E-Mail This Article to a Friend Race matters Will being black help or hurt Deval Patrick? Also, all quiet on the death-penalty front, and John Podesta’s values myopia. BY ADAM REILLY

WHEN DEVAL PATRICK was still making up his mind, the question lurked in the background, clearly relevant but hard to pose tactfully. Now that Patrick’s candidacy is official, it’s time to ask it openly:

Is Massachusetts ready to elect a black governor?

Patrick, obviously, has decided the answer is yes. And on April 14, a few hours after formally beginning his campaign, he offered a glimpse of how he’ll handle the race issue in the coming months. "I certainly think about it because of who and what I am," Patrick said of his African-American identity. "It’s a part of who and what I am. I’m proud of it, but that’s not all I am. People do try to put other people in a box, and I’m asking people not to do that.

"When I meet someone who’s Irish-American, they don’t expect me to think that’s all there is to them," he continued, "and I don’t expect the same sort of thing in reverse. I’m a father, I’m a husband, I’ve been a successful businessperson. I’m a good neighbor, I hope. I’ve been a laborer; I’ve been broke and had trouble making ends meet. I think I have a lot more in common with most people than I do that’s really different. And it’s what we have in common, and our common purpose, that I want to emphasize in this campaign."

Patrick’s strategy seems clear: tell the public that being African-American is just one aspect of his personal and political identity, albeit an important one. It’s a smart approach for any candidate (female, gay, Asian, Latino) who happens not to be a straight white male. But can the race issue really be neutralized that easily? It’s in Patrick’s best interest to try to relegate it to the periphery, of course; if he doesn’t — and if voters come to see him primarily as the Black Candidate — his strengths will be obscured and his campaign will suffer. And yet, for better or worse, race will be a defining aspect of his candidacy.

Consider the long-standing absence of African-Americans at the highest levels of state politics. Massachusetts used to be in the vanguard of black political empowerment: in 1966, Republican Ed Brooke trounced Endicott Peabody, his Democratic challenger, and became the first African-American elected to the US Senate. (He left the Senate in 1979, after losing a re-election bid to Democrat Paul Tsongas.) In hindsight, however, Brooke looks like an anomaly. No other black candidate in Massachusetts has run for the US Senate. Until now, no black candidate has run for governor. And while while City Councilor Charles Yancey ran for Congress in 1992, he didn't succeed.

In other words, Patrick won’t be running only against Attorney General Tom Reilly in the Democratic primary and Governor Mitt Romney (maybe) in the general election, provided he gets that far. He’ll also be trying, in his first run for elected office, to transform the state’s political culture.

Is this feasible? Maybe not — especially if, as some political observers suggest, many white voters will balk at voting for a black candidate. "In the past, some 25 percent of people [nationally] who were white would not vote for a person who was black," notes former state representative Mel King, the éminence grise of Boston’s black political community, who made a ground-breaking, if unsuccessful, mayoral run in 1983. "That was several years ago, and I suspect in some ways we’ve come a long way. But obviously, given this culture, it does have an impact. I know people don’t like hearing that kind of assessment, but the reality is that there are still a significant number of white people who are racist."

Perhaps. But even if King is right, will that necessarily work to Patrick’s detriment? Consider the upcoming Democratic primary, where Patrick (if current conditions hold) will go head-to-head with Tom Reilly. Primary voters usually embody their party’s more extreme tendencies; that is, they tend toward greater conservatism among Republicans and greater liberalism among Democrats — especially in the suburbs, which generally determine statewide elections. Whether Democratic primary voters in Massachusetts are racist depends on what your definition of "racist" is. But with their politics tilting to the left, they probably won’t be averse to voting for a candidate of color. In fact, they may actually find a minority candidate more appealing than a white one with similar beliefs and qualifications. Or, as one prominent Democratic insider puts it: "Voting for Patrick will bring about an almost orgasmic feeling on the part of some people on the left."

A similar dynamic could arise in the general election. Collectively, the four million independents and half-million Republicans in Massachusetts are probably more conservative than the state’s 1.5 million Democrats, and it’s a safe bet this conservatism extends to racially tinged issues like affirmative action and welfare policy. And yet, counter-intuitively, this could work to Patrick’s benefit. Suppose you’re an independent white voter who opposes affirmative action but abhors racism, and even suffers from a faint but persistent twinge of race-based guilt. Suppose, too, that Patrick is running against Mitt Romney — and that, although you voted for Romney last time around, you’re now among the 37 percent of Massachusetts voters who view him unfavorably. A vote for Patrick is a twofer: someone else gets a crack at the governor’s job, and you get to prove how tolerant and enlightened you really are. "Think back to Ed Brooke," says a second Democratic insider. "The theory, in the ’60s, was that a reason some people voted for him was because they could say, ‘I don’t have any racist tendencies — I voted for Ed Brooke!’" If a comparable dynamic is in play among the state’s coveted suburban-independent voters next year, racial attitudes could actually be instrumental in a Patrick victory.

If so, it would be difficult to prove. Exit polls probably won’t broach the delicate issue of race, and even if they do, respondents are unlikely to be completely candid. But the intensity of Patrick’s support in Boston — where he’ll have a ready-made base among voters of color — should be easier to quantify. For example: if every fifth black, Latino, and Asian-American in Boston gave Patrick $20 in the run-up to the Democratic primary, he’d have an extra $1 million to help close the fundraising gap that currently separates him from Tom Reilly. (At the end of March, Patrick had just over $60,000 in the bank, compared to Reilly’s $2.5 million; Patrick has since loaned his campaign $200,000.) Given the demography of Boston’s communities of color, in which many individuals are low-income and/or ineligible to vote, this won’t be an easy task. And it will be made more difficult by the fact that two of Greater Boston’s most prominent black political fundraisers, former US attorney Wayne Budd and former Suffolk County DA Ralph Martin, are firmly in the Reilly camp. (Budd and Reilly have been close friends since childhood.) Still, if Patrick can tap into the momentum generated by the electoral victories of City Councilor Felix Arroyo, Suffolk County sheriff Andrea Cabral, and 12th Suffolk Democratic primary winner Linda Dorcena Forry, he could exceed financial expectations in Boston. Furthermore, keep an eye on Patrick’s donations from out of state. As an African-American candidate, he’s sure to have a high national profile, and free media attention may well lead to financial backing from donors looking to diversify the nation’s gubernatorial ranks.

At the ballot box, meanwhile, Patrick could generate and benefit from increased Boston turnout in the Democratic primary, particularly if organizations like Boston Vote and Dunk the Vote use his candidacy to mobilize minority voters. (In 2002, nearly twice as many Bostonians voted for Democrat Shannon O’Brien as for Romney; in minority-heavy parts of Roxbury and Dorchester, however, turnout dipped below 50 percent.)

But even if such mobilization occurs — and even if the elected black political establishment, which coalesced behind Cabral last year, unites behind Patrick — his lack of a strong connection to Boston may prove problematic. Remember, Patrick grew up in Chicago, not Boston. And while he came to Massachusetts as a teenager, his time here has been spent in traditionally white-elite environments: Milton Academy, Harvard College, Harvard Law School, and the ultra-establishment law firm Hill & Barlow. "I don’t think he has extraordinary appeal to the black community," says the first Democratic observer. "Let’s say, hypothetically, that [Haitian-American state representative] Marie St. Fleur might run someday. I see her having extraordinary appeal in the black community, because she’s of the black community and in the black community. Deval really lives in a very white world."

Of course, it may well turn out that Patrick’s vision of a color-blind contest — which he wins simply because he’s the best man for the job — isn’t as far-fetched as it seems. "Once people hear about his accomplishments, both personally and professionally, I believe they’ll look past race to quality," predicts political consultant and Patrick supporter Joyce Ferriabough. "I don’t think race will drive this. I think the city and the state have moved to a large degree past racial dynamics when they’re looking at individuals." If she’s even partially correct, Patrick could make history.