How the Heartland Went Red: Why Local Forces Matter in an Age of Nationalized Politics, by Stephanie Ternullo (Princeton University Press, 288 pp., $95)
Not long ago, it was realistic, even wise, to note that “all politics is local.” But now the phrase, most notably proclaimed by former Speaker of the House Tip O’Neill, seems archaic. Today, all politics feels national. With the decline of local reporting and the rise of cable television and the Internet, Americans within a political tribe seem to follow, and be outraged or inspired by, the same stories. Our partisan affiliations now seem to play a more central role in our identities than do the circumstances of our local communities.
The changing politics of rural and small-town America allegedly reflect this shift. Though such communities face many challenges, they are becoming increasingly homogenous in their politics. The dramatic exodus of working-class whites outside of urban areas into the Republican camp put several Democratic states back in play in 2016, allowing Donald Trump to win the Electoral College and thus the presidency. A similar dynamic might yield the same result this November.
A recent book by political scientist Stephanie Ternullo, however, argues that this new conventional wisdom—that all rural and small-town politics is national—may be wrong. How the Heartland Went Red: Why Local Forces Matter in an Age of Nationalized Politics makes a powerful argument that economic, cultural, and political developments at the local level still matter a great deal. It just happens to be the case, she argues, that trends in small communities have typically favored the GOP.
The communities Ternullo focuses on were once a pillar of the old New Deal coalition: relatively small but also industrialized, overwhelmingly white, and with muscular labor unions. Over recent decades, most communities that had these characteristics have shifted rightward, sometimes in dramatic fashion. The geographic scope of this shift, now transcending state and regional boundaries, seemed to confirm the theory that this was the result of the nationalization of American politics.
Ternullo conducted careful qualitative research in three Midwest communities that have experienced similar economic and demographic changes over the past 60 years but nonetheless followed different political trajectories: Lutherton, Indiana; Motorville, Wisconsin; and Gravesend, Minnesota. All three were once staunchly Democratic, overwhelmingly white (and still are today), and went through significant deindustrialization and a shift toward service-sector employment.
Lutherton was the first to move toward the Republican Party, beginning in the 1960s. Its history fits the classic narrative of late twentieth-century political realignment, with residents initially shifting during the Civil Rights era and then becoming staunchly Republican as the Christian Right became a powerful national force. In Lutherton, religion is the foundation of community life. Churches are well organized, offering substantial social services to less privileged residents, reinforcing the community’s identity as self-sufficient, needing little additional assistance from the state or national government. The traditional Republican message of limited government resonates with Lutherton residents.
In contrast, Motorville has held fast to its traditional identity as a community of working-class Democrats. This, Ternullo argues, can be credited to the strength of its labor unions. Even as organized labor has faded in power and relevance across most of the country, unions in Motorville remain the center of civic life. Locals still view politics through the lens of class—as a struggle for resources between the “haves and have-nots,” with most residents siding with the less fortunate and working collectively to achieve policy victories under the Democratic Party’s banner.
In Gravesend, organized labor has declined, and religion is not a crucial element of local politics. Gravesend is not necessarily more secular than Lutherton, but its churches are less engaged with the broader community and less vital to the city’s political life. There is a difference between a community with a lot of Christians and one that understands itself as overtly Christian, with a communitarian ethos.
Gravesend has long lacked the institutions, on the left or the right, that build social capital and seek to solve problems collectively. As its economy has faltered, its residents have become frustrated and resentful, feeling left behind and uncertain about how to turn things around. Until recently, Gravesend was split evenly in its partisan politics, but Donald Trump’s MAGA message resonated there, and since 2016 it has shifted into the Republican camp.
According to Ternullo, every city has characteristics that lead it to embrace certain cultural frameworks, which in turn carry important partisan implications: “(1) diagnostic frames that they use to define their social problems and identify political solutions; and (2) narratives of community identity that describe what kind of community they are and where they fit into party politics.” The rise of MAGA politics in the American heartland can be ascribed to a growing number of communities like Gravesend.
Ternullo’s book is a welcome addition to the political science literature, which has recently given less attention to the politics of place, instead emphasizing other kinds of personal identities (racial, religious, sexual, and so forth). She does not argue that place is the most important determinant of political identity, only that it still matters, and political scientists must take it seriously. Though the author is a progressive, her book is impressively dispassionate and evenhanded, the only exception being her tendency to shoehorn discussions of race into passages where they do not seem especially relevant.
For political practitioners, the book offers several lessons. Most readers will agree that, of the two communities in her study now firmly Republican, Lutherton is by far the healthier and more resilient one. Conservatives genuinely concerned about the wellbeing of postindustrial communities should carefully study places like Lutherton. Unfortunately, creating the kinds of cultural conditions that persist in such communities is not easy. Building up the religious life of a community and forming effective religious charitable organizations are not jobs for government—nor should they be.
From the perspective of partisan Republican politics, it matters little how communities turn red. A community yielding new Republican votes is a positive development for the party, no matter how it happens. It’s much easier to create a new Gravesend than a new Lutherton—whipping up anger about immigrants, foreign trade, or out-of-touch urbanites are more straightforward tasks than building robust, self-sufficient communities. I worry that right-wing grievance politics will provide few tangible benefits to those attracted to it.
Motorville’s story demonstrates why organized labor’s dissipating relevance has been catastrophic for the Democratic Party. If unions had not experienced such a dramatic decline in their cultural, political, and economic clout, the “Blue Wall” in the rust belt would likely have held, and Hillary Clinton would be finishing her second term in office.
Social conservatives can be genuinely ambivalent about labor’s decline. As sociologist Robert Nisbett noted, unions were among the intermediary institutions standing between the individual and the state. As such, they were an important part of American civic life and a bulwark against social atomization. Empirical evidence also suggests that union membership is positively associated with family formation.
Whatever one thinks about organized labor in America, the partisan implications of smaller, weaker unions are unambiguous. Democrats are the main political beneficiaries of our nation’s ongoing demographic changes; falling union membership rates are one of the few developments benefitting the GOP. A revitalized labor movement would almost certainly make the party’s long-term viability even more tenuous.
It is therefore surprising that several leading Republicans have recently expressed support for organized labor, including Senator Josh Hawley and, notably, vice presidential nominee J. D. Vance. Thus far, their support has been more rhetorical than substantive, but it is not inconceivable that a faction of pro-union Republicans could become influential in the party. Depending on their motivations and understanding of the situation, Republicans who would throw a lifeline to floundering unions are either courageously standing up for principle or making one of the more foolish political bets in recent memory.
Ternullo’s book deserves careful study from readers across the partisan divide. It provides useful insights into the politics of rural and small town America. It also raises important questions about what makes a healthy community, which still matters to most Americans, one hopes—even in an era dominated by nationalized partisan rancor.
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