Those of us born with melancholic temperaments think we see life more clearly than others. We are sometimes called bipolar, accused sometimes of “zoning out.” We understand the transitory nature of life, that we took a long time getting here, and there will a long time after we are gone. Some of us are religious; some of us are not religious. My strongest existential thought is that of “going to the house.” I’ll know it for the first time when I get there.
Academic Thomas Schaller, co-author of “White Rural Rage: The Threat to American Democracy,” recently stoked this prejudice on MSNBC: Rural voters “are the most racist, xenophobic, anti-immigrant, anti-gay geo-demographic group in the country. … They are the most likely to excuse or justify violence as an acceptable alternative to peaceful public discourse.” The book was soon trending on X.
As two scholars of rural politics, who have spent the past three years poring over thousands of survey interviews with rural Americans, this caricature of the rural rabble-rouser is deeply puzzling. Instead of threats to democracy, or rebellious politics, or reflexive anger, we keep finding something different: pride in rural living, a sense of communal belonging, a shared fate that intertwines the economic well-being of rich and poor in rural communities. Yes, there are resentments, especially toward government officials and experts. But resentment is not a stereotype. It’s a motivation, a story.
Still, rageful stereotypes sell better than complex backstories. And they’re easier for our political and media ecosystems to make sense of. Reference some data point about QAnon conspiracies in the heartlands, and you’ll raise more money from nervous liberals in the city (who just so happen to live next to three times as many QAnon conspiracy believers). Lash out against the xenophobia in small towns, and you’ll mobilize your city voters to the polls. Rage draws clicks. It makes a splash. Yes, racism and hostility toward these groups exists in the countryside, as it does throughout the United States. And we are deeply troubled by the enduring role it plays in U.S. politics. But it is a national problem, not one to which White rural Americans uniquely contribute.
Such failures help to explain the deep-rooted skepticism in many rural areas toward government policy solutions. Just consider the aftermath of the North American Free Trade Agreement, implemented in 1994. NAFTA’s champions, including both Democrats and Republicans, promised that the deal would bring prosperity to small farmers, but between 1998 and 2018, 1 out of every 10 small U.S. farms disappeared. Not long after the trade barriers were removed, Canadian cattle ranchers flooded the U.S. market with beef and prices plummeted, forcing small farms out of business. Meanwhile, large-scale agribusinesses capitalized on the open borders. If government neglect drove your grandpa off his farm back then, why would you trust it now?
If one is interested in building political coalitions that include rural voters, and which may lead to more inclusive and equitable policymaking, it is these resentments that must be understood. The stereotype of the raging rural American misrepresents the complexities of the rural experience. It is why Hollywood fell for Sen. J.D. Vance’s (R-Ohio) story of Appalachian poverty, while failing to recognize that he was running a political campaign that spoke to the resilience, values and pride of rural residents. And it is why most progressives don’t have much empathy left for rural voters — despite feeling deeply for nearly every other marginalized group in American society.
In some circles, this lack of empathy stems from the fact that these so-called deplorables are blamed for having brought Donald Trump to power. As Paul Waldman, the second co-author of “White Rural Rage,” said: “If Donald Trump gets back to the Oval Office, it will be because — once again — rural Whites put him there.”
Such failures help to explain the deep-rooted skepticism in many rural areas toward government policy solutions. Just consider the aftermath of the North American Free Trade Agreement, implemented in 1994. NAFTA’s champions, including both Democrats and Republicans, promised that the deal would bring prosperity to small farmers, but between 1998 and 2018, 1 out of every 10 small U.S. farms disappeared. Not long after the trade barriers were removed, Canadian cattle ranchers flooded the U.S. market with beef and prices plummeted, forcing small farms out of business. Meanwhile, large-scale agribusinesses capitalized on the open borders. If government neglect drove your grandpa off his farm back then, why would you trust it now?
If one is interested in building political coalitions that include rural voters, and which may lead to more inclusive and equitable policymaking, it is these resentments that must be understood. The stereotype of the raging rural American misrepresents the complexities of the rural experience. It is why Hollywood fell for Sen. J.D. Vance’s (R-Ohio) story of Appalachian poverty, while failing to recognize that he was running a political campaign that spoke to the resilience, values and pride of rural residents. And it is why most progressives don’t have much empathy left for rural voters — despite feeling deeply for nearly every other marginalized group in American society.
In some circles, this lack of empathy stems from the fact that these so-called deplorables are blamed for having brought Donald Trump to power. As Paul Waldman, the second co-author of “White Rural Rage,” said: “If Donald Trump gets back to the Oval Office, it will be because — once again — rural Whites put him there.”
To genuinely heal societal rifts and to find common ground, we have to dispel the myths of blind rage and focus instead on a common desire for recognition. And yet, it appears that progressive commitments to multiculturalism and pluralism extend only to groups that vote the “right” way. It’s almost as if they haven’t learned their lesson: As long as rural America is treated with disdain, should we really be surprised when, once again, it reluctantly turns to Trump?