Broad nosed faces

My Grandfather and I in Castro Valley, California, 1996

Photo Credit: Veija Kusama

“広い鼻” (hiroi hana) he would tell me, tapping the slope of my nose with the calloused pad of his forefinger.

“アイヌ” (Ainu).

His tone was always reticent. Rooted in the belly of history, in the timbre of family and tradition. Laced with something bitter, a tinge darker. Not quite manifested as shame, never quite asserted as pride. I did not know what Ainu was. What it meant for me and my broad nose. Nor did I ask. Somehow, I knew not to.

Ainu Chieftan

Photo Credit: Midnight Believer

A human being

The name Ainu literally translates to ‘a human being’, traditionally contrasted with kamuy, or ‘divine beings'. Historically residing primarily in the Hokkaidō, Sakhalin, and Kuril Islands, the Ainu are believed to be descendants of the ancient Jōmon culture, which dates back over 10,000 years. Beginning in the 9th Century, Ainu communities began to fall to Japanese subjugation and by the 18th Century they were the target of concerted forced assimilation policies.

Throughout the Meiji Restoration of the 19th Century, Emperor Mutsuhito forced the Ainu peoples off their land, disrupting their relationships with their spiritual heartlands, and terminating their traditional ways of life. As Bri Lambright of Ursinus University notes:

"Ainu land was stolen, and small plots were returned with the express purpose of farming. With traditional hunting practices banned in order to allow Japanese manufacturers to capitalize on exporting deer meat and hides to the mainland, the Ainu were left with little option but to adhere to the government’s plans, lest they face starvation and burial beneath the waves of Japanese settlers who could readily take the community’s place."

Faced with an impossible choice, the Ainu were blamed for the predicament in which they found themselves, as evidenced by letters exchanged between the Nemuro and Naimushō Prefectures dated November of 1882:

“They have brought this difficulty upon themselves since they lack the spirit of activity and progress. In their society in the past there was nothing they needed to record through writing, no stimulus to develop their knowledge through learning; when thirsty they drank, when hungry they ate. They are a purely primitive people.”

Google Translation Screenshot - Ainu

Barbarian, savage, vandal

As the hallowed halls of Edo were devising the extinction of the living, a rising consortium of scientists began to covet the currency of the dead. As Noah Oskaw writes in his piece for Unseen Japan:

"The impetus for the veritable grave plundering of Ainu bones was ostensibly scientific: the desire by Japanese researchers to learn more about the physical and, later, genetic make-up of the indigenous ethnic minorities native to Japan’s northern borders… In both 1864 and 1865, mere years before the fall of the Tokugawa dynasty, the British consul in Hakodate led a group of foreigners interested in uncovering the mystery of the Ainu’s 'Caucasian' features to secretly raid Ainu gravesites… Most infamous of the grave robbers was Hokkaido University Professor Kodama Sakuzaemon, who led various state-sanctioned raids into local boneyards throughout the 1920s to 1970s – all against Ainu protests - sometimes police were called in to help hold off Ainu from physically preventing the unearthing of their ancestors."

Final resting places rendered temporary. Ancestors dragged to lay upon steel tables. Loved ones etched by the scalpels of foreign hands. For nearly one hundred years, the people of Ainu waited.

Interior of an Ainu Home in Yezo, 1906

Photo Credit: Snapshots of the Past

Homecoming

In 2012, a cohort of Ainu elders banded together to achieve the return of their ancestors. Banding together under the slogan, ‘Return the Ainu Remains to the Soil of the Ainu Kotan’, they brought suit against Hokkaidō University demanding repatriation. Mounting political pressures, further exacerbated by Japan’s recent ratification of the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, which includes a provision requiring governments to work for the return of indigenous people's remains, resulted in a historic 2016 settlement. The case was the first legal domino of its kind, and a chain reaction of “small but significant” repatriations have followed.

In July of 2007 the Berliner Gesellschaft fur Anthropologie returned a skull stolen from an Ainu cemetery in Sapporo by a German tourist in 1879. In May of 2023, a set of four skulls were returned from Melbourne, following their 1911 exploitation by a pair of anthropological pen-pals: a prewar exchange by which the National Museum of Australia sent Aboriginal skeletal remains to the University of Tokyo in return for Ainu skeletal material. And next month, officials from the Japanese government will travel to Britain to receive the remains of five Ainu previously housed at the National History Museum in London and the University of Edinburgh’s Anatomical Museum.

Ainu Woman Playing the Mukkuri

Photo Credit: Midnight Believer

Locating the lost 

While the ten sets of returned remains mark a promising trend, the number of stolen Ainu is estimated to be in the thousands, and for a culture on the brink of extinction, preservation has begun to equate survival. Today, only a few isolated pockets of Ainu people remain scattered across rural Hokkaido, with most of the estimated 20,000 Ainu assimilating into cities and towns around the island. After decades of government proscription, the Hokkaido Ainu language is likely extinct, as there remain no known native speakers, and many individuals of Ainu descent have no knowledge of their ancestry or tradition. To state it quite starkly, the Ainu are disappearing.

My Grandfather and I in Hakodate, Hokkaido, 2025

Photo Credit: Veija Kusama

Good for breathing 

My grandfather is now 82 and his tone regarding our Ainu heritage has shifted in recent years. What was once coated in a glaze of indignity has come to be considered with a degree of quiet contentment. Now, when he regards the nose his genes placed upon my face, he adds a simple but emblematic qualifier. “広い鼻” (broad nose), “呼吸に良い” (good for breathing). Perhaps, the repatriation movement is not only about reclaiming the skulls of our ancestors, but rather about reclaiming the faces they gave us.

Rural morality and the left

Western Norway

Source: Wikimedia Commons (2016)

Internationalism, the idea that people and states should organize across borders, is a popular organizing principle on the political left. It takes two related forms. Liberal internationalism promotes rule of law, open markets, and free trade as a path to peace through multilateral governance. Socialist internationalism emphasizes solidarity among workers across nations, rather than competition between them. Both tend to replace an emphasis on local community with an abstract political identity that isn’t rooted in any particular place. 

International governance creates a layer of authority that communities cannot meaningfully influence. The resulting cosmopolitan governing class (sometimes pejoratively referred to as “globalists”) are socially and geographically distant from communities affected by their policy. Meanwhile, international economic integration guts local economic prospects so that multinational firms can thrive. After China's accession to the World Trade Organization, imports of Chinese furniture surged, leading firms that once anchored the manufacturing economy of High Point to shut local factories and source production abroad

This process spreads similar models of education and culture, eroding distinct regional identities and traditions. In the name of internationalism, many have advocated for cultivating cosmopolitan “citizens of the world.” Within this frame, local or regional culture is something to be overcome, not preserved. Is rural culture something that needs to be overcome in pursuit of a more equal society? 

French philosopher Jean-Claude Michèa offers a critique of liberalism that bears directly on this question. Until recently his work was unavailable in English. Michael Behrent, a History Professor at Appalachian State University, published a collection of his works titled Toward a Conservative Left. Don’t let the title put you off. What the title evokes is the way in which Michèa combines a critique of capitalism with a suspicion of "progress". Michèa says little about American politics in his work, but his analysis maps uncomfortably well onto the contemporary Democratic Party, which has become a party of urban educated professionals. 

Michèa’s personal background is relevant too. Born in Paris in 1950, he was raised in public housing by parents who were both members of the French Communist Party. The Party was central to his childhood. It employed his parents, with his dad working as sports reporter for the Party newspaper. It was a community of working-class people who looked out for one another. Today, Michea lives on a farm in southwest France. 

At the center of Michèa’s work is Orwell’s concept of “common decency,” developed in the 1937 book, The Road to Wigan Pier.  For Orwell, common decency is the moral intuition observable in tight-knit communities built around face-to-face interaction. In his 1939 essay on Dickens, Orwell argues that Dickens owed his popularity to a rare ability to give comic, memorable expression to the native decency of the common man. It is the instinct “that makes a jury award excessive damages when a rich man’s car runs over a poor man.” 

Michèa takes this concept further,  giving it anthropological character. Working people, because of their way of earning a living and social status, tend to exhibit a form of solidarity and spontaneous ethics. Working people rely on one another out of necessity. It is a set of habits that arise through family life, neighborhood association, and shared work. Common decency requires social relations through which people experience themselves as dependent on and responsible for one another. Capitalism, Michèa argues, is breaking down this social fabric. As the market relentlessly expands into every area of life, relationships once governed by reciprocity become self-interested transactions. 

This maps directly with the concept of high density of acquaintanceship associated with rural communities. In a small agricultural community, a neighbor’s failed harvest is visible. Decency is not an abstract value, but a material reality that rural people navigate on a daily basis.  Michèa argues that modern society has removed people from the social relations that foster this common decency. 

Here is where Michèa’s argument becomes uncomfortable. He contends that economic liberalism, meaning the spreading of free markets, free trade, and global integration of markets-- are not in tension with cultural liberalism . He believes these two liberalisms actually operate in concert. He writes, “a right-wing economy cannot function in a lasting way without a left-wing culture.” It is well documented that economic liberalism has devastated rural communities by financializing land, offshoring manufacturing, and consolidating agricultural markets. 

Cultural liberalism, for Michèa, works in parallel. It elevates individual autonomy and the right to choose one’s lifestyle over inherited social norms or traditions. Institutions that once anchored rural life: stable family, religious practice, the local community, have all been delegitimized over time in the name of individual emancipation. Rural communities are left with a social and moral vacuum at a time when economic liberalism has taken away their material foundations. For Michèa this is not a coincidence, capitalism prefers autonomous individuals without a sense of rootedness to a place and an inherited way of life. The tech worker who relocates for opportunity is a more compatible economic subject than the farmer who will not leave because his family has worked the same land for three generations. 

While Michèa’s argument is not without its blind spots, he invites the left to take working class culture seriously. To be clear, I don’t believe the left should abandon a commitment to individual freedom. However, a politics aimed toward a more just society cannot organize against rural morality. To me, this is what is intended by the provocative title. The social fabric that allows for the cultivation of common decency is worth conserving.

The Banshees of Inisherin: Friendship and the village

Irishmore, Ireland

Image Source: Wikimedia Commons (2005)

The Banshees of Inisherin is a dark comedy film that came out in 2022. It is set in the 1920s and was written and directed by Martin McDonagh. The movie centers around two longtime friends, Colm, and Pádraic, living on a fictional remote island called Inisherin off the west coast of Ireland. These two friends used to spend their days in the pub, drinking the day away, until Colm decides to abruptly end the friendship.  Colm explains that Pádraic is just too “dull” for him and that he has no desire to waste more time hearing him talk. Colm is a composer and is motivated to leave a legacy through music. When Pádraic refuses to accept the termination of their friendship, Colm escalates the conflict by threatening to cut off one of his own fingers every time Pádraic talks to him. 

This film has a lot to say about the nature of friendship in remote areas. After Colm cuts off his first finger and throws it at their door, Pádraic’s sister is convinced it is time to leave the village and move to the big city. She tries to convince Pádraic to join her, but he remains committed to the village.  

This raises the question: could a feud escalate like this in a big city? I doubt it. The extent to which the two friends are entangled in one another’s lives would be highly unlikely in a big city.  In this village, there is just one pub, only a handful of roads, and Colm and Pádraic continue bumping into one another. 

Despite the conflict, neither is willing to give up their village life.  Pádraic loves his donkey and his daily rituals. The social fabric of Inisherin gives him a sense of rootedness. Is it because he is dull that he has no ambition beyond the remote island? This is a central tension in the film. On the one hand, Pádraic does not crave legacy. Rather, he enjoys modest pleasures: arriving at the pub at 2 p.m., taking care of his donkey, chatting about nothing, really. This contentment reflects his orientation, not his intellect. He values kindness and kinship. 

Colm, by contrast, equates ambition with depth. His prioritization of ambition may reflect a kind of urban-centric orientation. A post from 2014 demonstrates popular culture contributes to simplified or stereotyped portrayals of rural life.  Those tropes exist in Banshees, but by complicating them, the film offers a more layered representation of rural life. 

Why can’t the ambitious composer leave the island? Colm craves the quiet of village life, so he can focus on his composing, but he is unwilling to accept that village life requires him to tolerate the villagers. Would he actually be happier in the big city? In Dublin for example, what he would gain in anonymity, he would certainly lose in other ways. Yes, he wouldn’t have to put up with Pádraic, but he would have to deal with consequences of city life like noise and chaos. Colm’s anxiety about legacy would not disappear in the city; it would likely intensify.  The competition and indifference of urban life could make fear of insignificance more apparent to Colm. In a place crowded with other musicians and artists, he may be forced to confront how ordinary he might be. By the end of the film the irony is apparent. The ambitious composer, Colm, has self-mutilated. His ambition does not make him morally superior to Pádraic.   

The film also invites us to consider whether there is an obligation to remain friends with people we can’t stand. Most people are comfortable with the idea that individuals have a right to decide not to be someone’s friend.  In a big city, Colm could more easily exercise this right. On a remote island, less so. Island life necessarily conflicts with the individual rights urban dwellers take for granted. Individuals cannot freely choose their associates in a place this small and remote.  In a rural context, residents must coexist, even if that means tolerating an unwanted interaction from time to time. This demonstrates that individualism and notions of free will are often constrained in practice by forces like geography. 

The central tragedy for Pádraic is his realization that the social order is collapsing. When his fellow villagers don’t believe in the community, he can no longer experience the sense of belonging he craves. Inisherin represents the type of rural environment that is stuck between two worlds. It is unable to deliver the sense of community that Pádraic relies on, but it also cannot deliver the sense of individuality that Colm seeks to assert. The tension between community and autonomy is thus at the heart of the film’s tragedy. 

Confederate flags in the rural non-south

I'm not quite sure how many times I've seen the Confederate Battle Flag being flown in rural California, but it is certainly more than I would expect outside the South. Given that Southerners often defend flying the flag as "heritage not hate," seeing it where there's no heritage to speak of is surreal. Then why fly the flag? 

 Media coverage on the topic rarely offers a compelling explanation. The articles typically follow a similar format, with interviews of the flag-waivers disclaiming racist intent countered with interviews of historians that emphasize the white supremacist character of the Confederacy. For example, NPR reports that Feeling Kinship With The South, Northerners Let Their Confederate Flags Fly, with the subjects sympathizing with the confederate cause of "fighting for states' rights, and the freedom to make their own way and to choose their own way against a tyrannical federal government."

The article highlights historian Rachel Jelks for the position that the flag represented defending the institution of slavery. But it frames this as merely an alternative view by introducing her simply as one of "many others" who believe this. Her credentials are mentioned, but the article does not seem to treat hers as the correct position. 

 Subjects frequently invoke current government overreach in justifying flying the flag. A Columbus Dispatch article has an Ohioan clarifying that the flag symbolizes his "distaste for the Federal Government." In their view, the war was primarily an issue of federal overreach, and so fly the flag as a stand against current overreach.

This reflects the mythological Lost Cause narrative of the Civil War, where slavery did not cause the conflict and the secession justified by the tyranny of the federal government. While directly contradicted by the historical record, it gained significant traction in the 20th century and became the default understanding of the Civil War for many. While the beliefs of the flag waivers are not out of the ordinary, it is still unclear why that particular symbol is utilized as opposed to other less inflammatory symbols.

These reports largely interpret the phenomenon as individualistic and fail to articulate any overarching theory. One exception is a 2022 article by David Graham in The Atlantic, which addresses the political divide on removing confederate monuments. He uses a contemporary poll to argue that "support for Confederate symbols and monuments follows lines of race, religion, and education rather than geography."

Graham finds through the poll that "non-southerners feel the same way about Confederate monuments that southerners do." What was once a regional difference had become nationalized. And he joins a number of other political scientists in identifying the urban-rural divide as the most significant political divide in our country today. 

Will Wilkinson is one of the more strident proponents of this theory. He supplements his 2019 report The Density Divide with a Substack article that argues that rural America has gone through "southernification." He acknowledges a lack of empirical evidence for this effect, but sees it as necessary to unify rural whites into a "single constituency."

A 2025 New York Times Op-Ed similarly argues that aspects of rural, country, and southern identity have all merged into a mainstream "rural" aesthetic that is exploited by populist politicians like Donald Trump. They go a bit too far with this approach by attributing too much of modern culture to this aesthetic, but they do accurately identify how Southern culture has become de-regionalized.

Simply looking at history reveals a simpler explanation. A Black Perspectives article highlights how activists donned Klan hoods and waved the Confederate Flag at an anti-civil rights event in the Bronx. In that context, it seems difficult to ignore the racist history of the flag in attempting to explain its modern usage outside of the South. 

Confederate Memorial Plaza, Anderson, Texas. 

Image Source: creativecommons.org 

The incompatibilities between the personality traits of lawyers and rural people

One of my uncles is a large, scary man. When he was younger, he regularly attended mixed martial arts events. On most occasions, he was approached by promoters and asked if he had ever considered becoming a fighter. As a young man seeking fortune, he instead set his eyes on what he was told was an extremely lucrative activity: a season of crab fishing.

This type of fishing can be a grueling endeavor. The crews who sign up for it usually expect to work long (regularly over 12 hours) days in freezing weather. With little privacy or connection to the world outside the boat, the weeks (sometimes months) they spend in the boat can really do a number on their mental health. My uncle thought himself perfectly equipped for this job. Alas, it was not the case. Before long, the loneliness and taxing nature of the job got to him. About 2 weeks in, he suffered from a panic attack. Forsaking his dreams of riches, he demanded to be done with the whole thing well before the fishing season ended. He got stuck with the bill for the helicopter lift off the boat.

The key thing my uncle failed to consider was his own personality. Despite his intimidating appearance, he is actually a very warm person who thrives on social interaction. He was not well suited for the life of an Alaskan crab fisherman. He now makes a comfortable living as a pest control technician here in sunny California. If you asked him, he would tell you that there is no amount of money that could have compelled him to stay in that boat for another second.

Several American legal scholars have brought up the issue of the lack of lawyers in rural areas. A common prescription to this issue is financial incentives for lawyers who commit to working in these areas for some time. Whenever such an idea comes up, I always think of my uncle, barely holding onto his sanity in a tiny boat on the Bering Sea.

The personality profile of lawyers has been the subject of some research. The research suffers from a lack of uniformity as to how personality is measured, a problem which permeates the field of psychometrics. The Big Five personality trait model divides personality into five factors (Openness, Conscientiousness, Extraversion, Agreeableness, and Neuroticism) each measured along a continuum.

No single scientific paper collects data and analyzes trends on all five of the Big Five personality traits of American lawyers. Such papers exist for legal professionals in Germany and Israel. The cultural consensus on the Big Five personality traits of lawyers seems to be that lawyers are higher than the average person in openness (creativity and willingness to entertain new ideas) and conscientiousness (diligence and thoroughness). On the other hand, it seems that most people think that lawyers are significantly lower than the average person on agreeableness (willingness to kindly cooperate with others). The research on extraversion and neuroticism (proneness to depression and irritability), indicates that lawyers are lower in extraversion and higher in neuroticism than the average person.

With some idea of the type of person who becomes a lawyer, we turn our eyes to rural populations. A study compares Big Five traits among urban, suburban and rural populations. The study establishes that rural people tend to be higher than their urban counterparts in extraversion, agreeableness, and neuroticism. They are also lower than urbanites in conscientiousness and openness. As described here, lawyers and rural populations are almost mirror images in terms of personality. The only trait which they share is their higher than average neuroticism, which probably does not make for a winning combination.

The cited study qualifies each of these disparities as nonsignificant when one controls for socio-demographic characteristics. This means that rural people do not display the above characteristics because they live in rural areas. Rather, they display them because they are much more likely to be poor, old and less formally educated (“POL”) than urban people, and the aforementioned set of personality traits is highly correlated with a person being POL.

One might suspect that this personality contrast applies to rural populations when compared with any high-income or highly specialized professions, but the evidence suggests otherwise. In Personality and Medical Specialty Choice: A Literature Review and Integration, family care physicians are characterized as high in agreeableness, conscientiousness, extraversion, and neuroticism, and only average or low in openness. At first glance, physicians appear to share far more personality traits with rural populations than lawyers, differing primarily in conscientiousness.

It has been proposed that the legal system might benefit from offering lawyers debt relief if they serve in a rural communities for a certain number of years, much like existing programs for physicians. While I cannot see how such a policy could be harmful, it could definitely face the personality profile of lawyers as compared with that of physicians and rural populations as a major hurdle.

This raises the question of what to do about it. Government-mandated personality changes are still unfeasible, and while money can do fearsome things to a person, it is not clear that it is adequate to overcome absolutely anything. It certainly could not keep my uncle in a lonely boat in Alaskan waters.

One idea is for law schools to admit classes with more varied personality profiles, including people more amenable to rural life. There is some evidence that law schools select for and exacerbate the personality traits characteristic of lawyers. However, rejecting applicants on the grounds of being “too diligent” or “too willing to engage with new ideas” would understandably raise other concerns.

Rural tourism: a double-edged sword

Summer Hike 2025 - Kīholo Bay, Big Island, HI 

Where tourists vacation, money often flows: lodging bookings increase, more jobs are created, and the beauties of rural communities are discovered. The reality, however, is that the people and places making money aren't always the ones paying the price for over-tourism. Within this context, people like environmentalist Hanan Kouli are part of a movement supporting rural tourism. 

Kouli explained the significance of tourism to rural economies in places like Hawaii, and the need for a more sustainable approach, stating:

...[M]any residents rely on [tourism]...The problem isn't tourism, it's too much tourism without enough care. 

As someone from a rural island community, it's encouraging that tourists and locals alike recognize the harms of mass tourism, even though it can also be a double-edged sword. Without increased community control, rural tourism can reproduce the same harms as mass tourism - displacement and cultural commodification - albeit with better branding than mass tourism. 

What is rural tourism? 

Rural tourism occurs in non-urban areas and is considered a sustainable alternative to mass tourism. A 2015 blog post put it even more simply, defining rural tourism as: 

...[T]he country experience [with] opportunities for visitors to directly experience agricultural and/or natural environments. 

I felt the appeal of that "country experience" while staying on a farm in New Zealand. Even then, it was clear that rural areas were still recovering from COVID-19's impact on the tourism industry. Indeed, especially after COVID-19, one benefit of rural tourism is attracting more tourists like me, who seek rural destinations to avoid large crowds and experience a different way of life.

Farm Stay 2024 - New Zealand

What are the benefits of rural tourism?

At its best, rural tourism can broaden the local economy by keeping income streams rooted in rural communities instead of flowing from (or towards) urban centers. The promise is simple: jobs and demand for local businesses in rural areas. According to a 2023 article from the journal for Humanities & Social Sciences Communications, rural tourism:

...[Promotes] rural community development and...could counteract the negative impacts of urbanization.

Hawaii offers an illustration of how that can play out. Tourism is the state's largest economic driver, but the benefits are most visible when tourism dollars circulate through rural communities, rather than resorts. This is particularly true in rural areas that offer  "authentic" island experiences, like the Polynesian Cultural Center (PCC), Hawaii's top-paid tourist attraction. 

Mariott Resort 2024 - Ko'olina, Oahu

However one views it culturally, PCC channels visitor spending into the rural community where it operates - supporting jobs, and for many workers, substantial college scholarships. 

Sadie's Inn 2025 - Utulei, American Samoa

Similar dynamics show up in my home country of American Samoa. Tourism helps offset the country's financial reliance on its tuna processing plant - Starkist - which makes up about one-third of its workforce. Rural attractions like the National Park and Ofu Beach draw tourists whose spending supports lodging, food service, and cultural education.

My criticisms of rural tourism

My gripe with rural tourism is rooted in concern about what happens to "authenticity" once it becomes the selling point. What was once authentic is often changed to meet consumer expectations rather than community needs. That was the dynamic Professor Lisa Pruitt described as "faux rural" in her 2013 blog post. 

Sapphire Princess 2023 - Pago Pago, American Samoa

The trade-off of living in a highly marketable rural "paradise" is that it can make you feel like you're always on display. When tourists arrive expecting a specific version of island life, the pressure to look the part increases. A 2023 study on the Socio-Cultural Effects of Rural Tourism observed that 

...[T]he development of tourism in rural communities has the potential to produce unwanted socio-cultural consequences.

I felt that dynamic early. As a child, I remember giving staged performances for tourists. Those dances weren't fake, but over time, the performance mindset skewed my perception of "authenticity."  

So, what now?

I can't deny the economic benefit that rural tourism has brought to rural communities, mine included. I still see it as a bridge between the "urban-rural" divide discussed in Professor Pruitt's 2024 blog post. The goal isn't to eliminate tourism; it's to shape it on community terms. 

What does this look like? Perhaps restrictions on short-term rentals, visitor caps, or local hiring requirements. In any case, increased community control is essential to stop rural tourism from reproducing the same harms as mass tourism.

Chronicle of Higher Education features LSU-Alexandria as an institution successfully serving rural students

Dan Berrett reports on Louisiana State University-Alexandria's success in surviving the rural area amidst which it sits.  The headline is Rural America, Growth Area? and the sub-head is "There’s a growing population of high-school seniors waiting to be reached — if colleges can figure out how to better serve them."  Here are some key excerpts:  

On the surface, Louisiana State University at Alexandria might seem like an institution in trouble. It’s a public regional campus in a rural swath of the state, located in a city of under 50,000 that hugs the Red River and is “surrounded by forest and farmland,” says Adam Lord, a spokesperson for the university. Central Louisiana, according to Lord, is “defined by work-force shortages, growing health-care deserts, and limited access to degree programs.” Less than one-third of the city’s adults have at least an associate degree, below both the state and national average.

But the institution saw its enrollment more than double between 2013 and 2023, largely by focusing on the regional and state population. The heavily rural, 11-parish area in which the campus sits accounts for 94 percent of its student body, and the state’s residents make up 70 percent of its online learners. LSU-Alexandria has grown largely by expanding its online enrollment and touting its low cost and high value. The undergraduate-only institution has developed pipelines to the state’s graduate professional programs. It’s created programs for the rural work force — including aviation, disaster preparedness, and cybersecurity — and programs that feed into local companies, like RoyOMartin, a plywood manufacturer, and utilities and hospitals.

Where its graduates once left for Texas, the institution is now trying to keep them at home.

* * * 

The notion that rural areas are growing runs counter to a decades-long narrative of decline.

* * *

The largest increase in undergraduate enrollment — more than 9 percent — over the past two years has been among institutions in rural areas, according to the National Student Clearinghouse Research Center.

“There is a slight gain in the number of rural students. That’s the news,” says Patrick Lane, vice president for policy analysis and research at WICHE.

* * * 

Several scholars of rural higher education who spoke with The Chronicle come from such areas themselves, and they consistently recall feeling alienated when they arrived on campus — not unlike what first-generation students and students of color describe, says Tony Pipa, a senior fellow in the Center for Sustainable Development at the Brookings Institution, who has written about rural America and produces a podcast on the subject. “They feel like a fish out of water,” he says of rural students. “Rural is an identity.”

That sense of identity can leave a lasting impact, says Andrew Koricich, a professor of higher education and student affairs at Appalachian State University.

* * *

When rural scholars meet each other, they might find common ground discussing how many 
stoplights or how few people were in the communities in which they grew up, Koricich says. The sense of identity expresses itself in deeper ways, too. “I think there’s a piece of it that is very much around self-sufficiency,” he says. “You meet other rural scholars and we have similar stories about how we had to figure out everything ourselves.”

I really appreciate the attention here to rurality as identity, which is consistent with a recent finding by political scientists regarding rural voters.  

Daniel Woodrell, author of "Winter's Bone," dies, taking with him a particular manifestation of "country noir"

Here's the lede from the New York Times obituary by Alex Traub: 

Daniel Woodrell, a novelist known for prose as rugged and elemental as the igneous rock of the Ozark Mountains, his birthplace, which he returned to just as his artistic craftsmanship peaked, died on Friday at his home in West Plains, Mo. He was 72.

* * *  

Despite Hollywood’s attention to his books, Mr. Woodrell himself did not become much of a public figure; he remained primarily known within the smaller circles of close observers of contemporary fiction, where he was admired as a master storyteller of rural America.

* * *

Much as Mr. Woodrell was drawn to American archetypes — world-weary policemen, small-town crooks — reviewers praised his work for transcending the circumstances of any place or time. He gained command of Old Testament diction, and he sought out themes, like clan loyalty or murder or betrayal, that had been explored since ancient times.

“He writes high Greek tragedy about low people, and he never panders or looks down on the people he writes about,” the writer Dennis Lehane told Esquire. “As a prose stylist, he’s done what all the best do: taken the regional voice of the world he writes about and turned it into poetry.”

 * * *

Frustrated with labels used to characterize his style, Mr. Woodrell coined one of his own: “country noir.” In a 1994 Times Book Review article, he defined this fictional strategy: “To portray the allegedly folksy and bucolic heartland as the frequently rude and savage and dark world those of us who’ve done our time there know it can be is to explode a happy myth of fantasy-America.”

Interesting how many themes of this obituary echo those of my prior post, also about how rural America  shows up in wider cultural tropes.  

Woodrell's work--especially "Winter's Bone"--was a revelation to me because I, too, grew up in the Ozarks.  I found his work very authentic.  I wrote about the movie "Winter's Bone" several times in 2010, when it was released; those posts are here, here, here and here.     

Another NY Times take on rural culture, in relation to Trump and MAGA

Today's New York Times Opinions podcast features a conversation about "The Aesthetic that Explains American Identity Now."  The alternative headline is "MAGA and the Country Aesthetic."  Here's the NYT's overview description of the episode: 

Rural aesthetics are in, from cowboy boots to country albums by pop stars to pastoral idealism peddled by influencers. The New York Times Opinion editor Meher Ahmad speaks to the columnist Tressie McMillan Cottom and the contributor Emily Keegin about what these cultural touch points mean for our politics and society at large.

Before including some key quotes, I'll just observe that I think the commentator's argument is overstated.  Here are some excerpts:  

Ahmad: Both Tressie and Emily are keen observers of the cultural zeitgeist, and in their own spheres they’ve been noticing an ongoing mainstreaming of all things country and rural. Think shows like “Yellowstone” and “The Hunting Wives”. Pop stars like Beyoncé and Sabrina Carpenter produce country songs as part of their repertoire. And tradwife influencers like Hannah Neeleman, popularly known on social media as Ballerina Farm, has now more than 10 million followers.

* * *

McMillan Cottom: There’s a show where a farmer takes a wife ... But you can even get into shows that aren’t as character driven, where the rurality is actually a character. So then you’ve got shows where there are alligator hunters in Louisiana, a show called “Swamp People.”

* * * 

Keegin: Yes. I think we’ve had a very long romance with rural aesthetics in this country.  (emphasis added)

And after the second Trump win, what I noticed was there was a big cowboy trend that took off. Denim is big. Western culture is big. “S.N.L.” this season had a musical act in a hayloft. Realtree coming in and dominating the sweatshirt world.

Ok, honest confession, I had to look up "Reatree."  Had no idea what that was.  I had heard of a realty company with a similar name selling rural properties.  As best I can tell, the two are not related. 

Keegin: Well, OK. Where would you have seen it? You would have seen the pattern on the merch of Chappell Roan. She has a hat that says “Midwest Princess.” And Midwest Princess, I think, is part of this trend, as well. That was picked up by the Harris Walz campaign. If you recall they also had a Camo hat.

* * * 

McMillan Cottom: When we’re talking about being romantic for rural life, we’re really talking about an imaginary place. This isn’t really the rural life that actual people who live in rural America tend to be familiar with. These are signifiers that are maybe less about a physical place, a geography.  (emphasis added)

I would say the divide is between nostalgia and today’s politics. It manifests in many different ways. But when you say something like “Make America Great,” that’s a backward-looking vision. That is not about the future — although it’s trying to own the idea of what the future should look like. It is really calling to a nostalgia for an imagined American past where all families were “traditional” and all women were real women and home life looked this way.

* * *

Keegin: We look at how culture changed through the Clinton years and what was on TV. And when the rural revolt happened in 1994, we had a narrative around that about a shift in a rising conservative culture in this country — which was absolutely true. Narratives are based in truth. And our television shows followed that. 

* * *  

McMillan Cottom: [K]eeping in mind that when we talk about Donald Trump being a sort of a quintessential New York urban figure, that may be true in his biography, but we’re not talking about real places when we talk about urban versus rural.

And when you appeal to rural, you are always, always, calling up the idea of urban. These two things exist at the same time. So that’s the first thing.

The second thing is: I would say that what Donald Trump does — the way he enters into the rural imagination: He does it through Southernness.

* * *

I think that what Donald Trump does is he becomes associated with rural life because of how often he has appealed to Southernness, when he, of course, raises the specter of racism or raises the specter of genteel womanhood — all of those things that the South is kind of known for.

They came in the figure of Donald Trump and his rhetoric, so we keep this big treasure chest — a repertoire of ideas in the South. And when somebody wants to call them up, they can go and open the toy chest, and there it is. You can pull out the Confederate flag, and you can pull out songs of the South or whatever it is.

And suddenly, people’s imagination is in the South. Well, once you are in the South, in the imagination, you are just a — if you’ll forgive me — you are just a hayride away from rural America.

And so those two things, I think, are happening simultaneously with Donald Trump. Appealing to nostalgia will always have political power, especially when people are very anxious and afraid, which is what I would argue people are — for many, many reasons. And that’s why I think Donald Trump reads as rural to some people.

Although I’d pay money to see Donald Trump in actual rural America, for what it’s worth.

* * *

Keegin: You know, Donald Trump shows the seams. You see where the makeup ends on his face. It’s very clear that his hair is done by himself, and you see the grease in it. There’s a photo of him where you see that he holds his tie together with tape.

I think when we boil down what a rural aesthetic is, regardless of who is engaging with it, it is about the human hand and showing what humans create — versus the urban aesthetic, which is based in machines and in technology. We think about our urban centers: That is where we produce a lot of our culture, but they’re also the center of our governments and our financial centers.

All of the aesthetics that we associate with urban life come from those occupations, which are about the mind over the body. This is not where you are toiling and making things with the human hand and with your physical self. And that is the schism. When I look at Trump, I think: Yes, there are a lot of things about him that are very rural — because he’s not slick.

Then there's more in this podcast about the "Renaissance of country music" and what it suggests about this political moment.  I'll leave that to you readers to assess.  Some of the illustration of what these NYTimes folks label "rural"--especially matters related to cowboys and Taylor Sheridan's "Yellowstone"--seem to me more specifically about the imaginary associated with the "wild west" and with patriarchy.   In the latter regard, I was reminded of Kristen Kobes Du Mez' Jesus and John Wayne, a book I highly recommend.  

Calls to divide California into two states revived after passage of Prop 50

California Assemblyman James Gallagher (R-Yuba City) is again pushing to split the state into two, re-energized by the recent passage of Proposition 50 (read more here and here).  Gallagher, who recently stepped away from his role as minority leader of the State Assembly, spoke at a meeting of the Shasta County Board of Supervisors on Nov. 6, two days after the election.  Here's a quote from the San Francisco Chronicle coverage of Gallagher's comments indicating that  

the passage of Prop. 50 was a “catalyst” for him to reintroduce a resolution that would form a new state out of multiple dissatisfied California counties. The proposed new 51st American state would sever the entirety of more rural inland California from the coast.

“Let’s not discount ourselves in what this Inland California is actually really capable of,” Gallagher said while speaking at the podium during the board meeting. “... I think we can do it a lot better than the [government] that is currently controlled by the coastal representatives.”

Gallagher, who used to serve on the Sutter County board before he was elected to the state Assembly in 2014, blames coastal cities for taking tax dollars away from inland California –– including the Central Valley, Northern California and the Inland Empire. As a result, Gallagher said from behind the podium on Thursday, issues such as water, wolves, wildfire mitigation, and “skyrocketing utility and gas bills” have been put on the back burner.  

It's interesting that Gallagher is focused on tax dollars going from inland California to the benefit of the coast.  It'd be interesting to see the data on that since most people assume that urban California taxs subsidize rural California.  As I've written recently here, I'm not sure that thinking of who is benefitting from whom in terms of taxes is the most useful frame.  Not all of the benefits urban California gets from rural California--and vice versa--can be reduced to revenue.  

More on gerrymandering and its impact on far nothern California

Several stories have been published about California's Proposition 50, which would permit re-districting immediately, between the decennial censuses.  It's a topic I first blogged about here, in late August.   

The first is Jeanne Kuang's deeply reported story for CalMatters, from mid-September.  

The headline is a telling, "These rural Californians want to secede. Newsom’s maps would pair them with Bay Area liberals."  Here's the lede: 

Over several rivers and through even more woods, flags advocating secession from California flutter above hills dotted with cattle, which outnumber people at least sixfold.

This ranching region with a libertarian streak might have more in common with Texas than the San Francisco Bay Area.

But it’s not Texas. Five hours northeast of Sacramento on an easy day, Modoc County and its roughly 8,500 residents are still — begrudgingly — in California.

And California is dominated by Democrats, who are embroiled in a tit-for-tat redistricting war with the Lone Star State that will likely force conservative Modoc County residents to share a representative in Congress with parts of the Bay Area.

Modoc County and two neighboring red counties would be shifted into a redrawn district that stretches 200 miles west to the Pacific Coast and then south, through redwoods and weed farms, to include some of the state’s wealthiest communities, current Democratic Rep. Jared Huffman’s home in San Rafael and the northern end of the Golden Gate Bridge, all in uber-liberal Marin County.

“It’s like a smack in the face,” said local rancher Amie Martinez. “How could you put Marin County with Modoc County? It’s just a different perspective.”

* * * 

Though Modoc County supervisors have declared their opposition to Prop. 50, there’s little else locals can do. Registered Republicans are outnumbered by Democrats statewide nearly two-to-one. Rural residents represent an even smaller share of the state’s electorate.

“It’ll be very hard to fight back,” said Tim Babcock, owner of a general store in Lassen County, a similar and neighboring community that’s proposed to be drawn into a different liberal-leaning congressional district. “Unless we split the state. And that’s never going to happen.”

Here are some key quotes highlighting the rural implications of the proposed redistricting.    

County Supervisor Geri Byrne said she knew it was a longshot — but thought, “when’s the last time The New York Times called someone in Modoc County?”

Byrne, who is also chair of the Rural County Representatives of California and of the upcoming National Sheepdog Finals, said the secession resolution was about sending a message.

“It wasn’t conservative-liberal,” [Byrne] said. “It was the urban-rural divide, and that’s what this whole Prop. 50 is about.”  

Even a Democratic resident running a produce pickup center in Alturas observed that her neighbors are “not that Trumpy.” Instead, there’s a pervasive general distrust of politics on any side of the aisle.

* * *

Flourishing wolves are a problem

At the moment, all anyone can talk about is the wolves.

The apex predator returned to California more than a decade ago, a celebrated conservation success story after they were hunted to near-extinction in the western U.S. Now they’re flourishing in the North State — and feeding on cattle, throwing ranching communities on edge. Federally, they’re still listed as an endangered species under the landmark conservation law signed by President Richard Nixon.
Under California rules, ranchers can only use nonlethal methods to deter the wolves, like electrifying fencing or hiring ranch hands to guard their herds at night.

* * * 

Few Republicans in the state and nation understand “public lands districts,” said Modoc County Supervisor Shane Starr, a Republican who used to work in LaMalfa’s office. “Doug’s the closest thing we’ve got.”

“This whole thing with DEI and ‘woke culture’ and stuff,” he said, referring to the diversity and inclusion efforts under attack from the right, “it’s like, yeah, we had a kid who goes to the high school who dyed his hair a certain color. Cool, we don’t care. All of these things going on at the national stage are not based in our reality whatsoever.”

At a cattlemen’s dinner in Alturas one recent evening, Martinez said she once ran into LaMalfa at a local barbecue fundraiser for firefighters and approached him about a proposal to designate parts of northwestern Nevada as protected federal wilderness. Her 700-person town of Cedarville in east Modoc County is 10 minutes from the state line.

Martinez worried about rules that prohibit driving motorized vehicles in wilderness, which she said would discourage the hunters who pass through during deer season and book lodging in town. Even though the proposal was in Nevada, LaMalfa sent staff, including Starr, to meetings to raise objections on behalf of the small town, she said.

“I know we won’t get that kind of representation from Marin County,” she said.

Reached by phone, Huffman defended his qualifications to represent the region.

Adding Siskiyou, Shasta and Modoc counties would mean many more hours of travel to meet constituents, but Huffman pointed out his district is already huge, covering 350 miles of the North Coast. And it includes many conservative-leaning, forested areas in Trinity and Del Norte counties. A former attorney for the environmental group Natural Resources Defense Council, he’s the top Democrat on the House Natural Resources Committee, where [first district congresswoman Doug] LaMalfa also sits.

Then there is this more recent story by Bloomberg's Maxwell Adler, which features the following lede: 

California’s Marin and Modoc counties lie more than 200 miles apart — and several worlds away.

Modoc, tucked into the state’s remote northeast corner, lacks a single traffic light. Many of its 8,500 residents once lost internet service after squirrels chewed through a fiber-optic cable. Ranchers fear wolf attacks on cattle.

Tech-industry wealth, meanwhile, has transformed Marin from a bohemian refuge outside San Francisco into one of California’s richest communities. Traffic regularly jams the freeway into the city, and residents fight over efforts to build more homes.

On the same day, the New York Times published this story about Kevin Kiley, a Republican congressman from greater Sacramento who represents a very rural district stretching down the eastern Sierra.  He would almost certainly lose his seat if redistricting occurs.   

Here's coverage from the California Farm Bureau, "In Rural Districts, Backlash Mounts Against Prop. 50." 

In contrast to these rural-focused stories, Politico published this September 7, 2025 piece  covering the California GOP meeting.  It does not even acknowledge the concern regarding lack of representation of rural concerns.  It includes no use of the word "rural." 

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.