The 'Flatlanders' and Their King: From Ethan Allen to Calvin Coolidge to Howard Dean . . . how sad

National Review, Oct 13, 2003 by Jonah Goldberg

The statehouse in Montpelier is pretty much what you'd expect: traditional Yankee colonial with a few bits of kitsch for the tourists. Portraits of fusty old Vermonters festoon the walls. Most are of former governors in funereal suits. Some of the old mustachioed grumps have sheets of parchment in their hands -- probably containing rows of numbers reflecting profligate spending on some luxury item, food for poorhouses perhaps. There's even a portrait of the Sphinx of the Potomac, Calvin Coolidge. He looks every bit the taciturn Yankee.

Across and just down the small hallway there hangs another gubernatorial portrait; the subject's almost smirking at Silent Cal. But this painting is unlike the others. It looks more like the multihued cover of an L. L. Bean catalog. It depicts a man in an open- collared flannel shirt with dark khaki pants and sneaker-like hiking boots. He's sitting on a rock on the shore of a pond with a canoe paddle in one hand. With the exception of his ostentatiously shiny wedding ring, virtually every item on his person begs to have a page number pointing to where in the catalog you can find out if you can get it in Tuscan olive or burnt sienna. The man, of course, is Howard Dean and the painting's gaudy arrogance says a lot about the man and the state. Surely, prior governors have loved the great outdoors, too? Yet they understood when to put on a damn suit. Dean rejects such rectitude because Vermont no longer cherishes such traits; Vermont is no longer a state, it's a lifestyle choice.

To Old Vermonters Dean is a "Flatlander," which means he comes from outside the state. Specifically Dean hails from Park Avenue and East Hampton. But you could also say he comes from the 1960s. A classic liberal baby boomer and Yale graduate, Dean typifies what many call "the Flatlander invasion" -- the massive influx of urban professional liberals who've taken advantage of Vermont's famous tolerance and don't-tread-on-me individualism and turned it into a whatever-floats- your-boat Epcot Center exhibit of Green Socialism.

"The Flatlander invasion represents perhaps the most complete case of internal American colonialism since the destruction of the Indian," says Hal Goldman, a historian and lawyer who's studied and worked in Vermont. "Hundreds of thousands of highly educated, well-off people invaded a state with a unique culture and history. They seized control of its resources and institutions, demeaned and destroyed the indigenous values of its people, altered the landscape, and drove many of the natives from their homes as a result of their activities. If this happened in Africa, the same people would call it colonialism. In Vermont it's called liberal chic. The colonists are arrogant, disrespectful, and hypocritical. And Howard Dean is their king."

This might sound like hyperbole to some, but for many in the state it's an article of faith. The backers of the short-lived "Take Back Vermont" campaign -- launched in response to Howard Dean's signing of the civil- unions law -- chose that name for a reason. Unfortunately, it's too late to take back Vermont. Today, the Flatlanders are Vermont and the old flinty Yankee remnant provides little more than ambiance for what is becoming a left-wing Colonial Williamsburg.

On two recent visits to the state I saw few of the Vermonters of yore. But I did see plenty of folks who looked like liberal foundation officers, university administrators, or editors of poetry magazines, all on their day off. Meanwhile, in Burlington, the state's largest city (pop. 40,000), drug addicts and facially pierced ne'er-do-wells are certainly easier to find than flinty yeoman farmers. Indeed, Burlington is a classic "Latte Town" -- one of those clever, crunchy, condescending college burgs crammed with students, and professors, with open-toed shoes and closed minds. The kids can name 50 different espresso drinks but not one reason to cut a tax, a tree, or their hair.

A friend who works for the Vermont GOP tells me, "Being liberal here carries the significance of what wearing the right clothes does on Sunset Blvd. in L.A. -- those who are not liberal, like those who are not properly fashionable in L.A., are looked upon with disgust and bewilderment, except that liberals in Vermont truly believe that conservatives are evil."

Visiting Burlington in 1997, David Brooks wrote for The Weekly Standard, "One of the striking things about [the town] is that it is relatively apolitical." Burlington was in effect a liberal Brigadoon, aloof from politics and representative of a "fundamental transformation in the American Left, the shift from the adversary culture to the alternative culture." When Brooks was there, the bookstores avoided political fare and he saw few bumper stickers.

Well, a lot has changed since 1997. The bookstores now front Noam Chomsky and Al Franken. There's no shortage of rallies, seminars, and petitions, all aimed to: stop the war, stop the occupation (of Iraq or Palestine), stop drilling in ANWR, stop the Patriot Act, stop This, stop That, and stop Everything Else. The day I visited I could sign up to join a protest in New Haven in order to show solidarity with the oppressed workers of Yale University. Political bumper stickers are now ubiquitous. "Impeach Bush" is popular, but my favorite was one I saw while driving along the campus of the University of Vermont: "The Road to Hell Is Paved with Republicans." You can also find it for sale at the Peace & Justice Center & Store on Church Street in the heart of downtown.