Vance and Me, I and We

What is it about J.D. Vance that gets under my skin?

I know it’s got nothing to do with his selection this week as the Republican Vice-Presidential nominee because my irritation goes back a long way, well before he was any kind of candidate on any political stage.

It all started with The Book. Vance’s Hillbilly Elegy: A Memoir of a Family and Culture in Crisis was a bestseller. Everyone seemed to love it. I did not.

When it first came out, a bunch of friends told me that I absolutely had to read it. I totally get why they thought it would be right down my alley. I’m a sociologist and the book has a vaguely sociological feel to it. He talks about the history and culture of his Appalachian roots and how that culture shaped the thoughts and actions of his people. My friends figured it was a shoo-in as an assigned book in one of my classes.

Plus, it’s about a guy who lives the American Dream, and they know that I definitely identify with that. 

But when I read it, something felt off. The solo part seemed compelling, but the harmony didn’t blend. I loved his story about how he rose from humble origins and, primarily through higher education, was able to rise above his station. Here’s this guy who started as a poor white kid and became an Ivy League-educated lawyer (only later to become a Senator and Vice-Presidential nominee). It sounds like meritocracy at its finest. What’s not to love?

Vance, however, seemed to undervalue the significant people in his life who made that journey possible. There were two things in particular that bugged me. The first was that he had family members, his grandparents, who lifted him up out from under the most crushing elements of life in the Appalachian poverty into which he was born. The second was the condescending way he presented those in his community that lacked his good fortune. Yes, he worked hard and overcame many obstacles on his path to success, but he also benefited from access to material, social, and cultural resources that most in his community lacked. Or that’s how it seemed to me, anyway.

I really do feel like I’ve lived the American Dream. My story’s not exactly been rags to riches (on either end of that spectrum), but it’s in the neighborhood. I grew up in a working-class family with limited means.

After my parents divorced when I was seven, we went through stretches of significant need. I remember many times when the electricity, gas, or phone were disconnected due to insufficient funds. I remember living off government surplus food (powdered milk, pinto beans, huge tins of generic spam, white syrup that we added maple flavoring to for pancakes, etc.), never realizing that our family was on “welfare” until much later in life.

While doing her best to provide for us, my mom worked her way through college over the next few years and eventually got a job as a high school English teacher. But even then, resources were limited. She got paid once per month and it seemed like the food never quite made it that far. Those shopping trips on payday, with carts piled high with food, were a gift from God. But those days of plenty were always followed by weeks of lean. I remember my mom and stepdad declaring bankruptcy, something they felt as a crushing failure.

Then, I got lucky. Many people cared about and looked out for me. When I was in middle school, my stepdad said I was smarter than my grades reflected and that, if I just applied myself, I could go to college one day. My Sunday School teachers and youth group leaders provided me with opportunities to be part of a community that cared about me.

One of the most significant ways was through Bible quizzing, which provided me with opportunities to travel the Midwest and the nation to participate in tournaments organized through the Evangelical Free Church. I became the captain of the team and received praise and recognition for my accomplishments.

My public-school teachers fanned the flickers of any academic ability I offered up. I managed to become a hanger-on to the fringes of my college-bound classmates in high school. With my dad’s encouragement, I joined the school band. And my sisters always had more faith in me than I had in myself. And then there’s Lori, who I met in a high school church singing group and with whom I will celebrate our fortieth anniversary next month.

One day, when I was a senior in high school, the church secretary made me come in and spend the afternoon filling out college applications. I’d meant to get to it, but somehow it hadn’t happened. I applied to Trinity College in Deerfield, Illinois, because it was familiar and felt safe. I’d been on campus for the annual Free Church Youth Fellowship (FCYF) district competitions for Bible quizzing, vocal ensembles, speech contests, and more each of the previous six years.

Trinity accepted me. My experience there transformed me. I encountered professors, like Kenn Inskeep and Doug Frank, who cared deeply about asking questions and exploring the world. They never settled for simple answers. I met lifelong friends whom I still love to this day. I fell in love with learning and pursued graduate school leading to a Ph.D. in sociology. Now, all these years later, I am a sociology professor at Central College. Unbelievable. No one would have seen this coming when I was born. 

Sure, I worked hard. But if it wasn’t for all those people in my life, I wouldn’t be who or where I am today. Which brings me back to J.D. Vance. I just don’t hear that note of appreciation in his narrative. Where is the gratitude? Where is the humility? Where is the empathy?

Instead, Vance comes off as a self-aggrandizing opportunist. The kind of guy who credits himself for his success and downplays the role others played in his life. And then, after making it big, looks down at those around him who didn’t have his good fortune, who wasn’t born with his ability or drive, or who fails to appreciate the very real obstacles others face.*

I do believe that the best option for someone who lacks access to resources is to do the best they can to maximize the opportunities they do have. Individuals do bear responsibility for their actions. But I also know, both as a sociologist and as a person raised with little, that obstacles are real and that most people of limited means, even those who play all their cards right, will still often fail to get very far. As a result, I believe that it is the responsibility of the rest of us to do all we can to create a system in which pathways to opportunity are abundant so that when people try, their efforts will be rewarded. I was fortunate to encounter many such people.

So was J.D. Vance.

When it comes down to it, I think what really bugs me is that Vance’s favorite pronouns seem to be “I” and “me.” I want to live in a world where “us” and “we” are equally important. 

* One of my favorite anecdotes about this kind of mindset comes from an interview that sociologist Thomas Shapiro conducted with a solidly middle-class couple, Joe and Brigette Barry, about the “conflicting values of inheritance and earned wealth” (p. 73). The Barry’s had a daughter in private school and two boys in daycare. In a conversation about the generosity of their parents, we learn that her mom and dad provided the downpayment for their new house, they bought a wardrobe of clothes for each of the three children, they purchased a washer and dryer, and bought them one of their cars. His parents bought them two other cars. When he was out of work, her parents covered their mortgage payment for two months. They set up trust funds for each of the children and helped Joe and Brigette set up financial plans for their retirement. But when the conversation turned toward and intentional discussion of how the Barry’s acquired their assets, they were unequivocal: “We worked our butts off for them.” In Shapiro’s words, 

The Barrys describe themselves as self-made, conveniently forgetting that they inherited much of what they own…The flawed and uncritical attribution of success to hard work precludes coming to terms with their unearned advantages. It redefines what is fair and what is unfair in a way that puts the onus for lack of wealth on those without the same advantages. Simply, what a family inherits cannot be earned. The idea of deserving unearned things is very important to the Barrys and families like them in that deservedness and worthiness substitutes for earning and merit.

p. 76 in Thomas M. Shapiro, The Hidden Cost of Being African American: How Wealth Perpetuates Inequality

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If you want a far more compelling read with a more sociologically informed take than Vance provides, pick up Jay MacLeod’s Ain’t No Makin’ It: Aspirations and Attainment in a Low-Income Neighborhood, 3^rd edition (video interview). He follows two groups of guys from high school to midlife. Here it becomes clear why some people, who have witnessed their older siblings, parents, aunts and uncles, grandparents try and try and try and still fail to attain anything like escape velocity, say “screw it” (except they don’t say “screw”). The immense weight of lack of success in the context of lack of opportunity makes their choices much more understandable.

Or, if you want an American Dream story closer to Vance’s rural roots, checkout Sarah Smarsh’s Heartland: A Memoir of Working Hard and Being Broke in the Richest Country on Earth. She pulls up on her own bootstraps as much as Vance does, but she understands that those who got left behind were not singularly responsible for their own outcomes. There’s a whole history and culture tied to a lack of material, social, and cultural resources that inhibit upward mobility.