Love bridges kin’s political divide
Family who backed Trump hasn’t turned against UC professor
Eighteen months ago, when I decided to accept a job as professor of computational media at UC Santa Cruz, I did what I usually do at important crossroads in my life — I called my dad. Never a disappointment, he offered congratulations, told me he was proud of me, and remarked, “Don’t let those California liberals change who you are.” We both chuckled. He and I knew that that would never happen.
Like my dad and his dad before him, I was born and raised in southwest Virginia. Church and family were my guiding principles in childhood, and they shaped significant aspects of who I am. But early on, many of my interests diverged from the norms and expectations of my upbringing. I loved horror novels, MTV, Nintendo games and Dungeons & Dragons — all anathema to church folk and especially troubling to the teachers at my private Christian school.
Thankfully, I was a “gifted” student, and in moments of ecclesiastical scrutiny, my parents were always there to defend my extracurricular hobbies. They assured the higher-ups that, despite my quirky interests, I would one day go to college and become president. Or a doctor, if I had to settle.
The doctor gig panned out, though researching obscure computer architectures and Japanese board games is not the type of operations my family likely envisioned for my future. Nonetheless, they remain proud of my academic accomplishments, if not a little perplexed at what it is I actually do for a living, especially because that living has now lured me to the West Coast.
Thanksgiving is a fraught time for many Americans. Closing geographic distances can exacerbate our ideological differences. Family members suppress their politics, their interests and their identities to maintain civility. Many don’t bother going home because the emotional burden is too heavy.
For most folks like my family — working-class Baptists from southwest Virginia — California symbolizes a culture spoiled by Hollywood hedonism, Silicon Valley excess and far-left politics. Worse still, as a professor, I circulate among a class of ivory-tower liberals whose sole desire is to brainwash young people with atheism, socialism and postmodern philosophy.
Californians (and academics alike) laugh and roll their eyes when they hear such cartoon stereotypes. Sure, there are numerous cultural differences — Californians apparently love garages and disdain plastic bags — but I’ve found West Coasters to be as earnest and kind as people from the South. Yet in my year and a half in Santa Cruz, I’ve heard reductive characterizations of my home state and its residents. At a beach bonfire last winter, I overheard a California local try to define a “redneck” to an inquisitive European visitor. “Ignorant, uneducated racists,” he said. “Country people.”
Both I and my dad found this amusing.
He’s long been a self-professed “educated redneck,” so he already strays a bit from the profile. He’s a lifetime weightlifter, politically informed and one of the best piano players I’ve ever met. He taught me to respect women, to love music and to believe in myself. He’s my hero, and I love him deeply. We also debate politics loudly and passionately when I visit home. We disagree on nearly every issue, from health care reform to that indefensible Confederate flag, but we respect each other’s intelligence enough to circle back to common ground. Our arguments never end with ire or malice.
We’re family. We debate in the spirit of openness and understanding.
President Trump’s election has cast new light on the schisms that divide states, nations, ideologies and families. Among my kin, I’m one of the few who didn’t vote for Trump. Without lecturing or condemnation, I’ve tried to make sense of why. I don’t always understand or agree. But I continue to love them.
Conversely, my family must square their own misconceptions of liberal elitism with the reality of their flesh and blood. They ask in earnest about how I like my new job, my new students and my new life. They watch with curiosity as my wife volunteers as a political activist with Santa Cruz Indivisible, championing causes that grate against their beliefs. They don’t always understand or agree. But they continue to love us.
As I’ve grown older, surrounded by the din of family reminiscences that surround my visits back home to Roanoke, Va., I’m increasingly aware of the vast distances that now separate me from them. Travel, education, movies, music, politics — in nearly all facets of life, we are worlds apart. Our sole remaining bond is blood.
My dad and I knew that the California liberals would never change me because it was too late. I already was who I was, an irreducible mess of collective culture, family bond and individual character that defines all of us — that, at its core, America represents. A nation that could produce me, the West Coast son of an educated redneck.