In March of 2015, I was working for a local newspaper in Pittsburgh covering national politics, when I went to attend a meeting of the international firefighters union at a hotel in Washington, DC.
It was one of the first big events for that campaign cycle and featured Bernie Sanders; Republican Sens. Ted Cruz, Marco Rubio and Lindsey Graham; and former Virginia Democratic Sen. Jim Webb.
Donald Trump had not declared he was running at that point.
The press area, located behind the last row of the attendees, was filled with premier reporters from prestigious publications and news networks, and me.
At the time I was one of the few reporters left who covered national elections for a local newspaper.
There was a fraternity of connection among the big-city journalists. They traveled together, socialized together at cocktail parties and shared the same cultural touch-tones.
I, on the other hand, was from the Paris of Appalachia.
About halfway through Cruz’s speech, one of the reporters sneezed. Out of courtesy and habit I said, “God bless you.” I instantly felt a chill in the room as everyone looked toward what seemed to be my direction. I looked behind me to see if something terrible had happened. It was clear that nothing had.
A few minutes later, after Cruz was done speaking, an aide to one of the candidates, whispered to me, “We don’t say that around here.”
I wasn’t sure what he meant, so I asked what was the “that” that we don’t say around here?
His answer: Blessing someone after they sneeze.
While the young man was perfectly pleasant, it was clear I was being scolded.
Why do I tell this story? Because this country is in the ascent of a populism both political and cultural — and when you are in the tempest of a movement, even the slightest thing can be blown up into an incident of large consequences.
To understand how we navigate through populism begins with understanding how we got here.
Populism is being invested in the concerns of “ordinary” people. But it can also be a sweeping rejection of all things big — institutions like government, or cultural entities like the NFL. And it can be a strong desire to be part of something bigger than ourselves, which is a distinctive American trait (especially given the diversity of our backgrounds and how parochial we can be about where we are from).
Hollywood has been mocking Middle America for 20 years; every awards show is a debutante ball of shame and scold directed at half of the country
I would argue that it is one of the things that was missed in the last presidential election, when the political class understood it to be that everyone who voted for Donald Trump was angry. But that was only a fraction of the situation.
In that sweeping diagnosis, they missed that the majority of his voters were inspired by his aspirational message, Make America Great Again.
I’m With Her? Not so much.
At the core of all of this is the sense that Americans don’t feel that they are part of each other because of the division via politics and culture — they don’t trust anyone to be authentic and sincere anymore.
Furthermore, most of the decision-and image-makers in this country — in culture, politics and power — live in the 10 wealthiest counties in the country.
While we have long been a country of city mice and country mice, the balance of power and influence between the two areas has never been this lopsided.
New York has always been the center of wealth; Washington, its own brand of power. But the heartland was where things were made; steel, iron, energy, lumber — which meant cars, buildings, bridges, homes. Not to mention the fuel needed to make all those things for everyone.
We were better at navigating our contributions because they were all equally important to our country. We were all part of something bigger than ourselves.
So how do we rehabilitate this decline in America’s trust in institutions when opportunities continue to diminish rather than grow? There is no easy single answer.
Our faith, trust and connection with essential parts of our society is in collapse — it is a problem that is complicated and crosses all segments of society. And it was completely unavoidable.
The more technological advances we’ve achieved, the more we have placed society in a position that has subverted our institutions’ relationship with people.
In other words: To win elections or to encourage American to purchase something, industry leaders are promising either that good jobs are coming back or that you’ll feel better when you use a certain product.
The truth is, jobs aren’t coming back, because that feel-good company is creating automation that will eliminate a lot of the jobs of the people who work in your community by the next presidential election.
And then there are the institutional fissures in our communities. How safe is our water? Is that bridge I cross everyday structurally sound? How prepared is my town for a natural disaster? Why are our school systems failing our children? Why have so very few in the Catholic Church faced crime and punishment for their actions? Why do CEOs get paid so much money while their workers lose their jobs? Why do banks get bailouts but we don’t?
People also feel destabilized, uncertain and disillusioned by everything that was supposed to lift us up, like entertainment and sports. Hollywood has been mocking Middle America for 20 years; every awards show is a debutante ball of shame and scold directed at half of the country.
That they have done this behind smiling masks while hiding the open secret of debauched treatment of women is repulsive.
Sports — football, in particular — was the last remaining force that crosses the cultural divide but has now been forever damaged.
Rebuilding trust should most likely begin at the most local level: in neighborhood banks, at local businesses and with reporters who live in our communities — interactions whose authority Americans can trust to be fair, removed from coastal or cosmopolitan biases.
Trust at the peer-to-peer level can help repair our divide; it does not mean that, if you feel strongly that police reform is needed, you avoid the issues. But instead of making a big social media statement, why not make a difference through civic involvement, volunteering and serving the community on the issue?
People often say to me we live in the worst time ever. My response is always the same: “You clearly have never heard of the ’60s in either century of our country’s existence.”
It may feel as though we are heading off of a cliff. We’re not.
The good thing about populism is that it is exhausting. Historically, it rarely lasts longer than two election cycles. So while we are nowhere near the end yet, if we remain true to ourselves, we can navigate through this without too many battle scars.