Daddy, me and grand old party

Backstory

Why were we Republicans when most colored folks seemed to be Democrats?

When I was growing up in the early 1960s. it wasn't uncommon for well-- meaning whites to ask, "When did you first realize you were a Negro?" The question assumed there was a defining moment - a traumatic event in childhood that shocked you into the realization that you were different from the mainstream.

Having always known I was African American. and always embracing what I knew, my heritage was never an issue for me. My hometown of Seattle was arguably more racially tolerant than most of the country. Though the minority population of the city was only about 6 percent, I grew up in a community steeped in Black pride.

However, if anyone had asked me, "When did you realize that your Black family was Republican?" - that would have been a different story. My political epiphany, when I discovered that my parents' party affiliation set us apart from the Negro mainstream, occurred early on.

It happened almost 20 years after my father, Charles M. Stokes, arrived in Seattle and found he was the only Black attorney in private practice. Seven years later, in 1950, he was elected Seattle's first Black state legislator. After serving three terms, during which he married my mother, Josephine Stratman, and I was born, he ran for lieutenant governor, narrowly losing in the Republican primary. Because he had the overwhelming support of our predominately Black Central District, it hadn't occurred to me that there could be any dividing line from his constituents. Even though the Black voters were largely Democratic, they had crossed party lines to put in office the person who was their political pioneer.

In 1960, even at age 8, I knew politics loomed large. Richard M. Nixon was running for president against John F. Kennedy. My father and mother spoke favorably about their party's candidate at the dinner table. My father had even invited then-Vice President Nixon to campaign in Seattle. Accepting the invitation, Nixon stepped off the airplane and shook Daddy's hand - a moment captured forever in our family's photo archives.

Having a politically active father meant I got to attend fun activities like the annual Republican picnic at Lake Sammamish. Outdoorsy events like barbecuing and picnicking weren't my elegant mother's thing, and my two older siblings often found hipper things to do, so it was frequently just Daddy and me at the Grand Old Party.

As Election Day drew near, my second-grade teacher held a mock election. Standing in front of our predominately Black class at Madrona Elementary, she asked, "Raise your hand if you would vote for Democrat John F. Kennedy."

Many hands shot up enthusiastically. "Now, raise your hand if you would vote for Republican Richard M. Nixon." My hand went up just as proudly as the others had. Immediately, I felt a stillness in the room. Glancing around to survey the class, I realized mine was the only hand up. By recess, I was in the middle of a tricky situation.

"Why'd you vote for Nixon? You think you're better than us, Miss Smartie Pants?" a particular Negro classmate asked me, as her posse began to gather.

"I don't think I'm better than anyone. That's who my parents said they were voting for." I answered, admittedly nervous, but looking her in the eye.

"Why are you voting for Kennedy?" I blurted out, even though I knew the answer. Kennedy was the name she had heard at home.

After more nonsensical "ranking" on each other, the bell rang. But the hostility hovered for the rest of the day. Among the colored children of my elementary school, difference was not tolerated, even if ignorance was. The next day when Kennedy won, the kids felt they had, too, and things returned to normal for me.

But I wondered about this Republican thing. Why hadn't anyone told me we were different? Why were we Republicans when most colored folks seemed to be Democrats?

As time passed, I pieced together the family tradition. As a boy in his native Kansas at the turn of the century, Daddy lived among colored people who were largely Republicans, still loyal to the "party of Lincoln." In the 1930s, when many Blacks made the switch to the Democratic Party in support of President Franklin Delano Roosevelt's New Deal, he thought about changing parties. But fresh out of law school and active as vice chairman of the Young Republican National Federation, he felt committed. In addition, when he asked his father, the Rev. Norris J. Stokes, if he should switch, the incredulous answer was, "Lincoln done freed your butt, and now you want to be a Democrat?"

It didn't matter that slavery ended 40 years before my father was born, and almost 100 years before I was in second grade. Because Lincoln had signed the Emancipation Proclamation, my father felt free - to vote Republican.

Stephanie Stokes Oliver, founding editor of NiaOnline, is the author of Seven Soulful Secrets. This story was adapted from her forthcoming book Song for My Father: Memoir of an All-American Family.

Copyright Crisis Publishing Company, Incorporated Jul/Aug 2002
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