I visited J.D. Vance’s hometown. Here’s what I learned about young male voters: Oliver Laughland

BBeneath an intricate stained glass window, I sit next to Pastor Jeff Wilder as we talk about lonely people. This pastor was the first to say that he seemed a little different than the average Protestant preacher. His thick beard and arm tattoos may not lead him to lead the pack here anytime soon. But his assessment of the presidential race is insightful and nuanced, especially since his church is in Middletown, Ohio, where Trump’s vice presidential nominee J.D. Vance grew up. .

The small Rust Belt city of Middletown rose to national prominence after Vance, then a Silicon Valley-based venture capitalist, published his memoir Hillbilly Elegy in 2016. This book paved the way for him to enter politics.

Of course, Vance is a polarizing figure in this election, in part because of his misogynistic comments targeting “childless cat ladies.” But Pastor Wilder takes exception in another way.

“The Republican Party right now is doing a really good job of disguising relationships,” he says. The emails he receives from the Trump campaign, which he signed up for research purposes, often begin with passionate personal messages like “We need you” or “We can’t do without you.” “It’s outrageous,” Wilder said, adding that some in his congregation, which is split almost evenly along partisan lines, “fell into the trap…Men’s health is being overlooked in America. Men are part of something. I want to feel like I belong.”

This election is likely to be increasingly defined by entrenched gender disparities. This is especially true among white men without college degrees, who support Trump by a 70% margin, according to recent polls.

Of course, the pastor’s story only scratches the surface of why white men are attracted to Trump. Some cable news commentators have accused the Harris campaign of lacking a connection with men, many of whom continue to harbor gender and racial biases that make connection impossible. Some people ignore it. Throughout this election, we heard many voters describe the Vice President of the United States in vicious misogynistic terms, which often echoed Trump’s own statements.

But it has long been established that America is suffering from a loneliness epidemic. This is the subject of Robert Putnam’s seminal work Bowling Alone, which is set in a town not far from here and depicts a strong democracy and social structure, from bowling leagues to labor unions. We are observing the decline of supporting civil society organizations. Last year, Joe Biden’s Surgeon General classified loneliness as a public health crisis. Vance acknowledges this in his book. Loneliness, he writes, creates a “strange crisis of masculinity” and that some of the very traits our culture inculcates make it difficult to succeed in a changing world.

After visiting Wilder, I drove to the Ohio-Kentucky border to participate in a promotional event with a group of Republicans who stand up for themselves, and I drove to the Ohio-Kentucky border to take in the sights of large maples that turn a gorgeous orange color as fall deepens. Go along the street lined with trees. They told me that they defined young people as between the ages of 18 and 40 (which was a relief). That is, they can proudly declare that Vance himself may still belong to his youth.

Recent polls show that the gender disparity that characterized this election is even more pronounced among younger voters. Some 67% of young women support Harris, compared to 28% for Trump. Additionally, 58% of young people support Trump, compared to 37% for Harris.

Before we started walking through the streets, I asked the group whether they thought the very definition of masculinity would be on the ballot again this year. Some nod in agreement. “The conservative definition of masculinity is a hard-working blue-collar man who works hard to support his family, wife, livelihood, home, and community,” says one young man. “I don’t think people on the left understand what it means to be human.”

I asked the group’s president, Grant Bagshaw, if he had any concerns about the dozens of women who have accused Trump of sexual assault and the jury’s decision last year to hold the former president accountable for sexual abuse. I asked please. “It’s an uncomfortable topic. I don’t know. I don’t judge whether they’re telling the truth because I don’t think any of us know,” he said, adding: In most cases. ”

He has a point about that last part, but he fails to mention that distrust of legacy media has accelerated during the Trump era of rampant misinformation. As various subcultures, such as cryptocurrencies and online gambling, lean toward conservative values, this year’s Republican campaign has largely focused on aligning itself with alternative right-wing media, particularly targeting young men. Perhaps it’s proof that Americans are no longer just bowling alone, they’re posting alone.

I Return to Middletown and catch Friday Night Lights. This high school football game pits the city’s beloved Middies against their nemesis from next door, the Hamilton Big Blue (the Middies win 42-7). Given the situation we find ourselves in, I expect to hear full-throated support for the Trump vs. Vance ticket and its turbocharged male identity politics.

But the reality is perhaps surprising. I’m sitting in the bleachers (cheap outdoor seating) with families, couples, and young people from all over the area. Many people don’t even know that Vance grew up here, and their political persuasion is as complicated as their allegiance to both teams. An older man looked into our camera and called Donald Trump “stupid.” One young man says he won’t vote in November, even though he says “men are the main problem” behind the country’s political failures.

This is a stark reminder that even though the polls show an extremely close race, there is no foreseeable conclusion to this election.

Oliver Laughland is the Guardian’s Southern Bureau Chief