Why Obama Doesn't Inspire Hope In Me

On November 5, 2008 I awoke to an America that so many people had believed had somehow changed. Yet, as I ventured out into the morning sun, my America was still the same as it had always been. I was pleased with the outcome of the vote and satisfied that the best choice we had had indeed been chosen. Yet, my morning after was devoid of excitement or a sense of hope.

Everywhere I turned there seemed to be an air of excitement in mainstream America. Television stations were playing and replaying President-Elect Barak Obama’s victory speech. The Internet was lit up with election analysis. The font page of the papers proudly proclaimed “Change” in large letters. Facebook status updates were all about people’s excitement (or disappointment, depending on whom they voted for)… and yet, the people I encountered that day didn’t have much to say.

The secretary at my church, a devout Republican and news junkie, didn’t say a word when I came into the office. The trustee chair, a devout Democrat and staunch opponent of the Bush-era, didn’t say a word. No one was talking about the election down at the famous Sterling (an authentic relic of the drive-in restaurant era), nor were they talking about it at the Post Office (a popular hangout and gathering spot). I walked across town to visit a missionary run thrift shop I support, and there was not talk about Obama there either. It seemed so odd to me that the rest of America couldn’t seem to shut up about it, but no one in Welch, WV seemed to notice that America had just elected it’s first black president, let alone the dream of “change.” In fact, people seemed more interested in the upcoming Veteran’s Day celebration than the results of the election the night before.

My own election apathy had weighed heavily on me since my return to West Virginia earlier in the summer, but despite my desperate attempt to care about either one of the candidates I couldn’t help but feel skeptical. Obama had not spent any real time in West Virginia, having written us off early in the campaign. McCain played on the religious sympathies and conservative ideals… but I just didn’t see how he would be a solution to the problems we were facing. Then again, there was nothing about Obama that seemed promising to Appalachia. Once again, Appalachia was a forgotten region and the rest of America didn’t even notice us.

Yet, I had assumed that the lack of excitement I woke up with was purely a result of my own apathy and not reflective of a larger cultural issue… and then I went into town and realized that in the most politicized city in McDowell County, no one was talking about the election.

I called it an early day and decided to unwind with a long drive through “The County” (what we call McDowell County in these parts… you’d have to live here to fully understand it).

I pointed my car toward Gary and just started driving… and slowly the source fo the lack of excitement became obvious to me.
As I passed through Gary I saw several houses with hand painted signs reading, “President Obama”, “Obama 4 President”, and “Obama 2008”. These signs were driven into the ground before run-down trailers and nailed to the roofs of houses that looked unsafe to live in.

Obama’s message of hope had been heard loud and clear in those homes, but I wondered if Obama would ever hear them.

I kept going, troubled by the fact that some of America’s poorest citizens were being fed American myths of hope and optimism. We had lived through those stories before. JFK came to McDowell County to prove a Catholic could win a Protestant state. When he made his way to Welch, he was horrified by the extreme rates of poverty he was seeing. Jackie Kennedy, who had lived a sheltered life of over-abundance and luxury, had her own Buddha moment as she witnessed the ugliness of hunger for the first time in her life. They preached about change and about hope. West Virginia bought it hook line and sinker… and all these years later, we aren’t any better off than we were when JFK promised us the world.

My car wove through the narrow roads of McDowell County. Twice I had to stop on a two-lane road to allow a coal truck to pass when the lanes got too narrow for them to stay on their own side of the road. I thought about how the UMWA (United Mine Workers of America) had openly supported Obama… I wondered if these men were conflicted by their lack of options. Conservative fiscal policies had been destructive to Southern West Virginia, yet Obama’s coal agenda would force many of these men out of work. As a proponent of green energy, I was excited about the movement toward sustainable energy, but Obama had not once considered what these men would do for work when their jobs disappeared. No matter how those coal truck drivers voted, they were voting against their own well-being.

I turned my car down Jenkinjones holler. Jenkin Jones was one of the first coal barons who launched the first large scale mining operation in this area of Appalachia. Few people lived in McDowell County because if its harsh terrain, but when Jenkin Jones made a fortune off the black ore, other entrepreneurs flocked to the region. Soon the people who had lived on this land lost their homes and were living in unsanitary and unsafe conditions, working deep in the mines until they died (at which time their families would lose their company homes) or until they were broken down by the mines (at which point he and his family were forced out of their homes). The settlers were mostly Scots-Irish and Welsh, but now came the new wave of immigrants: Italians, Russians, Spaniards, Germans, and Southern African Americans venturing northward… and they, too, crawled back into the dark belly of the earth to drag out the dirty black rocks that made their employers so much money.

The town of Jenkinjones was once a thriving coal community, but the mines paid out and the Pocahontas Coal and Fuel Company pulled out, leaving hollow shells of buildings and mining equipment and structures to rust. The people left in Jenkinjones fell into poverty, as they had never experienced before. Today, Jenkinjones boasts a poverty rate of around 75%. Houses have been left abandoned and they are now in a state of decay. Houses that still host life are also in a state of decay; only it has been moderately slowed.

I continued my drive through the County, and was overwhelmed by the poverty and misfortune I saw. There were once beautiful houses that could not be sold because when the coal companies built they did build a septic or sewer system. The Tug Fork River served that purpose. Eventually codes were passed that would prohibit this, but the houses sat on lots too small for septic tanks and the infrastructure of Appalachia is severely lacking, so there is no sewer to tap into. The houses could not be sold because they could not be brought up to code… as the families moved on, the houses were left to fall apart.

The kudzu vines have overtaken the hillsides, swallowing up the trees and bushes and laurel native to these hills. Under the relentless hostile advance of the kudzu, the life is choked out of the plant life and the transplanted vine has wreaked havoc on the natural environment.

I drove past mountains that had been stripped and now were unable to sustain life. There were mountains being dismantled, rivers and streams being covered with mine waste, slurry ponds filled with black poisonous water, and houses sitting at the baseline of the strip mines, threatened daily by the disaster waiting to happen.

It hit me somewhere around Keystone as I drove past the coal preparation plant and watched the smoke pouring out of the stacks that there may not be any hope for Appalachia.

Once upon a time these people grew their own vegetable, raised their own hogs, and largely provided for themselves… but then people with money came and convinced them to sell the mineral rights to what was below their thin top-soil. Now, the people who once grew their own food must drive an hour out to the Wal-Mart to buy packaged and processed food that has been shipped in from God-knows-where. Now, the people of Appalachia are some of the most obese in the nation, suffering from diabetes, heart disease and numerous other weight-related problems.

The wealth of curative herbs and plants that once kept the people of Appalachia healthy has been crushed beneath the earth-moving machines. Now, the people who live in these hollows and hills are unable to afford health care, and even if they can get healthcare, are unable to make the long drive to the nearest hospital.

These are a people who have been beaten down by companies and governments alone. (The only time the US Government has sanctioned the Air Force to bomb US citizens occurred in West Virginia over a coalmine strike.) These are a people who have been fed American myths until they could burst, and burdened like pack mules to labor for an otherwise prosperous nation, and then left for dead once their usefulness had expired. These are a people who have been oppressed by the American machine, who have been beaten up by American greed, and who have been betrayed over and over again by the American myth of hope and optimism.

As I drove through The County, I knew that Obama’s hope was for fools with the luxury to dream… it was not for the cold, hard reality of Appalachia.

My people weren’t excited and buzzing about the election because there was nothing to be excited about and nothing to create a buzz. America woke up with the promise of change, but Appalachia woke up with the reality of an unchanged and greedy America that would continue to trample them.

Maybe Obama could dream of hope and maybe my friends in mainstream America could dream of hope… but that is because their America is not my America. I lived in their America for three years and was constantly reminded that I was different and out of place… I didn’t fit in, and I would only be accepted if I left everything about my Appalachian past behind me.

The only America I have ever really known is one that Great America doesn’t want to acknowledge:

The America I know is one of extreme poverty only rivaled by the two-thirds world.

The America I know is one in which hope is used as an opiate and a weapon so that money-seekers can rape the land the walk away.

The America I know is one that has been brutalized by a greedy nation.

The America I know is one that sends her children to bed in a cold house without a proper meal.

The America I know is one where the people who live on the land where the coal and the gas are extracted can’t afford heat or electricity.

The America I know is one where hope is only for fools…