A recent Des Moines Register/Mediacom Iowa Poll has revealed an astonishing fact about Iowans: we think we’re nice.
Or most of us do. According to the poll, 58 percent of Iowans believe we are generally nicer than folks from other states. The poll did not ask how many Iowans actually know somebody from, say, Alaska. Alaskans are probably nice as pie, for all we know. But we still think we’re nicer. Thirty-six percent of those polled figured Iowans are no nicer than anybody else. Four percent claim we are actually worse. The poll showed that 70 percent of Republicans thought Iowans are nicer while only 51 percent of Democrats thought we are. But 98 percent of Republicans think Democrats are demons from Hell and 99 percent of Democrats think Republicans are mouth-breathing morons (I made that up).
The point is, people who are members of a group tend to approve of members of that group—in short—of themselves. And maybe this is especially true in Iowa because “Iowa Nice” has become our band name. Nice describes us—defines us–and, by extension, restricts us.
When a mother tells her six-year-old, “You’re so nice!” it’s a compliment, but it could also be seen as a mechanism of emotional control. It implies that if the boy were to do something ornery, he would be acting outside his advertised classification. He would be a disappointment, a failure. He would have to somehow redeem himself in the eyes of his mother. By calling him “nice” his mother is not allowing for other options.
And really, is there anybody who doesn’t think he or she is nice? A person would be more likely to admit to being a murderer than a jerk. I bet if somebody had asked the serial cannibal Jeffery Dahmer if he was basically nice, he would have said, “Of course. Sure, I eat the occasional person, but I’m good company when I get to know me. I can enjoy a Big Mac—I mean a Whopper-I mean a Wendy’s Hot And Juicy. Why are you looking at me like that? I’m talking about hamburgers.”
I never gave the idea of Iowa Nice much thought until I moved to Omaha. Late one evening, I was walking down the sidewalk on the edge of town when I met somebody coming from the other way. When I smiled and said, “Hi,” he glanced over at me with terror in his eyes as if he had just seen Jack the Ripper and hurried on his way. I admit I was a little offended. I thought, where I’m from, it’s impolite not to say hello. And furthermore, I am not Jack the Ripper, I’m from Iowa. I’m nice.