A Century Since the 'Trial of the Century': Lessons for the Democratic Party Today

In July 1925, John Scopes, a 24-year-old teacher, stood trial in a sweltering courtroom in Dayton, Tennessee. Charged with violating the Butler Act—a new law prohibiting the teaching of evolution on the grounds it contradicted the Bible—Scopes was found guilty, fined $100, and became forever linked to one of the most famous legal battles in American history.

Although the Tennessee Supreme Court later overturned Scopes’ conviction on a procedural technicality, the impact of this so-called “trial of the century” continues to reverberate through American culture and politics a hundred years later. The trial spotlighted a profound conflict between emerging scientific thought and traditional Christian beliefs, personified by two renowned lawyers: William Jennings Bryan for the prosecution and Clarence Darrow for the defense. Broadcast live on the radio, the trial revealed the disdain urban liberals held toward those they viewed as dogmatic and uneducated. The journalist H.L. Mencken famously derided Bryan’s views as a ‘‘childish theology’’ and dismissed him as ‘‘a peasant returned to the barnyard.’’

Today, many rural voters perceive the Democratic Party’s urban leaders and advisors as condescending toward their values and way of life. Given the outsized influence rural constituencies hold in shaping the Senate, Democrats must address this perception—whether accurate or not—if they aim to regain political dominance.

While evolution has been legally taught across all states for decades, the deeper cultural tensions exposed by the Scopes Trial persist. Rural Americans tend to identify more strongly with Christianity than their urban counterparts. Many white rural voters support politicians who explicitly root their worldviews in biblical teachings, including figures who emphasize religious faith as central to their political agenda. Additionally, rural communities often harbor skepticism toward experts and intellectual elites, descendants of those who defended Scopes a century ago.

The debate over control of school curricula remains fiercely contested. Bryan argued that ‘‘the people,’’ rather than educators, should govern educational content, asserting that communities funding their schools had the right to decide what was taught—including banning evolution. This philosophy underpins modern efforts by conservative groups to restrict teachings on diversity, equity, inclusion, and LGBTQ topics in schools.

Conservative policy proposals, such as those outlined in Project 2025 by the Heritage Foundation, advocate for parental authority over student education and support public funding for private, including religious, schools. These schools may promote skepticism about climate change, systemic racism, and evolutionary science.

From the perspective of the Democratic Party’s largely secular and urban base, these views often appear as rejection of expertise and intellectual rigor, sometimes to the detriment of public welfare. Some Democrats question the qualifications of figures like Robert F. Kennedy Jr. to oversee public health, express concern about Medicaid cuts threatening rural hospitals, and condemn government censorship in education.

Yet, merely condemning anti-intellectualism is unlikely to change entrenched beliefs. Nor will defending academic freedom persuade conservative parents who worry their children are being taught values contrary to those upheld at home. Democratic leaders need strategies to navigate and engage with these deeply held convictions.

There are notable contrasts between the present and a century ago. At the time of the Scopes Trial, many religious rural Americans supported Bryan’s progressive populism. Bryan championed causes such as opposition to corporate monopolies, support for labor unions, campaign finance reform, and progressive taxation. His platform may offer guidance for Democrats seeking to connect with rural voters today.

By proposing bold economic initiatives that address the needs of devout small-town communities—and recognizing the moral values embedded in their faith—Democrats could potentially regain the trust of millions currently alienated from their party.

Economic disparities between rural and urban populations remain stark, exacerbated by decades of declining union jobs in sectors like coal mining. Although President Joe Biden’s Inflation Reduction Act aimed to address these inequalities, its benefits have been slow to reach many rural areas. The law’s vulnerability to repeal under Republican congressional control adds to rural frustration. Sociologists describe this sentiment as ‘‘stolen pride,’’ reflecting resentment toward affluent urbanites and politicians perceived as indifferent or blaming rural communities for their struggles.

Some Democrats across the ideological spectrum recognize this challenge and are working to bridge the divide. Senator Bernie Sanders, representing a largely rural state, has emphasized universally popular policies such as healthcare expansion and wealth taxation, often sidestepping divisive cultural issues. Representative Marie Gluesenkamp Perez, serving a rural district in Washington State that supported Trump, focuses on constituents’ immediate concerns like reproductive healthcare and combating fentanyl imports. She recently highlighted the threat posed by Medicaid cuts to rural hospitals in her district.

As the 2026 elections approach, Democrats in competitive districts would benefit from adopting an empathetic populist approach exemplified by leaders like Sanders and Gluesenkamp Perez. Activists engaged in cultural battles should allow space for such pragmatic campaigning. Political success hinges not on ideological conversion but on securing a broad coalition of voters.

Still, rural and small-town voters may appreciate Democratic overtures yet continue to support conservative parties that affirm their religious and racial identities. Historically, rural Christians allied with liberal Democrats during the Great Depression, embracing New Deal programs that brought infrastructure and relief to their communities.

Absent a major economic crisis under Republican leadership, the cultural divide that has persisted for a century may prove difficult to close. Nevertheless, for a party whose name signifies ‘‘rule by the people,’’ failing to engage with rural America would be a significant missed opportunity.