Stability and Change in American Politics: The Coming of Age of the Generation of the 1960s.

1987 ◽  
Vol 102 (1) ◽  
pp. 157
Author(s):  
John R. Petrocik ◽  
Michael X. Delli Carpini ◽  
Ronald B. Rapoport ◽  
Alan I. Abramowitz ◽  
John McGlennon
2015 ◽  
Vol 49 (1) ◽  
pp. 44-72
Author(s):  
Adam Lauder
Keyword(s):  

Author(s):  
Doug McAdam

The tumultuous onset of Donald Trump’s administration has so riveted public attention that observers are in danger of losing a historical perspective. Trump’s rhetoric and behavior are so extreme that the tendency is to see him and the divisions he embodies as something new in American politics. Instead, Trump is only the most extreme expression of a brand of racial politics practiced ever more brazenly by the Republican Party since the 1960s. His unexpected rise to power was aided by a number of institutional developments in American politics that also have older roots. In the spirit of trying to understand these historical forces, the chapter describes (a) the origins and evolution of the exclusionary brand of racial politics characteristic of the Republican Party since the 1960s, and (b) three illiberal institutions that aided Trump’s rise to power, and that, if left unchanged, will continue to threaten the survival of American democracy.


2020 ◽  
pp. 137-158
Author(s):  
Joe William Trotter

By the mid-1960s, the political and social terrain on which the Urban League worked had changed dramatically. The Pittsburgh-born children of southern black migrants had come of age and pushed hard against the color line in the city's economy, politics, and institutions. National headquarters and local branches across the country worried about the increasing black nationalist turn in African American politics. But the ULP had helped to establish the postwar groundwork and even models for the fluorescence and even militance of Pittsburgh's Civil Rights and Black Power struggles of the 1960s and early 1970s.


2019 ◽  
Vol 2 (3) ◽  
pp. 403-408
Author(s):  
Thomas Zimmer

Polarization is everywhere. It is, according to the Pew Research Center, “a defining feature of American politics today.” Elected officials, journalists, and political pundits seem to agree that it is a severe problem in urgent need of fixing, maybe even the root of all evil that plagues the United States, from dysfunction in Congress to the decay of social and cultural norms. Many historians, too, have embraced the concept of polarization for its explanatory power: It has emerged as the closest thing to a master narrative for recent American history. In this interpretation, the “liberal consensus” that had dominated mid-twentieth-century American politics and intellectual life—the widely shared acceptance of New Deal philosophy and broad agreement on the desirable contours of society and the pursuit of certain kinds of public good—gave way after the 1960s to an age of heightened tension, dividing Americans into two camps that since then have regarded each other with deepening distrust. Yet too few historians have reflected on the limits and potential pitfalls of using polarization as a governing historical paradigm. It is high time, therefore, to pause to consider the larger implications of approaching the past through the prism of polarization.


MELUS ◽  
2019 ◽  
Vol 44 (3) ◽  
pp. 41-62
Author(s):  
Wendy Allison Lee

Abstract Through a reinterpretation of Gish Jen’s novel Mona in the Promised Land (1996), this essay makes the case for the queer possibilities immanent to the most conservative “family values” Asian American genre—the bildungsroman organized around intergenerational conflict. In a decade obsessed with the question of what shifting racial and ethnic demographics meant for the national future, Mona’s content tempted 1990s readers to interpret its vision of the 1960s as a timely meditation on the present. Read in such a way, the novel resolves anxieties about demographic change by reproducing the “timeless” values of family and nation. However, Mona’s form tells a different story. Rather than using the historical past as a mere backdrop to tell a timely story about national progress, Mona is reflexive in its preoccupation with its relationship to the past. Jen’s novel shows us what a coming-of-age story looks like when it does not assimilate its subject into national time. Instead, Mona draws “untimely comparisons” between past US imperial formations that are the present’s condition of possibility. I examine how the novel disrupts the bildungroman’s formal and ideological relationship to national futurity by evoking the past as a drag on progress and the novel as enacting a formal corollary to queer drag performance. I read Mona as a novel of untimely development that reinvents the coming-of-age narrative so that the Asian American subject becomes not a figure that exemplifies a certain future subject or nation but instead one that generatively obstructs national fantasies of progress.


2018 ◽  
Vol 30 (3) ◽  
pp. 552-574 ◽  
Author(s):  
Robert B. Horwitz

Abstract:The victim has become among the most important identity positions in American politics. Victimhood is now a pivotal means by which individuals and groups see themselves and constitute themselves as political actors. Indeed, victimhood seems to have become a status that must be established before political claims can be advanced. Victimhood embodies the assertion that an individual or group has suffered wrongs that must be requited. What seems new is that wounded groups assert a self-righteous claim that they stand for something larger than their particular injury. The article explores how and why victimhood has become such a powerful theme in American politics. It suggests that victimhood as politics emerged from the contentious politics of the 1960s, specifically the civil rights movement and its aftermath. Key factors include the reaction to the minority rights and women’s movements, as well as internal dynamicswithinthe rights movements.


Author(s):  
Jesse Berrett

This book explores professional football’s rising popularity in the 1960s and its simultaneous promotion by the NFL as “what makes this country great.” Taking the NFL seriously as a producer of culture—it boasted a publishing house, movie studio, and lobbyists—reveals how it used its status as the national pastime to foment broad debate. The book then explores how political influencers capitalized on that popularity by sending candidates to games, encouraging players and coaches to run for office, and stage-managing conventions that conveyed competence through effective television presentation. Middle Americans might vote for politicians who liked the game; centrist players became engaged democratic citizens; traditionalist coaches and radical athletes suddenly had a platform. Though this field tilted right, politicians on the left saw no contradiction between loving the game and standing for civil rights. This interweaving of football and politics does not reflect a dumbing-down of American politics or merely replicate the standard narrative of conservative realignment: no single participant in this scrimmage won a dominant political meaning for football. But Ronald Reagan built his appeal in 1980 around the romanticized role of George Gipp, making clear that a cluster of images promoted in the ‘60s by the NFL, and created collectively over the next decade, could and would still serve as a resonant symbol through the 80s and beyond.


2021 ◽  
Vol 10 ◽  
pp. BB102-BB118
Author(s):  
Helma Van Lierop-Debrauwer

In 2014, the American writer Jacqueline Woodson published Brown Girl Dreaming, the story of her childhood in free verse, which was classified as young adult literature. Most US reviewers characterized and appreciated the book both as a human rights narrative of a young brown girl’s coming of age against the socio-political background of racism and the Civil Rights Movement in the United States of the 1960s, and as a personal history of her development as a writer. In this article the major focus will be on how Brown Girl Dreaming as both a political memoir and an autobiographical narrative of identity formation is fleshed out. On the basis of my analysis of these two plot lines, I will further argue that its categorization as young adult literature disguises that the novel addresses a dual audience of adult and young readers. In my argumentation related to the political and personal character of the novel, as well as in my discussion of the crossover potential of Brown Girl Dreaming, I will focus on the presence of voice and silence.


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