The paradisiacal and the terrifying

King's Court, Hopkinsville, Kentucky

Photo Credit: Boston Public Library

In the Pennyroyal region of southwestern Kentucky, amidst the smoky ranges of dark-fired tobacco, rests the town of Hopkinsville. Initially claimed in 1796 by Bartholomew Wood as part of a grant for his service in the American Revolution, a small tract of land quietly grew, until a town was formally established in 1804. Nearly 150 years later, in the fall of 1952, Hopkinsville welcomed its newest citizen, a baby girl born to Rosa Bell Oldham and Veodis Watkins.

Gloria Jean Watkins came roaring into a segregated world that was unprepared for the robust impregnability of a young Black girl’s voice. Raised by a man who worked as a janitor for the United States postal service and a woman who worked as a maid for white families, Gloria Jean described her rural childhood as “a rich magical world of southern black culture that was sometimes paradisiacal and at other times terrifying.” Amongst a white hegemony that could offer both the benefits of literature and the punishments of discrimination, Gloria Jean, a loner with “too much spirit”, crafted one of the most enduring identities in American social critique. bell hooks.

Greetings from Kentucky

Photo Credit: Shook Photos

A hymn for the pastoral 

bell hooks, a pen name borrowed from her maternal great-grandmother and stylized in lowercase in order to decenter the author, would go on to write nearly seventy published works, spanning from poetry and children’s literature to memoirs and magazine articles. While hooks is perhaps best known for her foundational contributions to the modern conceptualizations of intersectionality, the initial focus of this reflection is a small book of poetry released in 2012.

Appalachian Elegy opens with the following sentiment:

Even as a child I knew that to be raised in the country, to come from the backwoods, left one without meaning or presence. Growing up we did not use terms like ‘hillbilly.’ Country folk lived on isolated farms away from the city; backwoods folks lived in remote areas, in the hills and hollers. To be from the backwoods was to be part of the wild. Where we lived, black folks were as much a part of the wild, living in a natural way on the earth, as white folks. All backwoods folks were poor by material standards; they know how to make do. They were not wanting to tame the wildness, in themselves or nature. Living in the Kentucky hills was where I first learned the importance of being wild.

The collection itself, a series of “intimate untitled poems”, is a meditation on the threads that bind us, for better or worse, to our places of origin. Interrogating the enduring ways that ancestry tattoos our personage long after we leave the places we once called home. hooks’ exploration informally tracks her return to her Kentucky birthplace “blending memory with the harsh realities of destruction and the erasure of Black Appalachian history." While the work does not present a singular, nor stagnant iteration of what it means to claim an identity rooted in the rural, the introduction does, notably, distance the work from the concept of terms like 'hillbilly', a rather ironic sentiment, given what followed just four years later.

Postcard from St. Clairsville, Ohio

Photo Credit: Boston Public Library

The name taker

As of the writing of this post, there are probably few Americans unfamiliar with J.D. Vance’s 2016 memoir Hillbilly Elegy, at least in name. Within weeks of its release, the book was a New York Times bestseller and went on to be dramatized in a film directed by Oscar winner Ron Howard. Not to mention, of course, that Vance is currently serving as Vice President of the United States.

At the time of its release, there wasn’t significant notice taken, at least in most circles, of the similarities between hooks and Vance’s titles. The Hillbilly Elegy Wikipedia entry makes no mention of hooks’ work, despite referencing several other Appalachian literatures. Perhaps that is suitable, titular similarities are hardly rare in the realm of publishing, and beyond their rural origins, no one has evidenced any particular connection between the two authors or that Vance has any knowledge of hooks and her writings. The similitudes were, it seemed, pure chance.

That is, until Vance announced his second memoir, set to release in June later this year. Communion: Finding My Way Back to Faith is:

A spiritual exploration of what it means to be a Christian in all the seasons of life JD Vance has experienced—as a child, a young man, a husband, a father, and a leader. Picking up in some ways where Hillbilly Elegy left off, Communion recounts how Vance's pursuit of material privileges ultimately led him into a secular wilderness. Communion reveals how Vance regained his faith and discusses his conversion to Catholicism, how his faith guides his work in public life, and how it shapes his thoughts about the future.

Given the subject matter, the title is entirely apropos. Communion is defined as “the sharing or exchanging of intimate thoughts and feelings, especially when the exchange is on a mental or spiritual level." As such, on its face, there is nothing particularly noteworthy about Vance’s selection. However, as first noted by Claire Guinan for Jezebel, what is noteworthy is that his book isn’t the first to bear that title. Who else wrote a book titled Communion? Well, bell hooks of course.

Postcard from Castalia, Ohio

Photo Credit: Sent from the Past

The agrestic aggressor

On the sliding scale between complete coincidence and full-blown conspiracy, it is unclear where this story situates itself. While I find it difficult to suggest that Vance is uniquely plagued by a desire to co-opt the titles of hooks, to suppress her works to make room for his own; that is, in many effects, exactly what is happening. If you conduct a simple Google search for ‘elegy book’ or ‘communion book’ his works appear before hers in both iterations.

In theory, there should be room for a multitude of rural voices, but critics are beginning to express concern that Vance’s parallelism is hostile in either intent or effect. Guinan writes “I’m choosing to believe that [Vance] is a huge fan, rather than the other, more likely option, which is that he is appropriating IP from a prominent black, feminist voice.” Author B.N. Russo further opined:

Not only is this plagiarism of a Black woman’s work, it’s also search engine manipulation and keyword appropriation that will result in the detraction from Black feminist thought. Now, a student searching for “Communion book” may find promotional resources for a pseudo-religious political propaganda piece, rather than resources on hooks’ critical social philosophies. In this moment of attacks on Critical Race and Feminist Theories, removal of sociology studies from state schools, historical revisionism in National Parks, schools, and museums, censorship of public service organizations and institutions, book banning, ‘DEI’ investigations, and curriculum challenges, this is de facto censorship in the digital age.

Postcard from Lompoc, California

Photo Credit: Sent from the Past

An Arcadian mouthpiece 

One female. One male. One Black. One White. One queer. One straight. One passed on. One living. One lowercase in an attempt to decenter the self. One seeking the most powerful title in the world. Diametrically opposed, yet united in a desire to contribute to the cultural consciousness on rural identity. Only time will tell which narrative will devour the other, or whether, perhaps, coexistence is possible. I, for one, will be monitoring the situation with careful fascination, anticipating Vance’s third memoir title with bated breath.

Further readings

For further reading on these subjects please direct your attention to the following blog posts:

“On bell hooks: Black, female, working class and ‘semirural’” 

“J.D. Vance pulls ahead in race for Republican nomination for U.S. Senate seat in Ohio, prompting comparisons to positions he took in his book”

“Hillbilly cosplay and the privilege coverup”

If you build it, they will come: Rural relocation incentive programs prove popular

In an effort to combat rural depopulation, small communities across the United States are thinking of inventive ways to encourage relocation. Programs have popped up across the country offering financial incentives to new residents, ranging from down payment assistance to cash stipends. These packages can include anything from free internet service and recreation passes to lunch with the mayor. 

An earlier post on this blog discussed how rural communities are attracting California’s remote workers to Indiana incentive programs. This post discusses two programs that have emerged through state  initiatives in the last few years since that post that are seeking to draw folks from all backgrounds to find their new rural homes. Both programs offer bigger financial incentives than previous programs, and they specifically reward homeownership. 

An infrastructure project in Hickman, NE, an hour northwest of Pawnee City.

One program in Pawnee City, Nebraska, a town of about 900 residents, 90 minutes southeast of Lincoln, attracted considerable media attention last year. As part of their Vision 2030 plan, the city is offering $50,000 in down payment assistance to new home buyers. One video on the program from business news service Morning Brew garnered over one million views.  The money for this program has come from a grant from the Nebraska Affordable Housing Trust,

Over the next five years, the city plans to build 25 houses, multiple apartment buildings, and new community amenities. These projects are set for infill lots already owned by the city, which has helped to reduce costs.  The first two houses will be sold for $325,000, significantly higher than the average home price of $116,768 in Pawnee City. 

But the buzz has proved to be more than just media hype. The Chamber of Commerce reported receiving 115 applications for the two homes in the first two weeks. To qualify, applicants must make no more than 120% of the Area Median Income (AMI), $108,375 for a family of four.

Aaron Sawyer, Pawnee City's Economic Development Director, explained to Morning Brew what kind of applicants they are looking for:

The ideal people for these homes that we're building here in Pawnee City would be people that work from home. They can get a lot more bang for their buck to come to a small town like this, in a safe environment, and their same job, and just have a much better lifestyle.

Pawnee City isn't the only place trying to attract the growing number of remote workers to rural areas. Ascend WV is one of the largest relocation programs, covering several rural communities across West Virginia. A partnership between Brad D. Smith, former CEO of Intuit, Governor Patrick Morrissey, the West Virginia Department of Tourism, and the University of West Virginia, this program provides incentives for remote workers to move to the Mountain State for at least two years. 

Maverick's Bar, located in Morgantown, WV, an Ascend WV community.

Ascend WV is offering $12,000 cash payments for relocation, paid out in monthly installments over two years. If participants choose to buy a home at any point in their two years, the remaining money can be paid out as a lump sum for a downpayment or other home-buying expenses. The program also offers free outdoor recreation and gear rentals, access to coworking spaces, professional development through West Virginia University, and exclusive social events.

The program seeks to grow West Virginia's economy while helping remote workers find a community to call home and get involved in. West Virginia recorded the ninth-worst job growth of any state coming out of the pandemic, and post-COVID corporate investment has been concentrated in wealthier-than-average counties. This program could drive spending and tax revenue to more remote locations, like New River Gorge. The community there still faces long-standing infrastructure concerns, like sufficient housing for residents, even after the recent designation of New River Gorge as a National Park. 

Ascend WV complements First Ascent, a program to support recent graduates of West Virginia University and avoid brain-drain.WVU Today reported that as of September 5, 2025, 

[B]oth programs have drawn nearly 65,000 applicants, relocated upwards of 950 new residents, and kept 60 graduates in West Virginia, boasting above a 96% retention rate. Notably, 38% of participants also are West Virginia homeowners.

It remains too early to tell if these relocation programs are enough to meaningfully combat rural depopulation over the long term. However, these programs have proven incredibly popular and created significant online chatter. Attracting remote workers could pay off considerably, as they are able to increase the tax base and drive up consumer spending, without taking much-needed jobs away from residents. 

The gain isn't solely with the rural community, however. Young people with remote jobs report feeling less happy and engaged in their communities. These programs, especially those that offer social engagement and recreation opportunities, can help people find their place in the world. As twin crises of affordability and loneliness impact young Americans, programs like these may offer a chance for rural areas to revitalize community, reverse demographic trends, and shore up tax revenue. 

On using localism to help save rural America

This is from Jeffrey Tyler Syck on Persuasion's Substack on Tuesday, Nov. 25, "Localism, Not Nationalism, Will Cure What Ails Rural America."  Syck, an assistant professor of politics at the University of Pikeville, in eastern Kentucky, frames his argument in relation to J.D. Vance's embrace of nationalism and his concomitant neglect of the local:  

The collapse of rural towns, small industrial cities, and remote farms has coincided with the decline of local cultures. A local identity brings with it pride of place and a certain willingness to live with the disadvantages endemic to the location. When people feel that their locality serves a purpose—that it is embedded within a larger whole—they are willing to tolerate or even embrace its remoteness, slower pace of life, and faulty infrastructure. Rural Americans once thrived on a belief that for all their region’s faults, they were the backbone of the nation.

But [J.D.] Vance’s concept of the nation does not restore this sense of local pride. Instead, it substitutes a globalized vision of tradition for a local one.

The proof surrounds me every day in my native Central Appalachia. As a child, most local businesses in my neighborhood seemed to identify first and foremost with East Kentucky. Many bore names like “commonwealth insurance” or “mountain music.” Though people in the region were patriotic, the primary emotional attachment was regional and not national.

Yet since Vance—and MAGA more broadly—have encouraged a strong dose of nationalism in red states, this has changed. Now when I cruise down the highway I am greeted by “Patriot RV” or “American Laundry and Cleaners.” This is a subtle but telling shift.

* * *

Champions of rural America must reject reactionary nationalist attempts to rewind the clock back to the 1950s. They need a totally new solution to rural malaise—one that combines the localism of the past with the values of the open society that will likely dominate the coming century. This is not an easy task; it asks us to combine two things that have not historically gone well together. Yet it is the only real hope for rural America.

How might it come about?

The first step is for government and civil society to rejuvenate local cultural institutions. For instance, in my native Eastern Kentucky we should work hard to make local newspapers a strong cultural force again. We should restore historical buildings and landscapes, beautifying cheap utilitarian constructions so that they fit with the vernacular culture, and preserve local environments. We should refurbish the folksy brick buildings native to this region, tearing down or renovating eyesores, and conserving the stunning Appalachian Mountains that are the physical home of my people. Perhaps most importantly, we should invest in local art, music, and culture. This could mean cultivating a serious appreciation for bluegrass music, Appalachian literature, and local history. Learning to appreciate the culture of one’s home is a guaranteed path to restoring a sense of purpose to the locality.

For more on "left-behind places" read this essay.  

Cutbacks to public media likely to hurt rural communities the most

The disporportionate impact that federal funding cuts to public media will have on rural communities has been a theme of several publications in recent weeks, all in the run up Congress' vote to do just that--take back $1.1 billion previously allocated in support of public media.  

The first item I want to highlight is this July 11, 2025 episode of The Daily (New York Times audio), "Is Congress about to Kill this Local Radio Station?"  It discusses the likely impact of the proposed cuts on a public radio station, KFSK, in Petersburg, Alaska, population 3,000, in the southeast part of the state.  Jessica Cheung of The Daily sets up the interview with KFSK Station Manager Tom Abbott:    

Small rural stations, like KFSK, rely on federal funding to exist. And in a town like Petersburg, that is conservative, a town that voted for Trump by almost two to one in the last election, people are grappling with the Republican Party that is now trying to defund an important resource within the community — a radio station that a lot of people love. So I wanted to talk to Tom about what that’s been like, what’s at stake, and just what a station like KFSK offers people.

They start with a discussion of the place, including its beauty, economy, wildlife, and remoteness. 

Tom Abbott:  We also don’t have any chain stores here. Everything is mom and pop. Even though if you go to the post office, you’ll see a lot of Amazon boxes coming across the counter, because on occasion, there are things that can’t be found here, just because it’s a small market and it’s a small community. And that’s what brings us back around. radio. That’s why there’s only public radio here.

Jessica Cheung:  And if you turn the dial in Petersburg, can you hear any other radio station out there?

Tom Abbott:  Yeah, you can catch 88.5, which is the Lutheran Church.

Jessica Cheung:  And that’s it?

Tom Abbott:  Yeah, they broadcast for the shut ins that can’t make it to their service on Sunday. And that’s the only other service that’s on the FM dial. And there’s nothing on the AM dial.

What follows in the interview is a description of a service that reminds me of the "party line" feature on the local radio station I listened to while growing up in the Arkansas Ozarks.  On KFSK, it is called Tradio.  Here's an excerpt: 

Tom Abbott:  Where the caller calls in to the radio station. We put them on the air. And they either make an announcement about an event coming up. Maybe they’re having a garage sale on Saturday.

Archived Recording:  And we have tons of stuff — chairs, dozens of hand tools, fishing poles, sporting goods. There’s books and movies. And you name it, we got it.

Tom Abbott:  Well, this week, we’ve got a lot of fishing poles. Or this week, we’ve got a lot of baby clothes, something, whatever it may be.

Archived Recording:  Yes, good morning. This is Earl. I got a 2012 Nissan red vehicle with low mileage.

As Cheung expresses it, 

This is basically Facebook Marketplace on the radio.

At some point, Abbott starts talking about how the station ceased live broadcasts of some meetings during the pandemic because what some residents were saying at the meetings constituted misinformation, as locals stated their opinions about public health measures.

Cheung then turns to the likely effect of the proposed federal budget cuts on KFSK. 

Tom Abbott:  Our service would be drastically altered. The CPB funding that we receive is 30 percent of our budget. As public radio does, we rely on membership donations. And that is our largest single source. Our second largest single source funding is CPB funds.

Jessica Cheung:  And without that 30 percent you get from the federal government, what are you contemplating?

Tom Abbott:  As far as the expenses go, personnel expenses are 65 percent of our budget.

Jessica Cheung:  And how many personnel do you have on staff right now?

Tom Abbott:  Five, and there’s two high school kids that help us out when we’re doing live broadcasts in the evenings. And going forward, I foresee KFSK eliminating all staff except for two. And both of those I would like to see it remain two reporters. If you were to go down to one reporter, you’re on an endless cycle of burnout.

Jessica Cheung:  And is it my understanding that with 30 percent cut, you could still survive? Or is taking KFSK off the air an option you’re contemplating?

Tom Abbott:  I don’t think you’d ever have to go off the air, because the infrastructure is here, the antenna is here. But it wouldn’t be locally run anymore. It just couldn’t be. 

Right now, we have 27 individual public radio stations in the state of Alaska. I think that’s going to go down to two, maybe three if this rescission goes through. It’s not going to happen immediately, but it’s going to go that route. And that’s what’s under threat here.

Then Abbott discusses how some NPR reporting has been received by locals. There's a lot here, and I'm just going to include a very brief excerpt:

Tom Abbott:  [W]hat we have control over is local. I have no control over the editorial content of NPR. I have no control over that whatsoever.

In fact, I have, myself, as a station manager, contacted them many times over the years with complaints. I think there are certain subject matters that are covered heavily that are not necessarily representative. They’re certainly not representative of the audience that I serve.

Jessica Cheung:  Is there a specific story that you’re thinking about, maybe one that you wrote to NPR about?

Tom Abbott:  I don’t know. What comes to mind is the propensity for the LGBTQ+ stories. I don’t believe that the percentage of the stories that that subject matter has is equivalent to certainly the service area that I have. And I’m not saying that people are not caring about others. I’m not saying that at all.

I get the editorial decision on it. It’s under threat. But I’m just saying, what is pertinent in your personal life? And I think this holds for Kansas, Nebraska, Oklahoma, wherever you are. Small town, rural areas, to me, it sounds like the editorial decisions are being made for the audiences that are in New York, Chicago, Philadelphia, the big metro areas.

And on occasion, there is a great story that NPR does that covers small-town America or relates to small-town America plenty of times. I’m not saying that they totally have a blind eye towards it. I just think the target audience that NPR has is metro areas.

Jessica Cheung:  And what would you rather hear get coverage by NPR?

Tom Abbott:  Well, what’s the effect of the tariffs on the farmers of America, the seafood industry of America? That would really resonate here locally.

Following on this excellent and very comprehensive podcast focused on KFSK in Alaska, the New York Times editorial board published on July 16, "This is Why America Needs Public Media." Here, I'm just going to excerpt the part that mentions rural places, as well as an acknowledgement that NPR's programming (as distinct from local programming) may not reflect "the citizenry that is subsidizing them": 

When the private sector doesn’t provide an important service, the government often steps in. That is why the framers established the U.S. Postal Service; they believed no one else would deliver the mail to the entire country. Many places in America, especially in rural communities, would not have a library without public funding. Police departments, the military, Medicare, Social Security and public education offer other examples.

* * *

Republicans complain, not always wrongly, that public media reflects left-leaning assumptions and biases. And they can fairly tell NPR and PBS to do a better job of reflecting the citizenry that is subsidizing them.

* * *  

We are reminded of the excesses of the “defund the police” and “abolish ICE” movements on the other side of the ideological spectrum. They adopted a fatalistic view of vital government services, suggesting that their imperfections justified their elimination. They were wrong, and so are the conservatives who want to defund public media.

* * *

Public media, like every other major institution, is imperfect. But it improves the lives of millions of Americans, and it strengthens American interests. 

I earlier commented on NPR's political bias here.  To be clear, I completely trust NPR's reporting on factual matters, such as whether the 2020 Presidential election was stolen.  It was not.  I simply think that the entity's editorial slant is often far enough to the left of middle America to fuel distrust by many--as suggested by some of the patrons of KFSK.

Finally, today, NPR's Frank Langfitt reported from Dunmore, West Virginia, under the headline, "Cuts to public media will smash budgets of some local radio stations."  I'll just include some key excerpts here:  

[S]ome of those hardest hit by Congress' decision last week to clawback $1.1 billion in federal funds are small radio operations that provide local news and information to rural communities.

One is Allegheny Mountain Radio, a cooperative of three stations which cover Pocahontas County, West Virginia as well as Bath and Highland counties in Virginia. Allegheny Mountain is not an NPR member station, but it does run NPR's daily newscast, a quick run down of top stories.

* * * 

Allegheny Mountain's mix of programming includes local news and information as well as gospel, country and blues shows. A recent episode of the Noon Hour Magazine reported on a $5,000 signing bonus to attract new teachers and how the energy demands from data centers could eventually affect this remote region where people sometimes have to drive 60 miles to reach the nearest shopping center.

Allegheny Mountain relies on funding from the Corporation for Public Broadcasting (CPB) for up to 65 percent of its annual budget of about half a million dollars. Smith says his stations do have financial reserves, but the hole in their budget could become existential.

Langfitt quotes station's general manager:

There is only so long that you can continue to exist when you are operating in the red. ... At some point that well runs dry.

One bottom line, this quoting the NYT editorial:

[T]he “national” part of NPR (or National Public Radio, as it used to call itself) that chafes conservatives may well be just fine without federal funds.   

It is local stations, trying to provide local programming, that will suffer most from these cuts, along with their listeners.  

One other detail worth noting on the Congressional vote to claw back the public media funding:  Senator Mike Rounds (R) of South Dakota had previously indicated that he would oppose the cuts but decided to support the package after "top Trump administration officials" said they would steer unspent funds 'to continue grants to tribal radio stations without interruption' for next year."  Yet, Loris Taylor of Native Public Media commented: 

There is currently no clear path for redirecting these funds to tribal broadcasters without significant legislative and administrative changes.

Black lung spreads to younger miners due to complications from silica

Kate Morgan reports from the New York Times from a trip across Appalachia to learn about black lung disease's newest manifestation, which implicates silica and is affecting younger miners.  Some key excerpts follow:

Modern miners are contracting [black lung disease] at younger ages and at rates not seen since the 1970s. For 20th-century miners, it could take decades to develop severe black lung. For men of Aundra Brock’s generation, just a few years can be enough. Nationwide, one in 10 working miners is now estimated to have black lung. In the heart of the central Appalachian coal fields, it’s one in five. Often, their disease is more severe, the progression faster. Doctors are seeing larger masses and more scarring in the lungs. Transplants, disability claims and deaths are all on the rise.

* * *  

In an old industry, the reasons are modern. Centuries of extraction have altered the landscape, making the mountains more dangerous to mine, researchers say, and the men beneath them vulnerable not just to black lung, but to another lung disease called silicosis.

* * * 

Silicosis is caused by inhaling a mineral called crystalline silica that is typically found in sand, stone and concrete. It is a building block of the Appalachians. But in the air, it is dangerous, able to create much worse scarring in the lungs than coal dust alone. Breathing the coal and silica dust together can create a kind of hybrid disease that quickly leads to progressive massive fibrosis.

Scientists and miners alike have long understood the dangers of the rock dust. “You can tell there’s silica when you see the flicker in it,” said Charles Thacker, a 69-year-old former miner from Norton, Va., who now has black lung. “It looks like bits of glass flashing in the light. It’s almost pretty. But that’s what gets in your lungs and cuts you up.”

Don't miss the rest of the story, which is chock full of human interest context.   Also, I want to mention that the ravages of silica on miners was a topic of discussion at this event at West Virginia University College of Law this spring.  (See the panel at 11:00 am).

Signs that rural voters are sticking with Trump, despite the pain of cuts

Two recent stories suggest that Trump voters--including rural ones--are loyal to Trump, even though some early decisions made by his administration are likely to hurt them.  The first of these stories, out of far northern California, was published in The Guardian and written by Dani Anguiano.  She reports from Shasta County, which has a recent history of right-wing activism and militias (read more here, here and here), and she quotes several residents.  Some excerpts follow: 

In March, about 150 people took to the streets in Redding, the Shasta county seat, to protest aggainst proposed cuts to the Department of Veterans Affairs. A month later more than 1,000 people in the area gathered to demonstrate against the administration’s policies.

Amid reports about possible reductions to Medicaid, the head of the area’s largest healthcare provider warned such action could have “crippling” impacts in a county where the local Medicaid provider serves nearly a third of the population. A bipartisan group of state lawmakers, including the region’s Republican representatives, signed a letter in late April urging Congress to protect Head Start, the federally funded education program.

 * * *

Bruce Ross, a Shasta county Republican, acknowledged the difficulties of seeing layoffs, but said he had been pleased with the direction of the administration.

“Everybody who lives up in north-eastern California knows folks who work for the Forest Service, or for federal agencies, and it’s tough for them. I think on a human level, that’s real,” Ross said. But, he added, he had seen a willingness on the part of the administration to listen when local officials have pushed back against proposed cuts, and the practical changes had ultimately, so far, been less severe than they initially seemed.

“There’s been a lot of drama about it. But I think the actual results have shown that the administration is listening to people and saying, OK, this is important. We’re gonna take it back.”

Congressman Doug LaMalfa, a Republican and staunch Trump supporter who represents a large swath of northern California’s interior, has acknowledged that some of his constituents, and Republicans broadly, are concerned, but echoed Ross’s sentiments. “But they’re listening to us. I got in a room with Elon [Musk] and his right-hand man. They’re understanding us now, and they’re going to look at it more through that lens, and they’ll certainly listen to us,’ he told the Chico Enterprise-Record in March.

More high profile than The Guardian story is sociologist Arlie Hochschild's piece in the New York Times a few days ago.  Her most recent book, Stolen Pride: Loss, Shame and the Rise of the Right, is set in Pikeville, Kentucky and the state's 5th congressional district, one of the poorest in the nation.  She spent several years living there off and on, getting to know folks, and that formed the basis of the 2024 book (just as several years of living in the Lake Charles, Louisiana area formed the basis for her 2106 Strangers in Their Own Land).  Now, Hochschild has gone back to Kentucky's 5th congressional district to talk to people about how they feel about the early days of the Trump administration.  Here's Hochschild's summation of how Trump's policies are likely to impact the region:  

[E]xperts predict Mr. Trump’s tariffs will raise prices, and his budget cuts will hit some of his strongest supporters the hardest. Meals on Wheels: cuts. Heating cost assistance: cuts. Black lung screening: cuts. One nearby office handling Social Security has closed. Even the Department of Veterans Affairs may have to pull back on the services it offers.

These are services people need. More than 40 percent of people in the Fifth District rely on Medicaid for their medical care, including addiction treatment. Now, Mr. Trump’s “big beautiful bill” is poised to cut benefits, which could lead to layoffs in the largest employer in eastern Kentucky, the Pikeville Medical Center. Meanwhile, many children in the district qualify for food stamps, and the administration’s chain saw is coming for those, too.

Hochschild found that some residents of the region seemed more committed to Mr. Trump than they had been before. Here are some key quotes:

Mr. Trump’s angry tone didn’t seem to bother his supporters in the district. Calling his opponents scum? “Oh, that’s how Trump talks. People know how he talks, and they voted for him. I wouldn’t talk that way and don’t like it, but I’m glad I voted for him,” said Andrew Scott, a Trump supporter and mayor of Coal Run Village, a town of around 1,600 nestled next to Pikeville.

As for the likely cuts to Medicaid, SNAP and Meals on Wheels, Mr. Scott mused, “You know how proud and stoic Appalachians are — we know how to take a little pain. People,” he explained, “may have to suffer now to help make America great later. Trump’s tariffs could raise prices but that will force companies to gradually relocate to the U.S.”

Many of the people I spoke to recognized that this bill would create some pain for them or their neighbors, but that didn’t seem to bother them. One Trump supporter told me that if you like the guy who’s making you suffer, you don’t mind so much. As Mr. Trump himself has put it, America is akin to a sick patient, and the tariffs are the surgery — “The patient lived, and is healing.”

This is consistent with something I've been saying since at least 2000:  Stubbornness is a real force to be reckoned with among many Trump voters (those we might label MAGA) and--for that matter--with some on the left, too. I think that progressives need to be willing to re-think our positions on some issues, especially in light of new information.  As one of my very progressive friends put it, we all need to be able to identify one issue on which we differ from the "progressive blob."   Of course I would say ditto for conservatives and the conservative blob.  

Also important is how progressives talk to Trump supporters, especially about things that may not go well for them.  I very much appreciated a quote Hochschild included in her NYT piece.  It's from an addiction counselor who is not a Trump supporter:

If people in Pike County or elsewhere get socked with higher prices, there might come a tipping point. But what happens then would hinge on how Democrats handle it, what better ideas they have to offer, their tone of voice. If the left starts scolding, "You Trump supporters brought this on yourselves," or "We told you so," people around here will get more pissed at the snarky left than they are at the hurtful right — and Trump will march on.

These possible reactions by the left are just what I documented in my "Rural Bashing," in which I also argued that "I told you so" is a very, very unhelpful response.   

In any event, these two stories remind me of a conversation I had with a Trump supporter in my hometown this spring.  I asked this person how the local school, which educates many children from low-income families, would get by without the Title I funding that flows from the Department of Education,  given that Trump was abolishing the Department.  She replied, "oh, he'll find a way to get us that money.  We can't survive without it."  As much as I oppose most Trump policies--certainly including abolition of the Department of Education, I hope she is right--that they will somehow get the funds they need--because I care so much about that school and that community.  

I also want to acknowledge that these stories and my anecdote run counter to the data in an early May story in Newsweek suggesting that Trump was losing support among rural voters.  Here's the key data from that story:

The 2024 election saw Trump win 63 percent of rural voters, up from 60 percent in 2020, according to AP VoteCast.

But a new PBS/NPR/Marist poll, conducted between April 21 and 23 among 1,439 adults, shows that Trump's support among rural voters is declining.

According to the poll, just 46 percent of rural voters now approve of Trump's job performance, while 45 percent disapprove. In February, 59 percent approved and 37 percent disapproved.

Trump's approval rating has also declined slightly among urban, small city, and suburban voters. Among big city voters, his approval has dropped from 42 percent to 40 percent. Among small city voters, his approval has dropped from 42 percent to 36 percent.

Meanwhile, among suburban voters, his approval rating has declined by 1 point to 40 percent. The only group that Trump has seen a rise in support from is small town voters, with 53 percent now approving of his job performance, up from 46 percent in February. The poll had a margin of error of ±3.3 percentage points.

Rural sociologist Tim Slack of Louisiana State University in Baton Rouge provided context on the cuts, including this:  

Poverty is higher in rural America. Underemployment is higher and labor force participation is lower among rural working-age folks. There is a wide and growing rural-urban gap in death rates among working-age people—part of the rural mortality penalty. So, the struggles are pronounced. 

Hillbilly cosplay and the privilege coverup

With nearly 120,000 reviews and a 4.4-star rating among Amazon purchasers, Hillbilly Elegy seems to strike a fond chord with readers. The book, a memoir of J.D. Vance's life, tells the story of a young boy with Appalachian roots navigating a new world from Ohio to Yale Law School. Vance tells the story of how he, a self-labeled hillbilly, rose from the dregs of poverty to wealth through his hard work and grit. 

In 2020, Netflix released the film adaptation of Hillbilly Elegy. Not having copious amounts of time as a third-year law student yet wanting to know about the new U.S. Vice President, the movie would be the perfect chance for me to verify the acclaim. Unfortunately, after watching, I am left feeling unmoved, uninspired, and frankly, disappointed in the narrative promoted by Vance. 

Shortly after beginning, Hillbilly Elegy tracks Vance while in law school. The scene occurs at a recruiting event for law students attempting to network with fancy, private firm attorneys, hoping to secure a summer internship at a big firm. Initially, I felt empathy for Vance as he attempted to fit in by ordering a glass of wine. However, Vance was immediately confounded when a server presented him with several wine varietals unfamiliar to Vance, eventually being rescued by a teacher who ordered him a Chardonnay. My empathy extended as Vance became immediately uncomfortable upon sitting for dinner because of the numerous forks at his place setting, not knowing the purpose of each.

Vance's story is similar to mine. Raised by a single mom and surviving thanks to government assistance, I was utterly unprepared for law school. It seemed like all my classmates had parents who were doctors, lawyers, or white-collar professionals. For them, it seemed like law school was second nature. However, law school was a new world for someone like me—raised by a minimum-wage-earning office secretary. Like Vance, I was ultimately and utterly "a fish out of water."

While most viewers might continue watching this networking scene in Hillbilly Elegy, feeling sorry for Vance, I had a different reaction. I felt pity for Vance, but not because of his awkward situation; instead, I felt pity for Vance because I knew how the story ended. I knew who Vance would become. 

For all intents and purposes, Vance defied the odds and became successful through hard work. His rise is objectively admirable. However, I believe Vance is a cosplayer at best and a traitor to his people at worst. Vance grew up in suburban Ohio, two generations removed from living in the Appalachian hills. Although he self-designates himself a hillbilly, that designation is suspect and laughable to some critics.

Even worse than Vance's cosplay as a hillbilly when it benefits him, Vance actively engages in harmful rhetoric against his so-called people. He describes the impoverished as lazy burdens on the system. If Vance were a hillbilly, perhaps he might understand that laziness has nothing to do with the poverty experienced by poor white folk in rural America.

In my opinion, Vance is not a hillbilly. He does not deserve that title. I believe Vance only calls himself a hillbilly for one reason—to preclude accusations of privilege, as if privilege diminishes his accomplishments. 

Vance is privileged. Returning to the movie's dinner scene, Vance, upon seeing the multiple forks, retires to the hallway to ask Usha (his then-girlfriend and now wife) how to approach the dilemma. Returning to a table of classmates and prominent attorneys, Vance tells the table a little about himself. Vance goes on to talk about military service and attending The Ohio State University for his undergraduate degree, leading to one of the attorneys asking Vance if he was a "redneck."

To me, this dinner scene is perfectly illustrative of the privilege Vance has as a white man. When Vance returns to the table, he is seen and treated by the others as one of them, starting on a level playing field. Nevertheless, while Vance's sex and skin color entitle him to a favorable baseline opinion from the others, those belonging to minority groups often start far below in the esteem of the group, only to be deemed an equal by them proving themselves worthy. As Vance's statements and reactions to the group's questions grow more abrasive and subjectively rude, it is by sheer grace, and ultimately privilege, that he is offered an interview from someone at the table.

Hillbilly Elegy tells more than a story about an individual achieving the American Dream. The memoir tells the story of privilege, that despite considerable adversity, sometimes being white does mean that "you'll be all right."

Country roads, I’m coming back home

After almost a decade of losing population, rural America has seen renewed population growth. Between 2010 and 2020, the article “Rural America Lost Population Over the Past Decade for the First Time in History” describes how rural areas lost population compared to previous decades. The decline did not occur only in remote rural areas but also in rural areas adjacent to metropolitan counties. John Cromartie, a geographer from USDA in the Rural Economy Branch, Resource and Rural Economics Division, found a negative rural net migration rate between 2010 to 2016 and a near-zero rate between 2017 and 2020.

However, since 2020, rural net migration rates have increased. The 2023 USDA Economic Research Report, “Rural America at a Glance,” discusses how more than 480 rural counties saw a growth rate of two percent or more. Typically, these counties were near large metropolitan areas such as the southern Appalachians and Ozarks, the northern Great Lakes, and the Rocky Mountains. Population migration to these recreation and retirement destinations is often referred to as “amenity migration.”

One reason for the major shift in migration patterns was fear of exposure to COVID-19. Early in the pandemic, the USDA Economic Research Service reported that the presence of COVID-19 cases was higher in metropolitan areas until October 2021. This likely caused urban residents to seek shelter in rural places. However, soon after, nonmetropolitan areas started to experience a greater prevalence of cumulative COVID-19 cases than metropolitan areas.

Another reason for the big shift in migration patterns was an increase in remote job opportunities. The U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics indicates that telework increased among all industries between 2019 and 2021. When social distancing policies were removed in 2022, remote work participation fell slightly but was still higher in most industries compared to participation in 2019. “Rural America at a Glance describes how remote jobs have provided the working-age population with more flexibility and locational freedom. In addition to attracting new residents, employment opportunities have encouraged people to stay within these rural areas. In 2022, rural America reached record-low unemployment rates. Federal legislation, notably the Inflation Reduction Act of 2022, provided new jobs for rural Americans in the clean energy industry.

Although rural America has been slowly growing its population, both current and future rural Americans are still facing problems. For example, “Rural America at a Glance” reports that housing insecurity remains a persistent issue for low-income nonmetropolitan renters, particularly among Hispanic and American Indian or Alaska Natives. Also, high poverty rates have been an ongoing problem for particular rural counties. Generally, though, poverty has been on a downward trend over the past fifteen years.

Rural America has seen an increase in population after losing a decade of negative and near-zero rural net migration rate. Despite this growth, there are still issues persisting in these areas. If rural America hopes to accommodate these future populations, there needs to be an emphasis on helping to increase resources and opportunities.

For more articles on rural population loss and its consequences, see Aging and population loss in small-town Pennsylvania and California rural schools facing teacher shortages.

Kentucky sheriff shoots, kills judge in rural courthouse

 Here's an excerpt from the New York Times coverage of these sensational events: 

The sheriff of a rural eastern Kentucky county walked into a courthouse on Thursday afternoon and shot and killed a district judge in his chambers after an argument, the police said.

Mickey Stines, 43, the sheriff in Letcher County, turned himself in after shooting Judge Kevin Mullins and was charged with first-degree murder, Trooper Matt Gayheart of the Kentucky State Police said at a news conference on Thursday evening.

The shooting happened at about 2:55 p.m. inside the Letcher County Courthouse in Whitesburg, a city in southeastern Kentucky.

The sheriff was taken to a local jail and had been cooperative with investigators, Trooper Gayheart said.

“This community is small in nature, and we’re all shook,” the trooper said.

* * *

The news stunned the residents of Letcher County, which is about 110 miles southeast of Lexington and is home to about 21,500 people.

Whitesburg, incidentally, is home to the Center for Rural Affairs, which publishes the Daily Yonder.  It suffered severe flooding in 2022.  

On rural and white working class identity as favored in higher education admissions? The case of J.D. Vance

Lydia Polgreen of the New York Times must have had this in the pipeline because it was published moments after Joe Biden announced he would not seek or accept the Democratic nomination for President--leaving Kamala Harris his heir apparent.  Indeed, not long after he said he would not run, Biden endorsed Harris.  The headline for Polgren's column is "If Kamala Harris Is a D.E.I. Candidate, So Is JD Vance."  Here's the lede: 

Ever since speculation began that Vice President Kamala Harris might replace President Biden at the top of the Democratic ticket, there has been a steady, ugly chorus on the right. The New York Post published a column that declared that Harris would be a “D.E.I. president,” and quickly the phrase ricocheted across the conservative media ecosystem.

Polgreen goes on to make the argument that J.D. Vance, Trump's selection to be Vice President, is also a D.E.I. candidate.  Here's how the argument goes: 

Vance’s entire business and political career has flowed from his life story, which is embedded in identities he did not choose: Born a “hillbilly,” of Scottish-Irish descent, he grew up in poverty, son of a single mother who was addicted to drugs. Overcoming this adversity, these disadvantages, lies at the core of his personal narrative. His ascent would hardly be so remarkable if he started from a life of middle-class comfort. But no one is portraying Vance’s elevation to the Republican ticket as the outcome of some kind of illegitimate identity politics, nor is Vance perceived as having benefited from a political form of affirmative action.

And yet he almost certainly did. Race is not the only kind of diversity that gets noticed and embraced. Elite institutions love up-by-your-bootstraps Americans, and that archetype is all over Vance’s life story. A promising white candidate from a county that sends few students to an elite college like Yale would get a strong look, even if that person’s grades and test scores were less impressive than other applicants’.

* * * 

Vance benefited from one of the most powerful forms of affirmative action that elite universities practice to attract low-income students: need-blind admissions.

* * * 

The sort of affirmative action that helped Vance gets easily overlooked; it’s less visible than race, making it easier to ascribe the achievements of white men to merit alone.

Polgreen goes on to note Vance's slim résumé.  She points out, "This champion of forgotten America made his fortune by writing a best-selling book that portrayed the rural white community he came from as lazy and undisciplined, responsible for its poverty and misery."

Then Polgreen turns back to Harris and the comparison she makes to Vance: 

Kamala Harris and JD Vance, despite their political differences, have a few things in common... They both come from backgrounds that are underrepresented in the halls of power. And now they are both engaged in the core work of politics — translating their stories into power.

This is a provocative thesis, and Polgreen may be right about Vance:  He may well have benefitted from a variety of affirmative action although, as she points out, we know nothing of his numerical metrics, e.g, LSAT score or undergraduate GPA.  But Vance entered Yale well over a decade ago, and I"m not at all sure that any of the benefits he may have enjoyed by virtue of his background are alive and well today.  In my world, I don't see any benefit to being a working-class white in higher education admissions.  Indeed, I see a lack of understanding of the working-class white struggle in that context--and an assumption that these students are retrograde in their political values and therefore not welcome, let alone favored.  

Cross-posted to Working-Class Whites and the Law.

Postscript:  Here, a week later, is Catherine Rampell in the Washington Post making a point similar to Polgreen's on identity politics and, one might say, what's good for the goose is good for the gander: 

Harris’s main qualification, at [the point when she was picked to be Biden's Vice Presidential running mate], was that she was easily the safest choice. Absent her identity, it’s hard to imagine she would have been anywhere near Biden’s top choice.

But you know what? You could say the same for almost every vice-presidential pick in recent memory. Would JD Vance be on Donald Trump’s ticket if he weren’t a rural White guy from Ohio? Was Sarah Palin chosen for her vast policy experience? Would Barack Obama have chosen Biden if he hadn’t felt he needed a validator for White working-class voters?

Further postscript:  On August 2, the New York Times Matter of Opinions titled its episode, "‘Mountain Dew and Racism’: Identity Enters the Election."  The first few comments, which I found disjointed, follow:

Carlos Lozada:  Wait, we’re going to talk about identity politics in this campaign and not talk about —

Lydia Polgreen:  Childless cat ladies? 

Carlos Lozada:  — JD Vance and women and parents?

* * * 

Lydia Polgreen:  Well, surprise, surprise. It didn’t take long for Kamala Harris’s identity to be politicized now that she’s running for president. Just this week, Trump questioned her racial identity at a Black journalist conference, insisting that she wasn’t really Black.

Archived Recording from Black journalist conference: 

Trump:  I didn’t know she was Black until a number of years ago when she happened to turn Black. And now she wants to be known as Black. So, I don’t know. Is she Indian, or is she Black? 

Interviewer:  She has always identified as a Black woman.  She went to a historically Black college.

Trump:  I respect either one. But she obviously doesn’t, because she was Indian all the way. And then all of a sudden, she made a turn, and she went she became a Black person.

Interviewer:  Just to be clear, sir. Do you believe that she is — 

Trump: And I think somebody should look into that, too...

Lydia Polgreen:  And at the same time, race and gender seem to be animating Harris supporters. Have either of you guys seen merch for White Dudes for Harris? Have you stocked up? Or Carlos, maybe the Latinos for Harris is more your speed?

Here's more on the reference to Mountain Dew--specifically on J.D. Vance's assertion that Mountain Dew is considered racist by the woke left. 

"Rural" makes an appearance in chatter about J.D. Vance, but not in his convention speech

This is from the New York Times right now:  

Live Election Updates: J.D. Vance Addresses Republican Convention

A night focused on foreign policy featured fiery denouncements of President Biden on his policies and age. Donald Trump Jr., the former president’s son, assailed Democrats and the president.

Here’s what’s happening:

In the biggest speech of his political career, Senator J.D. Vance connected his difficult upbringing in rural Ohio to challenges now confronting the working class, decrying Democratic policies and Wall Street.

To be clear, Middletown, Ohio, population 50,000, is not rural by any measure.  Also, Vance did not himself use the word "rural" in his speech. 

Here's a report from The Hill's live reporting on Vance's speech, which played to "rural" and/or "hillbilly" themes:

Vance shared a story about his grandmother that drew loud applause from the audience.

“My Mamaw died shortly before I left for Iraq in 2005, and when we went through her things we found 19 loaded handguns,” Vance said, prompting cheers and chants of “Mamaw.”

“Now, the thing is, they were stashed all over her house … This frail old woman made sure that no matter where she was, she was within arm’s length of whatever she needed to protect her family,” Vance said as the crowd cheered. 

— Julia Mueller

This is a quote from the NewYork Times story about Usha Vance's introduction of her husband's acceptance speech (emphasis mine):  

She leaned into the story about her husband’s impoverished upbringing and the laws of opposites attracting, highlighting their different backgrounds.

“When J.D. met me, he approached our differences with curiosity and enthusiasm,” Ms. Vance said. “He wanted to know everything about me, where I came from, what my life had been like.”

The couple met at Yale Law School, where Ms. Vance helped Mr. Vance organize his ideas about social decline in rural white America, the basis of his breakout memoir, “Hillbilly Elegy.” They were married in 2014 in Kentucky and have three children. She is the daughter of Indian immigrants.

Here's an interesting tweet from the right, but it doesn't ring true.  

I exist in a very lefty media ecosystem, and I've not (yet) seen the left talking of Vance's "insufficiencies."  I've not seen his class of origin made an issue--nor, as of yet, any "insufficiency."  What I am seeing made an issue of is Vance's increasingly intolerant leanings.  

J.D. Vance's rise prompts hillbilly musings from Latino columnist

Columnis Gustavo Arellano writes in today's Los Angeles Times under the headline, "I know what a true hillbilly is, and it's not J.D. Vance."  Here's an excerpt, which at least nods to the rural connotation of hillbilly:  

From the moment I learned about hillbillies as a child, I was entranced.

Good ol’ boys and girls born high up in the mountains? That’s my parents. People who moved from rural towns to metro areas in search of a better life? Story of both sides of my family. Working class? My upbringing. Lovers of things — food, fashion, music, diction, parties — that polite society ridiculed? Yee-haw! Stubbornly clinging to their ancestral lands and ways? ¡Ajúa!

I learned to love bourbon, bluegrass, “Hee Haw” reruns and Jeff Foxworthy’s “You Might Be a Redneck If ...” series. As an adult, I drove through the small towns of central and eastern Kentucky and Tennessee, feeling at home in areas even my white friends warned wouldn’t take kindly to “my type.” I might not have outwardly resembled the ’billies I met — I’m a cholo nerd, after all — but we got along just fine, because they were my brothers and sisters from another madre.

That’s why I was intrigued when J.D. Vance’s memoir, “Hillbilly Elegy,” was released in 2016. From what I heard about it, the familial dysfunction, generational poverty and inherent fatalism that Vance overcame were similar to the pathologies of my own extended clan. The up-from-bootstraps message he preached in interviews was what my parents had always preached, and what I still subscribe to. Vance’s critique of conspicuous consumption among the poor is something everyone should consider.

But the parallels between the clean-cut Vance and me only went so far. He was a Yale graduate and venture capitalist, while I’m a community college kid who chose a dying profession. He was far removed from his roots, while I experience mine nearly every other weekend at family parties. More importantly, Vance cast himself as an extraordinary exception to his fellow Appalachians, describing ’billies as encased in a toxic amber that kept them from improving their lot and left them embittered with a country that has moved on without them.

My Mexican hillbilly family never had time to whine and mope.

And that's where I'm more like Arellano than Vance, even though I'm non-Hispanic white.  I wasn't raised to talk about how the deck was stacked against me.  I was raised to reach for what I wanted, for what would empower me.  No one ever suggested any shame at the public university route to that success.  

But we live in a different time.  Now, everyone is encouraged to play up their disadvantages and to downplay their agency.  And that is as big a difference b/w Arellano and Vance as their different ethnicities--indeed, I'd say it is a greater difference.  

Cross-posted to Working Class Whites and the Law. 

Barbara Kingsolver speaks to the NYT about Demon Copperhead

The New York Times today published a brief interview with Barbara Kingsolver, who this year won the Pulitzer Prize for her novel, Demon Copperhead, set ini Appalachia. (Read more about the book in several posts here).  This quote from the NYT interview caught my attention.

Then there are the city dwellers, who examined their own prejudices after reading “Demon Copperhead”; and the parents of teenagers who thought twice before filling a prescription for an addictive painkiller. Kingsolver has heard from them too. Because Demon, that scrappy redheaded survivor, “has been out there doing his job, I can relax a little bit. I can knit and grow my garden.”

Another key quote closes the article;  

If you’re troubled, if you’re struggling, if your kids are not OK, this is not a personal failing. This is not a failure of virtue. It’s a disease. It is not cured by incarceration. It’s cured by compassion and medicine like any other disease.

And that message reminds me of this information, from an interview George Goehl of People's Action did with Chris Hayes in a 2019 episode of "Why Is this Happening?"  Goehl told of fliers with this message being distributed in North Carolina:  

"Are you addicted to opioids?  It's not your fault.  You didn't do anything wrong.  You deserve help."  So quite loving in message.  "Please call us, the white knights of the KKK." 

I'm intrigued that two sources at opposite ends of the political spectrum would be conveying a similar message to those suffering from opioid addiction:  It's not your fault.  

Democrat Beshear re-elected Kentucky Governor, with notable support from rural voters

Major media outlets have just called today's gubernatorial race in Kentucky for Andy Beshear, the Democratic incumbent.  Beshear becomes only the second governor in the Commonwealth's history to serve two consecutive terms.  

Dave Wasserman, the political commentator, tweeted details of several nonmetro counties' election returns, with several showing that Beshear improved his margin over his Republican opponent this year, Daniel Cameron, compared to his margin over his Republican opponent four years ago, then-incumbent Matt Bevin.  

The counties mentioned here are Anderson (population 23,000), Bell (population 25,000), Nicholas (population 7,500), Taylor (population 26,000), along with Elliot (population 7,400) and Magoffin (population 12,000).  Wasserman characterized the latter two as eastern coalfields.

Then Wasserman tweeted (that is, posted on the platform now known as X) this, comparing Beshear's performance in rural Kentucky to that of other Democrats vying for statewide office: 

It says:  

So far, Beshear (D) is running 20-30 points ahead of other statewide Dem candidates on the margins in many of these rural counties, which is a decent early sign for him.  #KYGOV

More evidence of Beshear's rural prowess is found in this data point from Midas Touch.  It contrasts Beshear's margin with Trump's 2020 margin in nonmetro Letcher County.

Letcher County, population 21,548, is in the state's southeastern corner, which is Appalachian.  It happens to be home of the Center for Rural Strategies and Appalshop, both in Whitesburg, the county seat.  The area was badly flooded in late summer 2022.  

A student shared with me this AP piece written by Bruce Schreiner in December, 2022, which sheds light on Beshear's rural strategy.  The feature focuses on both Beshear's rural outreach and on his focus on meeting people's needs, on helping them.  It uses the word caring.  Here's an excerpt: 

Kentucky Gov. Andy Beshear said Wednesday that Democrats have a better chance of connecting with rural voters in his home state and elsewhere when they talk about the things people need and the ways they can help them.

Schreiner quotes Beshear at length:

When we think about how do we communicate with our rural families, the first thing is to care about them. And to show that you care about them, and to earn their trust that you do truly care about them.

The AP story continues: 

Beshear said his party’s candidates need to show up with a core message centered on good-paying jobs, access to quality health care and good public schools — all issues that he sees as resonating with rural voters who have abandoned the party in droves in recent elections.

Beshear, who faces his own tough reelection fight next year in a state dotted with small towns and farms, is better positioned than most Democrats to talk about connecting with rural voters. He has maintained strong job approval ratings in a state where the GOP has become the dominant party.

Beshear has devoted much of his time as governor leading recovery efforts in rural areas of Kentucky stricken by devastating tornadoes a year ago and historic flooding earlier this year.

To make inroads in rural regions, candidates need to focus on the things that matter most to people — whether they’re making enough to support their families, can afford quality health care that’s accessible and can send their children to good schools.

Beshear extended Medicaid in Kentucky to include vision, hearing, and dental care.

Here's another direct quote from Beshear about vying for rural voters: 

I think Democrats should show up more in rural America because it’s America. Every person counts. The great lesson of COVID is that we all matter. And if we’re not lifting up every single part of Kentucky, we’re not doing our job.

On the caring theme, this Twitter thread is fun.  

I don't see any mention of rural people or places in the Washington Post's coverage of Beshear's victory today.   The Hannah Knowles report does note, however, that Kentucky is a "deep-red state."  The New York Times election night coverage also does not mention his rural outreach.  I expect a more in-depth feature tomorrow, and it'll be interesting to see if it notes the rural angle.  

I note that Beshear's Kentucky win with 52.5% of the vote exceeded the margin of Republican incumbent Tate Reeves, who prevailed over Democratic challenger Brandon Presley.  Reeves secured 51.8%.  In that race, a third party candidate won 1.4%.  

My earlier writing on statewide candidates' rural strategies--in particular that of U.S. Senator John Fetterman--is here and here.   

Postscript:  Here's a Nov. 13 Politico analysis of Beshear's win, featuring an interview with the governor's campaign manager, Eric Hyers.  

Literary Ruralism (Part XLII): The Injustice of Place

I've read several books about the impact of place on who gets ahead in life--and who does not.  I assign excerpts of many of these, for example, Sheryll Cashin's Place Not Race, to students in my seminar courses, Law and Rural Livelihoods and The First-Gen Experience in Scholarly and Popular Literature.  The famous economist Raj Chetty has also focused on zipcode as destiny.  

So I was particularly interested to see coverage in the Daily Yonder (a news source oriented to rural issues) of a new book by a famous sociologist who studies poverty and inequality, Kathryn Edin, and colleagues Timothy Nelson and Luke Shaefer:  The Injustice of Place:  Uncovering the Legacy of Poverty in America.  Here are some excerpts from early in the book that mention rural places specifically.  Indeed, what follows are the book's opening paragraphs:   

IT IS HARD TO SAY exactly when we first noticed the pattern. Just before we hit the outskirts of a Cotton Belt town, the fields would give way to a string of gleaming white antebellum homes with large lawns, old-growth trees, and grand entrances framed by columns reaching two or three stories high. Merging onto the majestic arterial boulevards leading into town, we would see more imposing homes presiding over meticulously manicured grounds. 

In Sparta, a rural hamlet near Augusta, Georgia, it appears as though someone has invested millions to restore an elegant Greek Revival home. New windows and shutters gleam. Yet just across the street lies a dilapidated shack, one room deep, with a sagging roof. Over in Demopolis, Alabama, sits the venerable Gaineswood, a massive structure known for its elaborate interior suites, including domed ceilings, remarkable decorative arts, and original antebellum furnishings. Left out of the photos on Gaineswood’s website and tourist brochures are the aging wood cottages in varying states of disrepair, the tumbledown trailers, and the sagging modular houses that flank the historic home.  (page 1) 

The scholars undertook in this book to study poor places, whereas they had previously studied poor people.  They also decided to study health in addition to income.  Here's more on their methodology:

To assess the level of disadvantage in a community, such as a county or a city, we combined traditional income-based measures with other markers, including health. Especially in the United States, health outcomes vary tremendously by race, ethnicity, and income. In 2008, life expectancy for highly educated white males was eighty years, but only sixty-six for low-educated Black men, whose average life span resembled numbers seen in Pakistan and Mongolia. In 2011, the infant mortality rate for Black mothers in the United States was comparable to that in Grenada and just a bit better than that in Tonga. The rate for non-Hispanic whites was much closer to that in Germany and the Netherlands. Meanwhile, a tidal wave of new research was showing that a person’s health is shaped more by their context—their income, family circumstances, and community characteristics, for example—than by their genetic profiles or the medical care they receive. 

Ultimately, as the scope of our study of place-based disadvantage grew, we chose to incorporate two well-measured health outcomes, one that captured conditions at the start of life and the other at the end. In a particular community, what were a baby’s chances of being born with low birth weight, which is closely associated with infant mortality and other threats to children’s health? In that community, how long could the average person expect to live? 

We also recognized the importance of measuring whether disadvantage in a particular place persisted for children growing up there. Especially in the American context, it is almost an article of faith that kids should have the opportunity to do better than their parents. Recently, a team of economists employed confidential IRS data to create a measure of intergenerational mobility (the chance that children born low-income could rise up the economic ladder) for every city and county in the nation. These researchers used tax records to follow children born in the 1980s through adulthood to see where they stood on the income ladder compared to their parents. It was already understood that there were big differences in intergenerational mobility by parental income, ethnicity, and race, but the most stunning revelation of this new research was how much variation there was by place. In some communities, a child born into poverty would probably stay low-income as an adult. Yet in others, they had a much better chance of reaching the middle class. It seemed clear to us that to measure the depth of disadvantage in a community, it would be important to include the rate of mobility from one generation to the next. (pp. 3-4) 

This follows several pages later--and reveals a rural surprise to the authors:  

Immediately, we could see from the rankings that the geographical pattern was stark. The first surprise—especially for three professors who had spent our careers studying urban poverty—was that the “most disadvantaged” places on our index were mostly rural. There is considerable poverty in cities like Chicago, Los Angeles, and New York. But in our apples-to-apples comparison, none of those cities ranked even among the 600 most disadvantaged places in the nation. For the most part, the only cities and urban counties to find themselves among the most disadvantaged were a relatively small number of industrial municipalities in the Northeast and Midwest, such as Cleveland, Detroit, and Rochester. 

Among the rural counties at the top of the list, what we found didn’t fit what most people think of as “rural.” While some of these were majority-white, many, indeed most, were communities of Black and Hispanic Americans. We could see, too, that many places with large Native American populations ranked among the most disadvantaged in the nation (19 of the top 200). Beyond these, though, not one community in the western part of the United States registered among the “most disadvantaged” (those in the top fifth). While some might say we ought to have considered the impact of the high cost of living on poverty—those costs are higher in some places—there are trade-offs. Although people pay more for housing in those places, there are at the same time structural advantages in those areas of the country, such as good health care systems, a more generous safety net, public transportation, and higher-quality schools. This, we think, is why some high-cost big cities like San Francisco and Seattle fall further down our index than expected. We also found that those living in the 200 most disadvantaged places on our index were just as prone to have major difficulties paying for housing as those in America’s 500 largest cities. 

Apart from predominantly Native American communities, the places that our index identified as “most disadvantaged” most often are found in three regions—Appalachia, South Texas, and the vast southern Cotton Belt running across seven states. (pp. 5-6) 

* * * 

Across rural America, monuments, celebrations, and museums are markers of local pride. Indeed, Crystal City has vigorously defended its claim to the title “Spinach Capital of the World” against upstart Alma, Arkansas—also a former spinach mecca that has erected multiple statues of Popeye. Yet in South Texas, the vast Cotton Belt, central Appalachia, and the Pee Dee region of South Carolina, these symbols celebrate a past that is fraught, to say the least. They commemorate the very industries that, for a century or more, spelled misery and hardship for thousands, if not millions, while profiting only a few. They memorialize the intensive resource extraction and resulting human exploitation that made these places America’s internal colonies. 

How did the identities of these communities become so bound to the economic legacies of the past? (p. 21) 

And, skipping to much later in the book, this is especially intersting regarding the diploma divide and how higher education is increasingly seen as a culprit: 

Most often, emerging leaders trying to set a new course have the odds stacked against them—as was the case with Cornejo’s coalition and later with the slate of La Raza candidates who came into office in South Texas in the early 1970s. People at every level are hoping for their failure: when they stumble, it is all the easier to blame the community for its own problems. Universities could certainly play a role in helping to equip local leaders with the tools needed to succeed, perhaps through a model like the USDA’s community- and university-based Cooperative Extension System. Recently, one community leader told us that while his state’s flagship university is not beloved in most rural towns, the extension service is immensely popular because it provides knowledge and resources the community values. Using university extension programs as a conduit for equipping local leaders might help higher ed prove its worth in many far-flung communities. (p. 237) 

Altogether, the book uses the word "rural" 67 times, many of which are in footnotes/end notes.  Here's a WHYY segment on the book.    

Edin's prior books did not pay particular attention to rural poverty or other rural issues.  She is perhaps most famous for Promises I Can Keep:  Why Poor Women Put Motherhood before Marriage (2005) (with Maria Kefalas); Doing the Best I Can:  Fatherhood in the Inner City (2013) (also with Nelson) and $2.00 a Day:  Living on Almost Nothing in America (2015) (also with Shaefer). 

Cross-posted to FirstGenCourse Blog.