It’s Never Black and White Inside Purple America
Finding a place to watch international soccer in Jackson, Miss., may not be the hardest thing to do in the world, but it’s right up there. As I resign myself to listening to European Cup matches on the BBC’s streaming audio and reading about the Copa Libertadores playoffs the next morning at work, I can’t help but think of all I’m missing by living in Red America, the part of the country that votes Republican.
Though I’ve had a wonderful time living in the Deep South, I find myself envious of friends in the big coastal cities, with their theater outings, sidewalk cafes and orders of Thai food at 3 a.m. There just isn’t much immigrant or bohemian flavor around Jackson, and most of the interesting, ambitious locals tend quickly to become emigrants.
Yet when it comes to politics, my preferences couldn’t be farther from those of folks in Los Angeles or San Francisco, Manhattan, Boston and the rest of Blue America -- the Democratic part -- or closer to those with whom I share little apart from my morning commute.
And I am not the only one in this great polarized country of ours who senses a certain disconnect between cultural and political affinities. Periodic travels around the United States have introduced me to many others with my peculiar affliction, and we are distrusted by coastal elites and populist sages alike.
You see, I reside in that quixotic region, Purple America, where the cosmopolitan meets the conservative. Purple America is not so much a place as an idea, or a confluence of values from Red America with tastes from Blue America. It combines a strong belief in personal responsibility, ordered liberty and civil society with a passion for independent film, Belgian ale and salsa dancing. It also could go with a good ballgame, preferably on grass and without the designated hitter.
Purple Americans are, more or less, Crash Davis with a healthy serving of je ne sais quoi.
The terms Red and Blue America are misnomers, of course; only the “mainstream” TV networks could paint the least revolutionary states red while leaving the “progressives” royal blue. Perhaps the confusion is appropriate, however, as only in America are people who favor more government control over the economy called “liberal” and those who want to deregulate and privatize “conservative.”
In any event, although the electorate may remain evenly split in this 50-50 nation, we are finally starting to transcend the color lines. Purple Americans defy political and cultural stereotypes, and thus confound the conventional wisdom of the media, pollsters and pundits. More interestingly, in this age when college students tend to be more conservative than their parents, we are infiltrating the metropolitan bastions of liberalism as iconoclastic Smurfs: We appear to be blue while inline-skating to the Whole Foods Market, but the blood coursing through our veins is decidedly red.
Purple America demands independent creativity grounded in a solid moral core, as well as an inevitably thick skin; its inhabitants are attacked for godless “hedonism” on one side and politically incorrect “insensitivity” on the other. If I had a nickel for every time an urbane acquaintance marveled at how someone so “nice” could sympathize with those ghastly Republicans, I’d be able to build that bridge to the 21st century. Conversely, a cobblestone for every time a good ol’ boy sneered at my choice of drink (wine or imported beer), car (Japanese sedan or German sports car) or clothing (mostly Italian, except my seersuckers) would lead me to that shining city on a hill. Purple America gets a tear in its eye during the Fourth of July parades of patriotism, but it relishes even more the playing of “The Star-Spangled Banner” on the Champs-Elysees after Lance Armstrong wins another Tour de France.
It welcomes diversity, but not the false diversity that considers a black lawyer’s kid from Brentwood more worthy than the son of a West Virginia coal miner or of a Vietnamese fisherman.
Returning to my search for a locale to watch some futbol, I realize that I will never really fit in Red America. Yet I could never live in the epicenters of Blue America either, stuck in an ideological closet while limousine liberals disparage “flyover country.”
So where does that leave Purple Americans? Those in Red states can reside in the imagined communities of the blogosphere, keeping busy and interested via constant work and travel. Those in Blue states can take a virtual leap into Galt’s Gulch, divorcing themselves from all cocktail party discussions (as in Ayn Rand’s world, this is easier to do if you care about nothing beyond your own immediate interests). I’ll be trying a third route by moving to Washington, D.C., which arguably contains the highest proportion of Purple Americans.
After all, a place where the only gauche political stand is not to have one, the city with Northern charm and Southern efficiency -- to hat-tip that original supply-sider with style, John F. Kennedy -- seems like just the place for us conflicted souls. You’ll find me at that great soccer bar called Summer’s.
