For the Democrats, revisiting Chicago for their convention can be analogised to the Rolling Stones deciding to have another free rock concert at Altamont. The 1968 tumultuous Chicago convention and the 1969 Altamont festival, both marked the end of an era of 1960s counterculture in the US, shaking the foundation of a certain kind of American hopefulness. The looming question is whether returning to the deathbed of such optimism could possibly rekindle it.
Besides, the Chicago meet of 1968 holds importance for another flagging phenomenon in American history: the Irish-American political dynasty. Initially intended as a crowning ceremony for this political engine, the convention ultimately led to its downfall, an incident which continues to reverberate in the American political landscape today.
In 1968, a trip to Chicago would invariably make you familiar with the iconic face and name of Mayor Daley. From your arrival at O’Hare airport to walks along the city streets, Chicago was under the dominion of Daley, a fact loudly pronounced by welcome signs strewn around the city.
In the realm of Irish Catholic politics in the US, the Kennedys were seen as the shining figures, endowed with charm, articulate speech, a touch of tragedy, and a progressive outlook. In stark contrast, Richard J Daley, with his stout figure, a double chin, inarticulate speech, and an unforgiving demeanour was the beacon of hope for the Irish immigrant’s livelihood. Daley’s position as the head of Democratic Party’s urban machinery made it possible for distraught Irish immigrants to find a place in the American working class. This seismic shift in the position of the Irish in America was symbolised by Daley, his influence no less significant than the likes of Patrick Pearse or Éamon de Valera.
Regarded as the ultimate Christian Brothers boy, Daley surpassed even Gay Byrne in this respect. Daley completed his schooling at De La Salle Institute, a Christian Brothers institution, where 90 per cent of the students were of Irish heritage. His father, Michael, worked in the sheet-metal industry and hailed from Co Waterford, while his mother, Lillian Dunne, was the daughter of Limerick natives. He was raised in Bridgeport, a district in the south of Chicago, known as an “ethnic state” for its predominant Irish ethnicity according to Mike Royko’s iconic American political document, Boss: Richard J. Daley of Chicago (1971).
Daley was mentored by Chicago-based politician Joe McDonough, and his campaign song stands as an apt representation of Irish machine politics: “When you needed a favour, McDonough was always up to the task. Now, what you’ll do for McDonough, after he’s done so much for you?” Numerous generations of Irish TDs also depended on this appeal. However, in the expansive American cities, the system of patronage was just as extensive. Daley held sway over approximately 25,000 direct jobs and a multitude more indirectly. When Daley married Eleanor Guilfoyle, Royko wittily quoted that her parents didn’t lose a daughter but gained an employment agency instead. The Guilfoyles, akin to a majority of Irish immigrants, found occupations in the police department, the public education system and the municipal workforce.
While this patronage system worked wonders for the Irish and other white immigrant groups that they learnt to share opportunities with, its detrimental effects insidiously plagued the city’s Black communities. Daley and his political machinery efficiently integrated and excluded – pushing African Americans in Chicago into slums with subpar housing, inadequate schools and restricted access to civic jobs and resources.
Daley harboured fear and disdain for Martin Luther King. His response to allegations of discrimination mirrored the chorus of Trump-supporting white Americans: if the Irish could lift themselves out of poverty, why can’t the Blacks do the same? A nun attempted to highlight the stark contrast between an Irish immigrant landing a police job upon arriving in Chicago and a Black man being incarcerated on the day he reaches the city, but Daley was deaf to her arguments.
The 1968 convention was originally intended as the crowning pinnacle of Daley’s career, the epitome of the Irish political regime. According to Royko, Daley had risen to the unparalleled position of being the most dominant politician in the history of Illinois, next only to the President of the country.
However, instead of being a victorious march, it became a scene of terror. On the convention floor, literal brawls broke out as the disagreements over civil rights and the Vietnam War came to a head. Outside, Daley unleashed his predominantly Irish police force onto a modest assembly of placid anti-war protestors. This resulted in bystanders and reporters who were trying to document the scene getting caught in the violence. An official examination later labelled it a “police riot”.
Despite the chaos, Daley seemed to relish this brutality, attributing it to his Irish roots. In 1969 he proclaimed that he would willingly repeat his actions, with even more fervour, affirming his Irish heritage.
But it seemed the Daley’s link to their Gaelic roots was waning. The police riot of Chicago symbolised the closing chapter of the Irish stronghold at the core of the Democratic Party. However, the Daley reign did see a revival in the form of his son, who fulfilled the role of mayor for an even longer period than his father had.
The events of 1968, however, made it apparent that the urban machines could no longer serve as the glue binding the Democrats together. It is noteworthy that the last representative of the old-style Irish Catholic politics, Joe Biden, is now leaving. Over the last half-century, the Democrats have been intermittently trying to ascertain their new direction.
What will replace the backbone of the old machine? The hope is for a truly inclusive political system where women and people of colour don’t need to rely on the whims of white men and where systemic justice replaces patronage.