Fired from fire insurance? Large insurers pull out of the California market

Wildfires have become an increasingly common disaster in California. From 1996 to 2001, the number of wildfires in northern and central California increased fivefold due to climate change. The communities most at risk are those located in rural areas—over 85% of California's rural land is now in "high" or "very high" severity zones for wildfire danger. 

The growing number of wildfires has become a devastating risk not only to rural homeowners, but to home insurance companies as well. Fire insurance is usually covered under general homeowners' insurance and is not a separate coverage, as flood insurance is. The increase of wildfires has resulted in growing premiums and deductibles for home insurance, and more shockingly the withdrawal of two leading home insurers from the California market. In the past year, State Farm, the largest insurer in California, and Allstate both announced they would no longer be accepting applications for homeowners' and renters' insurance in the state. 

This may not be so surprising after the disastrous impact of wildfires in recent years. In 2018, the Camp Fire in Paradise destroyed nearly 19,000 properties costing insurers $16.5 billion. (Read more about the Camp Fire in Paradise here and here.) The year before, the wine country wildfires totaled over $3.3 billion in insured losses. 

State Farm explained the reasons behind their decision were "historic increases in construction costs outpacing inflation, rapidly growing catastrophe exposure, and a challenging reinsurance market." 

Considering the increased risk of wildfires in rural areas, this will undoubtedly have a disproportionate impact on homeowners in rural communities. 

Allstate went further and made the decision to drop some policyholders living in high-risk fire zones. Beth Pratt, who lives near Yosemite National Park in Mariposa County, was dropped by Allstate after they had insured her for 31 years. She told NPR, "I get companies need to make money. I have no problem with that...But to just drop people—you know, it's scary. It leaves us feeling extremely vulnerable."

While state law does not require homeowners' insurance, most mortgages do require it as a condition of the loan.  Smaller insurers are available for lower fire risk zones. For those living in high-risk areas that private insurers refuse to cover, the state offers the Fair Access to Insurance Requirements (FAIR) plan. The FAIR plan consists of insurers in the state willing to cover these areas but it comes at a high cost and for far less coverage than standard policies. 

The hesitancy of insurers to provide policies for homes in high-risk areas is certain to affect new homeowners. According to the Insurance Information Institute, there are 1.2 million homes in California that are at risk of extreme wildfire, and there has been an influx of people moving into these fire-prone areas. While owning property may seem cheaper in rural areas, it is increasingly coming with a hefty added cost. A home insurance policy from an insurer such as State Farm for a million-dollar house in the Santa Cruz mountains would usually be around $150 a month, but with the FAIR plan, the rate is closer to $600 a month. This will be a barrier to many people looking to move to rural areas and buy property. 

Pratt also told NPR, "The notion that, somehow, you know, we all built in this high-risk fire area—well, no, we didn't have major fires here every year." It is unclear what the solution for affordable home insurance is when wildfires and other natural disasters are becoming far too frequent. It seems truly unfair, however, for large insurance companies to be able to pull out when they are needed most. 

You can read more about the disproportionate impact the lack of insurance has on rural communities here and here. 

Los Angles Times' poignant feature on rural youth in California's far north state

Hailey Branson-Potts, a terrific story teller who works as a metro reporter for the Los Angeles Times, filed her second big story this season out of Modoc County, in the state's far northeast corner.  The digital headline is "There's a hidden crisis among California's rural kids. Would this teen make it?"  

"This teen" is Linda Plumlee, a recent high school graduate from Modoc who has been an emancipated minor for several years.  This fall, she's off to UC Berkeley--against all odds.  

Plumlee, it turns out, is just one of the more extraordinary stories among rural California teens facing uphill battles to stay in school, keep roofs over their heads, and eat.  Here's the part of Branson-Potts feature that provides critical context:  

About eight years ago, educators in Modoc County realized they had a serious problem.

Students kept melting down, becoming so angry or disruptive that they had to be pulled from classrooms. The county’s suspension rate was about three times higher than the state average, and students were twice as likely as those statewide to be chronically absent.

“We realized we were dealing with something bigger than behavior,” said Misti Norby, deputy superintendent of the Modoc County Office of Education. “We were like, what’s going on with our kids?”

Teachers across Modoc County assessed their students, relying on a fact of small-town life that can be both a blessing and a curse: everyone knows everyone’s business. They did an informal, anonymous tally of what are called adverse childhood experiences, or ACEs, which include abuse or neglect; a parent’s death, incarceration or divorce; and mental illness or substance abuse in the home.

About 58% of kids in Modoc County, Norby said, were believed to have four or more ACEs, putting them at significantly higher risk later in life of suicide, substance abuse, chronic health problems and unemployment.

“It was very eye opening,” Norby said. “We now function on: We know they have trauma. Somewhere. Somehow.”

Models consistently show the state’s highest rates of childhood trauma are in rural Northern California, where there is a dire shortage of both primary care and mental-health care providers.

The gun violence and poverty experienced by young people in some urban neighborhoods is well-documented in the media and popular culture. But these issues are as present, if not even more common, in rural areas. While homicide rates are lower, suicide rates are generally much higher in rural than urban counties.

Home to just 8,500 people, Modoc County is one of California’s poorest, with a fifth of the population living in poverty.

* * * 

Now, when social workers or other county officials learn that a child has experienced a major trauma, they email Norby, who then emails the child’s school district.

She provides no details about the incident. Just a name and the words: “Handle with care.”

Also, here's an interesting vignette of life for teens in rural Modoc: 

Alturas was where [Plumlee] and her friends cruised Main Street, cracking jokes and dreaming about the future. It was where teachers and school counselors spent countless hours keeping her spirits up through the emancipation process.

Most stores and restaurants close by 8 p.m. There’s the single-screen Niles movie theater on Main Street — but it only screens once a day on weekends.

Teenagers go hiking, hunting or fishing in the nearby mountains. They party and drink. Or they drive 100 miles to shop in Klamath Falls, Ore. — where the nearest Walmart is.

Their lives revolve around school: sports, band, Future Farmers of America, drama club.

Don't miss this entire feature, which appeared on the front page of the Los Angeles Times print edition on Sept. 16. 

Democratic lawmakers seek to bolster rural recreation economy

Senators Chuck Schumer (New York) and Michael Bennet (Colorado), along with Congresswoman Melanie Stansbury (New Mexico), recently introduced the Rural Outdoor Investment Act, which Bloomberg describes as authorizing 

$50 million annually through fiscal 2028 for rural areas to upgrade outdoor recreation infrastructure such as boat ramps and trails, as well as help communities plan for the increased tourism and larger workforce the industry is expected to bring.

Outdoor recreation in the US, especially on public lands and waters, boomed during the Covid-19 pandemic, as Americans sought alternatives to indoor activities. The industry supported 4.5 million jobs and contributed about 1.9% to the nation’s gross domestic product in 2021, according to the Bureau of Economic Analysis. Outdoor recreation also contributed about $862 billion in sales and revenue in 2021.

One commentator calls this bill the "recreation industry’s 'big play in the farm bill,'" because while "lawmakers introduced the measure as stand-along legislation...they are eyeing attaching it to broader bipartisan bills [including the farm bill] before year's end."  Read more here from the New Mexico Political Report here.

The link between outdoor recreation and rural economies is explored in prior posts here, here, and here.  

Rural responses to corporate utility disasters: Reimagining the future of Butte Creek Canyon after PG&E canal breach

Residents of Butte County, California are no strangers to PG&E-caused disasters. The latest of the vast corporate utility’s mishaps occurred August 10, when a breach of Butte Canal sent millions of pounds of sediment careening into Butte Creek, which runs through Butte Creek Canyon. The sediment turned the water orange and silty, threatening the survival of this year's salmon class and causing deep concern for ecosystem and human health.

The breach happened above Helltown and Centerville, two very small, unincorporated canyon communities about a half hour northeast of Chico and located on the ancestral homelands of the Mechoopda tribe.

I first learned about the breach through the Instagram of a Helltown local, who posted devastating videos of the murky orange waters and documented river otters desperately trying to find the end of the pollution. In the weeks since, I’ve observed that much of the clean up effort responding to this catastrophe is coming from rural canyon residents who have a deep connection with the land and water in their backyards.

For many canyon residents, their biggest concern revolves around the creek’s salmon population. Butte Creek, a 93-mile tributary of the Sacramento River, supports the state’s largest population of wild spring-run Chinook salmon and is one of only three tributaries that still support a self-sustaining salmon population. This makes the creek critical to saving the state’s endangered salmon population. The conservation group California Trout explained in a blog post about the incident:

Sediment in a stream is natural, but if sediment levels get too high, like they are currently at Butte Creek, it can be extremely dangerous for fish and other wildlife. Sediment blocks light that allows algae to grow, harms fish gills, fills or blocks important habitats, and stops fish from seeing well enough to move around or feed.

CalTrout also noted that the impacts on fish and other wildlife can’t be fully assessed until the creek flushes out.

The more I learn about the canal breach, the sadder and angrier I am, feelings I know are shared by many other people from the area.

Allen Harthorn, a canyon resident and founder of advocacy group Friends of Butte Creek, told ChicoSol, “This event is essentially an underwater Camp Fire — there’s no fire, but it’s killing everything in its path.”

Harthorn is referencing a devastating wildfire that burned much of Butte Creek Canyon in 2018. State fire investigators determined it was started by PG&E transmission lines and in litigation over the fire, PG&E settled with the town of Paradise and Butte County for $522 million in 2019. It also settled with individual fire victims from the Camp Fire and other Northern California fires for a total of $13.5 billion. You can read more about the Camp Fire here. 

Community frustration with PG&E is palpable (and aligns with statewide trends). I’ve heard and seen it voiced by residents in comments on news articles and social media posts about the breach, in my own conversations with friends and family in the area, and by Butte County District Attorney Mike Ramsey, who facetiously referred to PG&E as his “favorite punching bag” in the recent community meeting discussed below. A Friends of Butte Creek post about the incident reads, “We must not let PG&E continue to get away with destroying our watershed. The District Attorney and California Department of Fish and Wildlife are investigating the incident and potential legal actions are possible.”

As I see it, this anger, alongside hope, is fueling powerful community response and creating opportunity for meaningful change.

Following the breach, canyon residents organized a community meeting at the old Centerville Schoolhouse on August 24, and the community showed up in force. A recording of the meeting can be viewed here.

One of the organizers set the tone of the meeting in two meaningful ways. First, she asked everyone who was angry about the incident to raise their hand, her own hand going up first. With those feelings acknowledged, she asked for the meeting to center on solutions, rather than grievances. She also asked explicitly for people to leave partisan politics at the door. I’ve long felt that environmental action and sense of place can transcend partisanship (and the urban-rural divide), and it was refreshing to see that play out.

The meeting then turned toward understanding the problem and thinking about solutions. He-Lo Ramirez, environmental director and member of the Mechoopda Tribe shared the significance of salmon and the Butte Creek Canyon watershed to the Mechoopda people. A video created by canyon residents showed the site and effects of the breach. Harthorn talked about the creek’s salmon runs and the history of the canal project, which is connected to the DeSabla-Centerville hydroelectric project.

Harthorn envisions decommissioning the hydroelectric project and replacing it with a fish restoration project. He noted in the meeting that even PG&E has recognized the power project makes no economic sense. PG&E even tried to withdraw its long-term licensing application for the project in 2017, but the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission denied that request. Since 2009, PG&E has operated with yearly permits.

Harthorn talked about how removing the energy project would allow for the removal of power lines as well. This would benefit the area via less clear-cutting around lines and reduced fire risk, a topic of equally great concern to canyon folks.

Ramsey promised accountability and talked about litigation options, before welcoming some "boots-on-the-ground" PG&E officials to the podium to talk about their response to the breach. The PG&E representatives at the meeting voiced their own deep concerns over the breach and emphasized the utility's prompt response. Residents were respectful of the PG&E employees but insisted on corporate accountability.

As residents move forward with holding PG&E responsible and advocating for solutions that protect the canyon and fish, I’m curious what roadblocks stand in their way and what a reimagined and more sustainable future for the canyon might look like. Can community-based solutions, or even community-operated power, reduce both stream pollution and wildfire risk? In my next post, I’ll explore ways other rural communities are responding to big utilities mistreating or overlooking them and how those responses might transfer to Butte Creek advocacy.

Can the Green Mountain State stay green?

It's an old lesson we never seem to learn . . . You can't save the environment by destroying it. -Kit Ausschnitt, current Vermont resident. 

Oftentimes, people think of oil, gas, coal, and other extractive industries being synonymous with rurality. West Virginia has the mines, Kansas has fracking, Alaska drills, and so on and so forth. Despite these stereotypes, there has been a recent boom in clean energy jobs in rural communities (you can read more about clean energy in rural communities here and here). 

Clean energy jobs in rural counties outnumbered fossil fuel jobs by 1.5 to 1 in 2019. In rural parts of the Northeast and Pacific West this rises significantly as clean energy jobs outnumber fossil fuel and power jobs 9 to 1. Rural classification for this purpose was developed by the USDA Economic Research Service which distinguishes between metropolitan counties and non-metropolitan counties by rating them on a scale of 1-9. You can read more about the rural/ urban classifications here.

According to the World Resources Institute, jobs in renewable energy, energy efficiency, advanced electric grid development, clean fuels, and other clean energy jobs employed around 360,000 workers in rural counties in 2019. These jobs accounted for as much as 10% of total employment in these places. In fact, clean energy jobs make up 3% of total rural employment in Nevada and Wyoming, 3.2% of total rural employment in Indiana, and 3.6% of rural employment in Hawaii. Vermont leads the pack, however, with 5.7% of total rural employment being comprised of clean energy jobs. 

According to the most recent Census, Vermont is the most rural state in the union with 65% of Vermont's population residing in rural areas. Despite its small size (Vermont is the second least populated state after Wyoming), Vermont's share of in-state electricity from renewable resources is the highest in the nation (reaching just shy of 100% in 2020 and 2021) and has the lowest carbon dioxide emissions of any state. 

Since the end of 2014, when the Vermont Yankee Nuclear Power Station was permanently shut down, Vermont has gotten almost all of its in-state electricity from renewable resources. Most of Vermont's electricity comes from a combination of hydroelectric plants (46% of total electricity), wood and wood waste (23%), solar energy (16%), and wind farms (14%).

That said, Vermont's commitment to renewable resource electricity has not been met with universal approval.

Recently, tensions have risen regarding a renewable energy project in Shaftsbury, Vermont. Shaftsbury is located about 2 hours and 45 minutes from Burlington, Vermont, and is located on the southern end of the state. Shaftsbury boosts “the beauty and quiet of rural living with city convenience within easy reach.” 

The renewable energy project in Shaftsbury has been met with local pushback as "the project would build one of the largest solar panel farms in Vermont. This aversion to large-scale change in rural Vermont is not new. An earlier blog post explores how people want Vermont to "stay Vermont."

Local aversion to large-scale environmental projects is not limited to Shaftsbury. A new bill, H.320, if passed would require Vermont utilities to purchase double the amount of clean, in-state energy by 2030 and triple the requirement by 2035. 

Opponents of H.320 question the efficiency of solar panels in northern climates and worry that their country roads won't be able to handle the incoming construction traffic. They also worry about increased pressure on their farms, an adverse effect on property values, and an overall threat to rural living. 

Additionally, residents raise the concern that large solar farms, like the one proposed to be built in Shaftsbury, threaten Vermont's picturesque appearance (parts of the solar array would be visible to neighbors and those traveling on Route 7). One Vermont resident remarked, "The main attraction of Vermont is its appearance. That's all it's got going for it."

Vocal opponents of large-scale renewable energy investments are not against making Vermont more energy-conscious. Instead, they bring attention to the fact that current efforts are "driven by developers trying to make money instead of communities and utilities with incentives to find the most effective way to clean up the grid."

Given the opposition to solar, one might think wind farms would be an easier sell. But, this is likely a nonstarter since the possibility of investing in additional wind power development in Vermont is essentially dead. In fact, there have been no industrial-scale wind turbines built in Vermont in the last decade. And the ones built back then were also met with an outcry at the time. 

So, if Vermont can't build large-scale solar or wind farms, how will they get their energy? One Vermont resident thinks the need will be met by importing more Canadian hydropower from Quebec. In fact, a transmission line that will run under Lake Champlain to provide energy from Canada was approved in April 2022. 

The push and pull happening between locals and clean energy advocates is not new in Vermont. If Vermont wants to stay green, however, the lawmakers will need to introduce a bill that balances the interests of the locals and the clean energy advocates. 

Gambling with the rural foster youth

Nonmetropolitan Elko County covers a vast expanse of northeastern Nevada and is home to approximately 54,046 residents, but it only has twelve beds to service every foster child in the county.

Earlier this year, the need for those limited beds spiked in what one Nevada social services manager told NPR was the worst uptick in foster need she had seen in twenty years working for Nevada’s Division of Child and Family Services (DCFS). With the number of displaced children exceeding the number of foster beds, state officials were at a loss on where to house the children.

In response, Nevada social services used hotel casinos to house seven rural foster youth over a period of 89 days, with staff paid overtime to provide one-on-one supervision of the children.

Of course, casinos are not DCFS’s first choice for placement. DCFS’s primary goal is kinship care, where the child is placed with relatives. But when kinship care is not available, DCFS resorts to out-of-home placements, also known as "traditional foster care."

What happens when kinship care is not an option, and “traditional foster care” is overcrowded and shrinking? Where do these displaced children go?

This is a frequent dilemma and a national trend, which is putting other child welfare agencies in the same predicament as Elko County: KCRA 3 reported Sacramento County was fined by the state of California for placing foster youth in former juvenile detention facilities; the Child Welfare Monitor uncovered Colorado, Florida, Kentucky, Maryland, Massachusetts, Michigan, New Mexico, New York, Ohio, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, Tennessee, Texas, Virginia, and Washington all reported similar situations where children removed from their parents were

warehoused in inappropriate settings, such as temporary shelters, hotels, offices, or state-leased houses staffed by social workers; sent far away for residential care, or being left in psychiatric hospitals and detention centers after being cleared for release.

Worth discussion in this regard is the Family First Prevention Services Act (“FFPSA”), which the National Conference of State Legislators describes as offering federal funds to support child welfare programs. As the Act’s name implies, the primary intention is to keep families intact. It thus necessarily shifts child welfare services towards prevention.

Through FFPSA, states with approved funding have the option to apply funds towards “prevention services.”

One explicit goal of FFPSA is to curb the use of congregate or group homes by prioritizing family foster homes for child placement. States are generally not reimbursed under the FFPSA if they place a child in a group home for more than two weeks.

This well-intentioned goal likely will but up against rural realities: it can be particularly difficult to successfully place children with rural foster families, as noted by the American Enterprise Institute (AEI).

In general, the process for vetting a foster family is intensive, for both the government and the prospective family. The Plight of Rural Child Welfare: Meeting Standard Without Services accentuates how spatial barriers, like sheer distance from a social services office, can make it especially difficult for caseworkers to visit foster families and for foster families to engage with social services.

Rural communities often lack the support networks and resources that are necessary for child welfare, which undermines efforts to identify rural foster family placements.

In "When Mamaw Becomes Mom: Social Capital and Kinship Family Formation amid the Rural Opioid Crisis," Professor Kristina Brant posits that social capital with the local legal actors (e.g. bureaucrats, judges, and child welfare caseworkers) plays an important role when establishing foster families in rural communities. Naturally, good social capital cuts in favor of a family becoming a caregiver, while poor social capital likely prevents them from doing so.

The advantages of social capital plummet, however, when the relevant legal actors are no longer local. This is not an uncommon problem given the spatial remoteness typically associated with rural communities and the phenomena of “legal deserts,” a term coined to refer to the rural lawyer shortage. (Read more about “legal deserts” here and here).

In cases where social capital cannot be employed, a key determinant for getting approved as a rural foster family is effectively out of reach.

To compound and exacerbate the difficulties of finding a rural foster family, the social services associated with supporting families and preventing child maltreatment are few and far between in rural communities.

Some of the notable services considered necessary for adequate child welfare—that are scarce in rural communities—are substance abuse treatment, mental healthcare, and parenting classes. For the social services that are available, material distance—the literal distance that must be traveled—can make accessing and providing services expensive and time consuming.

Simply put, the lack of support and services in rural communities sweeps the legs out from under some of the broad reforms in the child welfare system, like the FFPSA, and leaves rural foster children with no place to go.

This only scratches the surface of several intersectional barriers to adequate child welfare in rural communities, a few of which have been discussed in a thread of blogs starting here, and in this law review article.

Child welfare is by no means an easy issue, and I cannot deny that state agencies and committed individuals and organizations are making efforts to improve it. I only draw attention to differences in rural infrastructure and social services that make rural foster youth especially vulnerable and frustrate the goal of family foster placements. 

West Virginia University plans to correct its budget deficit by scaling back liberal arts programs

West Virginia (WVA) is one of the most rural states in the country. Most of the state's 1.8 million residents live in communities of fewer than 2,500 people. Blog posts relating to West Virginia's rurality can be found here. 

There are only two research universities in the state, one being West Virginia University (WVU). West Virginia University is WVA's largest public land-grant institution. 

In August, WVU proposed an educational transformation: Almost ten percent of majors (32 out of 338) are expected to be eliminated from the university's curriculum to correct its 45 million dollar budget deficit. With the movement away from coal and mining industries, the university will be consolidating its mining and coal programs into an "energy" program.

The university plans to lay off seven percent of its main campus faculty in Morgantown. WVU's main campus will no longer have world language or creative writing programs. 

The reduction of these programs will lower intercultural competencies and will create a wider gap between the quality of education among rural and urban areas. University of Ottawa Professor Richard Mark Wood wrote an article in The International Research Journal of Educational Research detailing this phenomena: 

The education gap between urban and rural areas results in a lack of opportunities for rural students, limiting their potential and hindering their ability to compete in a global economy.

While the program cuts will impact only less than two percent of student enrollment, the New York Times report highlighted the university's abandonment of the humanities and liberal arts majors: 

Some faculty members in Morgantown lament that the state's flagship university [...] is turning its back on the liberal arts by closing programs like creative writing. They say that it is a low blow to a state known for Appalachian poverty and lack of opportunity, one that will accelerate the brain drain that drives many of its talented people out of the state.

Some programs, for example, that are safe from WVU's "chopping block" include computer science, accounting, and engineering– subjects seen as more "useful" majors, according to Indeed. You can read the list of programs the university is planning to modify here. 

Many students, faculty, and community members are outraged by these program changes and cuts. Parkersburg native and WVU alumni Myya Helm expressed her outrage in a Slate article: 

As a first-generation student of color, a federal Pell Grant recipient from West Virginia, and a 2022 WVU graduate with a bachelor's degree in political science and international studies, I am afraid for WVU's future. I am also really hoping that people outside our state realize the degree to which the WVU administration played an active role in the crisis. Their proposal is a result of financial mismanagement, lack of institutional transparency, and an astonishing failure to recognize the power of education in transforming the lives of West Virginians.

Many professors and university staff have criticized the abandonment of WVU's advanced language programs due to the effects the cuts will have on the state's youth. Lisa Di Bartolomeo, WVU professor of Russian studies, admitted that WVA has faced a "brain drain" for generations and that the state has low intercultural competencies.

The lack of educational and career opportunities in WVA has caused individuals who are more educated and highly skilled to seek opportunities outside of WVA. Thus, the ramifications of these curriculum cuts will likely exacerbate the state's brain drain.

The state's flagship university was often seen as one of the only options to study language and liberal arts programs in-state. 

With about two-thirds (64 percent) of West Virginians living in rural areas, it is troublesome that there will no longer be language programs at WVU, especially when many students cannot afford to attend university out of state and can afford only in-state tuition at WVU. 

Without language programs, West Virginian students will no longer be able to apply to jobs that require non-native language competency. 

When I learned about WVU's program cuts and read Myya Helm's article, I immediately texted my mom, who, like Helm, was born and raised in Parkersburg, the state's fourth largest city. Much of our extended family still resides there. Several of my cousins attended WVU, and several are likely to do so given it is the best university in the state. 

Another long-term effect of these program cuts will be bitterness toward those who have access to the liberal arts education that remains available at elite universities like Cornell. The result will be what the scholar Lisa Corrigan calls a "two-tiered educational system."

The outcome is also likely to fortify many Republican voting strongholds. Ben Shapiro has risen to conservative fame for his stance against elite liberal arts universities that "indoctrinate America's youth," despite attending UCLA and Harvard Law School himself.

For some, it is hard to understand the value of a liberal arts education, but for me, it's easy. I am grateful to have been able to experience one. I graduated from Cornell University in 2021, an Ivy League university with a motto of "any person ... any study."

During my time at Cornell, professors, my parents, and even President Martha Pollock encouraged me to take classes that had little to do with my major. From a Beyonce poetry class to a science of cooking class–– I had the privilege to take courses that had nothing to do with my career path. 

I was fortunate enough to be able to attend a private university that offered more than 50 different language courses. However, some rural students, like Myya Helm, do not have that option, given that WVA is one of the poorest states in the country. The 2020 Census found that 16.8 percent of West Virginians were living below the federal poverty threshold, meaning many residents cannot afford to attend private colleges or out-of-state universities. 

These program cuts will have long-lasting effects on rural youth. Without the opportunity to study languages or the liberal arts, young WVU residents will lose opportunities that many urban students take advantage of when entering the employment market. 

I have five cousins under 13 who live in Parkersburg. I worry about their education if they follow their parents' footsteps and attend WVU. However, one thing is certain: they will still be able to study business and accounting. 

You can read more about higher education issues in rural places here, here, and here. 

Scared straight: The legislative war on LGBTQ+ people

This year’s Pride felt different. June, a month that corporate America has for several years doted on as a rainbow festival, returned to its painful, humble beginnings: a protest. In 2023 alone, more than  540 anti-LGBTQ+ bills have been introduced in state legislatures, and 45 anti-LGBTQ+ laws have been enacted, with the majority targeting transgender and nonbinary people. Laws passed in certain states have banned gender-affirming care, allowed misgendering, banned drag performances, and censored school curriculums, including books.

Legislative attacks on the LGBTQ+ community are so worrisome that last week Canada issued a travel advisory to warn its LGBTQ+ community about U.S. laws that may affect them. The country’s Global Affairs department did not specify which states, instead advising travelers to “check relevant state and local laws” because “Canadians could face certain barriers and risks when they travel outside Canada.” In a similarly alarming vein, the Human Rights Campaign declared a ‘State of Emergency’ for LGBTQ+ Americans for the first time in its 40-year history following this year’s spike in anti-LGBTQ+ legislation. 

This past June, New York City’s West Village was dripping confetti, flags, and extravagant floats, celebrating the progress the city has made since the 1969 Stonewall Riots. Yet, amongst the crowds of urbanites in brightly colored bikinis and wigs, were signs that read, “Not All Country Boys are Bigots,” “Ban Assault Rifles Not Drag Queens,” or “Y’all Means All.” The dichotomy paints the bigger picture of Pride in America—one that includes the growing struggles of rural LGBTQ+ people. 

While overall support for the LGBTQ+ community has never been stronger, “nearly half (49%) of LGBT youth in rural areas and small towns stated that their community was somewhat or very unaccepting of LGBTQ people compared to just over a quarter (26%) of those in urban and suburban areas,” according to The Trevor Project. 

The urban-rural divide in LGBTQ+ community support hurts LGBTQ+ people. Equal rights cannot afford an “us” versus “them” rhetoric. Society has labeled some states as more “liberal” or “safer” than others, when in reality there are still pockets of "rural" and "red" in states like California. Read more about polarization and red LGBTQ+ lives here and here. 

Rural resistance to LGBTQ+ people and same-sex marriage can be attributed to a cultural divide. Luke Boso in “Rural Resentment and LGBTQ Equality,” posits that “[m]any rural Americans, especially in predominately white communities, feel that they are under attack” because policies that protect LGBTQ+ people from discrimination threaten “several core tenets of rural identity: community solidarity, self-reliance, and compliance with religiously informed gender and sexual norms.” Pro-LGBTQ+ legislation symbolizes a changing America and opposing LGBTQ+ rights is one mechanism to protect and assert rural identity.

Representation of LGBTQ+ people in mainstream media and popular culture suggests that LGBTQ+ people mainly live in cities or on the coasts. However, “an estimated three million or more LGBT people call rural America home,” according to The Movement Advancement Project’s 2019 Report. That number will likely grow, with “roughly 10% of youth identifying as LGBT,” and “with rural youth just as likely as urban youth to identify as LGBT.” Yet, rural LGBTQ+ people face additional challenges such as fewer alternatives to service providers when facing discrimination. You can read more about LGBTQ+ discrimination in healthcare here and here. 

Anti-LGBTQ+ legislation has become so threatening that families have fled their states out of fear that their children could face prejudice or violence. In a recent VICE News video, parents discuss leaving their schools and jobs behind to keep their transgender children safe from alt-right extremists who want to force their kids to be someone they are not. The Shappley family from Texas discuss leaving for a state with laws in place to prevent parents of trans children from being extradited after they move. Meanwhile, the Trujilo family from Arizona discuss their frustration with their state laws banning transgender kids from playing sports and getting gender-affirming surgery. 

“I get really freaked out,” Daniel Trujilo (15 years old) says, “they want to arrest parents or pediatricians and people that are helping.” 

“We are often reduced to just body parts,” says Daniel. 

“We have all of our family and friends here, and Daniel would lose more than he would gain,” says Lizette Trujilo (Daniel’s mother). 

Yet, there is hope to found as LGBTQ+ representation in government increases. Last week, Fabian Nelson, 38, became Mississippi’s first openly LGBTQ+ legislator. “When he campaigned in South Jackson, he talked about the city’s water crisis and about crime. When he campaigned in his district's rural areas, he talked about broadband access and economic development.” While Nelson’s platform strictly focused on specific issues facing his district, he wants people to understand that Mississippi has someone to fight anti-LGBTQ+ legislation. 

Bye bye Blythe: California prison closure threatens small town

Much has been said about the closure of the California Correctional Center (CCC) in Susanville, California. You can read more about the CCC closure here and the city’s legal battle to save the prison here, here, and here. You can also find a discussion on rural prisons in general here.

Hundreds of miles away, down on the border of Arizona, the small city of Blythe faces the same dilemma.

In December 2022, the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation (CDCR) announced the planned closure of the Chuckawalla Valley State Prison (CVSP) by March 2025. The desert town of Blythe, population 18,000, has been the home of CVSP since its construction in the 1980s.

Just like Susanville, Blythe could be described as “Prison Town, USA.” With over 800 employees, CVSP is the number one employer in the area. And just like Susanville, Blythe is the home of a second prison, the Ironwood State Prison.

While not every dollar spent by the prison goes into the coffers of Blythe or the hands of its residents, the prison still provides a major source of revenue. One study estimated that CVSP’s expenditures provided more than $65 million in economic benefits.

High-paid CVSP employees are unlikely to find other jobs in Blythe. Instead, they will seek reassignment to one of California’s other prisons, taking advantage of a CDCR policy meant to manage the department’s changing staffing needs. As one former prison official commented to Calmatters.org, “where am I going to get a job making that kind of money with a high school education?”

The ripple effect from losing CVSP will be felt throughout the community. Prison employees buy groceries, eat at restaurants, and shop at local stores, causing multiplier effects in Blythe – the absence of which will be devastating. A recent study estimated that the anticipated drop in enrollment from outmigration will cost the local school district nearly $5 million.

Local leaders also worry about the potential impact on the Palo Verde Hospital, the nearest hospital to Blythe and several other communities. It’s unclear if it will survive the closure. Likewise, Palo Verde College, which has a successful inmate education program, is poised to lose approximately 250 students.

Recognizing the potential severe adverse effects of the prison closure, the locals have banded together. “Save Chuck” has become a rallying cry as well as the name of a local coalition. State legislators representing Blythe and the surrounding community wrote a passionate letter to Governor Newsom pleading their case.

While the town of Blythe and Riverside County have asked the state to keep CVSP open, the town of Norco, also in Riverside County, offered their prison, the California Rehabilitation Center (CRC), as a sacrificial lamb.

Unlike CVSP, which was purpose-built as a modern prison in the 1980s, the CRC was a resort before it was made into a prison in the 1920s. CRC requires over $1 billion in anticipated repairs, more than double the cost of maintaining CVSP. More importantly, CRC occupies economically valuable land and facilities that could be developed for the benefit of Norco.  

While local residents and officials want the state to keep CVSP and close CRC, their cries have fallen upon a deaf statehouse. Governor Newsom refuses to do either.

Instead, the state will work with Riverside County to develop an economic resilience plan and provide the same kind of support offered to Lassen County in the wake of the CCC closure. Prison officials will be transferred to other institutions where possible. The community at large will receive grant money to boost economic diversification efforts and provide skills training for those who are losing their jobs.

The struggles of Susanville and Blythe illustrate a recurrent problem for rural America, one which Professor Michael Carolan, in his article "The Rural Problem: Justice in the Countryside," referred to as rural misrepresentation. There is a disconnect between the wants and needs of rural areas and state lawmakers seated in faraway urban areas.

Blythe’s Interim City Manager, Mallory Crecelius, told Calmaters.org that she filed more than 40 public records requests after the closure was announced. She wanted to understand the decision to shut down CVSP. Nobody had told her, or the rest of Blythe, why their prison was on the chopping block.

In a press release, CDCR says they selected CVSP for closure after agency leadership

carefully evaluated the options for prison closures, pursuant to the 2022-23 budget and Penal Code requirements, and took into account several factors including cost to operate, impact of closure on the surrounding communities and the workforce; housing needs for all populations; long-term investments in state-owned and operated correctional facilities; public safety and rehabilitation; and durability of the state’s solution to prison overcrowding.

While that is an extensive list of considerations, CDCR failed to seek input from the very people who would be impacted the most. Kathleen Fitzpatrick, a councilwoman of nearby La Quinta, lamented that the state would shut down CVSP “without even telling and consulting with the community.”

As Governor Newsom continues to reform California’s criminal justice system and state legislators continue their quest to curb state spending, California’s leaders have an opportunity to learn from their mistakes in Susanville and Blythe. Work with the local communities from the start. Involve local leadership in the decision-making process. Give the people whose jobs are at stake a fair opportunity to be heard.

Maybe that would prevent prolonged legal battles and extensive campaigns to persuade the state to reverse course. 

Rural places as sacrifice zones, from California to China

I've been following this story out of California for a few months or so--the story of how a company called Flannery Associates has been buying up thousands of acres of farm and other rural land in Solano County, between Sacramento and San Francisco.   The Wall Street Journal first reported in July under a headline more focused on national security concerns than anything else, "Investors Bought Nearly $1 Billion in Land Near a California Air Force Base. Officials Want to Know Who Exactly They Are."  The speculation then was that foreign investors might be buying up the land as they are elsewhere in the United States, creating a threat to our food security.  Alternatively or additionally, any foreign threat stem from the proximity to Travis Air Force Base.  

Then, about ten days ago, the San Francisco Chronicle and New York Times revealed, nearly simultaneously, that the folks behind Flannery Associates are Silicon Valley elites hoping to aquire enough land to build a new city--obviously in the orbit of the Bay Area--from scratch.  

The San Francisco Chronicle describes what the area is now:  "rural back roads that snake the dry farmland around Jepson Prairie and Montezuma Hills."  There's also this: 

For more than a century, the rangeland in southeast Solano County didn’t change much. Cattle and sheep grazed. Wheat and barley grew. Ranches were passed down from generation to generation in this swath of wide open territory between Vallejo and Sacramento.

This excerpt from the New York Times story about Flannery's aspiration similarly characterizes the place's starting point as rural:

Take an arid patch of brown hills cut by a two-lane highway between suburbs and rural land, and convert it into a community with tens of thousands of residents, clean energy, public transportation and dense urban life.

Elsewhere, the utopia the investors aspire to build is compared to Paris or the West Village in New York City in terms of walkability, a "bustling metropolis that ... could generate thousands of jobs."  

The Chronicle story provides this on Flannery's business practices--and an interesting legal strategy that reminds me of the old adage, "the best defense is a good offense": 

From the beginning, Flannery has been relentless in its drive to buy up parcels of land in southeast Solano County, often paying three or four or five times appraised value. But while it has willingly offered to pay well above market value, the company has also accused the ranchers of colluding to force prices even higher. In May, Flannery filed a lawsuit in the U.S. District Court in Sacramento, accusing a group of ranchers of an “illegal price-fixing conspiracy” that caused them to spend $170 million in “overpayment for properties.” The lawsuit seeks $510 million in damages.

Lisa Shipley, manager of the Solano County Farm Bureau, said the accusations of collusion have had a chilling effect on the tight-knit community, with ranchers wary of talking to each other lest they be accused of conspiring against Flannery.

Shipley is quoted:

Flannery has done some slimy, underhanded stuff to these long-term, multigenerational farmers.  Everyone is afraid to talk. They are afraid of getting sued. My members are afraid to talk to me. It’s a messy situation.

Flannery is only now starting to talk to local government officials regarding their plans.  Given that the land is zoned agricultural and there is little water available, big hurdles remain.  The story quotes Solano County Administrator Bill Emlen, who said he's been looking into Flannery for five years.  

We approached them a while back and said, ‘We’ve noticed you have been making a lot of large acquisitions and we’d like to set up a meeting to talk about zoning and the general plan and what your intentions are.'  They said they were investors in family farms and their intention was to continue with grazing and farming and that was their plan.

Emlen noted that the county's policies have long been to approve only "large scale residential development takes place in the cities," including Vacaville, Dixon, and Fairfield, and thus to preserve the rural parts of the county. 

With these California events fresh in my mind, I couldn't help think of a partial California-China parallel when the Washington Post reported here a few days ago from a rural part of Hebei province, home of Beijing.  The headline is, "Rural areas sacrificed for Xi Jinping’s new city, satellite imagery shows."  The story tells of government efforts to build a whole new metro area, Xiong'an New Area, in the orbit of Beijing.  Xiong'an New Area, which will be twice the size of New York City, has been under construction for six years.  When the new metro was recently threatened by flooding from Typhoon Doksuri, Chinese officials used rural parts of the province as a sacrifice zone to save their investment in the new city. 

Here's an excerpt from the Post's story.

[W]hile the effort diverted water away from Xiong’an and other urban areas, it directly contributed to the devastation of rural villages in Hebei, destroying homes and livelihoods. Satellite images reveal that authorities’ actions led to a dramatic increase of water across those areas, covering at least 95 square miles — almost 46,000 football fields. In one of the clearest examples, more than 20 square miles of farmland near Xiong’an’s high-speed railway station were still underwater on Aug. 5.

* * * 

The idea that rural areas are better suited to take the brunt of flooding dates to as early as the 1950s and 1960s, when most of the country’s flood zones — areas that are deliberately flooded to absorb excess water — were built. But such areas are no longer as sparsely populated as they once were. Local governments have allowed towns in designated flood zones to grow, despite regulations meant to control the number of residents living there.

We can also see instances--even recent ones--of rural places being sacrifice zones to urban ones when flooding strikes in the United States.  I wrote about it this spring from California, but it's also been a practice when flooding has threatened the Mississippi River Valley.  

South Dakota Law Review Symposium on Rural Lawyers set for September 21-22

Read more here.  This event marks the 10th anniversary of South Dakota's Project Rural Practice (now called the Rural Attorney Recruitment program) and is also a decade on from the 2013 symposium that kicked off the conversation on these issues.  For that symposium, Bradley Showman (Class of 2014) and I co-authored Law Stretched Thin:  Access to Justice in Rural America. 

The schedule for the event is below.  

Thursday, Sept. 21

9-9:05 a.m.: Welcome | Knudson School of Law Courtroom

 
9:05-10:15 a.m.: Rural Indigent Criminal Defense Panel | Knudson School of Law Courtroom
Panel discussion about the roles of rural defense attorneys and with the issues that face rural defendants.
Moderator: Dean Neil Fulton - Knudson School of Law

Panel: South Dakota Sixth Circuit Judge Bobbi Rank, Attorney Brent Matter, Attorney Justin Bell, and Attorney Tom Sannes

10:30-11:45 a.m.: Rural Prosecutor Panel | Knudson School of Law Courtroom

Panel discussion about the roles of rural prosecutors and the issues that face rural prosecutors.

Moderator: Professor Maybell Romero - Tulane Law
Panel: Professor Quinn Yeargain - Widener Law, Professor Margaret Raymond - University of Wisconsin Law, Flandreau Attorney General Seth Pearman, and Associate Director of Advancement Elaine Yellow Horse – Thunder Valley CDC

Noon-12:30 p.m.: Lunch and Unsettling Expectations and Expertise to Address Rural Attorney Shortages | Al Neuharth Media Center

Dr. Michele Statz, from the University of Minnesota Medical School, will speak during the lunch hour about the rural lawyer shortage and address solutions including how to recruit, retain, and sustain rural legal professionals.

1-2:15 p.m.: How Other States and Industries Draw Talent to Rural Areas Panel | Al Neuharth Media Center

Panel discussion with attorneys from different states about what other states have done in addressing the rural attorney shortage.

Moderator: Attorney Amanda Kool

Panel: Professor Maybell Romero - Tulane Law, Dr. Michele Statz - University of Minnesota Medical School, Professor Lisa Pruitt – UC Davis Law, and Professor Anthony Schutz – Nebraska College of Law

2:30-3:45 p.m.: 10 Year History of South Dakota Project Rural Practice Panel | Al Neuharth Media Center
Members of the South Dakota bar will discuss the history of South Dakota’s Project Rural Practice and the ten years since its beginning.

Moderator: Attorney Kelsea Kenzy Sutton
Panel: Chief Justice David Gilbertson, Attorney Bob Morris, Attorney Pat Goetzinger, Attorney Rachelle Norberg, and Professor Ryan McKnight

4 p.m.: Keynote Address | Knudson School of Law Courtroom

South Dakota Supreme Court Chief Justice Steven Jensen

Friday, Sept. 22

8-9:15 a.m.: Professional Responsibility Issues Affecting Rural Lawyers | Knudson School of Law Courtroom

Panel discussion about ethical issues facing rural attorneys.

Moderator: Professor John Cook - William H. Bowen School of Law
Panel: North Dakota Supreme Court Justice Daniel Crothers, Professor Rebecca Feldmann - William H. Bowen School of Law, Professor Tom Simmons – Knudson School of Law, and United States District Judge Daniel Traynor

9-10:30 a.m.: Rural Community and Attorney Data Panel | Knudson School of Law Courtroom
Panel discussion about rural data including issues, tracking, and compilation.

Moderator: Professor Lisa Pruitt – UC Davis Law
Panel: Professor Aleks Schaefer - Oklahoma State University, Professor Andrew Van Leuven - Oklahoma State University, Professor Brian Farrell - University of Iowa College of Law, Professor Daria Fischer Page - University of Iowa College of Law, Third-Year Law Student Bryce Drapeaux – Knudson School of Law, and Professor Hannah Haksgaard - Knudson School of Law

10-11:45 a.m.: Teaching and Scholarship Panel | Knudson School of Law Courtroom
Panel discussion with academics about what teaching methods and scholarship will benefit attorneys entering rural practice. 

Moderator: Professor Hannah Haksgaard - Knudson School of Law
Panel: Attorney Amanda Kool, Professor Lisa Pruitt - UC Davis Law, Professor Melissa L. Kidder - Claude W. Pettit College of Law, Professor Kelly Collinsworth - Southern Illinois University School of Law, and Professor Marilyn Trefz – Knudson School of Law

Noon–1 p.m.: Experience from the Field – Rural Lawyers Panel and Lunch | Al Neuharth Media Center

Panel discussion with rural South Dakota attorneys about their practice and experience as a rural attorney.
Moderator: Volume 69 Symposium Editor Trevor Case – Knudson School of Law
Panel: Attorney Kelsea Kenzy Sutton, Attorney Willie Hustead, and Dakota Plains Legal Services Executive Director Thomas Mortland

 
1 p.m.: Rural Career Fair | Knudson School of Law: USD Knudson School of Law’s Career Services will be hosting a Rural Career Fair following the symposium.

If you are a rural law firm in South Dakota and are interested in networking with students after the conclusion of the symposium on Friday, email Teramie Hill at Teramie.Hill@usd.edu or register here for the “Stay in South Dakota” career fair on Friday afternoon.

The SD Bar Foundation sponsorship for the Rural Law Symposium is provided through the generosity of the Cozad Fund.