In this case I’ll make an exception

By SKIP MENDLER

The ancient Romans had a saying: “De mortuis nil nisi bonum” (“Say nothing but good of the dead.”) Generally, I try to follow that advice…

But in the case of Senator Jesse Helms, I think I’ll make an exception.

I grew up in Raleigh, NC, in the late ‘60s and early ‘70s, listening to Jesse’s voice on WRAL-TV, where he delivered the “editorial comment” in a segment called “Viewpoint.” (He had been a newspaper reporter, and I seem to recall that he got into the broadcast business by marrying the owner’s daughter.) I still remember a particular commentary he delivered regarding the North Carolina Governor’s School, for which I was a candidate that year (so it must have been 1972 or 1973). He complained about racial quotas that sought to ensure that a small but significant number of slots would go to minority students—but he tried, as was his wont, to inflame the fears of whites like me, that my slot might go to someone “undeserving.”

That divisive appeal to fear was one of many techniques with which he would find great success, and that he would parlay into an extraordinary political career. But in that process, he may have done more damage, directly or indirectly, to American democracy than all but a few men in living memory. Think of the many dysfunctional aspects of our political system, from the chicanery of campaign finance and fundraising to the cynical misinformation and manipulation of the fears of the electorate, and then consider how many of them can be traced, directly or indirectly, to Helms and his associates, and their ways of doing business. For the uninitiated, let me suggest that some research starting with the names “Nick Galifianakis,” “Harvey Gantt” and the “National Congressional Club” will be most enlightening.

Like the Emperor in the Star Wars movies, Helms fed on hate; whether it was directed at him or generated by him, it made no difference. He thrived on confrontation and outrage, division and demonization. Make no mistake: between his unquestioning support of tobacco companies and his ardent embrace of right-wing tinhorn dictators and murderous military juntas in Latin America and elsewhere, he bore the blood of thousands, perhaps millions, on his hands. And he bore that blood proudly, I daresay, unrepentant and without regret. (Look up “Archbishop Oscar Romero,” and “Jean Donovan.”) He was paranoid and obsessive “anti-Communist,” a prudish, intolerant, and homophobic self-styled culture warrior, and a cynical manipulator both of the legislative process and of the xenophobic and racist fears of his constituencies.

But the thing I hated the most about him was this: he wanted me to hate as well. He wanted me either to hate him, or to hate the things he hated. In the first case, he succeeded—but hopefully I can transform some of the bile that comes into my mind every time I think of him into something more useful and positive. But I can’t do that without acknowledging it, and putting it out on the table.

It is to the eternal shame of the people of North Carolina—indeed, the United States—that he was never properly rebuked, and his views rejected as unseemly for a civilized people. As I would be forgiven of my own sins, I pray that God may grant him forgiveness. But let us never forget the true nature of his pervasive and yet-ongoing legacy.

- Skip Mendler