The story of Arkansas’s eleventh-hour repeal of its state-level poll tax directly overlaps with – and was influenced by – the larger federal effort, of course. Indeed – and as aforementioned – it was the approval of an anti-poll tax amendment by Congress in August of 1962 and the impending creation of a two-track system of voter registration that prompted the Natural State’s powerbrokers to investigate and eventually settle upon wholesale abolition. So what, then, was going on at the federal level to cause this chain of events to occur? How was it that the anti-poll tax movement was able to transition from success in the states in the 1930s, 40s, and 50s to success in Congress by the beginning of the 1960s? The simplest answer to these questions is the name Spessard Holland. First a state legislator – during which time, as previously discussed, he worked to abolish the poll tax in Florida – then a governor, and then a senator from the Sunshine State, Holland effectively made the abolition of the poll tax at the federal level the leitmotif of his career in Congress. First appointed to the Senate in 1946 to fill an unexpected vacancy, Holland spent the better part of the next fifteen years introducing a resolution banning the poll tax in every session of every Congress between the 79th and the 87th. Twice, his efforts came relatively close to success. In July of 1947, his H.R. 29 was approved in the House by a substantial margin only to be filibustered to death in the Senate. Practically the same thing happened again in July of 1949, though this time the resolution suffered the quieter death of being bottled up in committee. Indeed, it was not until the summer of 1962 that Holland finally succeeded at making manifest what might fairly be described as his life’s ambition.
But why should this have been the case at all? Why was Spessard Holland, an avowed segregationist who would go on to vote against the Civil Rights Act (1964) and the Voting Rights Act (1965), so ardently convinced that poll taxes – which had been designed and implemented in order to suppress the Black vote in the South – had no place in American democracy? The answer to this question has everything to do with the New Deal and its connection to Holland’s political career. As a young and ambitious Florida politician in the mid-1930s, it made all the sense in the world for a Democratic State Senator like Spessard Holland to come out strongly in favor of what could quite reasonably be characterized as a barrier to the political participation of the American working class. The Democratic Party was then in the midst of a massive political realignment in which economic and electoral populism would go on to play significant roles, and Holland was evidently canny enough to recognize that, specifically through the lens of class, abolishing the poll tax presented an ideal means of both solidifying the political base of the Florida Democratic Party and raising his own profile in line with his long-term career ambitions. That the Sunshine State’s Black community might also derive some benefit was very much incidental to Holland’s political calculus, an attitude which he would seemingly maintain throughout his tenure in Congress. Because while, by the early 1960s, the rise of the Civil Rights Movement had lent any measure touching upon voter enfranchisement a distinctly liberal, reformist cast, Holland’s own feelings on the inherent impropriety of the poll tax stubbornly refused to change. Far from seeking to make it easier for members of the Black community to vote – particularly in major urban areas where the threat of political violence was somewhat less severe – the Floridian senator was rather only seeking to relive a past accomplishment. Abolishing the poll tax in Florida was perhaps the most consequential thing he ever achieved in state politics, and it was perhaps only natural that he might seek to solidify his national reputation on that exact same basis.
Precisely how he finally achieved this feat is fairly simple on its face, though the effort was certainly accompanied by its fair share of parliamentary maneuvering and histrionics. After having tried and failed to secure the abolition of the poll tax by way of a constitutional amendment for nearly fifteen years as of 1962 – the most recent attempt having been only a year prior in 1961 – Holland’s final – and ultimately successful – effort started innocuously enough with a bit of legislative housekeeping. On March 12th, noting the previous defeat of Senate Joint Resolution 58 in 1961, the Floridian announced to his colleagues that while he had lost two of his sixty-odd cosponsors – Senator Styles Bridges of New Hampshire (1898-1961) and Senator Andrew Schoeppel of Kansas (1894-1962) – he had gained two more in their place – namely their replacements, Senator Maurice Murphy (1927-2002) and Senator James Pearson (1920-2009). Presumably, this was intended as something of a signal. Though he had been defeated less than a year prior in attempting to once more eliminate the poll tax, Holland was not yet ready to give up on the effort. That last defeat, it was true, had been a painful one – the Senate passed the resolution only for a House committee to then dismantle it – but here he was, in ‘62, ready to start the process over again. Not ready to offer it quite yet, mind you, but fully intending to do so at some point in the near future.
As should come as no surprise, the
opponents of any such amendment to the Constitution of the United States did
not take Holland’s announcement lying down. Two days later, on March 14th,
Mississippi Democrat John C. Stennis (1901-1995) took the opportunity to warn
his colleagues – though a proposal had yet to be offered which would have
accomplished anything of the sort – that the banning of poll taxes by
constitutional amendment was, “just the opening shot of a major battle to enact
Federal legislation to prohibit literacy tests and provide that a sixth-grade
education would qualify a person to vote.” Holland’s aim, of course, was not to
abolish literacy tests but to ban the poll tax, but in the minds of men like
Stennis, it was all one and the same. Measures like that which Holland was
pursuing, he continued,
May open the door to an all-out civil
rights battle. It is unfortunate that the net result of these efforts may bring
the important business of the Senate to a standstill, possibly for many weeks,
while this blast aimed at only five States is fully debated and discussed.
“Civil rights,” it
seemed, was the dread specter that Holland’s efforts looked set to arouse. The
Floridian, as aforementioned, had no particular interest in the issue of civil
rights, no connection to the contemporary civil rights movement, and no stated
desire to initiate a civil rights debate in the Senate. But as far as Stennis
was concerned – and he may, in fact, have been right – Holland’s intentions
mattered less than the most likely effect of his actions. As the 1950s gave way
to the 1960s, civil rights had indeed become an increasingly significant topic
of debate in state and federal political circles. To that end, a debate on the
merits of something as tied to the Jim Crow era as the practice of levying poll
taxes was more or less bound to instigate a larger discussion on the nature and
parameters of certain fundamental rights. Would this, as Stennis feared, “bring
the important business of the Senate to a standstill, possibly for many weeks
[?]” Likely, it would. But whereas Stennis thought this was a bad thing – that
the advancement of civil rights wasn’t worth the trouble it would cause –
Holland remained of the unswerving opinion that such a price was worth paying
if it meant finally eliminating the poll tax.
The Floridian’s stubbornness – and
his relative obliviousness – was made clear by his response. “This is no new
step [,]” he explained to Stennis.
This follows the same pattern which
was followed when the woman's suffrage amendment was submitted and adopted.
After many States had found that women should vote and that their participation
was wholesome, the Congress submitted a constitutional amendment, which
appealed to the consciences of people in the States generally, and it was
approved by the jury of the States in a very short period. I think we have a
somewhat similar situation now when only five States have continued the poll
tax requirement for voting.
Doubtless, Holland
believed that this was a comforting sort of comparison. “I’m not trying
to bog us down in a debate that may drag on for weeks,” he was effectively
saying. “I’m only adhering to the precedent that this body had previously set.”
In 1919, Congress had indeed voted to support an amendment to the Constitution
banning gender discrimination at the ballot box. Only a handful of states still
withheld the electoral franchise from women at the time, and it was ostensibly
deemed acceptable by the House and Senate that they and the American people
should be able to remedy this situation if a majority in all cases so chose.
This, Holland seemed to be saying, was simply how it worked. Notwithstanding
the intentions of the governments of a small subset of states, Congress could
ally itself with the government of the other states in order to
effectively force change on the holdouts.
Why Holland thought that drawing attention to this fact would in any way assuage his opponent’s concerns rather surpasses understanding. For one thing, it had become a critical talking point among Southern political leaders since the era of the Reconstruction that the continued expansion of federal oversight into policy areas traditionally allocated to the states was bound – intentionally or not – to lead to the complete disintegration of the latter as sovereign political entities. Holland’s invocation of a precedent that ostensibly favored this much-feared trend would accordingly seem calculated to achieve rather the opposite of calming his fellow Southerners’ sensitive nerves. Not only that, but Holland also showed himself to be shockingly ignorant of the increasing attention paid to the issue of civil rights within the mainstream American political sphere. The ratification of the 19th Amendment in 1920 had indeed represented an erosion of the states’ ability to independently regulate the franchise, but it also occurred in the midst of a period of relative federal inactivity. The Wilson Administration, over its eight years in office, certainly expanded federal power into new policy and regulatory areas, but much of this was in answer to first attempting to avoid war and then waging one. The 1920s accordingly witnessed – with the end of both the Wilson presidency and the conflict in question – a general recession of federal activity within the domestic policy sphere. Indeed, it was not until the 1930s and the election of Franklin Roosevelt that the United States Government once more became particularly active in pursuing a domestic policy agenda. Conservative Democrats who favored states’ rights managed to ride this era out by strategically allying themselves with Roosevelt in some moments and withholding their support in others, but the midpoint of the century marked a decided change in their fortunes.
The Southerners’ power, as a bloc, was wanning, Northern Democrats and Northern Republicans had increasingly embraced the cause of civil rights, and it was no longer entirely clear how – or even if – the advocates of states’ rights could succeed in holding back the cresting tide of federal intervention into certain key facets of domestic policy under the nominal authority of the states. Holland’s invocation of the process that gave birth to the 19th Amendment was therefore arguably twice as galling for how out-of-touch it must have seemed. Not only was he effectively advocating for the kind of federal meddling in state affairs that the conservative South had been laboring to fend off for the better part of the preceding century, but he was doing it at a time when he and his fellow Southerners were effectively staring down the barrel of their own irrelevance as a political force. Northern politicians, as a group, had increasingly come out in favor of the robust protection of civil rights, they were increasingly eager to begin dismantling the Jim Crow regime, and a major standoff was in the offing between the proponents of federal power and state sovereignty. And the fact that Senator Holland, in spite of being a fairly conservative Florida Democrat, either couldn’t see these things or simply didn’t care was surely a source of confusion and resentment on the part of his fellow Southerners.
But Holland’s mind was made up, it seemed. He’d been an opponent of the poll tax since 1937, and the lamentations of a few of his colleagues that the ongoing crusade for civil rights represented an existential threat to state sovereignty was not about to shake him from his self-appointed crusade. To that end, Majority Leader Mike Mansfield (1903-2001) – pursuant to agreements made between himself, his supporters, and Senator Holland – set the amendment process in motion later on that same day, March 14th. First, Mansfield introduced a previously scheduled piece of legislation, the purpose of which was the designation of the home of Alexander Hamilton as a national monument. Then, immediately, he declared that said legislation would be substituted by Holland with his anti-poll tax amendment. As this defied the expectations of the proposal’s opponents – they had been led to believe that the measure would be submitted in the form of an ordinary bill – they were accordingly caught flatfooted and reacted with what might fairly be described as restrained outrage. But while Georgia Senator Richard Russell (1897-1971) first gave voice to this sense of outrage by loudly complaining of the supposed impropriety of introducing a constitutional amendment as a substitution for a piece of ordinary legislation – such a maneuver, he said, was “completely out of order” – he soon enough came to the real source of his passionate concern.
“I have never been able to understand [,]” he declared,
How poll tax legislation can be
called civil rights legislation, or how it ever got into that area at all,
because we had poll taxes before we had the right of suffrage. It is the oldest
tax known to mankind. However, I realize that a little matter like the
Constitution is worthy of very short shrift when we become involved in one of
the so-called civil rights bills.
Like Stennis, it
seemed, Russell was of a mind to dismiss civil rights as something of a tempest
in a teapot. But whereas Stennis had restrained himself to expressing concern
for the time that a civil rights debate was bound to take up in the Senate, the
Georgian was more inclined to dismiss the notion on its basic merits. “The poll
tax amendment [,]” he said, his words fairly dripping with disdain,
Is one of the most notable fantasies
that has ever found its place in the history of the Republic. It is a political
fantasy which has been pursued vigorously by a number of political paladins on
white horses, and carrying shields and spears and swords, since long before I
ever came to this body […] If ever there has been a scarecrow that has been
completely exercised by having been dragged around this Chamber and presented
in different forms, by different means, in different ways, by different men,
and for different purposes, it is the so-called poll tax legislation.
The senator for
Georgia, it seemed, was in no mood to be coy or deferential. On the contrary,
he appeared to take the introduction of yet another anti-poll tax amendment as
an opportunity to vent his spleen on a number of subjects that troubled his
mind while at the same time putting on a bravura rhetorical performance.
To that end, he next segued his line of argument about the supposed meaninglessness of an anti-poll tax amendment into a discussion of what he seemed to feel was one of the great deficiencies of the era. “Yet here we are,” he began,
In this good year 1962, pushing,
hauling, and shoving around the Senate a proposal to abolish the poll tax; and
debating whether we shall amend that great document, the Constitution of the
United States, so as to get at five States which still levy a poll tax, and
make them conform. This is a day of conformity. What made this country great
was that it was not a country of conformity. It was the fact that the States
were compartmentalized and did not have to conform; that there was no great figure
of a king or a magistrate, having unlimited power, who could tell the States
what to do. Because the States did not conform or have to conform, the Nation
grew faster, built a better system of government, and developed the American
way of life, a way of life that has been the envy of mankind all over the
world. No other people have ever known anything like it. But now, having
developed this great country under this system, and having developed the
American way of life under it, we are met by the demands of the conformists […]
Instead of debating some issue that affects the States where they live and run
for office, they raise the issue of the poll tax and seek to make five States
conform.
Notwithstanding the
fact that he was attempting to defend a vital component of the racist Jim Crow
regime, this really was an impressive piece of oratory on the part of Senator Russell.
Not only had he effectively changed the topic of conversation from a discussion
of the merits of abolishing the poll tax to an exploration of what he perceived
to be an emerging flaw in the contemporary American character, but he did so in
such a way as to make supporting an anti-poll tax amendment appear antithetical
to the core values of “the American way of life.”
The issue, it seemed, was
fundamentally one of conformity. What Congress would be guilty of, he said, in
attempting to force but five states to cease levying poll taxes upon their
citizens was attempting to coerce them to conform to a fundamentally
meaningless standard. It wasn’t the poll tax itself that Holland and his
cosponsors cared about, Russell asserted accordingly, but rather their own need
– pursuant to the spirit of the era – to simply make every state behave in the
same collectively-defined way. The great majority of states no longer placed
any kind of financial qualification on voting, and so it seemed only logical to
these mindless conformists that every state should deferentially follow suit.
But this kind of conformity was un-American, Russell avowed. “What made this
country great [,]” he said, “was that it was not a country of conformity […] Because
the States did not conform or have to conform, the Nation grew faster, built a
better system of government, and developed the American way of life, a way of
life that has been the envy of mankind all over the world.” By thus seeking to
tie non-conformity – in essence, state sovereignty and states’ rights – to the
“American way of life,” the Georgian endeavored to shift the basic premise of
the debate at hand to one more favorable to his desired objective. If he argued
that abolishing the poll tax by way of a constitutional amendment was either
legally dubious or entirely unprecedented – which it was neither – he stood a
poor chance of succeeding. But if he could convince enough of his Senate
colleagues that support for an anti-poll tax amendment was fundamentally at
odds with the American character, he quite possibly could have succeeded in
choking off enough support to sink it.
Cunning though this rhetorical
approach undeniably was – specifically as it played upon the politician’s
constant need to publicly reaffirm their patriotism – Russell was evidently of
a mind to offer as many different arguments as possible. Yes, he avowed,
banning the poll tax represented an un-American act of conformity. And
doubtless, this approach would work as intended upon a certain kind of senator.
But if this sort of claim wasn’t convincing – if appeals to nationalism left
one unmoved – there was also a blanket dismissal on financial grounds to
consider. “There may have been a time
[,]” Russell continued,
When the poll tax discouraged someone
from voting. But what is its effect today? The levy is $1 a year on a person;
and if he does not pay his poll tax, he is not entitled to vote. At least, that
was true in my State under the old system. Mr. President, the tax on a package
of cigarettes in some States, when the Federal tax is included, is from 12 to
14 cents. The tax on a few gallons of gasoline is more than the amount of the
poll tax for a whole year.
The thrust of the
Georgian’s argument, in this case, was essentially, “do the math.” A person who
buys ten packs of cigarettes, in certain states, will already have paid more in
taxes than the dollar demanded by the poll tax. A person who buys a few gallons
of gasoline, in certain states, will find themselves in the same position. In
the course of a year, therefore, people pay far more in terms of state taxes,
day in and day out, than the comparatively meagre sum which the poll tax
requires of them. In what way, then, was the poll tax at all a burden? In what
reality did it prevent anyone from casting a ballot? Someone who can afford to
drive their car can afford to pay the poll tax. Someone who can afford to
smoke, as a habit, can afford to pay the poll tax. And did this not account for
the overwhelming majority of Americans?
Notwithstanding Russell’s
characteristically cunning use of rhetoric – the deployment of which might have
easily convinced any number of his fellow senators – the answer to this last
question begged by the line of argument cited above was, quite simply, no.
While it was true that, as of the early 1960s, nearly half of Americans smoked
cigarettes regularly, not every American who smoked could afford to pay the
retail rate in order to keep up their habit. Nor, for that matter, could every
American who ostensibly needed to be able to get themselves to work every day
afford either a car or the gasoline to run it. The poorest Americans – in the
1960s as today, disproportionately people of color – tended to live
hand-to-mouth, paycheck-to-paycheck, and did their best to save whatever money
they possibly could. Rather than drive to work – or to do groceries, or to
attend doctor’s appointments – they walked, or rode bicycles, or took buses, or
hitched rides. And rather than pay the going market rate for tobacco products,
they borrowed from others, or bought untaxed cigarettes from illicit sources,
or simply didn’t smoke at all. Russell’s intention, of course, was to identify
aspects of life ostensibly fundamental to the contemporary American experience
which were already taxed in excess of one dollar per year. But what he failed
to consider – or else simply declined to consider – was that millions of
American either could not partake of these experiences at all or else could not
do so in the same way as the contemporary mainstream of American culture. It
did not occur to Russell, evidently, that anyone could be that poor. Or if it
did, he was counting on the fact that it would not occur to anyone else.
Finally – and perhaps most gallingly
– Russell closed his initial remarks by addressing himself to Holland
specifically. “I am grieved that my good friend,” he said,
The Senator from Florida, whose
intentions are of the very purest and noblest, is spearheading the fight in
favor of the adoption of this amendment. However, I believe that any man who
has been a consistent supporter of constitutional government should be entitled
to one aberration in the course of a long career of public service; and I
regret that, from my point of view, this is the one period of aberration on the
part of my good friend, the Senator from Florida. Certainly I shall not hold it
against him, because I know he is proceeding in the very best of faith.
Holland, as
aforementioned, appeared to take a great deal of pride in having helped make
possible his home state’s abolition of its own poll tax in the late 1930s. The
fact that he spent fifteen years in pursuit of a constitutional amendment aimed
at accomplishing this same end nationwide in the face of his own status as a
Southern Democrat – the guiding principles of which cohort were essentially
states’ rights and Jim Crow – would seem to attest to this fact. For one of his
colleagues in the Senate – and a fellow Southern Democrat, no less – to refer
to his latest effort to this end as an “aberration” therefore doubtless came as
something of a blow. Here was Richard Russell, senator from Georgia, entirely
dismissing the one thing that Spessard Holland had spent his entire career in
Congress pursuing. “I shall not hold it against him,” said the Georgian,
“Because I know he is proceeding in the very best of faith.” It would be
difficult, given the circumstances, to imagine a more condescending remark. But
such was Russell’s entire rhetorical approach. His aim was to minimize, to
dismiss, to reduce to practical nothingness. The poll tax was not a problem, he
said; the effort to abolish it was. The poll tax was not a burden, he said; it
cost less than the taxes on gasoline and cigarettes. The poll tax was not a
worthy object of opposition; those who fixated on it were misguided. It was
nothing. It was not with bothering with.
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