How Cruel Rural Communities Ostracize the People They Don't Like
You can't reach common ground with a cold shoulder
The playground can be a hostile environment when you're young and alone. Our school was an imposing brick building. It looked as if it had spaces for larger windows, but those had been reduced. I imagine some long-forgotten city planner said, “We can't let the kids look outside all day, lord no! They have to focus on their studies.”
So we got portholes instead of windows and the rooms became dark and uninviting.
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Recess is the fulcrum upon which youthful life pivots. We had a play area out front, surrounded by a chain link fence. But instead of grass, we had asphalt to play on. I remember when they put it in. I remember missing the grass.
The asphalt was dark and hard with a greasy feel. It stained our shoes and we left marks in the hallway when we went back to class.
“Check this out, I can leave marks,” said the boys who were perpetually in trouble. Later, we'd all get lectured about the long streaks in the hallway. The guilty boys seemed to think it funny that we all got blamed.
In the early years, that playground was ominous. I got bused in from the country, so I didn't know anybody. All the other kids had already formed into their groups. They met at the park or at each other's driveways. They'd spent endless hours playing baseball and basketball and football together.
“Who's that kid?” they said when I got off the bus.
Nobody knew me. I was alone.
I did what public broadcasting said you're supposed to do in those situations. I went up and introduced myself. I talked to people. On the first day, everyone was nice. The kids hadn't yet been told how to respond, so they responded honestly.
We got together, we played, it seemed like everything would be okay.
But everything changed the next day.
I came resolved to build on the relationships I'd already started, only to find that I was worse off on day two than I had been on day one. The curiosity was gone. The kids made their best effort not to meet my eye. They went away to play and held up their hand when I tried to join.
What was different?
Excommunication is something that happens in small towns, and nobody ever discusses it. In small towns, decisions are made by groups of men who sneak off to talk by themselves.
You'll see them standing off in the distance. They huddle together and speak in low voices. Every now and then, they look around and nod. When the meeting is adjourned, they go their separate ways, but they're united.
There's no force in the universe that will break the resolve of farmers once a plan of action has been decided.
When kids in a rural community discover something new, they are trained to run back home and pass it by their elders.
“I met this kid at school today.”
“Oh yeah? He's not somebody you've played baseball with?”
“No, he lives out of town on a farm. He seems okay.”
“What's his name? What church does he go to? Why don't we know him?”
“I didn't ask, but I can find out tomorrow.”
“I think it's better that you stay away from that kid. There are some bad people in our community, and if we haven't seen him or his family at church, then he's probably one of them.”
“Oh.”
Then you get the cold shoulder the next day, all because of the urging of the patriarch. They issue orders without understanding what it costs them. They don't question themselves because accountability doesn't have a place within their worldview.
As a young boy, I learned not to get too attached to anyone after the first day. You're always looking for allies on the playground battlefield. The same kid who might offer you a smile and a kind word on Monday might greet you with a sneer and a fist on Tuesday. He's talked to somebody about you, and that person told them you were bad.
Now that I'm older, I find myself occupied with the question of how we can reach the people in our community who disagree with us. There are many theories.
It's always possible to sit down with somebody and find areas of agreement. We all want our kids to be healthy, happy and prosperous. We all want to be treated with basic respect and dignity.
Having the first conversation isn't difficult.
The challenge comes in having the second.
There are people who take resentment into their hearts even though every fiber of their being compels them to embrace the ideology of compassion. They might meet you and open up like a flower on a spring morning.
“My friend! My friend! Where have you been all my life? All these things you're saying seem so right!”
You'll walk away hopeful. But the next day, he won't even look at you. The door has been shut. It won't open again. What happened?
The answer is that he went to consult with that whispering group of decision makers that lives in every small town. They don't want to see anything change, and they pull out new ideas like weeds.
“Stay away from that guy. He's dangerous. He's not one of us.”
So, you're excommunicated. You are persona non-grata. You're “other,” barely human, and you might be tolerated but you'll never be accepted.
Many people like to maintain an idyllic fantasy of the dynamic of American rural areas. They think of big family gatherings, and neighbors who will help you no matter what. All of that might be true, if you're accepted within the approved circle of trust.
But American rural areas are also defined by the infamous sundown towns where people from non-privileged groups learn the hard way that the rule of law disappears with the setting sun.
If you're accepted, you get one reality.
If you're rejected, it's quite another.
Today, I meet a lot of people who insist American rural areas aren't as cruel as I remember. They insult me and lecture me and tell me my perception is false.
Then there are many others who insist I have it exactly right.
Perhaps it's time we recognized that the experience of small towns is not universal. It can be idyllic if you happen to fall into the preferred standard. As long as you look a certain way, and you don't ask too many questions, and you behave the way you're supposed to, your neighbors will give you a ride to town if you need help.
But knowing that shouldn't make us overlook the reality of those places. We should all remember that if you're not of the accepted group and you have trouble on the road, your same “kind” neighbors won't hesitate to run you down.
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I grew up in a small town. I’ve noticed after many years those kids I grew up with who went away to college, the military, or moved to big cities are rather liberal and accepting of others. The kids who never traveled more than a couple hundred miles from their home town turned out to be bigots and racists.
I wanted to comment on “What Church do you go to?”. That question is asked in the suburbs, cities and even businesses by employee cliques in my experience.
I’d be asked about church affiliation at schools, jobs and young people gatherings. As a full of “Vim & Vinegar” 20 something, agnostic, I’d ask first if they were Christian. Usually yes. Then I’d ask if they knew where the New T indicated the Temple of God is located. Usually blank stare. I’d tell them it says the Temple of God is not here or there. It is in You. Then try to move on. I wouldn’t shun them but wouldn’t worry about their response. Fortunately, in more populated areas, there are more and varied individuals to find association.