Rural Democracy

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Last year we drove across the country from Michigan to Washington and back, a trip we have made frequently over the years. I love the high plains of Montana, Wyoming, and the Dakotas. But I admit a feeling now of driving through hostile territory.

A couple of years ago we made the same trip with my pickup, which has a small Hillary 2016 sticker. A pickup pulled up alongside us on the freeway across Montana and the driver flipped us the bird repeatedly before accelerating again to pass. We had been just rolling along in the right lane and hadn't made any sudden lane changes that might have pissed anyone off, so I expect the gestures were due to the sticker. It was disconcerting, but not enough for me to remove the sticker. (I understand Trump stickers provoke similar reactions in parts of the country.)

The plains and mountain states include Democrats, but they are all but invisible. One reason is that minorities tend to be quiet and avoid drawing attention to themselves. But the party, it seems, could do more to make itself felt and understood and accepted. 

I recently read the book Dirt Road Revival, by Chloe Maxmin and Canyon Woodward. It points out that the Democratic Party has largely abandoned rural America, concentrating its attention on the more heavily populated urban and suburban areas. The authors think this is a mistake. I agree.

Rural America has a disproportional influence on American politics. The state of Wyoming has the same number of senators as California, whose a population is 67 times greater. The Electoral College, weighted toward rural areas, has repeatedly gone against Democrat presidential candidates who have won the popular vote. So simply for pragmatic reasons Democrats should do more to court rural voters.

But there are other reasons. One is symbolism. The roots of this country are essentially rural. Many Europeans migrated to America for an opportunity to have land to farm. While only a small fraction of the population are now farmers, many of us have a heritage of farming. There is a lingering nostalgia for farming and farmers. A place in the country is still a dream of many who live closer to work sites in populated areas.

Another is need. Poverty rates are higher in rural than urban areas. Democrats, generally speaking, do more for those in need than Republicans, so they should demonstrate concern for all areas of the country where poverty is high. I think help often sounds like handouts, which is something that independent rural folks tend to dislike, so we need to think of new ways to offer help and to communicate those offers. It sometimes surprises me that Republicans provide handouts to the wealthiest and still appeal to rural voters, but I suspect it has something to do with the messaging.

A Democratic Party office should be located in every rural county, maybe just off main street with a tall flagpole and the biggest American flag in the county. Democratic candidates should be encouraged to run, not necessarily with the aim of winning their local and state elections, but as a members of a coalition that listens to rural voters while advocating for practical progressive policies during their campaigns. Quite a few folks might be more willing to serve as two-way liaisons than as elected politicians. And if they happen to be elected, they will have the distinct advantage of understanding what the local issues and concerns actually are.

It was largely rural citizens who decided we wouldn't serve and obey a king without representation. A lot of rural America still feels like they are not well represented. Is that one reason many are now willing to revolt against democracy itself in favor of a would-be king?

By the People

On November 3, I walked to my polling place, voted, and walked out. My vote had as much influence as anyone's, but it didn't cost me much. In that sense it was less valuable than that of people I consider heroes.

We are inspired by stories of our frontier ancestors who made the long slow trip to town in bad weather to cast their votes. We can be equally inspired by urban voters who wait in line for hours to cast their vote. And it's not just in urban centers. A friend of mine in a small Pennsylvania town told me he waited in a cold wind for 7 hours to vote—along with his mother in a wheelchair. These people were convinced that their votes mattered and made considerable sacrifices to act on that conviction.

No one I ever voted for won or lost by a single vote. So whether or not I voted is irrelevant, right? Why bother to wait in line, especially if it means losing wages? It feels like our votes don't matter anyhow.

It takes millions of raindrops to start a flood. No one can say at what point, at which number of drops, the flood begins. But each drop is part of the flood. Every one is insignificant, I suppose, but together they are loaded with significance. Your vote is part of the stream, as is each of your neighbor's, and each of theirs. Significance is most often achieved as part of a group. We humans have our individual heroes, to be sure, but mostly we achieve together.

Elections are more than a toggle switch for one candidate or the other. If Trump had lost by just a few votes, I suspect his efforts before and after the election to overturn the vote would have been far more effective. As it was, a flood of 7,000,000 votes separated him from the winner. In each of the battleground states, his loss or win was decisive. This matters. Your vote and mine counted. Every vote added to the decision. The lies about the election would have been a little more effective for each missing vote.

It's true not all votes are equal. If you are from a state or district that goes heavily for one side, then it's hard to think your vote matters as much as those cast in battleground regions. But, long term, every vote matters in those other states as well. Votes from the past election influence candidates for the next. If their margin narrows, in the next election they may double down on nasty rhetoric to fire up the base, or perhaps they tone it down to attract independent and moderate voters. But they must deal with the reality of your vote.

I am inspired by people who were determined to vote in spite of the long lines and other obstacles. Organizers who told those voters what to expect and how to make sure their votes were counted give me hope. And I'm really pissed at people who claim the votes of those who paid most dearly shouldn't count. Some people of privilege complain that if voting is as easy for everybody as it is for them, then their party won't win a national election. Why do they fear democracy?

The turn-out for the 2020 election was terrific. A lot of people contributed to our collective voices, this time more diametrically opposed than in many past elections. But those elected—and all of us—need to deal with what they said. Which is why outright lies about those voices and about the outcome of the election is inexcusable.

We all hate to lose. That's no excuse for cheating or denying our loss. When a Republican member of the Michigan State Canvassing Board took a stand for truth, law, and democracy, the state GOP effectively fired him. They said loud and clear that he was being punished for not lying, for not denying us our vote. I don't know how much lower a political organization can go.

This year a lot of people paid a high price to have their voices heard. Others paid to ensure that those voices could be heard. They represent America. Thank you!

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The rain begins with a single drop.
-Manal al-Sharif

Nobody made a greater mistake than he who did nothing because he could do only a little.
-Edmund Burke

Bully

In my nostalgic mind, northwest Iowa was a great place to grow up. But it wasn't without its troublemakers.

My parents and our Reformed, Dutch church denomination took Christian education pretty seriously, so the school bus ride was 35 miles each way to and from the nearest Christian high school. The bus driver was another student, and the behavior of students on that long ride was sometimes less than perfect.

I was a freshman, and an older student (let's call him Steve) liked to torment some of the rest of us. One day he heated up the lid of his cigarette lighter and then briefly pressed it to the bare arm of one of the older girls on the bus. She was pretty and popular, and I think he wanted her attention. He got it.

Not satisfied with the results, he decided to pick on me. Trying to be a man, I let him brand me for as long as I could stand it. Finally, I pulled away, someone (maybe my older sister) yelled at him, and he laughed and sat down, satisfied that he had asserted himself.

Later that day the girl he had burned went to the office for a bandage for her blister, which had broken. The office staff asked what had happened and if anyone else had been burned. I was called out of a classroom to the office. Yellow, watery pus was dripping down to my elbow and I had been sopping it up with tissue. Fifty years later, the scar is almost invisible.

Steve got suspended for three days. I was worried he would blame me for getting him in trouble, but when he came back to school he bragged about getting to stay home drinking pop.

One of Steve's favorite victims was a short, shy, wiry kid his age, with big teeth and an acne affliction. Gerald silently bore insults and having his glasses knocked off from behind. But one day after it went on too long, Gerald stood up, whipped around, and slapped Steve hard on the face all in a single move too fast for Steve to duck or defend himself. Then Gerald sat down.

This was an offense against Steve's pride, and vengeance was his only option. But as he moved toward Gerald, most of the rest of the students on the bus took in what  happened and burst into applause. Steve moved away and sat down.

It would be nice to say that after that incident Steve behaved himself. But he didn't. It was after Gerald and cheering students had put him in his place that he took to burning arms.

It is hard to say why Steve got away with being cruel so long and so often. Did we tell ourselves we shouldn't interfere with someone else's business? Did we remember a time in middle school when we had picked on someone and so had no right to judge another? Why did we sit silent and not interfere?

But on one day, at least, the people spoke. They overwhelmingly voted against a bully.