This really smart treatise on rural America isn’t setting out to fix its problems. He pointedly shies away from calling attention to a “rural crisis” or suggesting that there might be policy solutions. Conn is more interested in explaining the realities of rural spaces from the standpoint of most of its history and denude many of the myths about small-town values and cultures that still persist. In a sentence, the book is this: Rural spaces—whether agricultural, extractive, or the more recently tourist oriented—have always been at the center of and central to the nation’s political economy, driven by the same relationships to capital and the same drives to profit as anywhere else.
As I stare at that thesis after the fact, I’m impressed by how benign it can come across. But it does fly in the face of a lot of mythology that says that small towns and “empty” frontier spaces (“rustic”, “quaint”, “timeless”) are either peripheral or forgotten places in the political and economic history of the country. On the contrary, Conn writes – those rural areas are artificial and modernist and they have had a front seat in witnessing national developments for the entirety of the country’s history. To demonstrate this reality, he pulls together stories about towns and people on four broad dimensions – militarization, industrialization, corporatization, and suburbanization – and argues that rural areas have been “touched” every bit as completely as urban ones, and continually in ways that are game-changing. But when Conn writes, “One could conclude that not only was rural America never the heart or the backbone or whatever other piece of the national anatomy, it has not been the mainstream of our national life for nearly two centuries,” I think what he really means is that these rural spaces were never self-sustaining. They were always at the mercy of larger forces. We see this especially in statements like this:
The challenge we have facing rural poverty squarely is exacerbated first by our racialized conception of poverty, by our lazy conception that poverty is urban, and by our enduring notion that rural people are rugged, self-sufficient individualists not dependent on government money.
And there are a lot of zingers. Consider:
To call 1,500 acres of corn, genetically modified to withstand harsh chemical pesticides and intended for a high-fructose corn syrup factory, a “farm” is a bit like calling a highly automated GM factory a “workshop.”
Much of the Appalachian coal country has been turned into a postindustrial moonscape of slag heaps, eroded hillsides, toxic retention ponds, and abandoned towns.
This seamless connection between Christian sanctimony and the exploitation of female labor is another thing Dollar General shares with Walmart.
As Native people were cleared militarily from the space, it wasn’t settlers who followed so much as real estate investors. The urge to flip property for a tidy profit seems to be woven into the national DNA.
Suburban development is built on a basic irony. If those suburbanites who left the city were drawn by the promise of more space, less traffic, fewer people, lower crime rates, and all the rest, then many seemed resentful as their suburb filled with more and more development. Indeed, there is almost something of planned obsolescence in the promise of suburbia.
Conn saves his greatest frustration towards those who would claim that rural America, the “real America”, was ever reflective of self-reliance, independence, and simpler living. Instead, it was always at the mercy of these massive forces. And I really enjoyed reading about some of the more specific histories the author chose to call upon – the corporatization of agriculture; the ruralization of the military; the widespread impact of the Army Corps of Engineers; the growth of Dollar General; the drive to use industry to revitalize struggling rural areas. Rural industrialization occurring simultaneously with urban deindustrialization.
Good medicine, high entertainment value. But best administered with a stiff drink.