Whether Whig or Democrat, southern officeholders were likely to be slave owners. The power that slaveholders exerted over slaves did not translate directly into political authority over whites, however. In the nineteenth century, political power could only be won at the ballot box, and almost everywhere nonslaveholders were in the majority. Yet year after year, proud and noisily egalitarian common men elected wealthy slaveholders.

By 1860, the percentage of slave owners in state legislatures ranged from 41 percent in Missouri to nearly 86 percent in North Carolina (Table 13.1). Legislators not only tended to own slaves; they also often owned large numbers. The percentage of planters (individuals with twenty or more slaves) in southern legislatures in 1860 ranged from 5.3 percent in Missouri to 55.4 percent in South Carolina. Even in North Carolina, where only 3 percent of the state’s white families belonged to the planter class, more than 36 percent of state legislators were planters. Clearly, plain folk did not throw the planters out of office.

Upper-class dominance of southern politics reflected the elite’s success in persuading the yeoman majority that what was good for slaveholders was also good for plain folk. In reality, the South had, on the whole, done well by common white men. Most had farms of their own. They participated as equals in a democratic political system. They enjoyed an elevated social status, above all blacks and in theory equal to all other whites. They commanded patriarchal authority over their households. And as long as slavery existed, they could dream of joining the planter class. Slaveless white men found much to celebrate in the slave South.

Most slaveholders took pains to win the plain folk’s trust and to nurture their respect. One nonslaveholder told his wealthy neighbor that he had a bright political future because he never thought himself “too good to sit down & talk to a poor man.” Mary Boykin Chesnut complained about the fawning attention her husband, a U.S. senator from South Carolina, showed to poor men, including one who had “mud sticking up through his toes.” But smart candidates found ways to convince wary plain folk of their democratic convictions and egalitarian sentiments, whether they were genuine or not. Walter L. Steele, who ran for a seat in the North Carolina legislature in 1846, detested campaigning for votes, but he learned, he said, to speak with a “candied tongue.”

Georgia politics illustrate how well planters protected their interests in state legislatures. In 1850, about half of the state’s revenues came from taxes on slaves, the principal form of planter wealth. However, the tax rate on slaves was trifling, only about one-fifth the rate on land. Moreover, planters benefited from public spending far more than other groups did. Financing railroads—which carried cotton to market—was the largest state expenditure. The legislature also established low tax rates on land, the principal form of yeoman wealth, which meant that the typical yeoman’s annual tax bill was small. Still, relative to their wealth, large slaveholders paid less than did other whites. Relative to their numbers, they got more. Slaveholding legislators protected planters’ interests and gave the impression of protecting the small farmers’ interests as well.

In addition to politics, slaveholders defended slavery in other ways. In the 1830s, Southerners decided that slavery was too important to debate. “So interwoven is [slavery] with our interest, our manners, our climate and our very being,” one man declared in 1833, “that no change can ever possibly be effected without a civil commotion from which the heart of a patriot must turn with horror.” Powerful whites dismissed slavery’s critics from college faculties, drove them from pulpits, and hounded them from political life. Sometimes antislavery Southerners fell victim to vigilantes and mob violence. One could defend slavery; one could even delicately suggest mild reforms. But no Southerner could any longer safely call slavery evil or advocate its destruction.

In the South, therefore, the rise of the common man occurred alongside the continuing, even growing, power of the planter class. Rather than pitting slaveholders against nonslaveholders, elections remained an effective means of binding the region’s whites together. Elections affirmed the sovereignty of white men, whether planter or plain folk, and the subordination of African Americans. Those twin themes played well among white women as well. Though unable to vote, white women supported equality for whites and slavery for blacks. In the antebellum South, the politics of slavery helped knit together all of white society.