photo by Jamie Mink via Unsplash
Here’s the plot: a ragtag group of survivors suddenly discovers that people who have been a significant part of their lives have moved on leaving them in a desperate moral quandary as they try to piece together what has happened and work for a better future. No, it’s not Tim LeHaye’s rapture series, Left Behind. It’s The Left Behind: Decline and Rage in Rural America, the latest book from Robert Wuthnow, a Princeton social scientist and Kansas native.
Wuthnow, like a lot of us in the aftermath of the 2016 election, has been taking a hard look at what’s happened in rural America. I have lamented on this site about the easy and dangerous caricatures we fall into in trying to understand what’s happening in the Heartlands. On the one hand, there is a tendency for bluer places to see all of red America as a reactionary landscape of racism, misogyny, and economic resentment. On the other hand, rural America sometimes adopts a stereotyped vision of itself, hanging on to symbolic grievances (like the “War on Christmas”) and denying its own complexity.
Wuthnow tries to get under the surface of the Great Divide in this book by putting the focus on something larger than individual perspectives.
“My argument,” he says, “is that understanding rural America requires seeing the place in which its residents live as moral communities…a place to which and in which people feel an obligation to one another and to uphold the local ways of being that govern their expectations about ordinary life and support their feelings of being at home and doing the right things.” (4)
There’s a lot of familiar territory to be trod here. Drawing on lots of research over the last 20 years, Wuthnow documents a familiar litany of rural challenges: population decline, a rural brain drain, teen pregnancy, drugs, lack of jobs, and the age-old friction between ‘born heres’ and ‘come heres.’ But he puts these perceived threats within a larger, unsettling framework.
“Being part of a moral community, even when it sits lightly on people’s shoulders, means that sensing your community is declining and your young people are falling behind is a reflection in small measure on you…you are part of a failing community.” (78)
This almost imperceptible psychological burden can curdle into fear and anger—fear that a way of life is slipping away and anger that, as it does, it is “being discredited and attacked from the outside.” (79)
Even though Wuthnow talks to a lot of fearful and angry people in this book, his larger point is that the realities of rural life are not dependent on emotions. There are systemic things eating away at old certainties, as well. Small communities have depended on an ethos that believes that “when problems arise, we can fix them.” The flotilla of small boat rescues after Hurricane Harvey last fall represents an ideal of what rural America believes about its potential.
Systemic problems are harder to pull out of the floodwaters, though. Real change involves being part of regional, state, and federal organizations who bring resources, but also bureaucratic intricacies and arcane policies that don’t make sense. When economic development happens in small towns, it often means that a new company comes in that needs expertise and skills that also have to come from elsewhere.
“If rural people are susceptible to appeals that blame others—Washington, minorities, immigrants—for their problems, we must recognize clearly the psychological toll that seemingly insurmountable problems take on rural people themselves.” (91)
RELIGION AND CHURCHES IN RURAL AMERICA
Throughout the book, Wuthow notes the role that religion plays in rural life. He sees the struggles churches are having. Herb and Linda Tobias attend a Baptist church in the Midwest, but they “admit to being disgruntled because it’s been hard for their small community to attract good preachers and the one who came last year leaves them shaking their heads sometimes.” (92)
Denominational churches struggle as well, although they play an interesting role in forcing some conversations that might not happen otherwise. For instance, United Methodists and other mainline churches have asked their local congregations to discuss the issues of gay ordination for clergy and same-sex marriage. “That meant people who quietly supported one side or the other had to make their positions known.” (134) The result has been a few church splits while other congregations find ways to stay together despite disagreements.
“There’s a paradox in all this, though,” Wuthnow says. “On the one hand, the conversations about gay rights and marriage equality wouldn’t have happened in rural communities…if there hadn’t been prompting from outside…On the other hand, it was precisely these outside promptings that rural communities disliked, just as they did Washington telling them to purchase healthcare and quit reading the Ten Commandments in school.” (135-36)
The Left Behind leaves the reader, (or at least this reader), longing for more. Wuthnow makes the curious decision to turn his three principal research sites (small towns in the Midwest, New England, and the Deep South) into generic communities with names like Gulfdale and Fairfield. The individual stories, which could have added more vivid interest, remain in the background, but perhaps that is best for a broad sociological look.
The idea of small towns as moral communities is useful and helps keep the individual perspectives in context, but there is much more to be said about the ways the moral narratives that bind communities together are being manipulated by larger forces, like national media and institutions. Wuthnow downplays the work of Arlie Russell Hochschild in her Strangers in Their Own Land: Anger and Mourning on the American Right because he feels it focused too narrowly on the Lake Charles, Louisiana area, (which, at 200,000 people, he feels is too large to be rural). But Rochschild, as I noted in reviewing her book and in a subsequent interview, is mining a similar deep story that feels more visceral.
The land is crumbling in The Left Behind. It’s all burning down in Hochschild’s book.
This is a good addition to the literature on rural America in the Age of the Great Divide. It describes the landscape I know, which feels so distant from the shiny, globalized cities on the television screen. Wuthnow sees that, while no one has been raptured, a whole lot of the country feels left behind.
**Princeton University Press provided me a copy of this book for review.