and surprisingly unprejudiced. It was greeted by the local press, both
student and commercial, as a vitriolic and harshly biased attack upon the state
and city. Had Mrs. Solomon lived here fifty years, the reaction would have been
the same. Texans are immensely touchy with regard to criticism of their state,
especially from outsiders; they hunger for visitors’ impressions, but want to
hear only favorable ones.
Something Mrs. Solomon learned here, but
that escapes most visitors—and, indeed, most natives—goes far in explaining
Texas and the recent tragedy in Dallas: behind the verdant fields, magnificent
highways and looming skyscrapers, Texas is still a harsh and violent land, in
climate and in culture not so far removed from the savage wilderness it was only
130 years ago when the early “Texians” wrested it away from the dominion of
Mexico and the perhaps greater authority of the Comanche. That history and that
hardness has done much to determine the present nature of the state and its
people. The climate alone breaks weaklings in a year. Air conditioning and
central heat have done much to make it tolerable, but “tolerable” is the
best that can be said for it. A hundred years ago the immigrants wrote home that
Texas was hell on women and dogs. It still is.
These conditions, when ratified and
exacerbated by an overlay of twentieth-century America—which is to say
urbanized and essentially Northern America—explain that great agony
begun here such a little while ago, and which still continues. Fortunately for
the future of the state, and indeed for any hope for the future of mankind at
all, the same conditions will in time yield sweeter fruit. But now let me
attempt to explain why it had to be Texas.
President Kennedy could, of course, have been assassinated in any other
state. In our frantic society lunatics abound, and everywhere and any time a
President is in the presence of the public he is in danger. But I believe that
(again and always barring Mississippi) the probability of that danger’s
actually striking may have been maximized in Texas by five elements either
peculiar to the state at this time or peculiar in their unique intensity here.
These are, in the order I will discuss them: (1) the absolutistic nature of
local thought; (2) the institutionalization of personal violence; (3) the
proliferation of firearms and the habit of carrying them; (4) the political
respectability of the radical Right; and (5) the nonexistence, publicly, of a
radical Left.
A Land of Moral Absolutes. The
mores of Texas are more absolutistic than those of any other state I know. In
politics, ethics, civic morality and individual taste, relativism is unknown to
or suspect by the general public. One is a Texan or a Yankee; there are no other
kinds of people. One is good or one is evil, honest or criminal, a booster or a
knocker, a patriot or a Communist. Most students at the university expect their
instructors to reveal to them The Truth about any subject in question, want the
One Right Answer to their queries and, in my own case, expect sociology to offer
them quick solutions to the social problems with which they are confronted in
their society. When I give my classes the suggestion that there may be no
general solution to such problems as the arms race, but only shifting
accommodations, they become frustrated and often hostile.
This habit of thought seems best explained by the religious
fundamentalism still dominant in the state. Texas is, for all practical
purposes, a Southern Baptist community (despite the large number of Catholic
Mexicanos whose culture has in so many other ways influenced its society).
Though the cedar-shake churches in the hollows have everywhere given way to
great edifices of brick and stone, the simple moral imperatives of the old-time
religion yet dominate Texas life and thought. I think it is significant that my
students always use the phrase, “see both sides of an argument,”
never “all” or “the.” (There can be but two, one of which must be,
clearly, the right side since the other, clearly, must be wrong.)
This same basically Baptist orientation has been particularly visible in the
organization of the two churches in town which I have occasionally attended.
One, of the “liberal” theological bent, has little general difficulty
between minister and congregation because it adheres closely to the
congregational mode, but is deeply rent within the congregation by factional
schisms, often following political adherences. The other, of Episcopal form, has
a unified congregation which, consisting largely of converts, experiences great
difficulty in accepting the minister’s authority.
This fundamentalistic absolutism (which,
again, may be supported by the frontier heritage) easily categorizes men and
ideas and movements as “for” or “against” the values Texans hold most
dear. And since being “against” such ideas is equated with sinfulness and
the devil, in effect if not actual reason, hate breeds free and dies hard. I am
sure many Texans sincerely, if unconsciously, associated John Kennedy with Sin
(his religion may have been relevant here), and with Sin there can be no
compromise and no solution save destruction.
The Habit of Personal Violence. “Taking the law into one’s own
hands” is not unique to Texas. Americans are a violent people, and they live
in, and have created, a violent society. (Our custom, for example, of insisting
that we hold human life in high regard ill matches our flat failure even to
attempt to curb the carnage on our highways through concerted action.)
Nevertheless, in the South in general, and perhaps in Texas in particular, this
custom reaches levels unknown elsewhere, maybe because violence is more commonly
accompanied by gunplay here, and arguments that might be settled with an
exchange of blows in Minnesota end in homicide in Texas. Houston and Dallas are
widely known as the murder capitals of the nation and have been so for some
time. That Chicago no longer maintains that unenviable reputation does not
signify the migration of its organized crime to Texas. The Texan homicide
rate—both vehicular and personal—is largely a consequence of individual
efforts by normal citizens, not professional criminals. Much of this, I think,
must be a simple matter of tradition. The nation is by now amply aware of
Texans’ touchy pride and of the pride they take in it. This is in part a
heritage of the frontier (not really long removed here: a friend of mine, a
recently retired professor in the university, can recall students fresh off the
Western ranges appearing in the classroom wearing six-guns). In part it is an
Anglo adaptation of an ethic known by its Mexican name: machismo.
The frontier ethic is the easier to
comprehend: Texans, to hold their land, had to fight the Mexicans, the Indians,
the climate and one another. They fight the climate still and they do not always
win. Machismo is more tenuous. In Mexicano culture in Texas it is
connected with, and signifies, masculinity, virility, courage and the ability to
“take care of oneself.” The Anglos have adopted it in a cultural diffusion
noticeable with regard to a great variety of customs and ideas. (An engineer
friend of mine, a native, nearly started a brawl in a beer joint when he got a
wisecrack from a group of lounging oafs. When I asked him why he had not simply
shrugged it off, he was nonplussed that I would expect him to ignore such an
affront to his honor.)
These elements of an ethic that holds the
individual personally responsible for the solution of quarrels are further
institutionalized by Texas law. “Self-defense” is a common explanation of
homicide and suffices to excuse the act if the defendant even believed himself
to have been in danger of attack and can scrape up some evidence that the belief
was reasonable. In cases of murder resulting from actual or suspected adultery,
the “unwritten law” is scrupulously observed by many Texas juries. The law
of trespass, as it is applied in practice, similarly reflects the customs of
violence. A man’s property in Texas is first of all his to defend (in custom),
and if you are ordered off and do not go you may pay for your recalcitrance with
your life. Thus in history and tradition, and supported by law in many
instances, violence is expected as the natural reaction to many situations.
Sufficient provocation is often sufficient excuse.
The Proliferation of Firearms. The wide diffusion of firearms
among the general population is again not peculiar to Texas; but the manner of
their diffusion and the types of weapons commonly owned and carried seem unique
in local custom. Any adult who is not a felon may buy any common type of weapon
in Texas, and no registration or adequate record is usually made. Cheap guns are
sold in department and sporting goods stores, and I know of drug and liquor
stores that carry them. Ammunition may be purchased at the supermarket or the
drive-in.
Texans do not find this surprising. A
series of censuses of my classes has revealed that, on the average, about half
the boys and perhaps a third of the girls have weapons with them at the
university. Normally about 25 per cent of the gun owners in my classes admit to
keeping pistols. When I have asked the students why they feel the necessity for
firearms in their rooms or glove compartments, they have universally replied
that they need them “for protection.” When I have asked what they have that
needs protecting at the hazard of their own lives or another’s, they have
become confused. As a result of a number of unfortunate incidents the university
now prohibits the keeping of weapons in dormitory rooms—but this rule is
frequently violated.
Again these habits are supported by Texas
law. Although there are registration laws for heavy pistols, they are negatively
enforced. When I arrived in Austin, I went to the Police Department to register
a side arm I owned as an Army reserve officer. The police lieutenant who
interviewed me, called by a flabbergasted secretary, was immediately suspicious
and seemed little reassured of my intentions by my AGO card and identity as a
professor at the university. I was later informed by an attorney friend that no
honest citizen brings his weapon to the attention of the police. The law also
permits one to carry a weapon in the glove compartment (in most states
stringently prohibited as “concealment”) on trips of a distance greater than
a hundred miles—again, for “protection.”
The Radical Right and Its Respectability. Another peculiarity of the state is that rightism of the most radical nature, explicit fascism, is politically respectable here. This was particularly borne in on me this year when I left the state to spend the summer in Berkeley. Although Southern California is as hot a bed of Birchers and allied fanatics as is Texas—and the breed appears to be even more virulent there—the newspapers of the Bay Area and the state government were unanimous in their condemnation of them as irresponsible lunatics. Not so in Texas, where reaction of the most extreme sort is, or was until November 22, entirely respectable. This fact of local life is probably not unrelated to the cultural absolutism described earlier. The responsibility of a candidate’s or a party’s politics is seldom an issue in Texas, where public alignments seem to take place largely on the basis of personality and ideology.
The respectability of the reactionary radicals surely comes in part from
the identification of their ideas (it is impossible to say “their program”)
with patriotism, and with their flamboyant rhetoric. Texans are intensely
patriotic and like their loyalties to state and nation loud and clear. Thus the
same drives which have given the nation in all its wars unit after unit of
magnificent Texas fighting men ratify and give respectability to the
ultranationalistic politics of the far Right.
It is impossible to judge the actual
strength of the extreme reaction in the state, or its actual power. Its
political effect is not at all proportional to the noise it makes, however,
which suggests its strength is often overestimated. When former General Walker
entered the gubernatorial primaries two years ago, he ran a poor last in a field
of six or seven candidates. Senator Tower’s election is often viewed by the
rest of the country as a measure of reactionary strength, but is interpreted in
Texas as being largely a function of the Democratic Party’s having fielded a
candidate so reactionary himself that no real Democrat would vote for him. (A
number did vote for Tower, in protest.) Not long ago members of the Birch
Society and their allies succeeded in attracting a great deal of attention by
attacking the state’s selection of texts for the public schools, but after
weeks of legislative hearings and state-wide interest most of the books objected
to were adopted anyway.
The textbook controversy became so
acrimonious that a joint committee of the state legislature was appointed to
look into possible Communist influences in the books available to and adopted by
the state. I attended most of the hearings as an observer for the local chapter
of the Civil Liberties Union, which eventually felt itself forced to appear
before the committee itself. Hostile witnesses most often identified themselves
as simply representing themselves, but were given to quoting from publications
of the John Birch Society, the Christian Anti-Communist Crusade and some local
organizations such as Texans for America and the National Indignation Convention
(Peter O’Donnell, the instigator of the latter, is now Chairman of the
Republican Party in Texas and the initiator of the national “Draft
Goldwater” movement). Members of the Constitution Party, a local extreme
right-wing third party, were also present. I was struck in hour after hour of
these witnesses’ testimony by the almost universal recurrence of three themes
that characterized their orientations to the world: (1) a hostility to and
incomprehension of the twentieth century, coupled with (2) the erection of a
pseudo-history of the nineteenth century and its characterization as a Golden
Age, plus (3) a ubiquitous and generalized fear. Their comments upon the present
were replete with words and symbols of danger, conspiracy, threat, attack and
broad-gauge hostility. Their ideas about the current state of the world and its
recent history were confused, to say the least, and unrealistic to a remarkable
degree. Their views of the nature of the American society of the past were a
jumbled mass of inaccuracies, falsehoods, misinformation and nostalgia.
Primarily from this experience I began to
formulate a hypothesis to explain the existence of the radical Right and which,
in awful hindsight, explains also why it had to be in Dallas that the President
lost his life. From all reports the far Right has its greatest strength in two
rather well-defined areas of the general Southwest: in Texas and in Southern
California. Its membership, like that of the original Nazi Party, seems
concentrated in the middle class. There are not many “Rednecks” in the local
Birch Societies and there were none at the textbook hearings. These facts in the
context of the history of this century and of the areas involved suffice, I
think, to let us understand the phenomenon.
There are remarkable parallels between Texas and Southern California,
reaching even into climate and recent modes of urban development. Their
populations also have some similarities in nature and experience. Until quite
recently both areas were essentially rural and agrarian, and both have been
subjected to sudden, radical social change in the form of immense urbanization,
immigration and industrialization. Both have significant segments of their
population characterized by Protestant fundamentalist polities (in California,
in large part through immigration), and both have seen the sudden emergence and
expansion into dominance of a middle class with rural origins. Both have been
beset with the problems of a new wealth widely distributed into the hands of a
population unused to it. Both have suffered population explosions. All of these
phenomena precipitated widespread social change and dislocation of former
tranquilities. These facts taken together suffice to explain the radical Right:
it is the irrational and often frankly paranoid reaction to sudden social change
on the part of a segment of the population ill-equipped to deal with or adjust
to it.
In Texas, certainly, the majority of the
newly monied middle class springs from rural origins. It has no experience of
wealth or liberal education and has not been middle class long enough to have
adopted the general cultural values and attitudes of that class elsewhere. Its
historic culture has been radically disturbed by an invasion of Eastern and
Northern people, ideas, capital and outlook. The century-long accommodation of
the races has been upset, and for perhaps the first time since Texas won its
independence from Mexico, the wide world has begun really to intrude upon it.
For a people with a culture in many ways that of the nineteenth-century American
agrarian, the twentieth century as it impinges upon them must be a terror-filled
place. The old certainties of their traditional religious securities are
patently absurd; their old sovereignties of state and nation have been
overthrown or subjected to fundamental dislocation from without; their new,
first wealth seems threatened by the entire pattern of domestic politics since
Theodore Roosevelt.
It is no accident that while many
professional men are members of the John Birch Society, few of them seem to be
from the scholarly professions. Most are in fields characterized by technical
training. The professionals who are members heavily represent medicine,
accounting, the military, engineering and the illiterate clergy; there are few
lawyers, professors, writers or educated clergy from the major denominations
among them. Neither does it seem an accident that the “Communist Conspiracy”
they define is exclusively internal to the United States, (i.e., a projection
rather than a reality), and that their program, to the degree it can be called
that, for dealing with the international reality of Communist states is
nonexistent. (We have only to withdraw from the UN and ignore them and somehow
they will cease to have any significance for the United States.)
This terrible fear and incomprehension of their present reality quite
naturally culminated, for the radical Right, in a personalized hatred of John F.
Kennedy and everything his administration represented. For Kennedy and his New
Frontier maximally symbolized exactly those features of their lives most
disturbing to this segment of the population. He was urban and urbane, Eastern
and educated, aristocratic and international, Catholic and pragmatic,
welfare-minded and racially liberal.
By the same token it is not surprising
that his assassination occurred in Dallas. For Dallas more than any other major
Texas city seems to have been captured by the radical Right and to have fewer
balances against it. The rightists are a vociferous, although small, minority in
San Antonio, and that international and cosmopolitan city has taken them in
stride. They have considerable apparent power in Houston but are balanced by its
working class and organized labor, for Houston is a seaport and manufacturing
city. Dallas is almost exclusively middle class in its ethos, functions and
dominant population, a business city par excellence. It has little industry or
farm-service function and is the headquarters for the financial and oil
interests of the state. It is, further, and unlike either of the others, a newer
city, without a hereditary local aristocracy to mind the civic welfare and
without, really, any particular reason for existence except as a financial
headquarters. (Excepting Denver and Indianapolis, it is the only major American
city not located on a navigable waterway.) It has for some years now been the
center of rightist activity in the state. General Walker and Peter O’Donnell
both live there. The Hate-Kennedy Cult of Texas headquartered there. (Shortly
before his final, fatal visit, placards had been distributed bearing the
President’s photograph and with the legend: Wanted for Treason.) Thus, even
though the assassin does not appear to have been a rightist, if there were a
climate anywhere in America that permitted assassination to become conceivable,
to be defined as something that might in fact be culturally legitimate, that
climate obtained in Dallas.
The Destruction of the Left. One
more grim strand to the peculiar fabric of contemporary Texas completes the
weave: there is no Left in Texas. The actual political alignments might be given
something like this: reactionaries are “conservatives” here; conservatives,
“moderates” and moderates, “liberals.” Actual liberals are
“radicals” and suspect. True radicalism does exist, but has been forced
entirely into hiding and is incapable of participating in or even communicating
to the normal political dialogue. To illustrate again from the textbook
hearings: a number of university professors testified before the committee
against the proposed censorship of schoolbooks. The chairman of the committee,
almost without exception, opened the committee’s questioning of each by asking
him if he was a church member. (Anti-censorship = liberalism = atheism =
communism.) The same chairman had, a year or two earlier, narrowly been
prevented from introducing a law requiring anyone teaching in a state-supported
school to swear his belief in the existence of a Supreme Being as a condition of
his further employment. Under such circumstances a true radical literally has no
place to go politically, and nothing to do but hide. Unlikely as it first
appeared (in Dallas), it may be that the President’s assassin was a leftist:
in its mute frustration the Left there may have no other recourse than violence.
To summarize: a congeries of events and qualities of contemporary Texas combined November 22, if not to predetermine the assassination of the President, at least to maximize that terrible possibility. The combination of moral absolutism, the habits of violence and the use of arms, the respectability of political irresponsibility and the—for all practical purposes—absolute repression of the Left together have created a climate in this strange and mythical state where this frightening rejection of the American political discourse could occur. Given the madness abounding in our lunatic society, it could have occurred anywhere; but where it did—where, in this nemesis of hindsight, somehow it had to—was in Texas.
The Hope for the Future. These admittedly speculative conclusions do not mean that I feel the nation need give up hope for Texas; quite the contrary. For the same forces of the past which in part explain the Texas present will, modified by that present, shape the future. Judging from my students and my city here, Texans overwhelmingly were stunned by that Friday’s horror; and the first shock of incredulity soon gave way to open grief. Austin had all but closed down to greet the President in an arrival timed for only three hours after the fatal shots were fired. On the weekend of his death the city was like a raw and rained-on grave. As late as the following Wednesday, university students still wept unashamed as they walked past the half-masted flag.
More important by far than the fact that the vast majority of Texans are good and decent people, like most Americans anywhere, is the nature of the land itself and the men it breeds. For the same land and the same cultural forces that produce men who carry weapons and who hate hard determine that those same men love as hard and guard the things they love. The real Texas is not the glass and neon of Dallas and the wheeler-dealer Cadillac owners of the (quite empirical) stereotype and their gilded women, nor is it the loud-mouthed lunatics. It is that hot land, black dirt and timber in the east; and to the west, sand and rock and prickly pear, that harsh land that demanded and bred strong men to break it and to make it yield. Those men live here now; I know a number of them, white and black and brown, and they are not the diamond-studded millionaires. They are soft-spoken men, honest men, men of courage and of patience and high humor. Their friendship is hard to earn but, once won, is legendary, and they have a toleration for individuality and a love of freedom for themselves and for others that is a main stream in the American myth, but is a reality here and only a myth in most of the rest of America. Sam Rayburn was one of them; Lyndon Johnson is one of them. There will be more. They are legion in Texas and they are its splendor; like its earth, they endure.
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