Battle Of The Rednecks
This column from The New Republic was written by Michelle Cottle.
In recent weeks, it's been hard to watch John Edwards on the campaign trail without feeling so hopeful, optimistic, and uplifted that you want to puke. Forget half-full, this candidate's glass perpetually runneth over. He simply could not be more hopeful, optimistic, and upbeat about the way this race is shaping up. Even in the wake of his perfectly adequate but hardly electrifying near-tie for third in New Hampshire, the smile never wavered. No shadow of disappointment dimmed those lovely, twinkly eyes. No sign of weariness creased that hunky brow. And nary a cross or unflattering word was uttered about the obnoxious political media, the crotchety, fickle New Hampshire voters, the wretched New Hampshire winter, or the rest of the Democratic pack. Except...
When pestered about whether the son-of-the-South mantle that Edwards has been brandishing as an advantage in a match-up with President Bush might also apply to General Wesley Clark, Senator Sunshine reportedly turned just the teensiest bit peevish. Insisting that living in the South his whole life has made him "intimately familiar" with its issues in a way that Clark couldn't possibly understand, Edwards (optimistically and hopefully) huffed, "General Clark comes from a different place."
Lord have mercy on the American voter. We spent the early part of the Democratic race listening to Edwards and Gephardt try to out-blue-collar one another. (By the time he was pulled from his spider hole, even Saddam knew that Edwards was the son of a mill worker.) Are we now going to have to listen to Edwards and Clark try to out-Southern one another? If so, the situation could get ugly for Democrats. The references to NASCAR and grits alone could be enough to turn the stomach of every swing-voting soccer mom in the nation.
On one level, Johnny's dismissal of Wes's Dixie bona fides is ungentlemanly. After all, when boasting about a familiarity with the Southern condition, politicians are almost always referring to a personal understanding of just how poor and backward are the areas from whence they hail. Certainly, under these terms, Clark need play second fiddle to no one. Arkansas is a disaster of a state. It ranks near the bottom in quality-of-life criteria ranging from the health of its populace to the education of its children. It fares worse than North Carolina in categories such as child poverty, teen pregnancy, teacher pay, and student academic performance. Of course, to be fair, North Carolina has a higher infant mortality rate, more high school dropouts, and a (marginally) higher rate of unemployment (6.2 percent v. Arkansas's 6.0). But, at the very least, the data indicate that Clark's home state is every bit as screwed up as Edwards's.
Of course, bad schools and poor health care aren't the only Southern Issues of which politicians often profess an intimate knowledge. There is also that most delicate and thorny of issues: race relations. Unfortunately for Edwards, there's no indication that he, despite a wildly lucrative legal career fighting for the little guy, has ever taken a particular interest in the rights of African Americans. This is not to suggest that Edwards doesn't care about the black community. But neither can he claim the special connection to or affinity for it that, say, a Bill Clinton could.
Then there's Clark's military background. It's not as though Clark fled the South to go produce sit-coms in Hollywood or software in Seattle. While Edwards was hanging around North Carolina, litigating his way into the ranks of the landed gentry, Clark was working his way up through the ranks of the United States Army. The general spent 34 years in the military. Looked at from a certain perspective, you can't get much more Southern than that. The South is, after all, a deeply patriotic place that consistently sends far more than its fair share of young people off to war.
All that said, Edwards does offer certain cultural advantages. Without a doubt, he possesses more of that good ol' Southern charm than does the cooler, more formal general. The smile is warmer, the drawl more hypnotic. And Edwards clearly displays more of a common touch than does Clark, making it easy to see why Edwards has by far the highest likeability rating of anyone in the Democratic pack. Perhaps some of that good ol' boy affability was drummed out of Wes at West Point -- or leached away at Oxford. Or maybe Wes -- who, Arkansas childhood notwithstanding, spent the first four years of his life in (gasp!) Chicago -- was just born that way.
Then there's the little matter of Clark's crazy-quilt religious identity. Edwards grew up Southern Baptist and later joined the Methodist church. This is, by and large, acceptably Southern. (Yes, I am indulging in egregious stereotyping for the purposes of this column. Please save me your tedious e-mails about the rich tapestry of faiths comprising the New South.) But Wes (whose daddy was a Jew of Russian extraction) was raised Southern Baptist, converted to Catholicism when he married, and now attends the Presbyterian church. That sort of ecumenicalism may play well in Washington, but it remains to be seen how it sells in rural Alabama, where the introductory question, "What are you?" is as often a query about your faith as it is about your profession.
Even so, Edwards should think thrice before getting into a pissing match with Clark over who is the biggest Southerner in this race. (Clark has already proved himself shameless in this regard, dishing out grits at campaign stops all over the South.) You can't very well run on your good humor while at the same time throw elbows at the one guy in the race who claims to come from a similar place. At this point, the only type of offensive Edwards should consider launching against his fellow Southerner is a charm offensive. If he's half the smooth-talker he seems to be, Johnny should be able to bury the Clark candidacy under a pile of hope and optimism before the polls close next Tuesday.
Michelle Cottle is a senior editor at TNR.
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