Why We Leave

As a student studying out-of-state, first abroad in Ireland and now in New York City, I have gotten used to the reactions when I say where I’m from. “I’ve never met anyone from Iowa.” “Corn and farms?” “Oh, Caitlin Clark!” I’d like to think my replies are gracious and just self-deprecating enough to make the other person feel comfortable (“Don’t worry, no one knows anything about it!”). But, one question I never get, at least not specifically, is “Why did you leave?”

At first, the thought of that question makes me sad. If anything, I’ve grown to think more fondly of Iowa now that I don’t live there anymore. I miss my family. I miss the blue skies and endless flatness. I miss paddleboarding on Lake Macbride and going to the state fair. I miss snow days that become snow weeks. I miss late-night drives to Iowa City. I sometimes even miss not being able to take one step outside of my house without running into someone I know.

But pretty soon, the question makes me mad.

Because the real Iowa, the Iowa I lived the first eighteen years of my life in, the Iowa that I grew to love despite the never-ending cycles of snowstorms and heat waves, is not the Iowa I see from my now-external perspective. The Iowa I see now just passed a six-week ban on abortion.

The Iowa I see now is the 2021 bill requiring full-time, in-person classes in the midst of a pandemic wherein teachers possessed neither the vaccinations nor the classroom space to safely accommodate for students. The Iowa I see now reported its most deadly school shooting to-date this past January. Gov. Kim Reynolds responded to by signing an act allowing public school staff to legally carry weapons in classrooms.

It doesn’t take long living outside of Iowa to recognize the benefits of being supported, rather than suppressed, by a government. I no longer fear the impending doom of book bans, low educational funding, restrictions to my bodily autonomy, or threats against my freedom to identify however I prefer without discrimination. There is an unmistakable and constant high from understanding that those who represent me are actively working to open my access to opportunities rather than close them.

It came as no surprise to me when I discovered that Iowa is the 10th worst state in the country when it comes to “brain drain” — that is, “the departure of college graduates to other states.” I, like many other young people, simply see no opportunities for myself in Iowa, in terms of careers, freedom of expression, access to education and health care — the list goes on. I would not feel safe or comfortable raising a family in Iowa. I do not feel respected or supported by the state’s leaders. And I do not see that very same leaders doing anything to fix all of those feelings that are incredibly validated by Iowa’s brain drain ranking.

At the same time, I maintain the perhaps naive hope that the place I called home for so long will eventually find the strength and wisdom to change for the better. It is the people that who make me believe there is a path forward, because there are so many lives and stories in the small towns, neighborhoods, schools, and workplaces of Iowa that defy the narrow-minded and suffocating representation the government has given our state.

And it is with all the admiration in the world that I applaud those who choose to stay and fight for that path forward — they are braver than I’ll ever be.

Bella Littler (she/her) is a film student at Columbia University originally from Iowa. In her free time, she enjoys watching scary movies, playing with her three dogs, and procrastinating all of the important things.