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Abstract Is religion a form of political tribalism? Conventional wisdom suggests it is. Discussion of religion and American politics generally focuses on the “God Gap”—the tendency for religious Americans to vote Republican, while the non-religious vote Democratic. However, there is also reason to argue that religion cannot be reduced to political tribalism. The God Gap is found mostly among white voters; among people of color, religiosity is a far weaker predictor of the vote. Even among white voters, the size of the God Gap varies across different religious traditions. Furthermore, there is more nuance to the non-religious population than suggested by the standard account of the God Gap. When the analysis includes the full scope of the American religious landscape, religion is not as “tribal” as conventional wisdom suggests.

The 1983 Chicago mayoral election, which polarized Black and white voters, left the nascent Latino electorate in an uncertain position. A reevaluation of this election clarifies the impact of Black mayoral candidate Harold Washington, whose candidacy laid bare significant political divisions and anti-Black sentiment among Latinos as they grappled with their relationship to whiteness. Divisions aside, Washington's effort to court the Latino vote helped legitimate a monolithic, panethnic label in Chicago politics, as evidenced by organizational records, campaign advertising, electoral data, and bilingual media coverage. Reframing the 1983 election as a dual process of race making and panethnic labeling bridges scholarship on Black mayors, Latino politics, and urban history, and questions an enduring political memory of 1983 that has obscured both Latino anti-Blackness and the fragility of Latino unity.

The early history of drug sentences in California provides a quintessential example of structural racism in law. The demands of white voters to escalate penalties for drug crimes followed a pattern of collective myth making and value signaling that insisted opiates, cocaine, and cannabis were extremely dangerous, led to other crime, and prevalently were used and sold by immigrants and other despised groups. Public pressure for more severe punishment seemed to peak twice, in the 1920s and 1950s, in response to exaggerated threats such as “dope peddlers” targeting children and profitable “dope rings” controlled by subversive foreigners. Amplified by a self-seeking, robust news media and a multitude of fraternal, civic, and religious organizations, the frightful construction of illicit drugs seemed to demand a simple and uncompromising response: to punish drug users harder by increasing terms of incarceration. But white voters always understood that drug laws targeted immigrants and communities of color, and law enforcers used extreme penalties as leverage to pursue corrupt and racist prerogatives unrelated to reducing drug use. Drug penalties in California were developed over many decades with almost extreme levels of participation by antidrug activists and law enforcers. Appearing somehow scientific, the resulting arrays of penalties implied that the cruelest sentences were reserved for the truly blameworthy, when in fact they were reserved for the marginalized. Moreover, several legal conventions born of these penalty structures—mandatory minimums, the distinction between user and seller, punishment of addiction itself, and presumptions arising from drug quantities—still exacerbate the oppressive nature of drug statutes.

The introduction lays out the thesis of Enraged, Rattled, and Wronged. In order to understand the political and social backlash against efforts toward equality of the last few decades, culminating in the election of Donald Trump for US president, we must understand entitlement. The introduction begins with the inexplicable election of Donald Trump in 2016. White voters, both women and men, put Donald Trump in the Whitehouse. His campaign of entitled resentment resonated with these voters. This book is not about Donald Trump, however. Rather, it is about those who have been traditionally advantaged due to their social identity of maleness and whiteness and yet believe they are being shut out of the American dream. They are the victims of supposed progress. The introduction ends with an outline of each chapter.

Chapter 5 underscores a key theme of this study: that understanding how one group’s opportunities are constrained requires simultaneously accounting for how those opportunities are facilitated for others. This chapter encompasses the first comprehensive analysis of the prospects for representation of Latina/os and Asian American women and men in predominantly white districts across the United States. Chapter 5 also provides an account of how partisanship interacts with race-gendered processes to create particular limits on the electoral opportunities for Asian American women and Latinas. The final section of the chapter addresses the phenomenon of the “crossover” candidate. Such a candidate is often characterized by pundits and some scholars as a Latina or Asian American woman running in a racial plurality or predominantly white district, on the basis of her presumed appeal to white voters.

This essay highlights the limits of liberal reform policies designed to increase access to higher education for minoritized and marginalized groups. First, we discuss Trump’s higher education agenda, focusing on his antipathy toward these populations and his commitment to White supremacy. We then focus on affirmative action in college admissions as an exemplar of a liberal racial equity policy, sketching its history, which illustrates its anemic effect, and White countermobilization against change that existed long before Trump. Next, we detail Trump’s efforts to eliminate this policy, which is part of the same populist, ethno-nationalist, anti-immigrant, anti-Black ideological campaign that has galvanized White voters across time. Ultimately, we argue that unbridled power won’t yield to liberal reforms. As such, we shift our focus to how higher education might be reimagined as a site of transformation, offering a series of provocations for a new horizon of racial equity in universities and society.

Globalization and automation have contributed to deindustrialization and the loss of millions of manufacturing jobs, yielding important electoral implications across advanced democracies. Coupling insights from economic voting and social identity theory, we consider how different groups in society may construe manufacturing job losses in contrasting ways. We argue that deindustrialization threatens dominant group status, leading some white voters in affected localities to favor candidates they believe will address economic distress and defend racial hierarchy. Examining three US presidential elections, we find white voters were more likely to vote for Republican challengers where manufacturing layoffs were high, whereas Black voters in hard-hit localities were more likely to vote for Democrats. In survey data, white respondents, in contrast to people of color, associated local manufacturing job losses with obstacles to individual upward mobility and with broader American economic decline. Group-based identities help explain divergent political reactions to common economic shocks.

As a 2016 presidential candidate, Donald J. Trump invoked racially charged rhetoric to galvanize conservative white voters who felt left behind in the “new economy.” In this article, we ask whether Trump’s ability to attract electoral support in that way was linked to local histories of racist mob violence. We use county-level data on threatened and completed lynchings of Black people to predict support for Trump in the 2016 Republican presidential primary and general election across eleven southern states. We find that fewer voters cast their ballots for Trump in counties that had suppressed a comparatively larger share of potentially lethal episodes of racist mob violence. Supplementary analyses suggest that counties’ histories of violence are also related to their electoral support for Republican presidential candidates more broadly. We posit that this correlation points to the durable effects of racist violence on local cultures and the imprint of community histories on the social environment.