A recent visit to the small rural community where I grew up brought an unforgettable lesson about what happens when someone places too much emphasis on political beliefs. It was a harsh experience I never want repeated.
My younger brother died in 2012. He had a life-long friend since their first grade in school. I knew that person, even though he is younger than me. We attended church together. I did not know his wife.
After I found his rural address, it seemed like a good idea to stop by and catch up on things since I last saw him nearly sixty years ago.
He and his wife gladly welcomed me, and we sat around the dining table. We shared some delightful memories as I told him what was happening with my brother’s widow and her children.
Suddenly, with no warning, his wife asked, “Who are you voting for?”
The challenging tone of voice and facial expression let me know this was not going to be good. Through acquaintances, I had learned that her husband had been self-employed. He preaches for a small, hyper-fundamental church, so I knew in advance to avoid discussing politics or religion.
I tried desperately to sidestep any conflict. I hedged, saying I was trying to get as much information as possible. Perhaps because I did not quickly state my voting preference, she concluded I was a Democrat.
She looked at me sternly, leaned forward, eyes squinting, and said, “You can’t be a Christian if you are a Democrat.”
My stumbling reply was, “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that.”
Oops! That angered her even more, and she began a long litany of things, almost word for word as Trump has said them: “Kamala is a Marxist and wants to turn America into a Communist nation. Those illegal immigrants are killing cats and dogs and eating them. Our country is in a mess and if she is elected, it will be destroyed. Democrats are killing babies after they are born.”
More accusations came in rapidfire order, too many for me to remember them all. I excused myself as politely as I knew how and left.
I did not sleep that night. Was I hurt? Yes. Did the visit disappoint me? Certainly. Could I have done anything differently? After days of reflection, my conclusion is that I could not have said or done anything to make the visit go along peacefully.
I told my wife when I came home, “I know how a donkey feels if caught in a hailstorm with no shelter. He can only stand there and take it. I felt the same, too.”
This article addresses the problem of politics becoming a person’s religion. The excessive worship of a person or political party can lead down the dangerous pathway of false religion.
Multiple sources of information indicate that too many people believe we are in a life-and-death spiritual battle and that if the other side wins, the result will be a cataclysmic destruction of our way of life. This is repeated over and over in pulpits of far-right preachers who allege, falsely, that it is a heavenly battle between the people of God (Republicans) and the forces of the evil enemy (Democrats).
People can get deeply invested in opposing anyone who believes differently than they do about politics. Religious leaders and politicians alike use the “straw man” technique to get their followers motivated. They fabricate an imaginary, terrifying scarecrow, and then proceed to beat the stuffing out of it. Their audiences get excited and shout, “Amen!”
Trump is a master of this method of mind control. He convinces his followers that we are in danger. The lady of this article who regurgitated the things he said about fearing Kamala Harris and all Democrats is a prime example.
What are the underlying causes of my upsetting experience with that rural family? My research indicates that rural White Americans are most susceptible to believing the messages of Trump.
That doesn’t mean that every rural White American ascribes to the Trump “line,” but rural Whites do represent a large portion of this group. I know, because I grew up like that and believed many of those same things. Thankfully, I no longer accept them.
A recently published book, WHITE RURAL RAGE, by Tom Schaller and Paul Waldman (New York: Random House, 2024. pps. 18-20), gives four major things that influence rural Americans’ world view.
First, rural Whites tend to be hostile toward racial and religious minorities, recent immigrants, and urban residents generally.
Second, rural Whites are less likely to accept basic facts or scientific knowledge. This fact prevents rational informed discourses on a variety of subjects. Rural Whites exhibit the highest support for election denialism, anti-Covid-19 and vaccine resistance, Obama birtherism conspiracies, and unhinged QAnon claims. They are most likely to believe QAnon allegations that our government is run by nefarious “deep state” agents, some of whom kidnap and molest children.
Third, rural White Americans express the lowest levels of support for long-standing and essential democratic principles. They are more willing to believe White nationalist and White Christian nationalist movements.
Finally, Schaller and Waldman found that no other group of Americans boasts a higher degree of support for, or justification of, violence as an appropriate means of public expression and decisionmaking. From their defense of domestic terrorists who attacked the Capitol on January 6, 2021, to their calls for Trump to be restored to the White House by undemocratic means, rural Whites are more likely to applaud the use of political violence.
Am I a Christian based on who I vote for, or is it determined by whether I emulate the qualities of Jesus?
The findings about White rural Americans explained why my recent visit was so stunning. I am glad to understand, but my heart still aches.