(Buchtel, Ohio) “Three pipes driven into a hillside near the edge of town … People have been coming to the trough for at least a century, since horses were watered here and coal miners stopped by to wash off the grime. People still come - because they think the water is healthier, or makes better coffee, or because their utilities were turned off when they couldn’t pay the bills. Or maybe just because it’s what they’ve always done.
“For years, Tarah Nogrady has filled plastic jugs here and lugged them back to a town so small it rarely appears on maps. As she collects water for her four Pekinese dogs waiting in the car, she doesn’t wear a mask, like so many around here. Nogrady doubts that the coronavirus is a real threat - it’s 'maybe a flu-type deal,' she says.
“It’s a common view in the little towns that speckle the Appalachian foothills of southeast Ohio, where the pandemic has barely been felt. Coronavirus deaths and protests for racial justice – events that have defined 2020 nationwide – are mostly just images on TV from a distant America.”
(Tim Sullivan. “In Appalachia, people watch COVID-19, race issues from afar.” AP News. October 01, 2020.)
For lifelong residents of Appalachia like me, a passive acceptance of the struggles with the history, the economy, and the social conditions of the region is part of growing up. We are different; we know it; but we are not defined by stereotypes that reduce our image to wildly inaccurate caricatures of lazy, uneducated hilljacks.
We Appalachians must eventually come face-to-face with the “backwards” nature of the places in which we live. Independent and extremely resilient, we seek acceptance and approval with a suspicious eye to the past. Most of us harbor significant spite for a government that has intentionally thwarted the economic development of our home, essentially deserting a desperately poor region in utmost need.
Still, many Appalachian residents are resigned to living in an environment stereotyped as “poor and backwards.” They relish the underdog persona and – knowingly or unknowingly – they cling to a past that no longer exists – a place where their stubborn isolation is the ultimate means to their survival. Supporting lost causes only manifests doomed thoughts and actions.
Many who reach maturity leave their homes for more money, better jobs, and better futures – most simply want to escape an environment they consider void of opportunity. The rest of us – those fortunate enough to find sustainable lives – survive in a place where progressive ideas and change often die before being implemented. The stagnation is not for lack of education or foresight. It's rooted in a pervasive mindset of depression that seems to sustain itself and has done so for generations.
In Appalachia, residents have deeply personal reasons for their suspicion, anger, and even belief in conspiracy theories. Much of their distrust comes from a history of long neglect by a government they consider foreign. They deal with this isolation as a part of their everyday lives. Unfortunately, some choose to take out their anger on strangers and even on their own kind.
Seeking Scapegoats and Following Disinformation
Distrust and doubt are commonplace in Appalachia, where it’s easy for residents to dismiss COVID-19. Local politicians even hint that the death tolls might be inflated.
The Looking For America project, produced with the support of the Pulitzer Center on Crisis Reporting, found …
“Many of Nogrady’s neighbors think the pandemic is being used by Democrats to weaken President Donald Trump ahead of the election. Some share darker theories: Face mask rules are paving the way for population control, they say, and a vaccine could be used as a tool of government control.
“'I think they want to take our freedoms,' Nogrady says, a baseball hat turned backward on her head. 'I believe the government wants to get us all microchipped.'
“These fears reflect a desolate worldview: People who a generation ago believed in the president’s promises to change their region forever now have a deep distrust of Washington – and a defiant sense that they are on their own.”
(“Looking For America.” Pulitzer Center. October 01, 2020.)
Many of the residents featured in the Pulitzer Center report are deeply conservation Republicans who stock up on weapons and ammunition in anticipation of some kind of “trouble” while deriding Democrats as “the party as a rabble of left-wing extremists who won’t even stand up for police officers during riots.” It is clear Trump was the perfect candidate for a region that not only expects little from the government, but also mistrusts it deeply. Trump said he was as sick as they were of Washington and the political elite. They swallowed his rhetoric hook-line-and sinker.
And these dissatisfied minions loved Trump's acidic nature. “I think he’s one of the best presidents we’ve had,” said Nogrady, 38, who makes a living buying and selling goods online and takes care of her elderly mother. “He’s got a mouth on him. I mean, he tells it how it is.”
Then, there's the poverty and the opioid epidemic – both of which have long devastated the region. Appalachian Ohio has some of the state’s poorest counties, with child poverty rates higher than 30 percent. By 2017, the death rate for opioid overdoses in Appalachian counties was 72 percent higher than that of non-Appalachian counties. Ohio, meanwhile, had the country’s fifth-highest rate of drug overdoses in the country in 2018. Experts say that the stresses of COVID – unemployment, schooling issues and especially isolation – can be especially hard on drug users.
Race relations in Appalachia? The report concluded …
“Like COVID-19, the other great story of today’s America – racial tensions and protests – is notable here for its absence. Black life is something most people simply don’t see in southeastern Ohio, where the 2010 census showed a Black population of less than 1 percent in many counties.
“Around here, talk of protests against police brutality and Confederate statues immediately shifts to criticism of the violence at some protests. While there have been a handful of protests in the area, and most people will concede that America has racial problems, many also believe they are wildly exaggerated.”
(Tim Sullivan. “In Appalachia, people watch COVID-19, race issues from afar.” AP News. October 01, 2020.)
The invisibility of Blacks in Appalachia is certainly based on demographics as well hegemonic practices and ideas. The Black population is small, and therefore easily overlooked by White people and mainstream media, residents and experts say. Few Black residents or any people of color are represented in the highest ranks of local political leadership.
This lack of representation makes it easy for Appalachians to believe in cultural Black stereotypes portrayed and communicated through the media to fuel racist thoughts and fear of Blacks. In turn, where the population is predominantly white, it is more likely the population will speak openly with prejudice because these bigoted comments are unlikely to be punished by society – unlike those who live in more diverse areas.
Brandon M. Stump, professional staffer, says …
“How can a dialogue on race begin when the state is predominantly white? Because racism in America, particularly white supremacy and black inferiority, was created by the laws of the federal government and the states, I believe that my question of how racism in West Virginia can be eroded is best answered by focusing on the law. While no legal remedy can erode prejudice - a concept in one's heart and mind - I find that the answer to ending racism and minority-unfamiliarity in West Virginia is pedagogical in nature.”
(Brandon M. Stump. “From Reconstruction to Obama: Understanding Black Invisibility, Racism in Appalachia, and the Legal Community's Responsibility to Promote a Dialogue on Race at the WVU College of Law.” 112 W. Va. L. Rev. 2010.)
A shared distrust in American institutions has helped to unite Appalachian people behind the banner of COVID-19 conspiracy theories. They include far-right groups upset about lockdowns and mask mandates, anti-vaccine activists, and adherents of QAnon, who believed Trump was waging a secret war against a powerful cabal of satanic cannibals.
Platforms like Facebook, Twitter allowed misinformation to flourish. To some, the need to explain the pandemic caused them to accept wild explanations and flat-out lies. Even wearing a mask became a political issue in a climate of division.
About 1 in 4 Americans said they believe the pandemic was “definitely” or “probably” created intentionally, according to a Pew Research Center survey from June 2020. COVID-19 conspiracy theories persist by providing a false sense of empowerment. By offering hidden or secretive explanations, they give the believer a feeling of control in a situation that otherwise seems random or frightening.
Prone To Stagnation
As a population, Appalachians have long distrusted outsiders, have feared change, and have been highly susceptible to a passive acceptance of their “depressed” condition. Long-term neglect and lack of investment hamstring residents, crippling positivity and causing residents to blame “anyone and anything” for their problems.
But, it is important to note deliberate efforts by those in power – local elites or employers – also hold people back. Why would they do so? Because it has worked for them – keeping their labor force vulnerable and powerless. In a place where expectations aren't as high and the quality of education lags behind, a cycle of “good old boy” politics protects the wealthy from threatening intrusion and competition. Settling for less and being “damn lucky they have a job,” the underlings in this class system perpetuate the system.
The Ohio Poverty Report (June 2020, Office of Research) found 23.6% of my rural southern Appalachian county of Scioto at 17,132 individuals in poverty – 23.%. The percentage of Black or African Americans here is 2.7. These statistics alone help illustrate problems that haunt Appalachian culture.
Inequality and pain of poverty racks the White population as well as that of minorities. We who live in Appalachia know that all too well. But, we also know – although many here fail to acknowledge – that to avoid the conversation about racism and white privilege in 2021 is to evade a fundamental truth.
For example,professor of law and sociology at Brandeis University, Thomas Shapiro reveals in his groundbreaking work on the racial wealth divide that Whites in the bottom fifth of all White households (in terms of income) have, on average, seven times the net worth of similar blacks. Racial inequity continues to marginalize people of color and elevate whites as a general rule.
(Tom Shapiro. Toxic Inequality: How America's Wealth Gap Destroys Mobility, Deepens the Racial Divide, and Threatens Our Future. 2017)
Instead of believing conspiracy theories and willingly swallowing lies and half-truths to satisfy our distrust of government and science, we in Appalachia must push away those who continue to misuse and manipulate us for money and power and seek out voices of change to free ourselves from old concepts that only perpetuate our depression.
We can begin this change immediately by following health guidelines to stop the COVID-19 pandemic and by recognizing that Black Lives Matter and the need for diversity are fundamental, positive struggles in our communities. Doing so helps break bitter attitudes and practices which serve only to isolate our communities.
If we use our vast human resources of individualism and self-reliance in measured, intelligent ways instead of in anger and defiance, we will reap great benefits. First and foremost, we must initiate this makeover by cleaning up our own backyards. And, for God's sake, we all know the dire need to scrub away some old blemishes there. Don't we? Calling out to Buchtel, Ohio, and all points Appalachian.
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