Trump won big with black men— now he must convince them to become better fathers
Just as many pollsters predicted, Donald Trump scored record numbers of African-American votes last week — particularly among black men.
Some 21% of them voted for Trump, up 2% from 2020, with nearly one-third of black men under 45 rallying behind the once and future president.
It’s a startling figure to many people, particularly considering that Trump’s rival, Kamala Harris, is African American and how her campaign placed an outsized emphasis on securing votes from black men.
Harris still managed to win the majority of the black vote, including 91% of women. But black men clearly cared less about Harris’ celebrity-filled rallies and patronizing pleas from the Obamas and more about the economy and inflation.
They also cared about Trump’s leadership capabilities; black voters this cycle were twice as likely to describe Trump as a strong leader than in 2020, according to a report from the Associated Press.
Having scored historic levels of black support (and confidence), Trump is positioned to tackle the most serious and unspoken crisis among African Americans: the lack of black fathers in their children’s homes and lives.
The need could not be greater or more urgent. And despite his own dubious family history, only a leader as impervious to scrutiny as Trump is has the chutzpah to devise a solution.
Back in the decades immediately following LBJ’s Great Society, some 25% of black children were being raised by single parents (almost always single mothers). Today, that figure has nearly tripled.
Yet there is perhaps no greater taboo among progressives than pointing out the dismal numbers of married black parents.
Barely 30% of African Americans are wed, the lowest rate of any ethnic group.
More worrisome, study after study reveals that almost half of all black women have children from multiple fathers, the highest number of any American demographic.
The follow-on effects of this blight are clear: Diminished family wealth, compromised family stability, lower education and professional outcomes, and higher incarceration rates. And these are just the formal statistics.
Far harder to quantify is the psychic toll of single-parenthood, particularly on fatherless black boys — of which I was a prime example.
The absence of role models for their own future fathering is the most obvious consequence of being raised without a dad.
But equally grave for young black men is the burden of having to father themselves while simultaneously husbanding their mothers.
Playing “the man” of the house is far less fun when there’s no actual man around to look after his partner and children.
This is an epidemic, erased from popular discourse by progressive culture-makers ready to pounce on anyone daring to question whether generations of familial rot is actually a bad thing. More often than not, it is.
Of course, for many of the loudest talking heads — writer Ta-Nehisi Coates or 1619 Project author Nikole Hannah-Jones — any mention of accountability or consequence around black fatherhood is immediately drowned out by lectures on “structural racism” or “white supremacy.”
But guess what? These folks come from married parents or homes with a mom and dad.
This isn’t to say that thinkers like Coates and Hannah-Jones should not be allowed to speak for the black masses. But as they define and dominate contemporary black narratives, Coates and Co. remain far removed from the most defining element of that experience: being raised in a family without a father.
Trust me, the experience — despite my amazing-enough mother — ain’t great.
The data around the importance of black men caring for black kids is well proven. In a lengthy study by Stanford University, Harvard University and the US Census Bureau about the impact of race on black boys, there was a startling correlation between black boys succeeding in life and the presence of black fathers. The men didn’t necessarily need to be their own fathers; they simply needed exposure to black fatherhood.
Equally important data from the University of Wisconsin-Madison has demonstrated that the presence of male partners during pregnancy can lower black infant mortality numbers and improve maternal health outcomes — another crisis among African Americans almost always attributed to racism.
Entrusted with their votes and approval, Donald Trump is uniquely — and frankly, unimaginably — well-positioned to encourage black men to look after their families.
Trump need not go at this alone: Initiatives such as the Black Fatherhood Podcast and the documentary “The Black Fatherhood Project” are already tackling this crisis head on. They present a robust framework to which Trump might align and expand.
The appointment of Ben Carson to a substantial Cabinet position would also be helpful; the former neurosurgeon and Secretary of Housing and Urban Development has spoken repeatedly about boosting black fatherhood as an “antidote” to poverty and criminality.
A focus on fatherhood would also serve as a strong counterpoint to the Democrats’ outsized emphasis on abortion during the election.
While both ending racism and ensuring reproductive choices are essential, race and fertility repeatedly collide among African Americans with undesirable results.
Blacks not only suffer from America’s highest levels of fatherlessness but also the highest number of abortions.
Some 41% of women who had abortions in 2021 were African American — nearly 50% more than white women, according to the CDC.
Black abortion levels are so high that, in some years in New York City, there were more terminated pregnancies for black women than live births.
These are startling numbers that almost always leave black women at fault.
But black men — in whom many have found Donald Trump an unanticipated ideal — share just as much of the blame.
Trump may never have uttered the words #BlackLivesMatter, but black votes certainly mattered last week.
Today, Trump can, and must, make black fatherhood matter.
