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George Allen is 'not a racist'

TWO NOVEMBERS ago, the day of the University's football game against Virginia Tech, found me in Blacksburg, seated near a man wearing a bolo tie and cowboy boots discreetly emptying mouthfuls of tobacco spit into a cheap, stained mug.

The man, who spoke authoritatively of matters ranging from good barbeque, defensive strategy and budgetary spending, seemed eager to convey his "normalcy" with his fawning attendants. He seemed like a "normal" guy, a guy with whom every warm-blooded Virginian might like to share a beer. But, as has been said by polls and pundits alike, he will probably return to the Senate for his second term. And until a recent unguarded moment of dull-witted bigotry, GOP strategists heralded him as one of the most likely candidates for the presidency in 2008.

Do not misunderstand my intentions. George Allen is not a racist. But, for at least his college years here at the University and during his early political career, he wore a racist's uniform. As I hope to show, Sen. Allen's -- shall we say, comfortable familiarity? -- with racist politics stems from his Confederate-emblazoned youth, his associations with white supremacists and his dubious voting record. But keep in mind, as I said before, George Allen is not a racist.

Most Americans, certainly most Virginians, know now of the infamous "macaca" incident, when, through tobacco stained teeth, Allen used a racial slur to identify University student S.R. Sidarth as the only non-white member of the audience -- to the sounds of cheers and applause, Allen welcomed (Fairfax County native) Sidarth "to America and the real world of Virginia." How thoughtful, really.

George Allen is not a racist. So, one can imagine the voters' surprise upon learning that he proudly displays the Confederate flag at his house in Fairfax, Virginia. "It was part of a flag collection," he said. (See, he's not a racist.) A few flags celebrating Dixie heritage, of course, does not a racist make. Allen's "memorabilia" fetish, however, began before he was elected senator, even before he became a Virginian. (Allen moved from a palatial home in California to Virginia for college, as his father had been hired as coach of the Washington Redskins).

The Confederate flag hanging in his living room is only the most recent indulgence of his faux-Southern fetish. According to his classmates, in high school Allen affixed a Confederate flag to the front of his Dixie-red Mustang. In fact, in his high school senior portrait, he fastened a little Confederate flag pin to his lapel -- the same location where he now proudly displays the American flag pin worn by most members of Congress.

As it happens, I'm not really prepared to call someone a racist due simply to his or her obsession with the Confederate flag. It's bizarre, to be sure, for someone from Southern California to cultivate a fetish for all things Confederate. But Allen's weird affection for rebellious heritage is troubling for other reasons, too.

In a feature piece for The Nation, Max Blumenthal wrote of then-Gov. Allen's association with the Council of Conservative Citizens (another group with a predilection for Confederate flags). Although those who don't subscribe to white supremacist literature may not be familiar with the group or its political goals, thankfully for us, their "Statement of Principles" summarizes them nicely: "We also oppose all efforts to mix the races of mankind

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