The recent revelations about the South OrangeCounty Community College District's desire to offer a course that, inpart, blames the Mossad and the Anti-Defamation League for theassassination of President John F. Kennedy read something like a badclipping from the area's far-right past.
Even as the county continues to emerge as anincreasingly cosmopolitan, high-tech region, it appears that theregressive gene, with its racist and anti-Semitic characteristics,remains all too embedded in the county's public policy. Despite thecancellation of the course (due to various outside pressures), theelected head of the board of trustees, Steven T. Frogue, continues tospew out the right-wing conspiratorial line, which, in other parts ofSouthern California, has thankfully receded into history.
Indeed, despite rapid demographic and economicchange, the county still is bedeviled with a significant, highlyvisible group of people whose views seem more in line with the MiddleAges than the Information Age. Of course, such views do not representanything like a majority in Orange County, notes UC Irvine's MarcBaldassare, the region's leading pollster. By his estimation, no morethan 20 percent of Orange County residents share the kind of"hard-right" politics that produces leaders such as Frogue. Evenwithin the Republican Party, Baldassare believes, the vast majoritytend more toward a libertarian, fiscally conservative but sociallymoderate philosophy.
"The whole right-wing social agenda, 'familyvalues' thing does not play well here," Baldassare says, noting thatin the 1996 elections, Republican presidential candidate Bob Dole wononly 50 percent of the Orange County vote and moderate DemocratLoretta Sanchez upset far-right (but not anti-Semitic) incumbentCongressman Bob Dornan. "I don't think there's a vast undercurrent ofracism or anti-Semitism here at all. That conflicts with theprevailing sense of personal rights and responsibility."
Rabbi Arnie Rachlis of University Synagogue inIrvine essentially shares these views, suggesting that the region'sJewish community, estimated to be between 70,000 and 100,000 strong,has little to fear from anti-Semitism from its non-Jewishneighbors.
Life in Orange County may be plagued by a kind of"Stepford Wives" suburbanite conformity, but not by rabidanti-Semitism. "People like Frogue are exceptional," Rachlis says."When you go out to soccer practice, it's white, Gentile andconservative, but not a bunch of Birchers and skinheads."
Perhaps so, but having Frogue entrenched as anelected official still should give pause to Jews in Orange County andthroughout Southern California. For one thing, Frogue's anti-Semiticpolitics are not a new development on the other side of the OrangeCurtain.
Since the 1920s, racist, anti-Semitic and nativistsentiments have surfaced repeatedly in Orange County politics.Indeed, back in the 1920s and 1930s, the Ku Klux Klan gainedpolitical power in cities such as Anaheim, Fullerton, Brea and LaHabra; the rabidly anti-Semitic group was hardly on the fringe. Asone scholar noted later, most Klansmen were considered "civicallyactive, substantial citizens."
Nor did the extremist element die with the demiseof the Klan in the 1930s. Although Jews, African-Americans andAsian-Americans were only a tiny proportion of the county'spopulation -- itself nearly 75 percent white Protestant -- the racistculture continued to exist in Orange County's fertile soil. Into the1960s, extreme right-wing politicians, such as James B. Utt,represented the southern end of the county, even proposing aconstitutional amendment that called for official recognition of "theauthority and law of Jesus Christ, Savior and Ruler of Nations." TheJohn Birch Society also found its strongest California base in OrangeCounty.
As the county grew in population and economicpower, far-right anti-Semitic and racist elements still found succorwithin prominent institutions, such as Knott's Berry Farm. In thiscase, recalls marketing consultant Bob Kelley, it may have been morea matter of indifference and ignorance than outright activeanti-Semitism. Walter Knott, Kelley says, was himself not ananti-Semite and even had Jewish secretaries, but he tolerated afundamentalist-run bookstore that openly sold anti-Jewish tracts.Eventually, Kelley and other advisers persuaded Knott to shut downthe bookstore.
But Kelley, my own longtime personal friend and aprominent adviser to many Orange County high-tech companies, believesthat the region is now at a crossroads between its far-right,intolerant past and a more cosmopolitan future. The bulk of OrangeCounty's increasingly high-tech and trade-oriented businessleadership remains politically conservative but far from racist orexclusive. Indeed, Kelley points out, some of the county's leadingbusiness figures -- such as Quicksilver Software's Bill Fisher,Westec's Michael Kaye and Toshiba Information Systems' Paul Wexler --are themselves Jews.
"In the high-tech and medical world that I dealwith, it's pretty Jewish these days," Kelley says. "In that world, Inever encounter anti-Semitism. But, sometimes, when I was dealingwith car dealers and with insurance brokers, well, some of themclearly came from wherever rednecks are minted."
In other words, Kelley and other business leaderssuggest, Orange County's new, and buoyant, economy, increasinglydominated by Asians and Latinos, has no room for bigots -- even ifonly in its own self-interest. To compete for educated workers,capital and media attention against Silicon Valley or other high-techregions, Orange County must purge itself as much as possible of itsugly regressive genes. It may be blind optimism to believe this willhappen, but I'm betting that it will.
Joel Kotkin is the John M. Olin Fellow at thePepperdine Institute for Public Policy.
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