Midwestern guys: Vance and Walz’s opposing views of being from the US heartland

For 30 years, Michael Bailey worked at the former Armco steel plant in Middletown, Ohio, eventually becoming president of a union that represented thousands of workers. Among them was James Vance, grandfather and sometimes stand-in father of the Republican party's current vice-presidential candidate, JD, who worked as a skilled tradesperson at the plant.

So Bailey, today a 71-year-old pastor at the Faith United church in downtown Middletown, says he's confused by claims from Donald Trump's running mate that he "grew up as a poor kid" in Middletown.

"As a rigger, [James Vance] made good money. Where he lived, on McKinley Street, he didn't live in poverty," he says. "JD came up in a middle-income family. He didn't come up on the rough side of town."

Politicians assuming working-class identities to attract votes is nothing new. But this year's election pits vice-presidential candidates against each other - ostensibly picked for their "real American" chops - who hold contrasting views of what it means to be a boots-on-the-ground midwesterner.

Endless corn fields, small towns and wide-open highways are characteristics of life in the midwest that most can agree on. Beyond that, experts say the region is far more complex.

Cities such as Chicago, Detroit and Cincinnati are home to millions of people that, for a time during the 20th century, were among the most innovative in the world.

"Midwesterners have historically been on the frontlines of progressive politics and education. Midwesterners also have been innovators in both an economic and cultural sense," says Diane Mutti Burke, the director of the Center for Midwestern Studies at the University of Missouri-Kansas City.

But many agree there are a few features that typically set midwesterners apart.

"Midwesterners also are said to be 'nice'," says Mutti Burke. "The idea is that midwesterners are often friendly and gracious to a fault."

Perhaps that's why Democratic party vice-presidential candidate Tim Walz's characterization of Vance and Trump as "weird" last month has struck such a chord with voters in the midwest, propelling the Harris-Walz ticket to a four-point lead in Pennsylvania, Michigan and Wisconsin in a recent poll.

As governor of Minnesota, Walz's brand of "nice" saw him introduce universal free breakfast and lunch for K-12 students in the state last year. The move was informed by his previous firsthand experience as a high school teacher who saw that lower-income kids using different colored food tickets to others could end up being stigmatized.

What's more, Walz has asked to appear on Millennial Farmer, a popular YouTube channel run by a Minnesota crop farmer that depicts everyday, midwestern farm life, despite its host's anti-Democrat leanings. That request has yet to be fulfilled.

At his first rally with Kamala Harris in Philadelphia on 6 August, Walz went straight after Vance's midwestern chops, saying sarcastically: "Like all regular people I grew up with in the heartland, JD studied at Yale, had his career funded by Silicon Valley billionaires."

Vance has defended his upward mobility as illustrative of having succeeded in achieving the American dream.

For his part, Vance has said he'd like to increase the child tax credit, currently at $2,000 per child, to $5,000, and eliminate the upper income threshold, which currently stands at $200,000 for single tax filers and $400,000 for couples.

However, this month Vance failed to vote on a bill to increase the child tax credit program, claiming it would have failed regardless of whether he had taken part or not. The day of the vote, Vance was at the border in Arizona falsely claiming that the vice-president was the current administration's "border czar". (Harris aides have said that she was never given the responsibility of policing the border.)

While Vance visited with picketing auto workers in Ohio last October, those who have closely watched his 18 months in office as a US senator say that, compared to Walz, he hasn't achieved anything substantial for midwesterners.

"Walz has been a teacher, a coach, a governor [and] a congressman," said Charles "Rocky" Saxbe, a former senior member of Ohio's Republican party who opposes the Maga movement. "I think when you look at vice-presidential contests - to the extent that they matter - you want someone who can step into the role of presidency, if it's necessary and you want someone who has leadership experience, which JD Vance has never had."

Unsurprisingly, Vance's camp disagree, citing his working with Democrats to introduce rail safety and banking regulation bills as evidence of his political achievements.

Politics aside, there's an obvious financial gap dividing the two candidates. While in 2022 Walz earned $127,629 as governor of Minnesota, Vance raked in more than $1m the same year through a salary and company profits at a venture capital firm, a property rental, book royalties and from a host of investments. The Wall Street Journal suggests Vance's net worth could be more than $10m.

For some midwesterners, however, it's the rhetoric that most keenly separates the two.

Last year, Vance lobbied against, and failed to defeat, an amendment to the Ohio constitution to enshrine access to abortion. His "childless cat ladies" comments resurfaced last month were almost universally panned.

But Bailey says his first opinions of Vance were formed several years ago, when the senator was in town publicizing his 2016 book, Hillbilly Elegy.

As a pastor and former president of a major workers' union at Armco Steel, Bailey figured that someone of Vance's emerging public persona meant that the senator might want to speak with him and other Middletown community leaders, so he gave Vance his business card.

"I said: 'I'd like to talk to you and if you're thinking about running for office, we'd like to have your ear,'" says Bailey.

"We've never had a response."

Despite Vance being elected nearly two years ago, his Middletown constituency office has no external signs or obvious indications highlighting the location for locals seeking to meet with him. A recent visit by the Guardian found the office door locked and the only communication made available by a staffer was through an intercom.

Bailey says he thinks that rather than running for the benefit of Middletown and midwesterners at large, Vance is being used as a political stooge by the Silicon Valley billionaires who bankrolled his successful 2020 senate campaign.

"I think they looked at someone with JD's background," he says, "and said: 'We can use him to take away our democracy.'"