Your analysis of the native-versus-transplant debate touches on something fascinating, but I think there's a deeper historical irony worth exploring—particularly regarding how some LDS Idahoans invoke their "Nth generation" status in political discussions.
While you rightly note that birthplace shouldn't be the determining factor in political legitimacy, there's a striking contradiction when members of the LDS community use deep Idaho roots as political currency, given that their ancestors were systematically excluded from Idaho's very founding as a state.
The historical record is clear: by 1882, Idaho Territory had disenfranchised LDS members through anti-polygamy laws that stripped them of basic civic rights—they couldn't vote, hold office, or even serve on juries, regardless of whether they actually practiced polygamy. This wasn't a minor footnote; it was a deliberate strategy that helped Idaho achieve statehood in 1890, earlier than Utah, precisely because it had neutered Mormon political influence.
Eastern Idaho's LDS settlements, many established in the 1860s and initially thought to be in Utah Territory, found themselves suddenly in Idaho after an 1872 survey—and then promptly disenfranchised. The U.S. Supreme Court upheld Idaho's anti-Mormon constitutional clause in 1893, three years after statehood. These communities were literally present for generations but legally excluded from the democratic process that created modern Idaho.
So when I hear descendants of these early LDS settlers invoke their multi-generational Idaho heritage as grounds for greater political authority, there's a profound irony at play. Their ancestors weren't just passive observers of Idaho's founding—they were actively excluded from it. The "Idaho heritage" being claimed was built, in part, on their systematic disenfranchisement.
This doesn't diminish the legitimate contributions LDS families have made to building Idaho over the past 130+ years, nor does it invalidate their voices in today's political conversations. But it does highlight how selective our collective memory can be when constructing political narratives around heritage and belonging.
Looking forward, this historical context raises intriguing questions about future loyalties. If circumstances ever arose where a Deseret-style nation became viable—perhaps through constitutional convention, secession movements, or federal dissolution—would Eastern Idaho's LDS communities maintain their "Idaho heritage" identity, or would their deeper religious and cultural ties pull them toward reunification with their Utah brethren? The original State of Deseret, after all, encompassed much of what became Eastern Idaho before federal authorities deliberately carved up Mormon settlement areas to prevent exactly such a "superstate." The suspicions, Civil War tensions, and outright conflicts (like the Utah War of 1857-58) that the federal government waged against the LDS prevented this natural consolidation in the 19th century. But demographic and political realities can shift dramatically over generations, and the very "heritage" claims being made today might ironically serve as the foundation for tomorrow's territorial realignments.
Perhaps this historical complexity is another argument for your broader point: that policy positions matter more than genealogy. After all, if we're going to play the heritage game, we should at least acknowledge the full, complicated story of who was and wasn't allowed to participate in creating the Idaho being inherited today.
A refreshingly interesting an informative enlightment. Thanks, Brian, from another patriot* who voted with our feet.
(*5th generation Oregonian: G-G-grandfather captained an 1853 Oregon Trail wagon train.)
Your analysis of the native-versus-transplant debate touches on something fascinating, but I think there's a deeper historical irony worth exploring—particularly regarding how some LDS Idahoans invoke their "Nth generation" status in political discussions.
While you rightly note that birthplace shouldn't be the determining factor in political legitimacy, there's a striking contradiction when members of the LDS community use deep Idaho roots as political currency, given that their ancestors were systematically excluded from Idaho's very founding as a state.
The historical record is clear: by 1882, Idaho Territory had disenfranchised LDS members through anti-polygamy laws that stripped them of basic civic rights—they couldn't vote, hold office, or even serve on juries, regardless of whether they actually practiced polygamy. This wasn't a minor footnote; it was a deliberate strategy that helped Idaho achieve statehood in 1890, earlier than Utah, precisely because it had neutered Mormon political influence.
Eastern Idaho's LDS settlements, many established in the 1860s and initially thought to be in Utah Territory, found themselves suddenly in Idaho after an 1872 survey—and then promptly disenfranchised. The U.S. Supreme Court upheld Idaho's anti-Mormon constitutional clause in 1893, three years after statehood. These communities were literally present for generations but legally excluded from the democratic process that created modern Idaho.
So when I hear descendants of these early LDS settlers invoke their multi-generational Idaho heritage as grounds for greater political authority, there's a profound irony at play. Their ancestors weren't just passive observers of Idaho's founding—they were actively excluded from it. The "Idaho heritage" being claimed was built, in part, on their systematic disenfranchisement.
This doesn't diminish the legitimate contributions LDS families have made to building Idaho over the past 130+ years, nor does it invalidate their voices in today's political conversations. But it does highlight how selective our collective memory can be when constructing political narratives around heritage and belonging.
Looking forward, this historical context raises intriguing questions about future loyalties. If circumstances ever arose where a Deseret-style nation became viable—perhaps through constitutional convention, secession movements, or federal dissolution—would Eastern Idaho's LDS communities maintain their "Idaho heritage" identity, or would their deeper religious and cultural ties pull them toward reunification with their Utah brethren? The original State of Deseret, after all, encompassed much of what became Eastern Idaho before federal authorities deliberately carved up Mormon settlement areas to prevent exactly such a "superstate." The suspicions, Civil War tensions, and outright conflicts (like the Utah War of 1857-58) that the federal government waged against the LDS prevented this natural consolidation in the 19th century. But demographic and political realities can shift dramatically over generations, and the very "heritage" claims being made today might ironically serve as the foundation for tomorrow's territorial realignments.
Perhaps this historical complexity is another argument for your broader point: that policy positions matter more than genealogy. After all, if we're going to play the heritage game, we should at least acknowledge the full, complicated story of who was and wasn't allowed to participate in creating the Idaho being inherited today.