There are some other similarities among these four states. Three of them are in New England, and all four can be considered part of the broader Northeast, defined as north of the South and not west of the Appalachians. All four are also all substantially mountainous. And none of them has a major city.
However, there are also notable political and economic differences among these four states. West Virginia is one of the nation’s poorest states, and now one of the reddest. Vermont and New Hampshire have very strong state economies. But whereas Vermont is one of the nation’s most liberal states, to the point of sending Bernie Sanders to Congress for thirty-four years and counting, New Hampshire is a purple state with a strong libertarian, anti-tax tradition. Meanwhile, Maine is also purple and its economic standing varies from rather wealthy to quite poor.
Comparing and contrasting these four states can remind us of the limits that both race and wealth offer in predicting U.S. political preferences.
There are certainly patterns and trends to be found, some stronger than others, such as the propensity of African Americans, particularly women, to vote Democratic. But ultimately, the U.S. political equation is complex with many factors in play.
For example, New Hampshire’s population is mostly older, rural, and white, which suggests it should be deeply red. But that population is also highly educated and one of the most irreligious (based on rates of church attendance) in the country. Vermont’s population is a bit younger than New Hampshire’s, but that one of the nation’s whitest and most rural states could arguably be its most liberal, defies much of what we expect from U.S. voters. And while West Virginia conforms to expectations as a red state with a mostly poorer, whiter, and lesser educated electorate, this has always been its predominant demography, yet not too long ago the state was reliably Democratic. So too was all of the South, though that was based on racist Jim Crow politics whereas West Virginia has always had very, very few black people. Rather, it was a hard fought labor union state. Senator Joe Manchin’s upcoming retirement will soon render the state entirely red, but its shift to the GOP is really a 21st century phenomenon. From 1932–1996, West Virginia supported the Democratic presidential nominee all but three times.
At this point in the essay I should introduce a strong, insightful, thought-provoking thesis that challenges readers and helps them make sense of the above data and contradictions. But I have none to offer. Not because I can’t develop one. I suppose I could. But because it seems, if not pointless, then a mistimed delving into a thicket of weeds. To write a typical political analysis strikes me as misguided in these very atypical times.
Last week, the French electorate narrowly beat back a fascistic political movement, which did better at the polls there than it ever has. A couple of years ago, Italy elected a youngish far-right winger who is as terrifying as any simply because she seems tremendously savvy and not at all crazy. Hungary’s Viktor Orban is nearing dictatorial status at home, his functional dismantling of democracy there nearly complete, and on July 1st Hungary assumed the presidency of the European Union’s Council. The rotating tenure lasts only six months and is mostly ceremonial, yet Orban wasted no time. He immediately met with Vladimir Putin, a move that outraged most EU officials, and one day before Russia bombed a Ukranian children’s hospital. He then flew to Beijing to meet with Xi Jinping, and publicly lauded China as supposedly “the only world power that has clearly been committed to peace.” All the while, Orban (ie. Hungary) is blocking EU military aid to Ukraine.
In ostensibly good news, Great Britain’s Labour Party recently claimed an outright majority in Parliament. However, they did so with about only a third of the popular vote, which forebodes a possible whiplash back to the far right the next time around. And of course here in the United States, Joe Biden’s already shaky poll numbers nosedived after his disastrous debate performance, and The Orange Grandaddy of Democratic Erosions, Donald Trump, is poised to retake the White House.
We Historians like to tell people that you don’t actually want to live in interesting times. And these times are getting much too interesting for my taste. The far right has been surging in every developed nation. No democracy seems entirely safe for the foreseeable future, though some look safer than others. Scandinavia’s governments, if the anti-immigration movement doesn’t pick up too much steam. Maybe Japan is far enough removed from all this on several levels, though it’s far right is forever making waves. New Zealand?
They tell me that Gen Z is a very anxious generation. I’m of the cynical, jaded, Gen X cohort, but I’m a bit more anxious of late. The decline of democratic institutions has me worried.
Truth be told, modern representative democracy isn’t even a very good form of government, one of the things that makes it so vulnerable to hysterical, right wing extremism (whereas Western democracy’s firm commitment to various forms of capitalism make it far less vulnerable to left wing extremism, ie., actual communism). I’ve always found the tired, old saying, Democracy is the worst form of government except for all the others to be so annoying because it’s so Eurocentric, so unimaginative, and at least half-true. It can always get worse isn’t much of a selling point until things start to get worse.
Of course as a straight, middle class, native-born, white guy, the symptoms of U.S. decline can seem starker for me and my ilk than for those who already have to put up with so much bullshit that I don’t. In some ways, I have more to lose that those who are already suffering more. But I also know that I likely have a higher bottom, more of a safety net than people who are not demographically preferred. So while I realize my complaints can sound like they’re coming from a place of privilege, I also recognize and am worried about the fact that it will likely get worse for people not like me than people like me.
What to do?
As a historian, I appreciate that my agency in the face of social forces is very limited. But ours is not. We, the people who give a shit and see through it, can act. We can try to get on the same page, or at least different pages in the same kinds of books, and work to push back the incoming fascistic tide.
Honestly, I’m not full of hope. But to the extent that I have any ability to motivate and unite people, this seems like what I should do. Remind and encourage us to not give up, especially when it looks bleak, and to do what little we all can.
And if that doesn’t work? To do a little more.
This essay originally appeared at 3QD.