Pilloried in Washington, Marjorie Taylor Greene is loved back home
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[February 13, 2021]
By Nathan Layne and James Oliphant
CEDARTOWN, Ga (Reuters) - From the pulpit this
past Sunday, Pastor Brian Crisp prayed for President Joe Biden and
delivered a passionate sermon on loving one’s neighbor. But away from
church, the Baptist preacher was steeling for battle.
This rural stretch of northwest Georgia is Marjorie Taylor Greene
country. The freshman congresswoman won this district in a landslide in
November. Voters here aren’t happy that the Democratic-controlled House
of Representatives on Feb. 4 stripped Greene of her committee
assignments - diluting her influence - for, among other things,
advocating violence against Democratic lawmakers on social media before
she was elected.
Exhibit A for the Democrats was Greene's September Facebook post showing
an image of herself brandishing an AR-15 semi-automatic rifle
superimposed alongside the faces of three Democratic congresswomen. The
post, later removed by Facebook, urged Christians to "go on the offense
against these socialists." Crisp, the pastor, viewed the post not as a
threat by Greene against the officials - all women of color - rather as
a defense of his community's way of life.
"It promoted a strong stance of who we as Americans are," said Crisp,
over lunch in Cedartown, a city of 10,000 people northwest of Atlanta.
"We are not going to let you come in here and change this nation."
An ardent backer of former President Donald Trump, Greene has taken
center stage as the Republican Party grapples with a profound identity
crisis in the wake of his November election defeat. Her extremist views
resonate with many lawmakers and voters who remain loyal to Trump,
despite warnings from more mainstream Republicans that she and
candidates like her could do long-term damage to the party's electoral
fortunes.
Reuters this month interviewed three dozen Republican-leaning voters in
Georgia's 14th district, the primarily rural and blue-collar region that
sent Greene to Washington. The majority said they endorse her view that
Democrats are taking the country down a dangerous path towards
socialism. Like Greene, they believe Trump's false claims that the
election was stolen. The former president, they contend, was unfairly
impeached for inciting the deadly Jan. 6 insurrection by a pro-Trump mob
at the U.S. Capitol, and they are rooting for his acquittal in the
Senate.
Of those interviewed, just four said they hadn't voted for her in
November. Most said they would support her again.
COMBAT OVER COMPROMISE
Most brushed off outlandish conspiracies Greene has promoted in the
past, including a baseless QAnon theory that holds that elite Democrats
are part of a cabal of Satan-worshipping pedophiles and cannibals.
Instead, they praised her anti-abortion, pro-gun, no-filter approach to
politics.
"She speaks her mind. I like her style," said Michael Pace, a
26-year-old manager at a gift boutique in Dallas, Georgia.
Like Trump, Greene understands that her supporters prize combativeness
over compromise or policy successes, said David Jolly, a former
Republican congressman from Florida who left the party over Trump. Jolly
believes Greene’s newfound political celebrity - the 46-year-old's
national profile has grown dramatically over the last month - could
imperil other Republicans running in competitive races in next year's
midterm elections.
Democrats have lost no time in trying to make Greene the face of her
party with an eye toward the 2022 elections for the House of
Representatives and Senate. An ad campaign already running in
competitive districts, including in California and Texas, declares "QAnon
took over the Republican Party and sent its followers to Congress."
A Reuters review of voter data shows that tens of thousands of
registered Republicans left the party in the crucial battleground states
of Pennsylvania, Florida and North Carolina this year, much higher than
the rate of Democratic defections. In addition, prominent Republicans
worried about Trump's hold on the party are in talks to form a breakaway
center-right party, Reuters reported this week.
A representative for Greene did not respond to requests for a comment.
At a press conference last week in Washington, she remained defiant,
saying Democrats had "stripped my district of their voice" by expelling
her from committees. Greene has used her ouster as an opportunity to
raise money from supporters.
Michael McAdams, a spokesman for the National Republican Congressional
Committee, said Democratic efforts to portray Greene and QAnon as
stand-ins for the entire party was a strategic misfire. He blamed
Democrats for "elevating fringe conspiracy theories" by criticizing
Greene.
"We are going to continue hammering House Democrats for their
job-killing, socialist agenda," McAdams said.
Most House Republicans, meanwhile, have shown little interest in
distancing themselves from Greene. Rather than rebuke Greene for her
views, on Feb. 3 some House colleagues gave her a standing ovation after
she apologized for some of her previous stances, including a past
assertion that the U.S. government was behind the 9/11 terrorist
attacks.
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Tom Pound, former chair of the Dade County Republican Party, shows a
photo on his phone of his grandson posing with Republican U.S. Rep.
Marjorie Taylor Greene, in Trenton, Georgia, U.S. February 5, 2021.
Picture taken February 5, 2021. REUTERS/Elijah Nouvelage
Across the country, Trump loyalists are flexing their muscle. In the
last few weeks, they have taken control of state Republican chapters
in the battleground states of Arizona and Michigan. And state
parties in Louisiana, Nebraska, South Carolina and Wyoming have
blasted Republican lawmakers who have shown support for Trump’s
impeachment for inciting the Jan. 6 Capitol riot.
The trend worries Jay Williams, a Republican operative in Georgia.
He pointed to two recent U.S. Senate contests - both won by
Democrats in surprise upsets over pro-Trump Republicans - as a
preview of what lies ahead if the Republican Party continues to
repel moderate voters.
The Trump wing of the party, he said, has to "learn to play with
other people or they are going to keep losing.”
CHURCHES AND GUNS
A former businesswoman and fitness instructor in the Atlanta area,
Greene’s sudden ascension into national politics was made possible
by her largely rural district, one of the most conservative in the
country.
The region is dotted by Protestant churches. Gun ownership is
common. Democrats are routinely trounced in local and national
elections. Greene won the Republican primary last year after beating
a local neurosurgeon, John Cowan, by 14 points in a run-off. She
went on to crush her Democratic challenger in the general election
by winning nearly 75% of the vote.
Her district is overwhelmingly white – about 85% – and has a college
graduation rate of just 18%, far below the national average of about
34%. Manufacturing and retail jobs dominate the local economy.
The district is thinly populated, with 732,000 people scattered
across 12 counties. Yet it ranks third among all Georgia districts
in the number of COVID-19 cases: more than 60,000 as of Feb. 10,
according to a tracking project at Harvard University.
Still, much of downtown Rome, a city of 37,000 in the heart of the
district, operates as if the virus is no longer a threat. Maskless
patrons walk in and out of stores and bars along Broad Street. Many
businesses display signs in their windows objecting to enforcement
of a local face-covering ordinance.
Even so, not everyone in the district was ready to get on board with
Greene, who will have to run for re-election next year.
Cowan, the neurosurgeon, said a lot of supporters are pleading with
him to run again in 2022. But he's realistic about the allure of
Greene's flame-throwing political style.
"If that’s what our district wants, then I’ll lose," said Cowan, a
mild-mannered former college football player. "I’m not on a kamikaze
mission."
In Georgia's Dade County, part of Greene's district, Tom Pounds
abruptly resigned last week as the county's Republican party chair.
Already dismayed by his party's unwavering allegiance to Trump, he
said its embrace of Greene pushed him over the edge.
"I wasn't going to bite my tongue for two more years" of her term,
he said.
'SHE IS THERE FOR ME'
A recent gathering in Cedartown was more representative of the
district. Three miles north of Crisp's Lime Branch Baptist Church
sits a local gas station and convenience store. Every morning before
dawn, local men known as "the Committee" gather over bacon, biscuits
and grits to discuss news of the day.
Jeff Minge, owner of the store and a regular Committee member, said
he likes Greene because she doesn't "walk on eggshells" when she
talks and, like Trump, represents a bulwark against the left.
On a recent morning, six men sitting around a plastic table took
turns railing against various perceived injustices perpetrated by
Democrats. Among their beefs was Democrats' condemnation of the Jan.
6 attack on the Capitol by Trump supporters, a rampage that left
five dead. Why hadn't Democrats spoken out just as forcefully about
violence at Black Lives Matter protests last summer, the Committee
wondered.
While Greene may have made some regrettable comments, so have the
Democrats, the men agreed.
"She is radical, no doubt," said Mike Lester, a 53-year old
automotive repair teacher. "But she is there to support me, radical
or not."
(Reporting by Nathan Layne in Georgia and James Oliphant in
Washington; additional reporting by Jason Lange; editing by Soyoung
Kim and Marla Dickerson)
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