For those on both the east and west coasts, it must be galling when the Midwest is referred to as "the heartland." After all, the coasts are far more populous, and a good case could be made that the American character owes more to the changing mix of Brooklyn, than all the tree lined streets of all the tiny towns scattered over Indiana, or Ohio, or Iowa.
But those Midwestern small towns define a certain idea of America. Those are the towns that were home to Mr. Smith, and yes, to Mr. Lincoln. From a distance, there's an impression of stability, and an impression of monotony. Of church socials, mushroom soup casseroles, and parking lots filled with F-150 pickups. But the timelessness of those places is generated more by the scarcity of images than it is by reality. It's as if the national media took a photo "Middle America, circa 1960" and has used the same image ever since.
Having grown up in a small town, I can tell you that they're not islands of stability in the national stream. They're leaves on the wind. A single plant closing, or a few bad crops, or even the placement of a new highway, can tear a town up by its roots. Towns that grew up over lifetimes, can be brought low by one disaster.
In a small community, every kid who doesn't move back after college is missed. And every child lost to war is an open wound.
Deep into a battle with no visible end, many Republican and Democratic voters here say the cause is no longer clear, the war no longer seems winnable and the costs are too high. After mourning Behrle, 20, and Sissel, 22, Tipton lost its heart for the fight and the president who is vowing to press on.
The idea of service runs deep in many small towns, not because small town people are somehow more patriotic than other Americans, but precisely because in a small town you can see how all the gears and pulleys of community operate. You can see the vital role that others play. The idea that "it takes a village" might have drawn scorn from the right wing pundits, but if you live in a village, no one has to explain this principle. Every loss is shared.
While opposition to the war has been stronger and more visible on the East and West coasts, small towns in the heartland and the South have provided the Bush administration with some of its most steadfast backers. But that support has cracked amid the echoes of graveside bagpipes and 21-gun salutes, which have been heard with greater frequency in recent months in small Midwestern communities.
If you've noticed that more congressmen in the Midwest, Democrat and Republican alike, have started pushing to change things in Iraq, it's not because they've learned something in Washington. It's not because of some report, or a speech given in committee, or something they heard on a Sunday talk show.
Rep. Bruce Braley, a freshman Iowa Democrat who favors a firm timetable for Iraq, heard the pain when he met with the families of two fallen soldiers, Pfc. Katie M. Soenksen and Cpl. Stephen D. Shannon, on Memorial Day. He said people shouted words of support -- "Good job!" and "Keep the pressure on!" -- as he marched in Fourth of July parades.
No, they're raising their voices only because the "wisdom through the awful grace of God" is being refined in small towns. The heartland of America, is heart sick.
It is "the intensity and passion" of the desire for an end to the war that strike Braley as new.
"There's more unity in the opposition now," said Braley, whose district adjoins Tipton. "It was always easier to find optimists about the chances of success in Iraq two years ago. You don't now find people talking that way, even the most ardent supporters of the president's policy."