The nation breathed a sigh of relief last week after the conservative majority on the Kansas school board, world famous for its war on the theory of evolution, went down to defeat in Republican primary elections. Conservative candidates for several state government posts foundered as well (but others won). It seemed as though moderation had finally returned to this middlemost of American places. Even better: perhaps the country itself had turned the corner in its long and frustrating war over culture.There is a deep-set suspicion in this country of intelligence; nobody likes the smartest kid in the class. Politicans routinely sell themselves as "a man (or woman) of the people," not some pointy-head intellectual in an ivory tower. This is always a crowd pleaser at county fairs or on the stump because it gives the crowd a feeling of power over some unseen adversary; as if there was some invisible cult of elitists who were secretly ruling the world and making their life miserable. There's a smug satisfaction in feeling that while they may be smarter than you, you're somehow better than they are becuase you're more real or something.
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Perhaps, but I think it is far too soon to write the obituary for the godly radicals. Their faction may have chosen lousy candidates this time around, and their public appeal may have dissipated thanks to the preposterous issues (evolution, stem-cell research) against which their leaders have lately been hurling themselves, but the movement is deeply ingrained in Kansas culture. The conservatives will undoubtedly be back.
The culture war will remain with us, both in Kansas and in the nation, because it is larger than any of its leaders, larger than its legions of citizen activists, larger even than the particular causes in which these forces are enlisted. Seen from the streets of Wichita, the rightist rebellion of Kansas seems to fulfill that most romantic of American political traditions: the uprising of the little guy.
To the faithful, theirs is a war against “elites,” and, with striking regularity, that means a war against the professions. The anti-abortion movement, for example, dwells obsessively on the villainy of the medical establishment. The uproar over the liberal media, a popular delusion going on 40, is a veiled reaction to the professionalization of journalism. The war on judges, now enjoying a new vogue, is a response to an imagined “grab for legislative power” (as one current Kansas campaign mailing puts it) by unelected representatives of the legal profession. And the attack on evolution, the most ill-conceived thrust of them all, is a direct shot at the authority of science and, by extension, at the education system, the very foundation of professional expertise.
That's all well and good in the abstract, but when it comes down to reality, the last thing you want, in some cases, are just plain folks. If you found out you had a brain tumor, would you want a neurosurgeon who was "just like you"? Of course not. You'd insist on getting the one who graduated at the top of his class from the best med school in the world. It's a no-brainer. (Sorry, couldn't resist.) Why should we settle for anything less when it comes to electing the people who will run the government?
Deep down, we really do want our elected officials to be smarter than we are. We want them to come up with the answers that we can't. We demand a higher level of intelligence and informed reasoning from our leaders because the problems we face can't be solved with a stump speech or a harangue against "elitists." It's when it turns out that they are just as flawed, narrow-minded and human that we are that we are disappointed and feel betrayed. Electing new people is a short-term solution; what we should be insisting on are people who let us know that they aren't just like us.
