In praise of big-town America

I grew up in a small town too, Sarah. Mine was a bit bigger than yours, around 17,000 residents, but then again we didn't even have a mayor. Being an old New England town, we had Selectmen. But you know what? Despite my humble beginnings, I'm not an elitist snob.

You are. Why is that?

You devalue the experiences of urban dwellers, coastal denizens, and the cosmopolitan citizens of this great land, as though we're not "real Americans."

The 18 million people who live in the greater New York metro area are somehow less authentic than the Iowa farmer or Montana miner.

The 18 million people who live in the greater Los Angeles metro area are somehow less American than the Alaska oilman or Colorado rancher.

The families large and small, young couples starting out, and unwed mothers in Boston and Miami, Chicago and Dallas, and the Twin Cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul don't matter. Only the soccer mom from Berryville, Arkansas or the hockey mom from Wasilla, Alaska matter.

Time and again, your party accuses Barack Obama of being an elitist. Time and again your party accuses tens of millions of Americans of being elitists. But what could be more elitist than insisting the experiences of the small-town few are more valid than those of the majority?

I can't blame you for this; this battle is as old as our republic. Jefferson and Hamilton fought over the same ground, over the same definition of America. In the end, Jefferson's gentlemen farmers lost to Hamilton's bankers and industrialists. They lost in blood and pain and death in a war pitting brother against brother. But still you and your fellow travelers fight on, trying to turn back the clock and make an America that never was.

I frankly am tired of the fight. You lost. You lost over a hundred and forty years ago.

The South did rise again: in financial centers like Charlotte, North Carolina; industrial centers like Spring Hill, Tennessee; and tech centers like Huntsville, Alabama. What won't rise again is your brand of small-town elitism.

You are as much an American as I; no more no less. You are as much an American as Barack Obama; no more, no less.

A final thought: the next time you find yourself in your hometown, stop in at Pataya Sushi for a California roll. When you're done, take a short ride down Highway 3 to the Starbucks and have a latte. Don't be afraid of the steamed milk and espresso: it's as American as pizza and poi, teriyaki and tacos.