I’m looking forward to the 2008 presidential election. You might even say I’m optimistic. Cautiously, anyway.
And it’s not just because I think any one of the four major contenders will be better than The W…although seriously, any of the four major contenders will be totally way better than The W. No, I’m excited because for the first time in 16 years–a full generation in the Spears family–we won’t have a Southerner in the White House.
Now, I’m obviously a Southerner myself, and often proud of the fact. I subscribe to Southern Living (duh: I’m also gay), and I firmly believe that pineapple upside-down cake should be added to the list of major food groups. But there are times I want to distance myself from all that Good Ol’ Boy-ness–thanks largely to the “aw, shucks” attitudes of Bush and, to a lesser extent, Clinton that have radically redefined what it means to be Southern.
See, after The War (as my grandmama refered to it), Southerners needed to boost their self-esteem, and they did so largely through the arts and culture. “Them Yankees may have won The War,” the reasoning went, “but they ain’t nothin’ more than a bunch of savages in suits. Althea, play that lovely waltz on the harpsichord, won’t you, sugar?” They prided themselves on inherited, genetic artistocracy and cultural superiority. Good breedin’, as they might’ve said. (NB: this is not surprising, since it’s practically the same mindset Southerners used to justify slavery.)
Along with all that came a great deal of intellectualism–practical intellectualism, you might say. You see it in the works of William Faulkner, Eudora Welty, Flannery O’Connor, even Fannie Flagg. There’s a quiet intellectual rigor, a willingness to think, to follow ideas and thoughts to their various ends, without being overly philosophical and abstract (though Faulkner admittedly has his moments).
But thanks to Bush–and in fact, thanks to the conservative movement that’s swept the South for 30 years–all that died. Especially since 1994, when the conservative movement really galvanized politically, intellectualism has been looked upon with suspicion: Why you gotta ask so many dang questions? Why can’t you just be content with doing things the way we’ve been doing ’em? My daddy talks like that a lot, which is why most of my trips to the homestead last less than 24 hours.
Now, I’m not saying that Clinton or McCain or Obama or, goddess forbid, Romney, would start up a White House Book Club. And I certainly don’t think that you’re going to see any of the four discussing Hegel in public anytime soon. But at least they won’t be burdened with that tired, tired chestnut, which insists that in order to be themselves, they have to forsake independent thought. It’ll give them more room to do as they please (maybe), and with luck it’ll give Southerners time to rebuild that part of their identity.
As soon as we get rid of Rebecca Wells and that Sweet Potato harlot, that is. Jethro, pass me some cookie dough and my strychnine–I’m gonna make me a bitter pill….
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