Move to a rural community reveals the ‘other’ Illinois
It would take a tornado to topple the Trump 2020 signs in Downstate Illinois. Ten months after the election, the “us vs. them” thinking in west central Illinois symbolizes a microcosm of our country’s division.
Who is “them”? “They” are Democrats, Black Lives Matter marchers, critical race theorists, gun control reformers, COVID-19 vaccination evangelists, abortion rights activists, urban elitists, the “woke” and the media — except Fox News.
They are the groups former President Donald Trump derided. His grievances emboldened once-silent Midwesterners, who with burnished new confidence, became the “us.”
That mentality manifests itself in many ways. For example, the April elections in Downstate Illinois brought landslide victories for Republican candidates, similar to the margins Trump won in the region. There were no Biden-Harris-Durbin coattails here.
My husband and I live in Kinderhook, Illinois, a village of about 200 in Pike County, where a bank, a little cafe and a one-chair hair salon are the only retail businesses. Think “Schitt’s Creek,” but much smaller.
We retired here two years ago, after living in Washington, to a house that belonged to my grandmother. Although I had never lived in rural America, I had tender memories of visiting my grandparents, the grocery store they ran and the church they attended.
I had romanticized this place and the people who live here. I visualized moving to playwright Thornton Wilder’s “Our Town,” a picture completed by the cemetery up the hill where my ancestors lay. Here, like in Grover’s Corner, more people are buried than live in the town.
In the past 40 years since my grandparents died, residents have been left behind. Farmers have lost their swagger; churches, their members. Businesses have departed; residents have fled for new opportunities. High-speed internet was slow to arrive, leaving the area culturally deprived and suspicious of national media.
The average income is approximately $57,000, and in the broader township area only 15% attended college. Meanwhile, the local high school is rated near the worst in the state.
Forsaken vehicles and bald tires occupy many yards. Weeds grow as large as trees. Dogs are penned outdoors, barking incessantly. There is no recycling or pizza delivery.
Just as there are two Americas, there are two Illinoises. And Downstate might as well be another country — one that would prefer to secede from Chicago. In this Illinois, a general apathy keeps expectations low. Change is resisted, particularly if outsiders propose it.
As newcomers, we made arrogant mistakes when we moved here.
At the time, pre-2020 election, Trump yard signs dotted the village along with a couple of Confederate flags. In response, we hoisted a 10-foot-long Biden banner on our deck that could be seen from the two-lane highway through our town. For good measure, we planted smaller ones in the yard, back and front.
We flew a purple feminist flag in front of our house. When the pandemic began, we initiated a Kinderhook Village Facebook page to inform citizens of coronavirus news from sources such as the Chicago Tribune and The Washington Post. We requested village board members wear masks at monthly meetings.
There was retribution. Our signs were stolen. A board member and a village employee threatened us on social media. When my husband ran for mayor on a platform of long-range planning and virtual town meetings, he received an anonymous letter suggesting he leave town. And that’s putting it nicely.
Of course he lost, getting only 19 votes.
Worse, despite posting hundreds of news articles to the village Facebook page in 18 months, a mere 23% of our village has been fully vaccinated through August.
My family might go back four generations here, but we are outsiders. We are the “them.”
As the Trump 2020 signs fade in the sun, an ambitious few have raised their Trump 2024s, continued evidence of a grudging deep divide. The “middle” in Middle America has disappeared.
In this “Our Town,” the simple joys of small-town living have been replaced with bitterness and hopelessness. If this were Wilder’s play, the ending would not be the stage manager wishing us a good night. It would be the curtain crashing down in front of us.