This campus is divided into two groups, separate and unequal. The minority is the subject of some ugly incidents designed to strike at their self-esteem and dignity.

I have felt this prejudice firsthand. I am from Western Illinois.

Most of you are from the suburbs or Chicago, which those of us from Ruraltania classify as the same thing. It’s our own defense mechanism—anyone from east of Aurora looks and sounds alike. You are from the land of mass transit, shopping malls and stoplights. We are from the land of soybean, corn and freight trains.

We are ignorant of your life and where you live. Those of us from Ruraltania smile and nod politely when you tell us you live in Oak Park, but we honestly have no idea where it is, other than it is a suburb. Evanston, Barrington, Skokie, Schaumburg, Villa Park—they are all the same to us.

We pretend to know the difference between the North side and South side, but if you look closely at us, you can see the glazed look that results when the small town person tries to comprehend miles of concrete stretching endlessly to the horizon.

Maybe we from the small towns of Western Illinois feel a sense of cultural inferiority that comes from not knowing how to stop the CTA bus, board the Metra or get to Wrigley Field without a map. Unless we get the understanding and compassion of our suburban and urban brothers and sisters, we might well become a permanent cultural underclass.

Sadly, some professors make merry of our plight. Just last week, a prominent history professor compared the culture of Western Illinois to that of the provinces of 19th century Russia—that is to say, no culture. Nekulturny.

I took issue with this narrow prejudice and pointed out that in addition to flush toilets and color television, rural Western Illinois was blessed with bowling leagues, Rotary Clubs, and church suppers.

The towns of Polo, Morrison, Mt. Morris, Oregon, Leaf River and other Western burgs that boast students at this institution may not have shopping malls, but they’ve got character.

At least I think they do. They do have characters, which lends our Western Illinois communities a certain charm.

In the town where I live, we have a woman who drives around with trash in her car from the seats to the roof, with only a small space carved out for her to sit. Then there’s the ex-rapist, who until recently rode around town on his bike carrying a baseball bat—in case he was assaulted. He was too eccentric even for our town and he was sent away to a place where eccentricity is cured, or at least kept off the streets.

I was prepared to defend in this space the honor of Western Illinois small towns. I was prepared to expound at great length on the superiority of clean air, no traffic jams, the slower pace of life and the general neighborliness that is the result of living in a town that has fewer than 5,000 souls. I was prepared to appeal to the campus majority on high moral grounds that we should not be shunned, laughed at or ridiculed just because our hometowns have more churches than bars.

However, on the way to school today, I realized that all this sounded a bit hollow because I was caught in a traffic jam in the middle of the country. How could I appeal on behalf of small town virtues when I was in the middle of a big-city phenomenon?

My defense would sound hollow. This bumper-to-bumper traffic I experienced would not support my case that life in the country is somehow more pristine, more pure.

True, there was a difference. Most traffic tie-ups on the Dan Ryan are not caused by a herd of 100 cattle that have gotten loose. With the help of their owners, the cattle crossed the road to get to the other side (I don’t know why).

Traffic soon cleared, and the morning rush hour of five cars quickly cleared out. The cattle left steamy souvenirs on the roadway as a reminder that we all live close to nature.

Now that’s culture.