CHAPTER 1
âUNDER GOD, THE PEOPLE RULEâ
IN 1883 HAMLIN GARLAND left Dakota Territory, putting its harsh climate and windswept towns behind him. He had seen too many men and women brokenâkilled, driven mad, or bankruptedâtrying to carve a farm from the deep-rooted, arid soil. Yet the land and its people called Garland back. Soon he put pen to paper, blurring the line between literature and politics to communicate what life on the âmiddle borderâ was really likeâand why. He hoped someday that his stories and novels, rather than just achieve artistic âbeauty,â could help âspread the reign of justice.â1
In âUnder the Lionâs Paw,â Garland recounted the struggles of Tim Haskins, who, with his ailing wife, newborn baby, and two young children, fled his Kansas farm after grasshoppers destroyed what little he owned. Homeless, the Haskins family wandered the roads until they stopped at a farm where an older couple, the Councils, took them in. Steve Council finally arranged for Haskins to negotiate a two-year tenancy with a local landowner who in turn agreed to sell Haskins the land for $3,000 when the lease expired. It seemed like a dream come true: hard work, thrift, and some luck with the weather assured Haskins of becoming a property-owning member of the middle class, a virtuous yeoman-citizen in the true Jeffersonian tradition. Yet it was not to be. Haskins worked âferociouslyâ on the land and saved every penny he could.2 But after two years the landlord, Jim Butler, claimed that the improvements Haskins made to the land had made it more valuable. He demanded $5,000 instead. Enraged, Haskins nearly attacked Butler with his pitchfork, but after seeing his baby daughter, hung his head and returned to work. He remained a landlessâand powerlessâtenant.3
Garland read âUnder the Lionâs Pawâ at the 1892 Omaha convention of the Peopleâs Party, already generally known as the Populist Party. It brought the audience to tears. Like many small farmers and tenants, the Haskins family did not realize that the system was rigged against them by landowners, bankers, corporations, and politicians.4 At one time Jim Butler had owned a store and âearned all he got.â But he discovered that speculating on land and extending credit to poor farmers was an easier way to make money. He could take fishing trips and sit âaround town on rainy days smoking and âgassinâ with the boysâ â while tenants like Haskins worked themselves ânearly to deathâ in the hope of âpushing the wolf of want a little farther from [the] door.â5
In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, tens of thousands of farmers like Haskins, and their wives, decided they had had enough. They joined radical agrarian movements that swept across the rural United States like a âpolitical prairie fire.â6 The best known was the Populist movement, which had coalesced in the region but gained widespread national prominence in Omaha in 1892. Its members stretched from the cotton fields of the Southeast, up and down the Great Plains, and into the Mountain West. In some of these states, historian Lawrence Goodwyn contends, Populism was more âmomentâ than movement.7 But on the Northern Plains, commitment to the ideals of Populismâexpanded access to economic opportunity and political decision-makingâlasted far longer than the initial insurgency. With controversial political leaders and famously persuasive barnyard organizers, they carried forward the goals of Populism, enhanced at times by socialist and communist strategies, into many aspects of progressive Republicanism, the Nonpartisan League (NPL), and Depression-era organizations such as the Farmers Holiday Association.8 Together these movements made up an inspiring chapter in the history of the American left, as they put ordinary people first and honored the productive work they performed.
But Garland revealed even more about the political culture of the Northern Plains. Radical agrarian organizations, however fondly recalled, never held a monopoly on political ideas or ambitions. To the contrary, plenty of landowners, bankers, politicians, and small businesspeople like Garlandâs antihero, Jim Butler, held power in the small towns of the region. They actively opposed the reforms proposed by radical farmers, year after year. These conservatives did not fear the concentration of economic and political power as much as they feared the diminution of their own. As they fought back against the âupstartâ farmers through the business-friendly wing of the Republican Party, they prepared the political landscape for a future generation that would, during the Cold War era, try to extinguish the regionâs political prairie fires for good.
The roots of the Rural New Right on the Northern Plains lay not only in how agrarian radicals and small-town conservatives saw the world differently but also in how they saw it the same way. In the 1960s and 1970s, cultural issues would come to dominate political debate nationwide, creating deep, seemingly intractable, divisions between Republicans and Democrats. But in an earlier era, a âcommon logicâ around religion, gender, and race could instead form the glue that bound members of diverse white ethnic groups together, even when they disagreed vehemently on party politics.9 For example, the vast majority of Euro-American Dakotans, immigrants or native-born, Populist or conservative, tenants or landlords were Christian; like Garlandâs Good Samaritan, Steve Council, they believed that Christianityâs moral principles made it the âonly religionâ there was.10 Furthermore, many people on the Northern Plains belonged either to doctrinally conservative denominations like Roman Catholicism or to one of the more conservative sects of larger Protestant denominations like Lutheranism, Methodism, and Presbyterianism.11 Consequently, even some Dakotans who supported womenâs suffrage believed in the patriarchal heterosexual family where men were the sole proprietors and authorities.12
Most fundamental to social order in the Dakotas, as in the rest of the United States, was a racialized hierarchy predicated on the idea that whites were superior to all nonwhites and, most immediately, that whites âdeservedâ to settle on Native land and extract profits from it.13 For all their enmity, Haskins and Butler did not argue about whether the land should be plowed and its crop sold, just to whom the profits belonged, which of the two white men who claimed it. Furthermore, they surely agreed that homelessness and dependence on the charity of others was a fate even worse than tenancy. It threatened to equate poor white farmers with Native people, whom most Americans believed were incapable of citizenship and were going to âdie outâ within a few decades.14 In an era where whiteness âconferred both citizenship and the right to own property,â Populists fought not just for their right to earn a living, but for their right to be white.15
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Few homesteaders new to the Northern Plains expected the task ahead to be easy. Whether they traveled from nearby states like Iowa or Minnesota or distant communities in Canada, Germany, Scandinavia, or Russia, they were far from home and often on their own.16 Plowing the deeply rooted and arid sod of the plains and building homes where few trees grew tested their physical and emotional limits. Added to those challenges were cycles of wet and dry years, prairie fires, grasshopper plagues, tornadoes, blizzards, and an endlessly blowing wind. For all living creatures these conditions could prove fatal. In the winter of 1886 to 1887, snow came early and never quit. By its end hundreds of thousands of cattle had frozen to death. Just two years later, the temperature dropped sixty degrees in less than an hour and snow fell so fiercely it was hard to see your hand in front of your face. By its end, dozens of schoolchildren and their young teachers, 235 people in all, had died. Some were found frozen in haystacks and snowdrifts. A few died only feet from their homes.17
But it wasnât nature, or nature alone, that radicalized farmers. It was also that the prices they received for crops and livestock were increasingly dependent on a globalizing economy far outside their control. At the same time, the concentrated power of big corporations, big banks, and big political parties squeezed them for every last cent.18 This rapid economic transformation shifted the center of power from rural to urban areas, deepening regional inequalities. South Dakota Populist Henry Loucks put it bluntly: in 1830, farmers had owned 75 percent of the nationâs wealth; by 1880, less than 25 percent.19 Historian R. Alton Lee writes, âIn coming to the plains, [farmers] had hoped to find a utopia of relatively free, rich land, but they came at a time when modern America was emerging and attaching increasingly less importance to the agrarian way of life.â20
Inequitable railroad fees radicalized Dakota farmers first. In many small towns on the Northern Plains, there was only one railroad to bring crops or livestock to market. And there were no regulations, not even âreasonable maximumâ rates, to limit the monopoly these railroads enjoyedâeven as they neglected to pay taxes they owed to the state.21 Farmers were literally captive to the out-of-state corporations: they could pay railroad fees or let their crops rot. Incredibly, Jon K. Lauck writes, âFrom certain points in Dakota, it was cheaper to ship wheat to Liverpool than to Chicago or Minneapolis.â22 The âmiddlemenâ who represented large creameries, mills, or storage facilities also had unassailable power over farmersâ livelihoods. An agent could lie, for example, when he graded a cropâs quality and thus lower its price. And farmersâ problems did not end trackside. If the only local bank provided the terms for a loan, how could a farmer negotiate better terms? If politicians from both parties were being wined and dined by the same corporate executives; and senators were appointed, not elected, how could a farmer create change?23
The challenge of making ends meet on a farm was not new in the late nineteenth century. The inequity between farmers and the institutions of economic and political power, however, certainly was. When a drought and recession in the 1880s further multiplied farmersâ troubles, Charles Macune founded the Farmersâ Alliance in Texas, a model for cooperation rather than competition in agriculture that quickly spread north. The Alliance encouraged farmers to band together, extending their traditional âhabits of mutualityâ like barn-raisings and quilting bees, to larger economic organizations like stores and storage facilities.24 He also encouraged them to demand support from the state. Soon some Alliance members advocated third party political action. Among the economic reforms they demanded were: an increase in the money supply through the coinage of silver; the creation of a long-term âsub-treasuryâ system so farmers could store crops until the price had risen; crop insurance; and state ownership of banks and utilities. In politics they advocated for the direct election of senators, the more secret âAustralian ballot,â and implementation of the initiative and referendum system, which allowed voters to decide on new legislation directly. They believed that as a third party, the Peopleâs Party, their candidates could withstand the corrupting forces of the current political system. At first the idea seemed to work well. In the 1892 presidential election, the Peopleâs Party candidate James Weaver of Iowa received over a million votes and won five states in the West; the party also won six governorships.25 Even so they did not win the White House.
In 1896, the Populist Party abandoned its third-party strategy at the national level and âfusedâ with the Democratic Party. To some this was the compromise that changed an authentic democratic insurgency, full of possibility for radical change, into a mere âmoment.â26 Even so the Populists found their best-known champion: William Jennings Bryan of Nebraska. While he may have only been fully committed to the silver issue, throughout 1896 Bryan used his considerable oratorical gifts to advocate for the central place of farming in American life. âBurn down your cities and leave our farms, and your cities will spring up again as if by magic; but destroy our farms and the grass will grow in the streets of every city in the country.â27 Meanwhile, his opponent, William McKinley, sat on his front porch in Canton, Ohio, giving press conferences and listening to the advice of business leaders.
While Bryan failed to win the nationâs highest office in three tries, the ideas and ideals that he endorsed so enthusiastically endured in many rural places. On the Northern Plains they even thrived. As Howard Lamar writes, Populist efforts âestablished a precedent for political flexibility that made it easier for ⌠future third-party movements âŚto be heard.â28 Dakota farm leaders created innovative practices to fit their local circumstances. In South Dakota, where farmers had organized the first Farmersâ Alliance in a northern state, the charismatic newspaper editor Henry Loucks publicized its successes in every issue of the Dakota Ruralist. His colleague, Alonzo Wardell, experimented with a form of cooperative crop insurance that the national movement soon called âthe Dakota system.â29 South Dakota Populists also enacted the initiative and referendum which has remained an essential part of the stateâs political culture for over a century.
But the Populist Partyâs success in South Dakota may have also been its curse; it had never fully dominated state politics and when rumors of corruption and opponents and money from outside the state targeted its leaders, the magic began to fade. In 1892, for example, South Dakotans elected their first governor, the Populist Andrew Lee, by only 319 votes. Though reelected in 1896, Lee lost a 1900 election for Congress in a landslide after his rural credit scheme failed. Likewise Senator Richard Pettigrew, a leading voice for Populism and anti-imperialism, lost his reelection bid in 1900. In a preview of the New Rightâs campaign to defeat George McGovern in 1980, the national Republican Party spent an astounding half million dollars to push Pettigrew out of the Senate. Marcus Hanna, President McKinleyâs top adviser and chair of the Republican Party, traveled across the state attacking Pettigrew. From the âviciousnessâ of his attacks, it was hard to tell...