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The the the prob- of the or culture. the a in the A world. as to the to of the to of the as of the of the ad™ as �2 Colonialism in Modern America Lack of adequate capital and programs to stimulate growth result in a lagging regional economy. There are too many people for the resources. Lack of incentives for investment and lack of skilled labor place the area in a poor competitive position. These explanations lead to programs to improve transportation, supply inducements for development, facilitate migration, provide technicians and agents who will encourage modernization and bring in more industries. The perspective which we select examines the process through which dominant outside industrial interests establish control, exploit the region, and maintain their domination and subjugation of the region. Appalachia is a good example of colonial domination by outside interests. Its history also demonstrates the concerted efforts of the exploiters to label their work "progress" and to blame any of the obvious problems it causes on the ignorance or deficiencies of the Appalachian people. We believe that there are peoples all over the world who have experienced this sort of "development" and consequently live in conditions similar to those found in the mountains. Thus, they can easily identify with the process described in this book as the colonization of Appalachia. Just as exploitation is not new, the attempt to understand and explain that process as Colonialism is also not new. Richard Drake in his comments on regional historiography (Jack and Clio in Appalachia. Appalachian Notes, Volume 4, No. 1, 1976, pp. 4-6) traces the use of the Colonialism interpretation to writers in the Labor Movement in the 1890's and the Populist Movement. In the 1930's in the midst of labor unrest in the region, such writers as Theodore Dreiser and Malcolm Ross focused on the outside ownership and exploitation of the area (Malcolm H. Ross, Machine Age in the Hills, New York: Macmillan, 1933, and National Committee for the Defense of Political Prisoners, Harlan Miners Speak: Report on Terrorism in the Kentucky Coal Fields, New York: Harcourt Brace, 1932). Drake saw the colonial interpretation continued through the reform movements which arose in the 30's and crystallized in such leaders �Introduction 3 and organizations as Don West, Myles Morton, and the Highlander Folk School. The value of the Internal Colonialism Model lies in its ability to bring into focus issues of decision-making and control of everyday life that tend to be ignored in the analysis of area problems and consequently in public policy formulation. The other models describe many of the problems and conditions that are the result of domination and exploitation, but they fail to address these things as causal factors. As social scientists, we are seeking causes rather than descriptions (or justifications). Although we attempt to cover the Appalachian area and show that the exploitation takes many forms—from coal mining in West Virginia to tourism in North Carolina, from TVA development in Tennessee to educational development in Kentucky —there is a greater emphasis on the development of coal resources in Central Appalachia. Part of this is because the picture is so much clearer and the process more blatant in the coalfields. Partly it is due to the location of the editors. We feel that the colonial process can be used to explain many areas and situations throughout America where technological, industrial society has controlled the resources and people. We do not claim that we have presented the last word or that further analysis is not needed. We simply feel that this collection of articles presents a more realistic picture of Appalachia and its problems than can be garnered through the other perspectives. Some may reject this type of analysis as producing despair and depression since the "enemies" or causes of the problems are seen as giant, multinational corporations in league with irresponsible government bureaucracies which are almost unbeatable forces. We regret this unintended result but feel it better to know the real source of the ailment than to waste effort treating the symptoms. There are frustrations and limitations in the use of the Colonialism Model. We may be guilty of stretching some of the analogies to compare the region with colonies dominated by another country. A very real difference is the ability of the dominated country to eventually throw the invaders out. Even in fantasy, if Appalachia could put up fences, take over resources, and operate them by the people of the area, one ques- �4 Colonialism in Modern America tions whether it is better to be dominated by homegrown enterprises than by New York or Philadelphia based corporations? Some of the younger scholars of the area who grew up using and documenting the Colonial Model are beginning to suggest that we need more sophisticated means to better understand the types of economic and political systems which place certain geographic regions or social classes in situations of dependency and powerlessness. The conditions found in the region are seen by these scholars as products of an advanced industrial, capitalist system. The articles by David Walls and Tom Plaut represent this new thrust to develop improved analytical approaches out of the Colonial Model. The way we define problems determines how we think about solutions. The Colonial Model implies that solutions to Appalachian problems lie in the radical restructuring of society with a redistribution of resources to the poor and powerless. But we need more research on how this can be done. How can structural change come about to develop a just society? We need a model which explains and examines the relation between economic power, political power, and cultural systems, how they change and how people's perceptions of their situation are formed and changed. Can political power be used to control economic power? We hope this exploration of one model can cause the development of a more precise theory which will lead to more understanding and solutions to the problems associated with living in a colony. We have divided this anthology into five sections. The first deals with a delineation of the Colonial Model and its application to Appalachian history and experience. The second section explains how the great wealth of the natural resources within the region came into the hands of "outsiders," men and corporations from places like Pittsburgh, New York, and London. Although coal is the resource most often used to demonstrate the process of resources theft, other profitbearing enterprises such as timber, cotton, and tourism have left their tragic mark on the people and the land. We have sought articles which would reflect the great breadth of the resources extraction process. Section III documents the ways in which outside interests �Introduction 5 sought to establish their enterprises in the region and the lengths to which they went to politically disarm and culturally discredit those who opposed them. The story told is not so much one of outright deception and swindles (although there were plenty of them) as it is a subtle and deadly process by which a people were convinced of their own worthlessness and thus, in many cases, gave up efforts to defend themselves and their ways of life. Section IV shows how the region has become increasingly vulnerable to the cultural and economic definitions, interests, and developmental whims of the larger society. It covers a wide range of activity from media, education, and music, to industrial domination of the political process and the Federal domination of the planning process. The final section is devoted to extending and improving the Colonial Model with an eye to having scholarly analysis lead to proposals for corrective social action. We are very grateful to the many contributors who so generously gave permission to use their articles, to the Appalachian Consortium Press who agreed to publish the collection, to Borden Mace who patiently encouraged us to complete the project, and to Don Anderson, Ron Eller, Tom Plaut, and staff at Mars Hill College who assisted with the final selection and organization. We wish to thank Ron Heise, who began the arduous task of editing, Eve Tackett, Susie Jones, Reva Shelton, and Wilma Coates, who provided the secretarial skills. The coeditors Don Askins and Linda Johnson completed the selecting, editing and organizing. Helen Matthews Lewis The River Farm Dungannon, Virginia ��HI sji SJf JO sf pUl 3I|J jo *W 3JB 3lp JO JOJ ai{i jo 9sn pui ^ 3tp f 0 dip JO B SB aip oj 1H1 "• ��by M. and E. Is a great In an of in of g reat poverty, In an has an in and a the to of of and of in a of to the In the of an a a the on the of a of the greedy Or is nf the M, is a & Is a nf in Ed is an in the at of �10 Colonialism in Modern America it just a ease of a region or area being "behind the times"? Before attempting to analyze the causes of these conditions, we will give a brief history and description of that portion of Appalachia which we are considering. Inside Central Appalachia That part of Appalachia with which we are concerned is the portion of the Allegheny-Cumberland mountains in which bituminous coal mining developed. Portions of southwest Virginia, eastern Kentucky, and southern West Virginia form this area and are referred to by the Appalachian Regional Commission as Central Appalachia. The area was late being settled. Until the Revolution it was an area to pass through or skirt around. The area was inaccessible and offered few advantages to the farmer in comparison with the fertile fields of the Blue Grass. It was covered by extensive forests, the soil was poor, and there was little level land. Those seeking good farming went into the Blue Grass, the Tennessee valleys, or the West. There was a period of virtual isolation (80-100 years) in the 19th century. The early settlers and their families developed a way of life based upon subsistence agriculture and a social organization based upon kinship. It was a sparsely populated area of small landowners with isolated and dispersed settlements up and down the streams, since the bottom lands provided the only acreage suitable for intensive use. The land was rugged, the soil thin and unproductive, and the slope so steep as to justify the phrase "perpendicular corn fields." The traditional mountain culture which developed in this period has been described by John C. Campbell (1921), Horace Kephart (1913), and more recently by Jack Weller (1965) and Leonard Roberts (1959). Many changes occurred in the late 1800's and early 1900's with the coming of lumbering, railroads, and coal mining to the area. The first load of coal was shipped from southwest Virginia in 1892 and from Harlan County, Kentucky, in 1911. There were large and rapid population increases in the coal mining counties. The population of Wise County, Virginia, rose from 9,400 in 1890 to 47,000 in 1920. Individuals and families �The Colonialism Model: The Appalachian Case 11 migrated to the coal counties from the nearby farm counties of Kentucky, Virginia, and Tennessee. Some foreign born people were recruited into the coal fields, and Negroes from the South were contracted as laborers. To house and serve these workers and their families, the mining companies, lumbering interests, and railroads built "encampments" for the newcomers. These "camps" or "colliery towns'' were complete with company owned houses, stores, theaters, clinics, hospitals, churches, and schools. In addition to modifying the traditional residency patterns of the local population, a new class of people came to the area with the large coal companies. Chemists, engineers, doctors, and managers were brought into the area as representatives of urban culture. Most of them lived in the commercial and political centers which grew up at rail centers, courthouses, and trading villages. All of these changes resulted in a new system of social stratification hitherto unknown in the traditional mountain society. Until World War II three different social systems existed side by side in the coal fields of the Southern Appalachians: (1) the original rural mountain settlements, characterized by a pattern of isolated residence and subsistence farming; (2) the coal camps, primarily composed of homogeneous work groups which were socially segregated and economically dependent upon a single extractive industry; and (3) the middle class towns, which were socially and economically tied to eastern urban centers (Lewis 1969). After World War II, rapid and far-reaching changes occurred in the coal fields. Mechanization of the mines reduced the camp population to at least one-half the original. Between 1950 and 1960 there was a 62 percent drop in mining employment in the eastern Kentucky coal fields and a population loss during the 1950's equal to 41 percent of the 1950 population (Brown 1962). The 1960's showed a continuation of the outmigration from the area (Brown 1970). Despite the tremendous out-migration from the area, the rapid technological changes in a one-industry area left a large number of unemployed miners and destitute families. Along with mechanization the companies began either selling the coal camps' housing to individual miners or destroying the camps. Not only was there a decline in workers and camp population but the ownership of automobiles also made it �12 Colonialism in Modern America possible for the workers to commute to work. Despite the decline in mining employment, coal production has remained high and has boomed in the 1970's. This, however, has not altered some of the basic problems of poverty, unemployment, poor health, and meager education. In order to analyze the nature of the Appalachian problems, we will review two models which have been used to describe and explain the social conditions of the region. In an attempt to understand some social phenomena, social scientists often construct models of that phenomena. By constructing a model, we are able to evaluate better the framework used by a particular researcher and compare one model with another. Thus, after surveying a number of competing models of some phenomena, we may conclude that one model better explains or predicts that in which we are interested. Or we may be able to combine one model with another so that our understanding is increased. Models may be constructed in a number of ways. We do not have the space here to review strategies for model construction, but we can say something about types of models. Models may be general or specific, working or non-working. General models apply to a wider range of phenomena than do specific models. For example, the model of the atom shows a general configuration of atomic structure and does not apply to any one atom; on the other hand, a model of a Rolls-Royce automobile applies only to that specific automobile. A working model replicates the action of that which it represents, and it operates on the same principles or "laws," thereby helping us to explain or understand the process of interrelationships among the various parts that make up the model. Like a photograph, the non-working model "freezes" the action which it represents. The dimensions of models can be combined so as to produce a general working or non-working model, or a specific working or non-working model. If we are to evaluate the merit or effectiveness of a model, we must look for a model that is both general (explains more than just one thing and refers to a class of phenomena) and working (operates in accordance with the principles ruling that which it represents). In the remainder of this chapter we will review two models of Appalachia to determine what value they �The Colonialism Model: The Appalachian Case 13 have in helping us understand the questions we posed earlier. These models have not always been overtly formulated by persons writing about Appalachia. We have taken the liberty of formulating two models; The Culture of Poverty and the Colonialism models, which are representative of dominant perspectives held by those interpreting Appalachia. Perhaps the most widely assumed model applied to Appalachia is the Culture of Poverty model. Valentine (1968) describes this model as a "Difference" or "Deficiency" model. This model involves describing the sub-culture of the Southern Appalachians and comparing it with the Greater Society. The accounts describe the customs, values, and style of life in a socio-historical tradition. A number of studies have assumed such a model (Weller 1965; Pearsall 1959, 1966; Stephenson 1968; Ford 1965; Ball 1968; Lewis 1968). These studies vary in the degree to which they emphasize the traits as "positive" or "functional" adaptations or as "pathological," disorganized, defeating value systems (Ball 1968). Some emphasize the subcultural traits as obsolete as indicated by such terms as "Yesterday's People" (Weller 1965), "Contemporary Ancestors" (Williams 1966), or "Arrested Frontier Culture" (Cressey 1953). Lesser (1970) finds that most sub-cultural descriptions emphasize only the dramatic and destructive traits of Appalachia (e.g., traditionalism, fatalism) and emphasize the Appalachian people as passive and apathetic carriers of their culture. Henighan (1970), in comparing Weller and Stephenson, finds that Stephenson emphasizes a more "positive" view of Appalachian values. Stephenson (1968) uses the term "contentment" as contrasted to Weller's (1965) term "fatalism." In an insightful essay, Roach and Gursslin (1967) evaluate the usefulness of the Culture of Poverty model. They suggest that much of the confusion about the culture of poverty is not with the notion of poverty but with the idea of culture. Most researchers begin with the assumption that such a sub-culture exists and then proceed to fill in its description. But culture is more than just description; culture refers to a set of normative patterns that emerge through a group's coping with its environment. Furthermore, the content of this culture must be transmitted from one generation to another. Much of the descriptive material about Appalachia has emphasized a somewhat stilted �14 Colonialism in Modern America rudimentary set of normative regulations with little concern for the content of what is transmitted from one generation to another. The assumption is that middle-class or dominant American values are not transmitted in Appalachia. A more pointed comment on the Culture of Poverty model concerns the purpose served by the model. "If the purpose is explanation, what is to be explained: group life, personality processes, deviant behavior, the origins of poverty, or the perpetuation of poverty?'' (Roach and Gursslin 1967, 386). If we are concerned with the causes of poverty, we must view it differently than if we are concerned with the effects of poverty. In the former case, we are concerned with the factors which led to those behaviors described as belonging to those in the culture of poverty. In the latter case, we want to know how these behaviors are transmitted from one generation to another. Description answers neither of these questions. There is little question about poverty in Appalachia. If we use income as a criterion, we find that the area of Appalachia which we are dealing with has a mean income of less than onehalf that of the remainder of the United States. If we use health as a factor, we find that only five of the 60 counties have infant mortality rates lower than the national average; in 34 counties the rate is 20 percent higher than the national rate. The tuberculosis rates in some parts of the area are 10 times the national average. And in 25 percent of the counties there are fewer than 30 physicians per 100,000, as compared with 139 per 100,000 in the United States as a whole. If we use education as a criterion, we find educational attainment is significantly lower than the remainder of the United States. Seventy percent of the adult population have completed fewer than eight years of schooling. If we turn our attention to housing, we find that the rate of construction is only two-thirds that of the national average, and only 33 percent of the housing is sound and is equipped with plumbing. Thus, by almost any standard, the level of living in this area is sub-standard, i.e., at the poverty level. None of the studies using the Culture of Poverty model tell us why these conditions prevail. And none of these studies inform us why these conditions cause certain values, norms, or behaviors among the people. One could dismiss all of this as nothing but academic folly if it were not for the fact that those �The Colonialism Model: The Appalachian Case 15 persons and agencies concerned with relieving the above conditions often accept the Culture of Poverty model. They focus on the values of the Appalachian and say that these must be changed. This is almost like saying that one needs to stop the bleeding when an artery is severed. However, the application of a band-aid to such a wound disregards the cause of the bleeding in very much the same way that programs designed to change values often disregard the roots of such values. We do not advocate discarding the Culture of Poverty model when such models (1) make clear what it is they are studying, (2) are concerned with both cause and perpetuation, and (3) do not confuse description with analysis. An alternative approach to the Culture of Poverty model is the Colonialism model. This model has also been called the Exploitation model (Valentine 1968). Lesser (1970) and other so-called radical critics of the Culture of Poverty model follow this approach. Lesser states: "Essentially, their [Culture of Poverty proponents] argument is that the under-development of the region is a function of Appalachian character rather than the exploitative conditions institutionalized in the region/' With the Exploitation model, however, one describes the Appalachians as a subsociety structurally alienated and lacking resources because of processes of the total economic political system. Those who control the resources preserve their advantages by discrimination. The people are not essentially passive; but these "subcultural" traits of fatalism, passivity, etc. are adjustive techniques of the powerless. They are ways by which people protect their way of life from new economic models and the concomitant alien culture. Lewis and Knipe (1970) emphasize certain of these values among Appalachians as reactions to powerlessness; they describe the socio-economic situation as "peasant-like." There has been a growing interest in using this model to describe the social and economic conditions of the Southern Appalachians and to declare the region a Colonial Empire. Harry M. Caudill, in Night Comes to the Cumberlands, calls the Appalachians "the last unchallenged stronghold of Western colonialism." This is not a new claim. C. Vann Woodward (1951) characterizes the whole South as a colony suffering from absentee ownership and economic exploitation. Woodward �16 Colonialism in Modern America places the Southern Appalachian colonialism in this context: As the 19th Century drew to a close and the new century progressed through the first decade, the penetration of the South and the Southern Appalachians was begun by Northeastern capital and is continuing at an accelerated rate. The Morgans, Mellons, the Rockefellers sent their agents to take charge of the region's railroads, mines, coke furnaces and financial corporations. (Woodward 1951) A systematic account of colonialism has been undertaken by Blauner (1969). In reference to the American Negro he makes a distinction between classical colonialism and internal colonialism. The basic difference between these two is that in classical colonialism the colonizer moves in from outside, whereas in internal colonialism the colonizer brings in those colonized. He defines classical colonialism as *'domination over a geographically external political unit, most often inhabited by people of a different race and culture; when this domination is political and economic, the colony exists subordinate to and dependent upon the mother country" (1968, 395). Blauner further distinguishes colonization as a process and colonialism as a system of relationships that exist between those dominating and those in a subordinate position. It is the process of oppression rather than differences in political and economic structure which is most important. Blauner suggests four components of the colonization complex. First, colonization begins with a forced, involuntary entry. Those in the dominant position are not invited guests. Second, the impact on culture and social organization is greater than we would expect through cultural contact and acculturation. There follows, soon after the entry of the colonizer, rather rapid modifications in values, orientation, and the way of life of the colonized. Third, colonization involves a relationship by which members of the colonized group tend to be administered by representatives of the dominant group. And fourth, there exists a condition of racism, "a principle of social domination by which a group, seen as inferior or different in terms of alleged biological characteristics, is exploited, controlled and oppressed socially and psychically by a superordinate group" (1969, 396). �The Colonialism Model: The Appalachian Case 17 If these relationships characterize the colonization process, what accounts for the colonized being colonized? Blauner suggests that the main source of domination comes from technological superiority. Those being colonized have resources, natural or human, which are useful to the colonizer. If these resources can be harnessed, the technological superiority of the colonizer is further enhanced, thereby increasing the degree of superiority. Thus the resources of the colonized perpetuate the colonization process. The Colonialism model shows somewhat more promise when applied to the Appalachian situation than the Culture of Poverty model. Blauner makes it clear what he is studying^ domination. He accounts for the cause and perpetuation of the condition, and because he is concerned with processes he goes beyond mere description. The question now is what information do we have to substantiate the applicability of this model in the Appalachian case. If the model "fits," we should be able to show how colonialism came to the mountains, how it is perpetuated, and, finally, what consequences it has had upon the local culture. Colonialism and Country Folks We have already touched upon the beginnings of coal mining in the Southern Appalachians. When the outside colonizers came to the Appalachians in the latter part of the 19th century, they found a society approximating an Asian or African country in its economic foundations. The outside speculators bought land, mineral, and timber rights from illiterate, simple mountain farmers. One important consequence of mining was that it did not open up the mountains. The isolation of the area went beyond just physical isolation; it now included social isolation. The inability of the indigenous population to cope with those representatives of the coal industry and the many fraudulent land deals that were made with the local people stand as bold evidence of antagonistic relationships.1 A survival of this early relationship is found in the "broad form" deeds that have been supported by the Kentucky courts. These deeds included "all minerals and metallic substances and �18 Colonialism in Modern America all combinations of the same," and they give the unconditional right to remove them by any method "deemed necessary or convenient." This stipulation has allowed companies to strip or surface mine land in the face of strong opposition by the land owners who had sold only the "mineral rights" many years before. The state has used the broad form deeds to support positive legal action against landowners who have attempted to block mining operations. Several cases have made the news in the past few years. Widow Combs placed her body in front of the dozers and ended up in the Knott County jail. Conspiracy charges were brought against Appalachia Volunteers and Southern Conference Education Fund workers who helped Jink Ray and other local landowners successfully stop stripping operations. Although many writers on Appalachia speak of the outside control of the wealth, the degree and extent to which this is true has been only slightly and sporadically documented. There are no systematic, thorough studies of the land and mineral ownership of the region. This "oversight" itself might be considered "evidence" of the protection which is provided colonizers. Even the Appalachian Regional Commission, after a number of years of data collection and analysis of various aspects of Appalachian poverty and economic potential, has only lately turned its attention to the Central Appalachian area, first with a study of capital resource and a proposed study of land and mineral ownership and taxation (Appalachian Regional Commission 1969). One must go to the "radical" student or "movement" publications or to the Bureau of Mines statistics to find any studies or documentation of such things as coal production. Kirby (1969), in a study of the tax records of eleven major coal producing counties in eastern Kentucky, found that 31 people and corporations owned four-fifths of east Kentucky's coal. It is estimated that 70 to 80 percent of the southwest Virginia minerals is owned by four or five large corporations. And David Walls (1969, 15) lists seven firms which produce one-third of the coal in Central Appalachia. More interesting is the fact that many of these "independent" companies are linked in corporate structures. One study (Barkan and Lloyd 1970) for a two-county area in southwest Virginia found a tightly linked chain of railroad men, industrialists, and financiers who own and benefit from the timber �The Colonialism Model: The Appalachian Case 19 and mineral wealth of the area. Diehl (1970) has traced some of the interconnections of ownership in eastern Kentucky and West Virginia. These connections extend in some cases beyond the borders of America to such places as South Africa and to such diversified industries as electronic equipment, chemicals, oil, banks, and auto manufacturers. The absorption of coal companies by fuel and energy industries reflects the major changes in dominant industries in the United States in general. The early coal companies were controlled by shipping and railroads; later they were dominated by the steel and automobile manufacturers. Beginning in the 1960's and the "Energy Era," fuel and electrical powers began their present domination. Another indication of outside control of the area is seen by looking at taxation and economic development. David Brooks talks of the role of the coal industry in regional development.2 He points to the limited ability of mining to provide economic development in a region. Unlike manufacturing or industries in which materials are fabricated or value is added through a production process, mining processes add little value and do little to stimulate other types of economic activities. Since mining is immobile, fixed in space, and limited to its one product, and since the work is arduous and dangerous, it must develop means of attracting or controlling labor. It is advantageous for coal mining to operate in isolation without competing companies. The characteristics of mining lead to a oneindustry area with labor tied to the one industry and little development outside the extraction of the minerals. This also leaves no development when the minerals are gone (McKelvey 1968). Without intervention, mining itself tends to develop certain exploitative or colonial characteristics. Resources generated by coal mining for the local area are meager. In other industries surplus is used for capital investments, which creates new corporations, associations, and other businesses, and develops a middle-stratum of technicians and specialists. This does not happen with coal mining. Except for wages paid to workers and local taxes paid to the area, coal mining offers little. At one time large numbers were �20 Colonialism in Modern America employed in the mines of the area. In 1932 there were 705,000 miners; in 1940 there were 439,000 miners; and today there are only 132,000 miners (Coal Data Book 1968). The mechanization of coal mining and the resulting decline in mining employment in the Southern Appalachians in the 1950's resulted in a wholesale migration from the area and a high degree of unemployment which continues into the 1970's. In Virginia there are still 8,862 miners in a six-county area. Coal mining is still the main source of employment, accounting for approximately one third of the total labor force. The coal companies paid $56,361,577 in wages in 1968. During the same year, the area produced 36,865,703 tons of coal which, if valued at $4.50 a ton, would total $165,956,000 (Virginia Department of Labor and Industry 1968). The total taxes paid to the area are not known. But one can draw some conclusions from the records of one company. This company in 1967 employed 448 men and mined approximately 2,500,000 tons of coal in four mines. Wages, if all the men worked full time, would have been approximately $3,240,000; royalties to the corporation owning the mineral rights to the land @$.142 per ton would amount to $360,000; and 40 cents a ton to the United Mine Workers' Health and Welfare Fund would amount to $1,000,000. The landholding company and the mining company paid $207,533 in county taxes in 1968. This amount represents taxes on land under development, land not under development, buildings, and equipment. In addition to the four mines, land was leased for stripping, augering, and several truck mine operations. The total outlay for wages, royalties, and taxes was $3,807,533. The value of the coal at $4.50 per ton was $11,128,000. This leaves a difference of $7,320,467. The amount of taxes paid, although small in comparison to gross income, represents 13.5 percent of the tax income for the county in which the company has its operations. Despite their resources, the coal mining counties generate a smaller proportion of the total revenue than the counties in the rest of the Appalachian area. The corporation having the mineral rights mentioned above is probably the most profitable in America. According to its 1968 Annual Report it netted 64 percent of gross and paid dividends of 40 cents out of each dollar received (Penn Virginia Corporation Annual Report, 1968). Harry Caudill (1968) reports the same corporation as netting 61 percent of gross and �The Colonialism Model: The Appalachian Case 21 paying 45 cents on each dollar received in 1964. He compares it with General Motors which reported a profit of 10.2 cents from each dollar received and paid a dividend of five cents. Caudill claims that this corporation is characteristic of other mineral-owning corporations in the area. Depletion and depreciation allowances give coal companies a very favorable position. Depletion for coal mined is based on the cost of the mineral properties and estimated recoverable tonnage. In some cases the depletion allowances is greater than the taxes on the minerals and the land. Although the original purchases of most of the mineral lands were made before 1900 at 30 cents to $1.00 an acre, the depletion is figured on the last price paid. When lands change hands, even through a subsidiary, the new cost is the basis for the depletion. This is figured as the percentage of the cost of the land which is mined during the year. Kirby (1969) points out that this is an incentive to sell. An acre bought for 50 cents can be sold in a year of mining for $5,000, thereby increasing the cost depletion allowance considerably. Another concession to coal companies is the tax on mine equipment and machinery. In Virginia they are taxed at only 10 percent of their value, while the equipment of all others, belonging either to individuals and/or businesses, is taxed at approximately one-third of its value. Here also, resale to subsidiaries can make this even lower for coal companies. A leasing company can sell a $100,000 machine to a mining company which it controls for $10,000; then the mining company will pay tax on 10 percent of that or $1,000. Caudill (1966) reports a similar situation in Kentucky. Through resale to subsidiaries, mining machinery worth $75,000 is valued at $3,000; taxes are less than a miner pays on the automobile which he drives to work to operate the machine. Blizzard (1966) reports taxes low in West Virginia because of the influence of the coal industry. West Virginia has a gross sales tax regardless of profit or loss, but coal companies do not pay on sales made at out-of-state markets, thus excluding most of the coal sales. Machinery and supplies used for coal mining are also exempt from sales tax. In line with the general tendency of colonists to be exploitive, we find that public spiritedness on the part of coal operations is rare in the area. Coal companies in Virginia are �22 Colonialism in Modern America suing the counties, claiming that assessing 'land under development" at a differential rate is in fact a form of severence tax on mined coal which is unconstitutional. Most of the remarks concerning civic responsibility made by coal company representatives sound like turn-of-the-century rugged capitalism. When asked about decaying coal camps, burning slag heaps, or disabled and unemployed miners, coal company executives are heard to say that they have no responsibility to the area or the people. Their responsibility is to mine coal as cheaply and efficiently as possible and to make a profit for the company and the stockholders. They provide employment and housing when needed and get food stores when necessary to hold employees; they continue these as long as they are necessary to keep workers or are profitable to the company. Even one of the most public-spirited executives of a large mining company said that the decision to begin strip mining was made because it was "the logical thing, cost wise" (Trillin 1969). This same executive has been quoted in the Mountain Eagle and with great candor in the NET film Rich Lands, Poor People: "If there is something wrong with what we are doing in Eastern Kentucky, then there is something wrong with the country." The condition of racism associated with the Colonialism model is well illustrated in Appalachia. Memmi (1967) points out that it is not only the colonizers but the colonized who go into businesses that engage in this practice. In the region one finds that the smaller independent coal operators are even more conservative in their political and economic ideology than the outsiders. The Independent Coal Leader claims to represent the small operators; its contents reflect a general negative evaluation of the local population who are unemployed. It has also taken rather dramatic stands against any individual or organization attempting to question the coal industry and its practices. Most of these small operators are dependent upon the larger companies for leases or money for equipment or coal sales facilities. A number of local millionnaires have emerged in the area through strip mining, the selling of equipment, and truck mining. It is interesting to observe how many of these persons make their money and then retire to Florida. Perhaps Florida serves as the "homeland" for the native who joins the colonists. The natives who become colonizers of their own people must protect themselves by giving an even more disparaging �The Colonialism Model: The Appalachian Case 23 evaluation of the people than the outsider. While the outsider may become interested in the ways of the natives—collecting quilts, mountain folk tales, and music—and speak with appreciation about mountain culture, the native exploiter is more likely to denigrate his own, to speak of laziness and "sorriness," or to speak negatively of a "certain class" of people, especially those on welfare or those who are unemployed. The native colonizers recount stories of the untrustworthiness and unreliability of their workers. Since these small operators often pay even less than minimum wages, they find themselves in competition with welfare programs. This is not a new pattern. General John Daniel Imboden was one of the earliest "developers" of the area. In 1880 he bought 47,000 acres of mineral lands in Wise County, Virginia. Later, he bought 21,000 acres for only 35 cents an acre for "certain gentlemen of large means" who were officials of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad (Henson 1965). A list of property made in May, 1880, reveals that Imboden and his son owned one-sixth interest in over 100,000 acres in Wise County. Imboden purchased land, built the railroad into the coal fields, and later was a lobbyist in North Carolina for the coal interests. After a stint at the state capital in Raleigh he wrote about the elegant people he was meeting. He said he told them about Wise County and "how nice it was. . . and interested them so much that when our road is built they are coming out to see for themselves. They think it must be delightful to see and mingle with such primitive people" (Henson, 7). One test to determine whether colonization exists is to see whether the colonists utilize the same services they provide for the colonized. The colonizers generally distrust such services in Appalachia, especially local doctors and local hospitals. Local medical personnel are mistrusted because they provide services for miners or country people and therefore inadequate service for they, too, are opportunists or exploiters. A local hospital administrator resents the fact that members of the local board travel 100-300 miles eastward to see "good doctors" or obtain "good medical services" because the "coal camp doctors" are not as good. Other local services and professionals who stay in the area are denigrated. The opinion is that they are no good or they would go elsewhere. Fannon (1963), in "Dying Colonialism," an essay about the native's attitude toward available medical �24 Colonialism in Modern America services, points to the native's distrust of local medicine, and sees it as an agent of the colonists. Perhaps the judgment is true. The fantastically poor medical service provided in the early days of coal camps in the Appalachians has been documented (Boone 1947). Today, coal company doctors often refuse to admit the existence of pneumoconiosis or "black lung," and one company doctor was elected to the Virginia House of Delegates and succeeded in getting the disease removed from the Workman's Compensation. Company doctors are said by many miners to be reluctant to report injuries or to diagnose pneumoconiosis in order to protect the company's insurance rates. But they are likely to diagnose it when the person is seeking employment in order to keep the company from "getting stuck" with an already disabled miner. To continue with examples of conformity between the realities of Appalachian life and the Colonialism model would be pointless. It cannot be disputed that the coal interests came into the region "uninvited," that cultural patterns changed as a result of this intrusion, and that the area is controlled by representatives of the industry. The fact that racism exists to perpetuate this pattern has been illustrated. Since these conditions exist, it would appear that any recommendations for change should take these factors into consideration. Changing the values of Appalachians will not change the system of colonialism nor will knowledge of the situation. Both Radcliffe-Brown and Malinowski suggest that we must know something about those who were to benefit from Western colonialism (Harris 1968, 514-567). But they are careful not to question the motives of the British colonizers. Unfortunately, much ethnography has been carried out under colonial conditions; and, in a way, the anthropologist has become as much a colonizer as those having economic and political interests in an area. We tend to study those who resist the least, and colonized peoples are powerless to resist our intrusion into their culture. While the anthropologist often becomes the native's advocate, he may not wish to upset those conditions which enable him to continue his research. "Moderation, compromise and civil service decorum are the ethical bases for the aspiring 'practical anthropologist' " (Malinowski 1945, 161). �The Colonialism Model: The Appalachian Case 25 Future Prospects In looking at the two models we find differences in responses to the conditions in Appalachia. Those who follow the deficiency or difference approach (the Culture of Poverty model) work to help and change people. Their object is to change the values of the poor and assimilate them into the middle class or the "greater" culture. Various programs of social work, education, and psychiatry are designed to change attitudes, to motivate, and to assimilate. Those who follow the exploitation or colonialism model emphasize the need to change the structure of society. They advocate the redistribution of goods and resources to give power to the poor. If colonized peoples always rebel, then we must wait and see what happens in Appalachia. Blauner (1967) attributes the revolt of Blacks in America to their colonized position, and Moore (1970) uses the same model to explain the rebellion of Mexican-Americans. Tom Gish, editor of the Mountain Eagle in Whitesburg, Kentucky, talks about colonialism, outside exploitation of the wealth, and the various government programs for amelioration. Although outside corporations still exploit the resources, he feels that the period of blatant colonial control and local domination is past. The coal companies can continue to mine the minerals through control over a few politicians, state courts and lawyers, and they can control labor through collusion with the United Mine Workers. In the meantime, they can ignore and leave behind the many social problems resulting from technological change: illness, injury, powerlessness, and deprivation. These will be handled, along with polluted streams and devastated land, by federal government programs. The early war on poverty programs tried to create political action; such action was frightening to the local power structure and to the corporate interests. These programs have been co-opted or dropped. The focus is now on economic development, assistance, and control. Regional offices of Health, Education and Welfare, of Labor, of the U.S. Corps of Engineers, of the Office of Economic Opportunity, of the Departments of Agriculture and Interior funnel in programs of "assistance" through regional economic planning and development organizations. Gish finds these regional organizations developing more and more like the Office of Indian Affairs, i.e. to control the natives. Perhaps this type of action is a latter stage of colonialism in which those who are left-over, �26 Colonialism in Modern America the land and the people, are now wards of the government, living on an Appalachian Reservation. NOTES ^Warren Wright, Burdine, Kentucky, has researched early titles and land transfers in parts of eastern Kentucky. He finds many cases of fraudulent and illegal leases and ownership. ^David Brooks, former chief economist, Bureau of Mines, in talks to the Appalachian Seminar, Clinch Valley College, January 1970. �The Colonialism Model: The Appalachian Case 27 REFERENCES CITED Appalachian Regional Commission 1968 Research Report No. 8, Preliminary Analysis for Development of Central Appalachia. Washington, D.C. 1969 Research Report No. 9, Appendix C, Capital Resources in the Central Appalachian Region. Cheechi and Co., Washington, D.C. Ball, Richard A. 1968 "A Poverty Case; The Analgesic Subculture of the Southern Appalachians" American Sociological Review, 33:6 (December), 885-895 Barkam, Barry and R. Baldwin Lloyd 1970 "Picking Poverty's Pocket" Article One, 1, 2 (May), 21-29 Blauner, Robert 1969 "Internal Colonialism and Ghetto Revolt" Social Problems (Spring), Vol. 16, No. 4, 1969, 393-408 Blizzard, William C. 1966 "West Virginia Wonderland" Appalachian South (Summer) Boone, Joel T. 1947 A Medical Survey of the Bituminous Coal Industry Washington, D.C.: United States Department of Interior Brown, James S. 1962 Eastern Kentucky Resource Development Project, Lexington, University of Kentucky 1970 First Look at the 1970 Census Mountain Life and Work (JulyAugust), 4-8 �28 Colonialism in Modern America Campbell, John C. 1921 The Southern Highlander and His Homeland New York: Russell Sage Foundation Caudill, Harry 1962 Night Comes to the Cumberland^ Boston: Little, Brown & Co. 1966 "Poverty and Affluence in Appalachia: How Absentee Ownership in an Extremely Rich Land Produced a Remarkable Poor People" Appalachian South Pipestem, West Virginia (Spring) 1968 "Appalachia: The Dismal Land" In Jeremy Larner and Irving Howe, ed., Views From the Left New York: William Morrow, 264-273 Cressey, Paul F. 1949 "Social Disorganization and Reorganization in Harlan County, Kentucky" American Sociological Review, XIV, 3 (June), 389-394 Diehl, Richard 1970 "Appalachia Energy Elite: A Wing of Imperialism?" People's Appalachia (March) 1970 "How International Energy Elite Rules" People's Appalachia (April-May) Fanon, Frantz 1967 A Dying Colonialism New York: Grove Ford, Thomas R. 1965 "The Effects of Prevailing Values and Beliefs on the Perpetuation of Poverty in Rural Areas" Problems of Chronically Depressed Rural Areas North Carolina University: Agriculture Policy Institute 1965 "Value Orientations of a Culture of Poverty: The Southern Appalachian Case" Working with low-income families, American Home Economics Association, Washington, D.C. Harris, Marvin 1968 The Rise of Anthropological Theory New York: Thomas Y. Crowell �The Colonialism Model: The Appalachian Case 29 Henigham, Richard 1970 Remarks at People's Appalachian Research Collective Conference Huntington, West Virginia Henson, Edward L. 1965 General Imboden and the Economic Development of Wise County 1880-81 Historical Society of Southwest Virginia (February 6-8) Kephart, Horace 1913 Our Southern Highlanders New York: MacMillan Kirby, Richard 1969 "Kentucky Coal: Owners, Taxes, Profits: A Study in Representations Without Taxation" Appalachian Lookout 1,6 (October), 19-27 Knipe, Edward E. and Lewis, Helen M. 1969 "The Impact of Coal Mining on the Traditional Mountain SubCulture: A Case of Peasantry Gained and Peasantry Lost" A paper read at the annual meeting of the Southern Anthropological Society, New Orleans, Louisiana Lesser, Roger 1970 "Culture: Toward Tomorrow's People" People's Appalachia, No. 1 (March) Lewis, Helen M. 1968 "Subcultures of the Southern Appalachians" The Virginia Geographer 3,1 (Spring), 2-3 McKelvey, V. E. 1968 "Appalachia: Problems and Opportunities" Mineral Resources of the Appalachian Region, Geological Survey Professional Paper 580, Washington, D.C. Malinowski, B. 1945 The Dynamics of Culture Chicago: An Inquiry Into Race Relations in Africa, P. Kaberry, ed., New Haven: Yale University Press Memmi, Albert 1965 The Colonizer and the Colonized Boston: Beacon �30 Colonialism in Modern America Moore, Joan W. 1970 "Colonialism: The Case of the Mexican-Americans" Social Problems 71,4 (Spring), 463-472 National Coal Association 1968 Bituminous Coal Facts Washington, D.C. 1968 Coal Data Book Washington, D.C. Pearsall, Marion 1959 Little Smokey Ridge Alabama Press 1966 University of Alabama: University of "Communicating With the Educationally Deprived" Mountain Life and Work (Spring), 3-11 Penn Virginia Corporation 1968 Penn Virginia Corporation Annual Report Roach, Jack L. and Gursslin, Orville R. 1967 "An Evaluation of the Concept 'Culture of Poverty5 " Social Forces 45,3 (March), 383-392 Roberts, Leonard W. 1959 Up Cutshin and Down Greasy Lexington: University of Kentucky Stephenson, John B. 1968 Shiloh: A Mountain Community Kentucky Lexington: University of Trillin, Calvin 1969 "U.S. Journal: Kentucky, the Logical Thing, Costwise" New Yorker (December 27), 33-36 Valentine, Charles A. 1968 Culture and Poverty Chicago: University of Chicago Press Virginia Department of Labor and Industry 1968 Annual Report �The Colonialism Model: The Appalachian Case 31 Walls, David 1968-69 Research Bulletins - issues of Appalachian Lookout Prestonsburg, Kentucky Weller, Jack 1965 Yesterday's People Lexington: University of Kentucky Williams, Jonathan 1966 "The Southern (June), 47-66 Appalachians" Craft Woodward, C. Vann 1951 Origins of the New South University Press Horizons, X-XVI, 3 Baton Rouge, Louisana: State ����33 II: of of the of by as it has is the in in of the the A of in at the as a and the points to the in the and the in and development. ag- of the in of left out of due to the in the for the He of a and es by the in "The in of by on for the life is a the the be of in a to Sir of of the is the of the lie the of the in of the of the Si in "The the U.S. is for the has the of He the and out the for in a re- of to in �m �IN AT A D. Kller ern and the off of our most a set the of the of the as the As to a to the the to the for the and and the of the in of the as Jr., and of the and in as a the in for of the in a as "a the by a of in at fit a of ffe is tit at has for alfor the a a of the at fit of of �36 Colonialism in Modern America the process of American historical growth. To the urban middleclass readers of Cosmopolitan, Harper's, and Atlantic Monthly, the apparent persistence of pioneer-like conditions in the mountains seemed to reflect not merely the normal patterns of rural life but "an earlier phase of American development preserved, like a mammoth in ice."3 Because metaphor was more interesting than reality, the Appalachian present came to be linked with the American past, and eventually the analogy was accepted as fact. By the turn of the century, according to historian Henry Shapiro, the idea that Appalachia was "a discrete ethnic and cultural unit within but not of America" had become a convention of the popular mind.4 For Americans of the Progressive period who had witnessed the passing of the western frontier, Appalachia became "the frontier we have left within," and the mountaineers were "our contemporary ancestors."5 Succeeding generations have periodically rediscovered and reinterpreted the region in the context of their own day, but the static image has remained the standard perception of mountain life. In 1913, for example, Horace Kephart found "our Southern highlanders. . .still thinking essentially the same thoughts, still living in much the same fashion as did their ancestors in the days of Daniel Boone. The progress of mankind from that age to this," he claimed, "is no heritage of theirs."6 James Watt Raine traveled the "land of saddlebags" in 1924 and again in 1942, and a decade later North Callahan made a similar journey into what he believed was the "happy" but "static society" of the Smoky Mountain country.7 With the outbreak of the war on poverty in the 1960's, the mountaineers became simply "Yesterday's People"—part of that "other America" of which Michael Harrington wrote.8 More recently, the rise of the new ethnicity and the counterculture movement have brought attention to the mountain people as just plain "down home folk," and a flourishing minor industry has developed to fabricate such oddities as dulcimers, quilts, log cabins and "Maw's Moonshine Hunie." Of late we have also seen the introduction of courses in Appalachian studies and the proliferation of symposia aimed at diagnosing the "unique" qualities of mountain life. But this revival of interest has done little to alter our traditional views. According to one well known student of the region, Appalachia can still be seen "as a vanishing frontier and its people as frontiersmen, suspended and isolated, while the rest of the country moves across the twentieth century. "^ Marooned on an island �Industrialization and Social Change 37 of hills, the mountaineer has seemed shut off from the forces which have shaped the modern world. He has lived, we are told, in a land "Where Time Stood Still."10 Arnold Toynbee may have offered the most callous assertion of this view when he suggested that the mountain people of the South were little better than barbarians. "They have relapsed into illiteracy and witchcraft/' he wrote. "They suffer from poverty, squalor, and ill health. They are the American counterparts of the latter-day white barbarians of the Old World —Rifis, Albanians, Kurds, Pathans, and Hairy Ainus." But whereas these latter seemed to be the belated survivals of an ancient barbarism, "the Appalachians/' Toynbee argued, "present the melancholy spectacle of a people who have acquired civilization and then lost it."11 Cast in the static role, mountain people have thus rarely appeared as conscious actors on the stage of American history, and almost never on center stage. They are acknowledged to exist somewhere in the background, as subjects to be acted upon, but not as people participating within the historical drama itself. As a result, our efforts to explain and deal with the social problems of the region have focused not on economic and political realities in the area as they evolved over time, but on the supposed inadequacies of a pathological culture which is seen to have poorly equipped mountain people for life in the modern industrial world. Having overlooked elements of movement and change that have tied the mountains to the rest of the American experience, we have blamed the mountaineers for their own distress, rather than the forces which have caused it.12 Blaming the victim, of course, is not a uniquely American phenomenon. Rather it is a misreading that takes international form. French intellectuals talk about the Alps, and Spanish intellectuals talk about the Pyrenees in much the same simple if condescending way that urban Americans talk about Appalachia.13 Indeed, all over the world the terms applied to rural people by urban people have implied either contempt and condescension, or—and this is the opposite of the same attitude— a romantic admiration for the simple, hardy virtues of rural life.14 Since the Southern mountains were among the most rural areas of eastern America, the Appalachian people have suffered exceedingly from this type of urban provincialism. �38 Colonialism in Modern America Ironically, it was during the same years that the static image was emerging as the dominant literary view that a revolution of dynamic proportions was shaking the very foundations of the mountain social order. In Appalachia, as in the rest of the country, the decades from 1880 to 1930 were years of transition and change. What had been in 1860 only the quiet backcountry of the Old South became by the turn of the century a new frontier for expanding industrial capitalism. The coming of railroads, the building of towns and villages, and the general expansion of industrial employment greatly altered the traditional patterns of mountain life and called forth certain adjustments, responses, and defenses on the part of the mountaineers. This transformation varied in scope and speed, but by the end of the 1920's few residents of the region were left untouched by the industrial age. The effects of this transition were large. For one thing, mountain agriculture went into serious decline. While the size of the average mountain farm was about 187 acres in the 1880's, by 1930 the average Appalachian farm contained only 76 acres, and in some counties the average was as low as 47 acres.15 This decline was universal throughout the region but was most pronounced in the coal fields and other areas of intense economic growth. Significantly, while the total number of farms increased during these years, the total amount of land in farms actually decreased almost twenty percent as a result of the purchase of farm properties by timber and mining companies and for inclusion in national forests and parks.16 Farm productivity and income also changed. While farm production had been the major (and usually the sole) source of income in 1880, by 1930 most mountain farms had become part-time units of production, and the major source of income had shifted to non-agricultural employment—mining, logging, carpentry, and other forms of public work.17 In Knott County, Kentucky, for example, the income per farm from farming in 1930 averaged only $215, while the income per farm from non-farm enterprises averaged over $342.18 In 1880 the mountains had been a major producer of swine in the South, but by 1930 swine production in the region had declined to only 39 percent of its former level.19 Such data suggests that the traditional image of the pre-industrial mountain farm must be altered, and that the small, marginal farm usually associated with �Industrialization and Social Change 39 the stereotyped picture of Appalachia was in fact a product of industrialization—that is, a more recent development not associated with the purported isolation of the region. Along with the decline of agriculture came subtle changes in demographic relationships as well. Whereas mountain society in the 1880's had been characterized by a diffuse pattern of open-country agricultural settlements located primarily in the fertile valleys and plateaus, by the turn of the century the population had begun to shift into non-agricultural areas and to concentrate around centers of industrial growth. Between 1900 and 1930, the urban population of the region increased four-fold and the rural non-farm population almost two-fold, while the farm population itself increased by only five percent.20 A few of the burgeoning urban centers were destined to be temporary communities, such as the big timber towns of Sunburst and Ravensford in the Great Smoky Mountains, but most were permanent structures which had a lasting impact upon mountain life. It is important to point out, moreover, that the majority of these new industrial communities were company towns. In fact, over six hundred company towns were constructed in the Southern mountains during this period, and in the coal fields they outnumbered independent incorporated towns more than five to one.21 This rising urban population provided a base for the emergence of a more modern political system in the mountains, one increasingly dominated by corporate interests and businessminded politicians. Where the traditional political order had relied largely on kinship, personal contacts, and a broad-based party structure, after the turn of the century the level of citizen participation declined, and the average farmer or laborer became isolated from the political process. As early as the 1890's, industrialists such as Stephan B. Elkins in West Virginia and H. Clay Evans in Tennessee had begun to gain control of the political organizations in the mountains and to turn the powers of state and local government toward the expansion of commerce and the exploitation of the region's natural resources.22 As a result, there emerged in Appalachia a contracted political system based upon an economic hierarchy—those who controlled the jobs also controlled the political system, and those who controlled the political system used their power to exploit the region's natural wealth for their own personal gain. This loss of �40 Colonialism in Modern America local political control naturally distressed many mountain people and plunged the region into prolonged industrial violence and social strife.*3 Behind this transition in political culture lay the integration of the region into the national economy and the subordination of local interests to those of outside corporations. Nowhere was this process more evident than in the concentration of large amounts of mountain land in the hands of absentee owners. Beginning in the 1870's, Northern speculators and outside businessmen carved out huge domains in the rich timberlands and mineral regions of Appalachia. By 1910 outlanders controlled not only the best stands of hardwood timber and the thickest seams of coal but a large percentage of the surface land in the region as well. For example, in that portion of western North Carolina which later became the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, over 75 percent of the land came under the control of thirteen corporations, and one timber company alone owned over a third of the total acreage.24 The situation was even worse in the coal fields. According to the West Virginia State Board of Agriculture in 1900, outside capitalists owned 90 percent of the coal in Mingo County, 90 percent of the coal in Wayne County, and 60 percent of that in Boone and McDowell Counties.25 Today, absentee corporations control more than half the total land area in the nine southernmost counties of that state.26 The immediate effect of this concentration of land holding was to dislodge a large part of the region's population from their ancestral homes. A few former landowners managed to remain on the land as sharecroppers or tenant farmers, and occasionally a family continued to Hve temporarily on the old homeplace, paying rent to absentee landlords.27 But a great number of the displaced mountaineers migrated to the mill villages and mining towns where they joined the ever-growing ranks of the new industrial working class. In the Cumberland Plateau, less than a third of those employed in 1930 remained in agriculture. The rest had moved to the mines or into service related jobs.28 Uprooted from their traditional way of life, some individuals were unable to reestablish permanent community ties, and they became wanderers drifting from mill to mill, from company house to company house, in search of higher pay or better living conditions. Most dreamed initially of returning to the land after a few years of public work, but the rising land values which ac- �Industrialization and Social Change 41 companied industrial development soon pushed land ownership beyond the reach of the average miner or mill hand. Caught up in the social complex of the new industrial communities, many mountaineers found themselves unable to escape their condition of powerlessness and dependency. By coming to a coal mining town, the miner had exchanged the independence and somewhat precarious self-sufficiency of the family farm for subordination to the coal company and dependence upon a wage income. He lived in a company house; he worked in a company mine; and he purchased his groceries and other commodities from the company store. He sent his children to the company school and patronized the company doctor and the company church. The company deducted rent, school, medical and other fees from his monthly wage, and under the prevailing system of scrip, he occasionally ended the month without cash income. He had no voice in community affairs or working conditions, and he was dependent upon the benevolence of the employer to maintain his rate of pay. Socially, if not physically, the working class mountaineer was more isolated in his new situation than he had been on the family farm, for industrialization introduced rigid class distinctions into the highland culture.29 Traditional status distinctions had always existed, but there were few economic differences within the rural population. With the coming of the industrial age, however, the dichotomy between employer and employed became overt. In the company town the miners lived in small dwellings in the hollow near the tipple, but mine superintendents often built palatial structures high on the hillside overlooking the town. 30 Surrounded by elegant trees and well-kept grounds, these homes clearly defined the operator's social rank. In some communities the railroad track literally divided the town in two, separating the more substantial residences of the managing class from the miners' shacks. The social gap between the classes increased, moreover, as managers and professional personnel developed life styles and formal institutions different from those of the working class. By 1930, therefore, most mountaineers whether they remained on the farm or migrated to the mill villages, timber towns, or coal camps, had become socially integrated within the new industrial system, and economically dependent upon it as �42 Colonialism in Modern America well. To say the least, this dependence was not on their own terms—that is to say, it was not a product of mountain culture but of the same political and economic forces that were shaping the rest of the nation and the western world. The rise of industrial capitalism brought to Appalachia a period of rapid growth and social change which those who hold to the static image have chosen to ignore. The brief prosperity brought on by the bonanza that was capitalism broadened the mountaineer's economic horizon. It aroused aspirations, envies, and hopes. But the industrial wonders of the age promised more than they in fact delivered, for the profits taken from the rich natural resources of the region flowed out of the mountains with little return to the mountain people themselves. For a relative handful of owners and managers the new order yielded riches unimaginable a few decades before; for thousands of mountaineers it brought a life of struggle, hardship, and despair. Considered from this perspective, the persistent poverty of Appalachia has not resulted from the lack of modernization. Rather, it has come from the particular kind of modernization that unfolded in the years from 1880 to 1930. Earlier in this paper I quoted at length from Arnold Toynbee. I would like to end with a quotation from a native mountaineer who found another kind of barbarism at work in the Southern mountains. Writing in The Hills Beyond, Thomas Wolfe lamented the tragic changes that had come over his beloved homeland in the years after Reconstruction. "The great mountain slopes and forests of the section," he wrote, "had been ruinously detimbered; the farm-soil on the hillsides had eroded and washed down; high up, upon the hills, one saw the raw scars of old mica pits, the dump heaps of deserted mines. . . It was evident that a huge compulsive greed had been at work: the whole region had been sucked and gutted, milked dry, denuded of its rich primeval treasures; something blind and ruthless had been here, grasped and gone. The blind scars on the hills, the denuded slopes, the empty mica pits were what was left. . . . Something had come into the wilderness, and left the barren land. "31 �Industrialization and Social Change 43 NOTES author is indebted to the Rockefeller Foundation for research support on this subject. ^See Henry David Shapiro, "A Strange Land and Peculiar People: The Discovery of Appalachia, 1870-1920*' (unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, Rutgers University, 1966), pp. 250 ff., and Gratis Dearl Williams, "The Southern Mountaineer in Fact and Fiction" (unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, New York University, 1961), pp. 1605 ff. 3 Henry David Shapiro, "Introduction" to John C. Campbell, The Southern Highlander and His Homeland (Lexington, 1969), p. xxvi. ^"Shapiro, "A Strange Land and Peculiar People," p. v;see Shapiro's forthcoming monograph Appalachia on Our Mind: The Southern Mountains and Mountaineers in the American Consciousness, 1870-1920 (Chapel Hill, 1977). ^Woodrow Wilson, "Our Last Frontier," Berea Quarterly, Vol. 4, No. 2 (May, 1899), 5; William Goodell Frost, "Our Contemporary Ancestors in the Southern Mountains, "Atlantic Mo nthly, 83 (March, 1899), 311. ^Horace Kephart, Our Southern Highlanders (New York, 1913), p. 211. 7 Jarnes Watt Raine, The Land of Saddle-Bags (New York, 1924); James Watt Raine, Saddlebag Folk (Evanston, 1942); North Callahan, Smoky Mountain Country (Boston, 1952), p. 74. °Jack E. Weller, Yesterday's People: Life in Contemporary Appalacchia (Lexington 1965). ^Gratis Dearl Williams, "Heritage of Appalachia," address to the Southern Appalachian Regional Conference (May 13, 1974) reprinted in The Future of Appalachia (Boone, 1975), p. 128. �44 Colonialism in Modern America and Nancy Roberts, Where Time Stood Still: A Portrait of Appalachia (Boone, 1975), p. 128. 11 Arnold Toynbee, A Study of History (New York, 1947), II, 312. l^See Dwight Billings, "Culture and Poverty in Appalachia: A Theoretical Discussion and Empirical Analysis," Social Forces, 53 (December, 1974), 315-23; Stephen L. Fisher, "Folk Culture or Folk Tale: Prevailing Assumptions About the Appalachian Personality" (unpublished paper delivered at the Appalachian Symposium in honor of Gratis D. Williams, Appalachian State University, Boone, N.C., April, 1976); David S. Walls, "Three Models in Search of Appalachian Development: Critique and Synthesis" (unpublished paper, May, 1976, College of Social Professions, University of Kentucky, Lexington). 1* Roland Barthes, Mythologies, translated by Annette Lavers (New York, 1972), pp. 74-76. 14 Robert Redfield, Peasant Society and Culture (New York, 1960), p. 38. .S. Department of Interior, Census Office, The Tenth Census: 1880, Agricultural Statistics, Vol. Ill; U.S. Department of Commerce, Bureau of the Census, Fifteenth Census of the United States, 1930: Agriculture-. The Southern States, Vol. 2, Part 2. *"U.S. Department of Agriculture, Miscellaneous Publication No. 205, Economic and Social Problems and Conditions of the Southern Appalachians (Washington, D.C., 1935), p. 16; Lewis Cecil Gray, "Economic Conditions and Tendencies in the Southern Appalachians as Indicated by the Cooperative Survey," Mountain Life and Work, Vol. 9, No. 2 (July, 1933), 9. *'U.S. Department of Agriculture, Publ. No. 205, Economic and Social Conditions, pp. 3, 16. y, "Economic Conditions in the Southern Appalachians," p. 10; see also W. D. Nicholls, "A Research Approach to the Problems of Appalachia," Mountain Life and Work, Vol. 7, No. 10 (January, 1932), 5-8 and U.S. Department of Agriculture, Publ. No. 205, Economic and Social Conditions, pp. 41-57. 1°U.S. Department of Interior, Census Office, The Tenth Census: �Industrialization and Social Change 45 1880, Agricultural Statistics, Vol. Ill; U.S. Department of Commerce, Bureau of the Census, Fifteenth Census of the United States, 1930: Agriculture: The Southern States, Vol. 2, Part 2. , "Economic Conditions in the Southern Appalachians," p. 8; U.S. Department of Agriculture, Publ. No. 205, Economic and Social Conditions, pp. 120-121. . Congress, Senate, Report of the United States Coal Commission, Sen. Doc. 195, 68th Cong. 2d. sess., 1925, Table 14, p. 1467; U.S. Department of Commerce, Bureau of the Census, Thirteenth Census of the United States, 1910: Population, Vols. II and III. 2^See John Alexander Williams, "The New Dominion and the Old: Antebellum and Statehood Politics as the Background of West Virginia's 'Bourbon Democracy/ " West Virginia History, 33 (July, 1972), 322; Gordon Bartiett McKinney, "Mountain Republicanism, 1876-1900" (unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, Northwestern University, 1971), p. 170. 23 See Gordon B. McKinney, "Industrialization and Violence in Appalachia in the 1800's" (unpublished paper delivered at the Appalachian Symposium in Honor of Gratis D. Williams, Appalachian State University, Boone, N.C., April, 1976). "North Carolina Portion of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, Showing Individual Ownership," Western Carolina University, Archives, Hunter Library. Virginia, State Board of Agriculture, Fifth Biennial Report of the West Virginia State Board of Agriculture for the Years 1899 and 1900 (1900), p. 371. D. Miller, "Absentees Dominate Land Ownership," in Who Owns West Virginia? reprinted from the Herald-Advertiser and the HeraldDispatch (Huntington, 1974), pp. 1-3. 2' James Lane Allen, "Mountain Passes of the Cumberlands," Harper's Magazine, 81 (September, 1890), 575; Herbert Francis Sherwood, "Our Racist Drama," North American Review, 216 (October, 1922), 494; Campbell, The Southern Highlander, pp. 87, 314. ™U.S. Department of Agriculture, Publ. No. 205, Economic and Social Conditions, p. 3. �46 Colonialism in Modern America Edward E. Knipe and Helen M. Lewis, "The Impact of Coal Mining on the Traditional Mountain Subculture," in J. Kenneth Moreland, ed., The Not So Solid South: Anthropological Studies in a Regional Subculture (Athens, Georgia, 1971), p. 28. H. Gollenwater, "Cultural and Historical Geography of Mining Settlements in the Pocahontas Coal Field of Southern West Virginia, 1880 to 1930" (unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, University of Tennessee, 1972), p. 87; R. H. Lyman, "Coal Mining at Holden, West Virginia," The Engineering and Mining Journal, LII (December 15, 1906), 1171. 31 Thomas Wolfe, The Hills Beyond (New York, 1941), pp. 236-237. �by Rev. Jack It be at six to the The of me an ago 1P*OUP sponsoring their if in all to of six in the in a we In of the so Ever}7 in a on did I doing. "We to us, you," the Its to is the to us us we is we to us to be we get we too. it is for us, get to go Ate. 2 if Jw Is a a/ tie at He for i» /or �48 Colonialism in Modern America I suspect that America has several such colonies within her borders. Appalachia is its most prominent one. A colony, as I understand it, is a group of people with land and resources which are owned and/or controlled by persons other than themselves, and whose resources and productive capacities are used for the advantage of those who control them. Appalachia is simply our American example of how we use colonization powers in the economic realm all over the world. We strip an area and its people of their wealth under the guise of "developing" them, saying all the time of course that without this development look where they'd be. Yet in essence, we are robbing them of their wealth, impoverishing their people, controlling their economy, politics and people, meanwhile growing rich and powerful in the process. Minerals, Timber & Recreation Appalachia is indeed such a colony—a mineral colony, if you will—providing the energy to run the generators, steel mills, power plants, air conditioners, and can openers for an affluent nation while remaining poor itself. Appalachia is also a timber colony, a recreation colony, and an oil and gas colony. In Central Appalachia, coal is king. There are estimates that over one trillion dollars worth of this black gold has been mined from east Kentucky alone. But in this area, according to the 1960 census (the last one for which these figures are calculated), 6 of the 10 poorest counties in America lie. Perry County, where I live, the fifth highest coal-producing county in the state, can afford to pay only 14 percent of its public school bill. Letcher County, the third highest coal producer, can afford barely over 8 percent of its costs for the education of her children. Based on the 1970 census, in Pike County, the highest Kentucky mountain coal producer, the per capita income is little more than 40 percent of the national per capita, and other mountain counties range from that high point to 18 percent of the national per capita. �Appalachia: America s Mineral Colony 49 And, lest we think that coal makes everybody poor, note that Pikeville, Kentucky, a town of fewer than 5,000 people in the heart of the coal fields, has 38 millionaires living within its limits. Other county-seat coal towns have their share of the wealthy also. The Cadillacs and Continentals and Imperials are common vehicles in the mountains—along with the pickups and the refugees from the junk piles that are the vehicles of the common folk. What has happened in this spiny backbone of Eastern America, that while everyone else has shared the wealth of production, mountain people have been exiles from the American dream? How is it possible that this rugged land and its people have been by-passed, even though they exist within 600 miles of the giant industrial complexes of the North and Mid-West and are so directly connected with their productive capacities? Reduced to Ruin Answer: Appalachia is a colony which America has exploited. It is used, stripped of her wealth, raped and reamed and reduced to ruin, while those who gain their wealth from her invest their profits elsewhere and live elsewhere. Let's look at some of the factors involved. First, Appalachia lost the resources which might have made her rich. Before the turn of the century, giant hardwoods up to six and eight feet in diameter covered the hillsides. Timber agents from the cities were sent to purchase this rich resource to feed the voracious maw of an expanding economy. At this time, when ours was generally a money economy, the Appalachian person still lived in a barter society. He grew what he needed; he made what he needed; he traded for what he needed. So, when timber agents came to buy the trees on his mountains, he was offered 25 to 50 cents a tree for them, trees which on the present market would be worth several thousands of dollars. Perhaps he had a whole mountain side of them—1,000 or more, worth $500 maybe—more money than he had ever seen at one time, and more than he thought he'd ever need. He sold the trees, even helped get them out and floated down the river. The wealth that might have served his own economy went �50 Colonialism in Modern America instead to make someone else rich. Many fortunes were made in timber in Appalachia, and several large foundations now spread their beneficence back to the region in small amounts for its impoverished people. Granted, our economy runs on the basis of getting the best bargain you can. The Appalachian man wanted a bargain, too, as did those who bought the timber. The advantage lay with the outsider. He alone knew what the trees were worth and what money was all about, while the mountain man often did not. The same thing happened with the coal. Five to seven mineable seams of coal underlie much of Central Appalachia. The mountain people who owned the land and minerals did not use the coal. They did not know how much was there or how to get it out. They did not know what it was worth. When coal and land agents came to buy the coal, offering fifty cents to five dollars an acre for it, again the mountain man, who was probably poor and hurting for some ready cash, quickly sold it. Besides, he was a farmer using the surface of the land for his living, and when he was assured that he could keep the surface, that all he was selling was something underneath, he made the bargain. Again, that which might have made the people in the mountains rich now belonged to someone else. He sold for no more than five dollars an acre coal which was really worth a thousand dollars or more! What is more, he also lost the control of those surface rights. For years he paid taxes on that land surface only to find that mineral rights take precedence over surface rights, and strip mining 70 years after the deed was signed proved this fact. He found, too, that oil and gas prospectors could rip up his land, or that pipes could be laid over it. Thus, the mountaineer lost control of all his property. Out-Of-State Control I have some figures for Kentucky. The great majority of Kentucky's coal, over one million acres of it, is owned by out-ofstate companies. These are land companies, oil, steel, railroads, gas producers, utilities and other corporate giants with stockholders and commitments all over the world—Kennecott Copper, National Steel, Bethlehem Steel, Occidental Petroleum, Con- �Appalachia: A merica rs Mineral Colony 51 tinental Oil, Norfolk and Western Railroad. The director of the Area Development District where I live (Hazard, Kentucky) has often told me that no development is possible for our area until the coal industry is willing to relinquish some of its rights and powers in land ownership and control. The coal companies and the industry, by its very nature, discouraged education of its people at the very time when across America the drive for universal education came into its own. So, when mines shut down and those men tried to find work elsewhere, no one would have them. Educational attainment levels among adults in Appalachia are four years below the national average—another toll exacted from Appalachians people. Harry Caudill, author of Night Comes to the Cumberland, tells of the annual contributions of the Penn-Virginia Coal Company to a Philadelphia art museum. Philadelphians no doubt pride themselves on having such a fine beneficent citizen-company in their midst. But why doesn't this company do something for the communities and people and area from which their wealth came? It was this company which, according again to Mr. Caudill, returned some 60 percent profit to its stockholders a few years ago. Come visit the community in Kentucky sometime which bears the name and stamp of this company, and see if you would like to live there! Mine Unsafely Beyond these brief remarks is the long, brutal tale of mine unsafety: the playing with death by companies anxious for coal, and the playing of politics with the federal laws and regulations and inspectors. Even the United Mine Workers union has its history of betrayal and promises broken. Coal is an industry with a black past, and everything it touches seems to be blackened. The third factor to consider is the neglect of government in Appalachia. It is almost as if this were a forgotten area of the states involved, or as if these people and this land and this society were of some lower form of life different from the rest and not deserving of the same level of services which the rest of the states get. It was not until the year 1956 that the state of Kentucky assumed responsibility for the education of her children in the �52 Colonialism in Modern America mountains. Previous to that time, churches and other outside groups provided the education for them. When I moved to east Kentucky in 1965, for nearly 700,000 people living in those mountains there was not a single psychiatrist, psychologist, or psychiatric social worker. It didn't mean that our people had no mental illness—only that they toughed it out. Nor was there any work with retarded children, youth or adults, in spite of the fact that our retardation rate is over double the national rate. Hospital beds were less available than elsewhere. There is one doctor across the nation for every 630 people. In the area of Hazard seven years ago, there was one doctor for every 10,000 people, and the administrator of the Appalachian Hospital called it a "medical disaster area." In terms of roads, again neglect. In this year, 1973, there is not yet one major modern highway across Southern Appalachia, while across the Rockies, which are real mountains in comparison, there are many. Little Federal Help Even the federal government shows a picture of neglect. Fewer dollars per capita flow into Appalachia for education, welfare, construction of public facilities, and recreation than into other areas across the nation. Tennessee Valley Authority (TVA), the federal agency whose mandate it is to bring to life the valley of the Tennessee River, has for years felt that in doing so it had the right to destroy other valleys in Appalachia in order to get coal for cheap power to its people and industries. The worst offenders in eastern Kentucky in terms of the wholesale destruction of the land and people and streams have been the companies supplying TVA power plants, companies supposedly hewing to the line of their reclamation policies. Just last May, Senator Fred Harris came to visit eastern Kentucky strip mines, to meet with people, and to hold a hearing. One of the environment control and reclamation men from �Appalachia: America's Mineral Colony 53 TVA was there. He read a fine statement of how TVA had such high standards for land reclamation. Senator Harris exploded. "No man has the right to do to another man what I have seen today. But what is worse, I find that an agency of our own government is doing it," he said. Perhaps it is not right to say that government at all levels has also exploited the mountains and their people. But, it is right to say that government has allowed this exploitation, encouraged it, and approved it. And no agency of government has lifted its voice to change it. The record of the Corps of Engineers in the mountains is not bright in their dealings with people needing to be relocated because of dams. People have been offered a low sum for their property by the Corps and then told if they think it is not enough to take the matter to court. Most mountain families, too poor and inexperienced to hire a lawyer and go into courts, take the route of accepting the low offer. The fourth factor is the worst for us: The church has exploited, too. In Appalachia, as elsewhere in the world, the church has pretty much put its stamp of approval on the "status quo" of exploitation. At one of our Orientation Seminars for new pastors, Harry Caudill said: "You church people put schools all through this area. Rich folk in Pittsburgh and New York reached down in their pockets to make schools for our children, yet daily these children looked out their windows and saw the wealth which was leaving here in those coal cars, but nobody ever asked why. And out of those schools came some of the most reactionary and socially insensitive leaders we have in the mountains today." Harry Caudill is caustic sometimes. Maybe he was judging yesterday by today's sensitivities. But there is much truth to what he says. The church and its leaders have seldom been among those who have stood up to be counted against exploitation. The people in the church have not been the seers and the prophets, in spite of the Gospel in their hearts. A leader in a southeast Kentucky housing group told a group of Orientation pastors that she no longer attended church. She said: "If I could ever find a people there who cared as much for the people around them as they did for the Kings of Israel I might go back." �54 Colonialism in Modern America I don't want to overdraw this. There are churchmen in the mountains, lay and clergy, who are at the forefront of the struggle for justice in the hills, but mostly we are a pretty quiet and peaceable group who do not ripple the waters much. Jim Branscome a Berea college graduate, former director of "SOK," an anti-strip mine group, and now at Highlander Center, says that he feels one of the worst things about the Appalachian institutional church and its colleges is that they remove what anger there is in the souls of those they capture. "Our colleges and churches," he says, "are in the business to contribute to the preservation of society without opposing it, without training their people to place a question mark alongside everything that society does, thus blaspheming both education and Christ. They have contributed to one of the most fundamental dilemmas of modern civilization: It is without the preserving aspects of opposition." As the church, we must hear what this young man is saying to us. The charge that can be laid most at the door of the church is cultural imperialism. We have come into Appalachia and have tried to make its people into patterns made by the rest of the country. For example, the Presbyterians have a series of churches across the region with a Madison Avenue architect's idea of what a mountain church should look like—log cathedrals with stained glass and organs that match the culture about as well as evening dresses and high-heeled shoes. Rather than affirm the mountain person for what he was, we looked down at him and tried to make him something else closer to our own expectations for ourselves. On occasion I receive letters from people across the nation, asking if it isn't about time now to quit these many government programs with high expenditures in Appalachia. After all, we've done them long enough. Since the region does not seem to respond, let's spread our American charity somewhere else. Let's make it clear, however, that these federal dollars spent in Appalachia are not charity! They are justice—belated justice at that—giving back to this region a tiny portion of the wealth it has produced for our country. And, lest we think it to be such munificence (that word means just a whole lot), remember that �Appalachia: America s Mineral Colony 55 the expenditures of the Appalachian Regional Commission in the 13-state area which contains over 18 million people in the first 7 years of its existence have totalled less than we spent in Viet Nam in one month at the height of the war. The church must keep our nation's "feet to the fire" about Appalachia. Somehow we must cry aloud for justice, and do justice, and teach justice in our midst. Somehow we must help each other kick off the paternalism that so easily besets the church. Somehow we must do all we can to empower Appalachian people themselves, so they can have a piece of the decisions about their own destiny. There must be a new burst of energy by the church for the health of the Region. Jack Weller, author of Yesterday's People: Life in Contemporary Appalachia, is minister at large for the Presbyterian Church, Transylvania Presbytery. He lives in Hazard, Kentucky. �This page intentionally left blank �THE IMPACT OF RECREATIONAL DEVELOPMENT ON PIONEER LIFE STYLES IN SOUTHERN APPALACHIA by the pioneer as of it for to of a the the is life on is of of & or we is of the At the of by the in the it is life life first or we to the is has to the we are by the in a to the to to to of life as a on in the a is is an is of the the in Iff iwtf we for tbff the 23 at �58 Colonialism in Modern America tion that effective preservation of the Appalachian pioneer life style must demand a human continuance, a cultural transfer from parent to child, automatically excluding those who would become mountaineers by purchasing second homes or retirement homes within the Appalachian region. And though we applaud the efforts of those who would preserve Appalachia by making records of the ballads and the folklore, by creating craft centers for the teaching of spinning, weaving, needlecraft, and woodwork, we must distinguish clearly between cultural repositories and living cultures. Who the original pioneers were in the Southern Appalachian realm is not absolutely known, for ancient peoples had been in the area long before the Cherokees came. But the Cherokees likely pioneered in introducing a different and more advanced existence. They were probably the first farmers, though they were still highly dependent on hunting and gathering. A new pioneer element came in the form of the European hunter and trapper, closely followed by the permanent home-building, subsistence-seeking English farmers (along with some Scotch, Irish, French, and Germans), who with their more extensive clearing and cultivation of the land came in conflict with the land-use practices of the natives who were still highly dependent on hunting for their subsistence. There was much in the Appalachians to appeal to the European pioneers. Some alluvial bottomland was to be found in almost every valley, and the soils there were deep and fertile. The slopes were covered with some of the world's best hardwood forests which sheltered a variety of game and provided, in addition to the needed timber, supplies of fruits, nuts, berries, and medicinal herbs. Sparkling clear streams fed by an abundance of permanent springs provided excellent fishing. Small pockets of iron ore were widespread, along with constantly available wood for charcoal, and the multiplicity of forges and furnaces is reflected in names of communities throughout the region. (Graham's Forge and Laurel Bloomery are two nearby southwest Virginia examples.) And the almost complete isolation from the main paths of movement in the Mountain South demanded a high degree of self-reliance, whether in meeting economic needs or in maintaining effective social and political control. The European life style established in the latter part of the �The Impact of Recreational Development On Pioneer Life Styles 59 18th century, like that of the Cherokee whom the Europeans replaced, represented a remarkably good adaptation to the natural environment in which they both lived. Though there were excesses in pioneer land use, such as clearing slopes of timber which was not effectively usable for agriculture or removing trees for fuel which would now be worth small fortunes as cabinet woods (they were weeds to them,for there was no existing market), there was established an essential ecological balance between man and the land which was maintained fairly effectively up until the early part of the present century. And though the population growth was constant, the high birth rates were largely offset by a high death rate and by an outmigration which has increased greatly in this century. Life in the Southern Appalachians remained so unchanged and unchanging up to the present century that Cecil Sharp, an English folklorist visiting the region in 1917, suggested that a fence should be built around the whole province to keep outside influences from altering the culture. Mr. Sharp's concern was timely, for already other pioneers were at work, and this work would alter the landscape in profound ways, undermining in the process the economic framework by which the mountain people lived. These were the corporate-based coal mining and lumbering operations which brought the first easy means of access to the region, the branch railroad lines, designed to remove the rich extractive products found in abundance. And while the overall impact of these operations has left and is leaving this land in a deplorable state, much has already been written about these developments; consequently, we wish to focus our attention on what is a more present danger to mountain life and culture, a danger which has the possibility of becoming even more totally destructive. The new pioneer in the mountains is the developer of tourist and recreational facilities, and of the more modern invaders, he appears to have the most disturbing influence on the traditional way of life. Like the exploiter of coal and timber, this multifaced monster is also corporate in nature with controlling interests based largely ouside the mountain. And like the earlier invaders, he paints a glowing picture of the economic progress he will bring to the areas affected. The unrevealed story is the fact that the long-range economic benefits (which may still be substantial) go to local business interests associated more or less directly with him. For the majority of the people the �60 Colonialism in Modern America economic impacts are more negative than positive. During the major building period construction jobs become available; but after facilities are completed, more or less permanent jobs (often seasonal) are available as clerks, waiters and waitresses, cooks, and maintenance personnel.1 Total employment by recreational developments is never large and wages are low, lower generally than in other economic activities, and lower here than in other parts of the country. Locals not associated with the developments often seek to improve their income by selling farm produce to slightly expanded local markets; and others may start turning out local craft items such as quilts, bedspreads, and a variety of toys and trinkets. The primary direct economic impact is and has been to introduce a job orientation no longer directly associated with the land and to shift the local economy farther away from the self-sustaining pattern of the past. This effect in itself is not bad except that it serves to undermine the spirit of independence so long characteristic of the mountain people and places them in a position of almost perpetual subordination to the outside dominated financial manipulators, more firmly cementing the status of inferiority imposed upon mountain people by the rest of the nation. The imposition of a more complete money economy with mass produced products available has led to the abandonment of many crafts and traditions followed in the past.2 The water-turned grist mills have all but disappeared, and local farmers no longer try to meet basic food needs from the farm. The wooden churn, a standard household item a generation ago (for then all farm households supplied their own butter), is an item of value now only in the antique shops. Most home orchards have been allowed to deteriorate or disappear, and even the family garden is often limited to the more basic items. The introduction of improved communications and effective advertising has created a town-centered social focus to replace farm or hamlet oriented activities of the earlier period. In the past each rural community regularly held barn dances, quilting bees, corn huskings, molasses makings, and numerous other activiteis which served as strong human-based social outlets. Now, the lure of the town with its theaters, sports activities, and overabundance of tourist traps draws locals as well as visitors into the city limits. To suggest that all of this was caused by the recreational developer would obviously be to stretch a point, but the leisure-time activities which are development centered have helped shift the interests of natives away from the home, farm, and local community. Locals who got together to �The Impact of Recreational Development On Pioneer Life Styles 61 pitch horeshoes now spend their weekends around the town. Far more profound than the creation of alternative economic outlets for mountain people or Appalachian life styles has been the alteration of the human mix caused by recreation complex developers. Tourism of the earlier period in Appalachia generally demanded little land, most of which was in the towns or on the town margins. Those of the more recent period demand vast acreages, incorporating second home developments into new major recreational complexes with ski slopes, golf courses, fishing streams, swimming pools, hiking and saddle trails, and even such unmountaineer-like attractions as racquet clubs. Some examples of new North Carolina developments were reported in January, 1973, by the Asheville Citizen* Included were the "un-city" development of Connestee Falls (Realtec Incorporated) encompassing 3,900 acres, with sales to date of over 13 million dollars; Wolf Laurel, a 6,000-acre resort featuring a central core of authentic rebuilt native log cabins and including in addition to homes and homesites, a rustic inn, a golf course, an excellent restaurant, and ski slopes; and Arrowhead Hideaways on Flattop Mountain, a 1,000-acre development just begun in 1972. Research into the control of major tourist and recreational complex developments tells something about where the profits go. In the writer's home country of Watauga and Avery counties in North Carolina, the massive Beech Mountain and Land Harbor developments are controlled by the Carolina-Caribbean Corporation with home offices in Miami. Peter Barnes and Larry Casalino in a book entitled Who Owns the Land have found among the major developers the names of DuPont, Continental Oil, General Electric, IT&T, Standard Oil, Gulf Oil, CBS, Eastman Kodak, and Firestone.4 And the number of land purchases seems to be growing geometrically with each year. One corporation, the General Development Corporation, is reported to control more than 200,000 acres of land (slightly less than an average-sized Virginia county). And most disturbing to a native Appalachian is the fact that the area of most rapid takeover is the relatively unspoiled and most culturally distinctive parts of the mountain South. Purchasing operations are economic blitzkriegs. Buyers from these large corporations move into rural mountain areas and suddenly offer prices for land which unsuspecting natives find difficult to refuse. The prices offered �62 Colonialism in Modern America are in truth inflated in comparison to the value of the land in its traditional subsistence or semi-subsistence farm use (which, for most, form the base of their understanding of land values). Many sell; then they find that land values overall have gone up radically, so they either must give up their former way and become menials for the developer or, as is often the case, they leave the community altogether. Even those who are determined to retain their land find that its value has become so inflated that it is no longer practical to use it for farming, so either they become developers themselves or they sell to the developer.5 The effect on the human population over recent years has been to replace the natives with "new" mountaineers—mountaineers without a real attachment to the land whose demands or expectations have tended to be in conflict with rather than in harmony with the mountain habitat. Their automobiles, motorcycles, and the service vehicles required to meet their more elaborate demands clog the mountain roads and disturb the rural quiet with the roar of their engines. Their ski slopes have cut huge slashes in the natural cover of the most attractive mountains, and the most appealing trails and associated vistas suddenly become off-limits to the people who have always lived here. In fairness to the private recreation-residential developers, they see their role as that of making more effective use of land that had little economic value before, not realizing that through their massive developments they are working to destroy most of the characteristics of appeal in the mountain setting. Their cluttering of the landscape with broad highways, ski slopes, parking lots, shopping centers, right-of-ways for the likes of Tweetsie, and buildings ranging from Swiss chalets to pink fairy-tale castles, is making the physical landscape no longer alluring. Those elements of the mountain culture which provided the human appeal are often retained only as museum pieces in settlement schools or as show-place remnants such as in Cades Cove, Tennessee. And once gone, Appalachian culture cannot be recreated even by the most gargantuan human efforts. It might be noted that the federal and state governments have paralleled the private developer and often have cooperated with him in the onslaught against the mountain man and his culture. Cooperation between the Appalachian Regional Commission and the state of West Virginia removed several thousand acres of the most beautiful part of West Virginia from private control and created the multi-million dollar Pipestem recreation complex. The result �The Impact of Recreational Development On Pioneer Life Styles 63 is a lodge and combination of tourist cabins which the average West Virginian, certainly one native to the Pipestem area, could not possibly afford to use; and moreover, according to Don West, a native of Pipestem, the concession to operate the complex did not remain in the hands of West Virginians but was given to a Chicago firm. In 1931, Margaret Hitch ("Life in a Blue Ridge Hollow") noted that the development of the Shenandoah National Park had resulted in a displacement (against their will) of the local people, forcing them to move elsewhere! She commented that 4 'within another decade a new era will have begun and the day of the Blue Ridge mountaineer will have passed."6 We might note that more than a decade has passed since her prophecy was made and the mountaineer is still around, but the forces which are seemingly seeking the eradication of him and his culture push relentlessly forward. The development of the Mt. Rogers National Recreational Area represents another giant stride toward that end. In addition to the hundreds of thousands of acres involved in the original purchase, it was recently announced that the Forest Service intends to purchase an additional 23,000 or so acres. In physical and human terms it means the removal from private hands of parts of three of the most attractive mountain valleys in southwest Virginia, converting them into a complex which would greatly exceed that of the Pipestem development noted above. And as in the case of Pipestem, no preference will be given to local or even Virginia concerns in the granting of concessions to operate within the area. In this case the government goes the private developer one better in that the land desired can be condemned at prices representing only a fraction of its worth for recreational purposes and even less than fair value in terms of present use.7 It is inappropriate to suggest that the land-purchasing agents for government-owned recreational developments are intentionally being unethical or dishonest. What does appear to be the case is that they are attempting to purchase land at what might have been a fair price at the time the original land purchases were made for the National Recreation Area several years ago. Prices of all Appalachian land have increased tremendously since that time, and if the land must be claimed, the price should reflect the going rate at the time it is sold. Perhaps more appropriately, �64 Colonialism in Modern America the seller should be paid enough to assure his acquiring of living conditions equal to those he is forced to give up. Unless this is assured, the Forest Service or those representing it are not dealing ethically or honestly with the people. One of the more compelling arguments which could be used by those who would develop Appalachia as a major recreational center for the nation is the concept that land should be used in such a way as to provide the maximum benefit for the greatest number of people for the longest period of time. And certainly the displacement of a few hundred people by the recently proposed Mt. Rogers acquisition or even the displacement of the few thousands (or perhaps ten thousands) by recreation complexes throughout the mountain South is much overshadowed by the growing millions who use the region for rest and relaxation. However, there are other principles involved which have been dear to the hearts of Americans from the beginning of the nation: the principles encompassing the rights of the individual to own land and to the pursuit of happiness. These individual rights are on trial now more than at any time in American history, and in reality it is not the question of the greatest benefit to the greatest number of people. For the recreational complexes that are now being created are luxury complexes which only a privileged few (the 15 to 20 percent who own the bulk of the nation's wealth) can really afford to enjoy. And if the individual rights of the masses continue to be violated for the benefit of these privileged few, then the whole principle of individual freedom is in question. With regard more specifically to the culture impacts of the recreational developments in Appalachia, the more profound tragedy is that the last and most appealing islands of pioneer Elizabethan culture in the world have become the victims of that most infectious of American diseases, so-called "progress." There are still others who would suggest that the recreation developers are in reality doing more to preserve pioneer life in Southern Appalachia than the natives themselves by taking land which is subject to overcrowding and poor use by the natives and putting it to more productive use. They point out that pioneer styles are preserved in the rustic external structure of the second homes or vacation cabins, in the replica rail fences and water wheels, and in the much promoted mountain music festivals. But �The Impact of Recreational Development On Pioneer Life Styles 65 when one goes beneath the surface, the life style of the secondhome or summer-home owner is not a life style resembling in any way that of the mountaineer he replaces (notwithstanding the frequent exhortations of roadside advertisers for those passing through to become "mountaineers" by buying lots on English Mountain). His "cabin" with the rustic exterior of the earlier mountain home will be equipped with every appliance, including electric heat. And though he may wear the battered hat and overalls of the much caricatured mountain man, he would be hard pressed to hand tool a baby crib or cut his grass with a scythe. Nor would his wife be likely to know how to card or spin or hand weave a piece of cloth from the homespun. And philosophically the gap becomes broader, for generally the newcomer (outlander) is material oriented and accustomed to manipulating man and the land for profit; on the other hand, the mountain life style, though not shiftless as many would suggest, focuses primarily on meeting the basic human needs of food, clothing, and shelter. The new mountaineer must constantly be doing something, from moving the rocks in his rock garden to replacing the natural foliage with that of his choosing (often clashing horribly with the natural landscape), much to the amusement of the native who without benefit of training in meditation can spend hours on end in contemplative observation of the wonders of nature around him. It is probably true that most mountain people are fatalistic, particularly with regard to the natural events which affect their lives, and death is and has been viewed simply as a natural occurrence, even the death that he sees occurring around him. The Appalachian mountaineer is a product of a cultural heritage which is Elizabethan in origin but which has been modified by the human and physical environment in which he has lived for so long. This is reflected in his speech, his folklore, his ballads, his attitudes toward man and the land, and the harmonious relationship that exists between him and the natural setting he occupies. To assume that he could remain an unchanged element in the mountain setting with communicative inroads penetrating the region on all fronts is not realistic, and no one native to the mountains would want it to be that way. However, it is of major concern and within the realm of possibility that certain desirable Appalachian traits be retained by keeping those born Appalachian as the dominant element within the mountain �66 Colonialism in Modern America region. Also, by developing and encouraging among them (or us—for I am one of them) a pride in their heritage, something of their rich past may be retained or even strengthened. Though many assume, perhaps correctly, that it is too late to protect Appalachian culture from the devastation wrought by massive recreational developments, there is still some hope that at least important remnants of Appalachian culture may be preserved. However, the very nature of the native's personality seems to work against it. It would appear that effective local and regional land planning would be the best avenue, but the highly independent mountain people see this as a socialistic invasion of their individual rights, not recognizing that the basic purpose of planning and zoning would be to protect them against those who have exploited them in the past and will likely continue to do so in the future. From the perspective of the native looking at his native land, the following are offered as possible approaches to the problems we have noted. (1) More extensive wilderness areas should be set aside with the absolute exclusion of developmental enterprises while at the same time assuring those peoples living within such areas the right of continued occupation. (2) Regional and local planning agencies, in establishing zoning ordinances, should seek to assure that conditional use permits be required for all major recreational, commercial, and industrial developments. Public hearings for any such proposed development should be required. (Exclusion might include family or individually operated shops, service stations, home businesses, etc.) (3) Zoning regulations should be established which would require all developments to be cleared by a responsible environmental protection agency. This is particularly needed in all areas of massive minerals exploitation, massive industrial development, massive housing developments, and in many types of recreation developments (such as in areas where ski slopes are planned). (4) Zoning regulations should be established which would �The Impact of Recreational Development On Pioneer Life Styles 67 protect good farmland against the economic developer seeking to follow the path of lowest cost. (5) Lot size limitations should be established in all areas being developed. This action would work against the messy clustering of business establishments in narrow valleys and along roads which can handle only limited traffic. (6) Rigid controls over size and placement of billboards, glaring roadside lights, and other manifold roadside promotion devices should be established. (7) There should be a reappraisal of priorities for land use in the entire Appalachian region, with serious consideration given to development of legal devices which would provide protection of the native population against the multiple onslaughts of corporate interests. First in order would be the provision of a publicly supported legal aid system to counter that which corporations are able to employ. Such a provision is desperately needed now by those whose property is being condemned by the Forest Service in the Mt. Rogers National Recreation Area, for they do not have financial resources to fight the actions in the courts. (8) There should be legal provisions against the replacement of scenic mountain roads with "drive through" super highways directed toward benefitting the outside visitor. (9) Broadly, a more conscious effort should be made to protect and preserve the rights of the individual against the desires of big business and big government whose primary aim with regard to the Appalachians appears to have been the making of its natural beauty and resources more effectively exploitable by interests which come from outside, and who, by comparison with the natives, can afford to pay well for services provided. �68 Colonialism in Modern America NOTES *At a recent hearing relative to acquisition of additional land for park development by the Forest Service, people in the Helton Creek area adjacent to the Mt. Rogers National Recreational Area asked an official what economic benefits would come to the local people by an expansion of the area. After pondering the question a moment he replied, "Well, the campers coming in are going to want quite a bit of wood for their campfires." ^There have been a number of efforts to revive the traditional crafts, but craftsmanship gained earlier by a youngster at the foot of a craftsman father cannot be regained just because a market develops. Crafts schools have been established, but these are seen regionally as museums of the past rather than as vocational institutions where young men and women can develop economically valuable skills. There are a few true craftsmen operating in the tradition of the past, but these make up a very insignificant part of the total Southern Appalachian population. ^ Nancy Brower, "Recreational, Residential Developments Had a Big Year," Asheville Citizen, January 28, 1973. ^Peter Barnes and Larry Casalino, Who Owns the Land? Center for Rural Studies, Berkeley, California, 1972. ^There are numerous examples of tourist-recreational-residential impacts. The writer's sister bought 100 acres of land overlooking Boone, N.C. in the 1950's for $7,000.00 and sold 80 acres of it three years later for $10,000.00. The DuPont Corporation which now controls the 80 acres is selling homesites for $5,000.00 and up. The 20 acres still in the former owner's control is now valued at more than $80,000.00. Alfred McNeill, who lives well outside the Boone-Blowing Rock focus of development, reported in the summer of 1973 that his rough mountain land had gone up in sale value from less than $100 an acre in 1960 to a present value of more than $1,000 an acre. Like many others he would prefer to continue to farm but now is beginning to wonder how long he can continue in the face �The Impact of Recreational Development On Pioneer Life Styles 69 of increasing land values and associated increases in taxes. "Margaret Hitch, "Life in a Blue Ridge Hollow," Journal of Geography, Vol. XXX, November 1931, 308-322. 'The largest number of people to be displaced will be in the Helton Creek area of Smyth County. The writer recently visited the community and talked with a number of the local residents whose land is being sought. Some have already sold at what would appear to be less than fair market value, and far less than what they will have to pay for comparable living situations, and certainly only a fraction of the real value of the land in the light of the recreational development now planned. Charles Blevins owns 8l/2 acres, much of it good bottom land, and has a good frame house on it along with a number of other outbuildings. The small farm provides essentially all his food needs and a head or two of cattle for sale. The price offered by the Forest Service was $7,300, which would appear to be about one-third replacement value, discounting, of course, the esthetic worth of the mountain setting. There is a fish pond on the place for which Mr. Blevins had recently been offered $12,000. Mr. Blevins also reported that he had sold one acre of hill land within the last year for $1,000. In talking with others in the valley it would appear that the going rate offered by the Mt. Rogers land appraisers is around $200 an acre. There are few acres anywhere within the developing Appalachians with land values less than $1,000 an acre. �This page intentionally left blank �1973 Sir of 56 Sir O, it is To it is a to it a /or Act II, As a are no of the as the The In the of the of Ltd., a is the for of the are are "strip the and deof the are to fif us it of a in of the in May 16, 1) on �72 Colonialism in Modern America The American Association, Ltd. controls about 65,000 acres—over one hundred square miles—of coal-rich land in the Appalachian Mountains of Kentucky and Tennessee. This region is famous for a sad paradox: human misery and abject poverty atop and amidst some of the world's most abundant mineral deposits. The explanation is regrettably simple. Appalachia is a colony. The people there do not own the wealth. Large outside corporations like the American Association do. And the prime, almost exclusive, concern of these corporations has been to exploit the region at the lowest possible cost to themselves. Most of your company's holdings—about 50,000 acres—lie in the isolated "Clear Fork Valley" in Claiborne, Campbell, and Bell counties. Clear Fork is one of the most populated remaining valleys in the coal areas of Central Appalachia, with about 500700 households in the communities of Fonde, Pruden, Hamblintown, Clairfield, Buffalo, and Straight Creek. Your company owns perhaps 85 percent of the valley there. In this remote valley, the American Association has displayed corporate profitseeking at its worst. It has permitted wanton and destructive "strip mining''—mining by blasting and scraping away the surface instead of tunneling into a coal deposit. Once-beautiful mountains are now scarred and gouged; foliage is razed; streams are clogged and filled with acid and filth; the inhabitants are endangered by landslides, floods, and polluted water. The difference between what strip mining is doing to the land in Appalachia and what B-52 bombers have done to the land in Southeast Asia is one of degree, not of kind. And while carting away over 2.2 million tons of coal per year, leaving the region that much poorer, and in ruin, the American Association and the companies to which it leases have virtually ignored the needs of the residents there. They have avoided their fair share of the local tax burden. They have presided over the destruction of job opportunities. They have even blocked the efforts of the local citizens to better their own lot. Idealism and good intentions—spiced, albeit, with a goodly dose of empire and profits—propelled your firm into Appalachia in the early 1890's. Backed by capital from Britain's Baring Brothers, the American Association founded a town called Middlesboro (after a British counterpart) in the state of Ken- �Ralph Nader Letter 13 tucky and set out to make it the booming iron and coal capital of the southern United States. The venture was to strike a bold new phase in British enterprise and in Anglo-American relations. "This is but a transfer of British business to American soil/' proclaimed American Association founder Alexander Arthur on November 11, 1890, to visiting dignitaries in the newly-resplendent Middlesboro Hall. He went on: I would say that America needs this place and our Anglo-American money, experience and push. Our mines, ovens, furnaces and works you have seen; these comprise our plant. We have also the sinews of body and of money and stand ready, clean-cut, and vigorous, for a generation of progress and success in manufacture, arts, and sciences. Come and join hands with us in the great enterprise which is worthy of the noblest efforts of us all, native or foreign born though we may be. [emphasis supplied] But misfortune, greed, and highly questionable dealings soon shipwrecked the hoped-for "noblest efforts." The financial panic of 1893 dried up the venture's British backing; Middlesboro was sold at auction, and 80,000 acres of mountain and valley land were mortgaged to the Central Trust Co. of New York for $1,500,000. Then a strange thing happened. The Central Trust filed to recover on the mortgage in 1894, and one J. H. Bartlett was appointed Special Commissioner to conduct the sale. Mr. Bartlett let the property go for but $25,000—about thirty cents per acre. The buyer was, of all people, an agent of the American Association, Ltd., a newly-formed corporation with essentially the same membership as the American Association, Inc. Shortly thereafter, Mr. J. H. Bartlett became General Manager of American Association, Inc. The American Association, Inc. said later that the land had been worth well over one-half million dollars at the time of the sale. This strange transaction did not go unnoticed. Creditors of the American Association, Ltd. sued the new American Association, Inc. in Claiborne County for "fraud/ 1 claiming it had "paid nothing for said property." But the records of this suit went up in flames with the Claiborne County Courthouse. And researchers could find no trace of the suit at the Bell County Courthouse. �74 Colonialism in Modern America The Association had acquired its Appalachian Coal empire through means its founder Mr. Arthur and you might not wish to label a "transfer of British business to American soil." Most records of the era are either missing or else were burned with the county courthouse. But the region is alive with tales of how American Association agents tricked, threatened, or forced uneducated mountain people into giving up their valuable coal land for fifty cents to a dollar an acre. Said one mountaineer recently: The American Association said the land was worthless and that they would give my daddy a dollar an acre and we could live on the land and pay rent and they would pay the taxes. We didn't know it but we were standing barely 4' from a seam of coal when the American Association was talking to us. Local residents say that when the property records burned with the Courthouse, the American Association used the chance to claim property that wasn't theirs. At first, self-interest bound the American Association, and the coal operators to which it leases, to a sort of uneasy truce with the people of the region. The companies needed men to dig the coal out of the large deep mines. So they had to provide these men and their families with a pkce to live and at least a minimal level of human services. Usually this level was indeed minimal. The miners and their families lived often in indecent conditions and worked in hazard-trap mines. And they were virtual serfs to the companies that employed them and owned everything around them^their home, their credit at the company store, health care and recreation in the company town, even "justice" at the company-controlled courthouse. In the 1930's your company, along with others, tried to keep these miners from joining a union that could stand up for their rights. Yet, despite all this, the need for able, willing bodies to mine the coal made the American Association and its cohorts show some concern for the region and its people. But the cord that had kept this uneasy truce together has broken. Mining coal no longer requires people. In fact, people just get in the way. Your company has expressed the desire to rid the area of residents. It will no longer repair homes, and it �Ralph Nader Letter 75 plans to tear them down in the near future. Yet there is little other housing or even property on which to build housing. Depopulation has replaced paternalism as official corporate policy. "The people would be better off, and we would be better off, if they would be off our land," said Mr. Alvaredo E, Funk, the American Association's General Manager in Middlesboro, Kentucky. It began in the 1950's, when a coal market slump forced many coal operators to close down. Medium-sized independent operators, like those that lease much American Association land, were especially affected. Employment in the region dropped sharply. In 1952 there were 1,230 coal mining jobs in Claiborne County; but in 1958 there were but 282. Your company made no effort to provide other sources of employment for the men thrown out of work. Since the 1950's, the market for coal has revived. More than revived. It is positively bullish. But bullish for the American Association and other coal owners and operators, not for the people of the region where you get the coal. Automation and strip mining have cut drastically the need for miners. At the single large deep mine left on your property, that of Consolidation Coal, 350 men with modern machinery turn out about as much coal as 1,500 men produced at nine mines in 1948. And men are even more dispensable in strip mining. In Claiborne County alone, 200 men can now blast and bulldoze out almost as much coal as 1,500 deep-miners could dig in 1948. Today with the need for local labor gone, a sort of undeclared warfare has broken loose. The companies to whom you lease are making an unchecked assault upon the land, and in consequence, on its people. Is it hyperbole to compare your company's presence in Appalachia to a war zone? Consider the evidence. 1. Environmental Destruction Irresponsible strip mining on your lands in Tennessee �76 Colonialism in Modern America harkens dismally of the laying-waste-to-the-land strategies of bygone generals. As you know, a strip miner literally blasts away the sides or top of a mountain. He then bulldozes the debris over the side, and shovels out the coal. The process is fast, cheap, and destructive in the extreme. Landslides block roads and railways, destroy homes and farmlands, and imperil human beings. The blasting alone has cracked the frames and foundations of homes. Streams, choked with silt and debris, flood at the slightest rainfall, leaving harmful deposits on scarce fertile soils. Acid ancj mineral substances pollute the water and endanger the area's water supply. "We are afraid to go to sleep when it rains. We just stay up all night," says one Tennessee resident whose property these floods have ruined. In the Clear Fork Valley, some people must boil their water and add chlorine to it to make it safe to drink. And the Campbell County Highway Department has had to spend thousands of dollars clearing a single road after continual landslides. Is this the experience of people in peace or in war? Your company, the American Association, currently hosts more strip mining operations than does any other landowner in Tennessee. On your Claiborne County property alone, strippers laid waste to about 3,000 acres before the State passed a law in 1967 requiring that the land be restored. Since then, 1,400 more acres on your land have been stripped, and the reclamation is questionable at best, despite the new law. 2. Tax Evasion While their mineral wealth is literally carted out from under them, the people of this region pay, in measurable and immeasurable ways, for this destruction. State and local governments have to clear the roads after landslides and both roads and bridges after illegally overweight coal trucks have beaten them apart. The people pay for this through taxes and through their own efforts to undo the damage to their homes and property. Yet not only do they get little or nothing, not even jobs, in return, but your company also avoids its duty to pay taxes to meet the costs of local government. �Ralph Nader Letter 77 In the United States, local governments depend mainly on property taxes. Especially in Appalachia, where coal is the major form of property wealth, owners like the American Association are expected to pay their share. But it hasn't worked out that way in Claiborne County. Your 44,000 coal-laden acres there represent 17 percent of the county's land area and perhaps 90 percent of the county's coal reserves. Yet in 1970 your property taxes provided only 3 percent of the county's property tax revenue. That year your company claimed to the State Board of Equalization—the board of appeals—that 40,000 acres of its coal-rich land were worth but five dollars per acre. Yet in that one year alone you garnered more in royalty payments from the mining companies to which you lease. Complaints by local citizens led the Tennessee Board of Equalization to require that coal properties be assessed more accurately. But the figures your General Manager Mr. Funk then supplied the state were dubious at best. Local citizens charged that Mr. Funk's suspicious figures gave your company an almost one million dollar underassessment. The State Board seems to have borne out these claims when it tripled values Mr. Funk reported for properties now leased to Consolidation Coal. Still, the strip mines on your land are greatly underassessed and undertaxed. Two companies mining your land under lease appear to have escaped taxation altogether, while others seem to have kept all their mining equipment off the tax rolls. As late as 1972 your coal-rich Claiborne County lands that were not being mined were still assessed at only $25 an acre, less than the least expensive farm land in the county. 3. Housing As the major employer in the Clear Fork Valley, and as owner of most of the land, the American Association once provided most of the housing as well. But now that it no longer needs the people, it seeks to get rid of them. It is your company's declared policy to tear down its houses in the valley and not to build new ones. The houses your company still rents, it won't repair. Nor will it compensate tenants who make their own repairs. And the leases it grants are usually for only thirty days, if it grants a lease at all. And the tenant may be evicted �78 Colonialism in Modern America without cause or reason. "I've seen barns in better shape. . . .Why, I've worked farms where people wouldn't keep their animals in barns the shape of these houses," one tenant said recently. Meanwhile, strip mining destroys those homes and the land on which they rest. Residents count forty-two houses that have been stripped away in the small Rock Creek Hollow alone. And your company has turned its back on both the immediate distress and the long-run needs of people whose homes are thus destroyed. In 1955 on American Association property, water broke through an old "slag" pile, surged down and destroyed the community of Valley Creek. Two children were killed. Your company offered meager compensation. Just last year your company did not take preventive action when a landslide from a strip mine on your land threatened homes and lives in the community of Buffalo Hollow until local citizens hired an attorney and Granada Television filmed the slide for broadcast in Britain. Even the belated efforts you have taken—which have had little success—are of small comfort to people who have had to evacuate homes on your property before the invading army of bulldozing strip miners. Or to residents such as Lewis Lowe, who now faces perennial flooding along Clear Fork Creek. Or to the people endangered or blocked in by the landslides on such places as Duff Road. Your manager, Mr. Funk, stated in "The Stripping of Appalachia," a Granada television documentary: "We're ploughing back our share into the development of Appalachia." Ploughing, indeed, there is aplenty. But apparently the only "development" is on a minor part of your holdings in Cumberland Gap across the giant Cumberland Mountain from Clear Fork Valley. Here one finds a new Holiday Inn for tourists, and here a marina and golf course are planned, as your May 19, 1971, Statement to Shareholders puts it "to attract the wealthier citizens of Pineville and Middlesboro." What of the less wealthy residents of your 50,000 or more acres in the isolated Clear Fork Valley? They could move elsewhere, one might reply. After all, your Statement to Shareholders the following year applauds your contribution to the local housing supply. "We have continued," �Ralph Nader Letter 79 it says, "our policy of building houses on plots of land owned by us. . . ." But these too are across the Cumberland Mountains. In the isolated valley, housing is scarce because your company owns most of the land and is tearing down its houses. There are very few "ekewheres" for people who wish to remain on the land where they and their parents were raised. And jobs and living conditions in the distant cities are very uncertain. 4. Preventing Local Self-Help To keep the area under tight control, the American Association has blocked the efforts of local citizens to help themselves, to provide for their own jobs and housing. These people have formed a community development organization, the Model Valley Development Council, to better the lot of the valley and its residents. Several years ago, when the Council approached your company to buy land for a small factory, your company would consent to sell or lease only a single small tract. It was covered with slag and refuse from an old mine, and the Association would let it go only if the local people themselves cleaned up the shameful mess. In 1972 the American Association refused to sell or lease land for the people to build homes. Last autumn, American Association General Manager Funk would not consider making just one-half acre available for the community to build a health clinic. Since then (and after wide showing of the Granada T.V. documentary) Mr. Funk has suggested you might lease—but not sell—some land. But the people are still waiting. Meanwhile your company won't even let them cut trees for wood to repair their homes. The mere control of so much of this area's land and wealth sets your company athwart any growth or local self help there. The county government is reluctant to provide services like sewers and roads because the population is sparse—sparse largely because of American Association policy. Lack of these services in turn keeps new builders away. And potential industries shun the almost total dependence on your company that setting up in the region would involve. Your company won't help these people. And it won't let them help themselves. �80 Colonialism in Modern America The American Association's seventy-year occupation of this forgotten portion of Tennessee has resulted, then, in what? Surveys in the valley have shown unemployment at about 30 percent. About 20 percent of the households live on less than $1,000 per year; another 20 percent make less than $2,000. ($9,400 per year was the average family income in this country in 1969.) Homes are being destroyed and land and water are being ruined. Prospects for employment are grim. Prospects generally are grim, with your company looking ahead to 25-30 more years of strip mining and then timber cutting after that. Does this picture suggest the presence of a responsible citizen or of a greedy aggressor? And what will the picture be in twenty-five more years?—not in the small portion of your land north of Cumberland Mountain where you are building playspots for the rich, but in the depressed Clear Creek Valley where most of your holdings lie? The bloom indeed has faded from the hopes your countrymen held for the American Association venture in Kentucky and Tennessee. How different the response of two English people viewing the enterprise at the outset and now. Visiting the area of 1891, Sir James Kitson, then-President of the British Iron and Steel Institute, could boast: I think we all, as Englishmen, rejoiced to see a town which was being developed with so much sagacity, so much judgment and energy; that was being developed under English auspices and with British capital. Eighty years later your countrymen were holding their heads a bit lower. After watching the Granada television documentary on your holdings in Clear Fork Valley, a Middlesex, England, woman felt impelled to write a small local Tennessee newspaper: I write to tell you how ashamed I am that an English-owned company can so indiscriminately cause so much havoc to a small community. . . .My feelings after watching a recent television programme on the subject were ones of total horror. You must realize that I am an English woman of absolutely no importance, but nevertheless, would like �Ralph Nader Letter 81 to use the good offices of your newspaper to apologize for the desecration caused by an English company, on land in a country that has always had very close ties with my own. . . . It is true that the American Association is just one small part of your nearly L220m ($500,000,000) secrecy-enshrouded corporate empire, of which Investor's Chronicle magazine said: "What is quite unknown is how the empire is controlled, how the various companies relate to each other." This empire spans from Australia and Thailand to Canada and the West Indies and includes pursuits so diverse as racetracks, rubber plantations, and equipment for hairdressing salons. But the policies of the American Association spell the fate of the people and culture of the Clear Fork Valley. And they are now causing embarrassment to people of your own country. You have shown charitable instincts in many ways. You have served as officer or director of six hospitals. In 1953 you were on the Executive Council of the Lord Mayor's National Flood and Tempest Distress Fund. Until 1948 you were VicePresident of the League of Mercy. Now you can apply this same sense of responsibility to the corporate realm. What can you do? Such steps as the following, which you could set in motion at once, could begin to change your company from a hostile aggressor to a more responsible constructive citizen. 1. First, and most important, you should personally visit the region, for at least several days, to see firsthand what your company's policies have done. You should meet with local residents to hear their views and to discuss your company's past actions and plans for the future. 2. Your company should inventory and begin to correct the damage strip mining on its land has done. Especially urgent is the need to correct damage to homes, farms, roads, and water supplies. �82 Colonialism in Modern America 3. You should require all companies to whom the American Association leases to restore carefully and completely the property on which they mine and to repair any damage they do to the people or the region. 4. You should also require these companies to cooperate fully with tax officials and to provide them with the information necessary to set fair and equitable property tax assessments. Such information should include lease agreements, royalty rates, and survey and estimates of coal reserves. 5. As a symbol of your desire to compensate the people of the region for the valuable land your agents tricked or threatened their forebears into selling, you should donate some of your 50,000-odd acres for community development. 6. You should keep in good repair the housing you rent to local people. And you should extend to them fair and adequate lease protection. 7. You should stop refusing to sell land to local groups seeking to build industry or housing. 8. You should instruct your General Manager, Mr. Alverado E. Funk, to negotiate with local citizen groups a fair and equitable compensation for all the property taxes which the American Association has avoided in the past. 9. You should, in the future, consult with these citizen groups about changes in your company's policies in the area. Such steps will help get your company out of its social red ink in Appalachia. But what of the many other companies you control? Are they too laying waste forgotten corners of the world? There is a larger lesson to be learned from your destructive Appalachian venture. It is simply to apply to social problems on the corporate level the old adage "To foresee is to forestall." It would be a signal act of corporate foresight and responsibility for you to set up now a special committee to monitor the social impact of all the businesses you control. This committee should comprise both people from within your enterprises and repre- �Ralph Nader Letter 83 sentatives of outside groups who speak for important social concerns. It should have the full authority of your office and should report directly to you. "Come and join hands with us in the great enterprise which is worthy of the noblest efforts of us all" proclaimed the sanguine founder of the American Association, Alexander Arthur. While the standard since then has fallen miserably, it is not too late to hoist it up again. In fact, the decline, like adversity, could be sweet. It could occasion an ascent to a truly higher standard of corporate action and accountability. Will you exert your "noblest efforts" to that end? Or will your neglect be the occasion of a mobilized citizenry recovering their future through resurgent legal and political action? Sincerely, Ralph Nader �This page intentionally left blank �THE FOREST SERVICE AND APPALACHIA by SI has of has Is an by In the on the of oil, to and the a hut the the of of of the in (TV A) a In or of are the U.S. of the /I Georgia Kentucky North Carolina North Carolina 1,153 962 706 Nantahala 753 (c) % SI ff n» last in has «»rf the in �Colonialism in Modern America 86 State National Forest Acreage Square Miles Tennessee Virginia Virginia West Virginia Cherokee * 614,107 George Washington * * 1,003,874 J ef ferson * * * 621,473 Monongahela 831,329 960 1,615 971 1,299 TOTALS 8,419 5,388,598 This is an area larger than the states of Connecticut, Delaware, and Rhode Island combined! On the local level, the amount of national forest land in many counties in the Southern mountains is staggering. Within the Appalachian areas of West Virginia, Virginia, Tennessee, Kentucky, North Carolina, and Georgia, there are 37 counties in which the Forest Service owns over 20 percent of the land. In 14 of these counties, more than 40 percent of the land is in national forests: State County Acreage Georgia Georgia Georgia Georgia Kentucky North Carolina North Carolina North Carolina Tennessee Tennessee Virginia Virginia Virginia West Virginia Rabun Fannin Union Towns McCreary Macon Graham Clay Polk Unicoi Bath Craig Allegheny Pocahontas 235,520 262,160 197,760 106,240 267,520 330,880 184,960 136,320 278,400 118,400 345,600 215,040 285,440 603,520 NF Acreage 143,580 106,602 95,593 56,559 154,288 149,369 111,065 59,975 150,870 52,049 171,996 115,051 138,070 285,474 % NF 61% 42% 48% 54% 58% 45% 60% 44% 54% 44% 50% 54% 48% 47% From the point of view of the U.S. Forest Service, its concentration of land ownership in the Southern Appalachians is *Includes 327 acres in North Carolina. """Includes 100,386 acres in West Virginia. ** "Includes 961 acres in Kentucky and 18,245 in West Virginia. �The Forest Service and Appalachia 87 highly desirable; it is, in fact, something it has been working toward for a long time. Its basic strategy in the Southern mountains is set out in its official publication, Guide for Managing the National Forests in the Appalachians. The guide states in part: The concept of the Appalachian Greenbelt is possible because of the unique physiographic characteristics of the area. It is a mountainous green oasis in the Eastern United States from which flows a continuous supply of renewable resources and which provides the large surrounding population with a place to recreate in a natural setting. . . .Summer mountain temperatures are generally 10° lower than the adjacent plains. This factor makes the mountains a highly desirable retreat for city dwellers and other nearby residents. * As this statement makes clear, the national forests are seen by the Forest Service as a resource to be used primarily by the "large surrounding population" of "city dwellers and nearby residents." This includes, of course, the urban population of the Eastern Seaboard. No one can argue that residents of the Eastern cities probably need to "recreate in a natural setting" from time to time. But it is also necessary to remember that there are some 10 million people living in the so-called "Appalachian Greenbelt!" What about us? Well, we're pretty much out of luck, according to the Guide for Managing the National Forests in the Appalachians: Population losses within the Greenbelt can be attributed to the fact that this area can only sustain a limited number of people year-round. Many of the narrow mountain valleys are unsuitable for industrial complexes. Plans for economic development must recognize the limitations of the area so that over-emphasis on the wrong type of activities does not occur. The Forest Service is obviously not looking after anyone's interest except its own here. To write off industrial development for Appalachia because of its "narrow mountain valleys" is like saying that Pittsburgh can't support industry because of its many residential neighborhoods. In fact, Appalachia is for many reasons—raw material, electric power, access to population centers, �88 Colonialism in Modern America transportation, labor force—well suited for industrial growth. By ignoring the facts, the Forest Service is actively undermining the efforts of the ten million people who live in the mountains for economic, political and social self-development. But the Forest Service is not reacting to the needs of Appalachian people in its planning for Appalachia. As the Guide for Managing the National Forests in the Appalachians makes clear, it is motivated by a very different perspective: Pressures on the forest resources and environment within this mountain region come from many users. As long as population growth continues, pressure for products and services from the National Forest lands will grow. Unless definite limits are set for the protection of the environment and use of the resources within the Greenbelt, population pressure will bring about their impairment and eventual destruction. . . .This influence area for the Greenbelt stretches far outside National Forest boundaries. Total planning must consider the overall emphasis area. The problem with this comment is that the population pressure the Forest Service is talking about comes from outside the mountains. After all, population is not growing in Appalachia; the mountains have been losing folks steadily for years. This attitude makes as much sense (especially since the Forest Service is actively encouraging people to use the national forests) as saying that an Indian reservation is threatened by overcrowding because large numbers of tourists want to visit and camp there. The emphasis of the Forest Service on the needs of people outside the Southern mountains has, on occasion, been the root of conflict with local Appalachians. One incident is worth noting as an example of the extremes these conflicts sometimes reach. As reported by the Atlanta Constitution: Vernon McCall was "the weakest one in the community" of Balsam Grove, a village in the heart of Pisgah National Forest. Vernon, according to Mrs. Leonard Griffin, "is a sick boy. He has epilepsy and he's disabled." On February 22, men of the U.S. Forest Service broke �The Forest Service and Appalachia 89 into Vernon's trailer house, dragged out a bed and a few other belongings, and then dug a hole with a bulldozer, rammed his home, his lean-to, his pig pen and his little barn into it and buried the whole thing. Having erased every trace of his home, they planted pine seedlings over it. ... The Forest Service claimed the government owned the land, not Vernon, and they had been trying to get him off it since 1968. But the community lawyer said no legal action had been taken to evict Vernon, and local authorities proceeded to charge Forest Ranger Dan W. Hile with willful injury to personal property. . . . Meantime Vernon, who is 40, has rented a new trailer, and scratches out a living on welfare and what he can make picking and selling ivy. And the seedlings the Forest Service planted over his old trailer have died. What makes all of this so intolerable is that the people of Appalachia are the ones who actually pay for these national forests. Anyone who knows the area is familiar with the irony of high taxes on the one hand and low public services on the other—a situation common to many Southern mountain counties. It has often been noted that in the coal counties this is partly the result of the undertaxation of coal lands. What has not been recognized is that in counties with national forest lands the tax-exempt status of these lands has undermined the tax base and increased the tax burden on local property owners. The following report examines the effects which the national forests in Appalachia have had on the ability of mountain counties to govern and finance themselves. Federal Lands and County Finances One of the direct and measurable effects of national forest holdings in Appalachia is the loss of local property tax revenue. At the end of 1972, Forest Service holdings totaled 5,388,598 acres in Georgia, North Carolina, Tennessee, Kentucky, Virginia, and West Virginia. Being Federal property, these lands are exempt from state, county, and city/town taxes. While it is difficult to estimate the exact extent of the tax loss, it is probable �90 Colonialism in Modern America that, based on average values for land and effective tax rates in the counties involved, the Appalachian national forests cost local governments nearly $10 million a year in lost tax revenuesrevenues that would go to support schools, roads, health programs, welfare, and other public services. This tax loss has not often been recognized—partly because the Forest Service in its intensive public relations campaigns emphasizes the financial gain to counties from national forest lands. This type of publicity never mentions the fact that these lands are tax exempt; or that they had previously been on county tax digests; or the amount of revenue lost to counties when the lands passed from private to Federal ownership. But the fact is that in 1972 the total Forest Service payments to Appalachian counties were only $734,641.08—less than 14 cents an acre and well under 10 percent of what the property taxes alone would have been if the land were still in private hands. The small sums that are paid by the Forest Service to local counties come from its so-called "25% Fund," authorized by the 1911 Weeks Act. This act, in effect, authorized the national forest system by providing for the Federal government to purchase lands necessary to protect the flow of navigable streams, including their watersheds. The 13th Section of the Weeks Act (36 Stat. 961-963) provides: Twenty-five per centum of all moneys received during any fiscal year from each national forest into which lands acquired under this Act may be divided shall be paid, at the end of such year, by the Secretary of the Treasury to the State in which such national forest is situated, to be expended as the State legislature may prescribe for the benefit of the public schools and public roads of the counties in which such national forest is situated.^ The income from national forests comes mostly from the sale of timber "on the stump," although a certain amount also comes from other fees and from special permits such as those for mining and recreational areas. Unlike the national forests of the Western United States, which produce valuable old-growth sawtimber, the Appalachian national forests have in the past produced trees suitable only for pulpwood. As any mountain landowner will tell you, selling pulpwood on the stump is no way to �The Forest Service and Appalachia 91 bring in money. If cut selectively, mountain land will make five to ten cords of pulpwood per acre; if clearcut, it will make ten to twenty cords. The going price for Forest Service pulpwood on the stump in Appalachia is about $2.00 a cord. Selectively cut land can be logged again in about ten years; clearcut land, in about thirty. Thus, on an average yearly basis, the "income" from an acre of national forest land in the Southern mountains is between 66 cents and $2.00. Aside from the low revenue which this gives to counties, the problem with this system is that it makes "25% Fund" payments—on which counties must depend to help finance roads and schools—completely dependent on an arbitrary factor: how much wood the forest service decides to cut that year. This produces a not-so-subtle pressure on local government to approve the high rates of timber-cutting the forest service would like to set and locally-hated practices such as clearcutting. For example, during the recent struggle over proposed Forest Service clearcutting in the Cohutta Mountains in Fannin County, Georgia —one of the proposed areas in the Eastern Omnibus Wilderness Bill—petitions were circulated which read: We cannot afford the loss of revenues that are presently being returned to our county governments by the Forest Service from timber sales. We do not wish to retire our forests from production when we know that the local people will have to pick up the additional tax load; neither do we want the added tax to discourage local population growth, because this is already a problem for our rural areas." In fact, since timber-cutting revenues in any national forest are lumped together each year before distributing to counties, Fannin County would have received 14.4 percent (its proportionate share of Chattahoochee national forest acreage) of 25 percent (the Weeks Act formula) of whatever income clearcutting the Cohuttas produced—3.6 cents of every dollar of timber cut! Because the "25% Fund" payments are based on revenue from timber cutting, payments per acre vary widely from state to state and even among national forests within the same state. In Georgia, the Chattahoochee National Forest, which is located within the Appalachian area of the state, made payments to �92 Colonialism in Modern America counties of 26.7 cents per acre in 1972. Counties in Georgia's Ocoee National Forest, however, which lies in the state's pulpwood belt, were paid $1.39 per acre—more than five times what the Appalachian counties received. Payments vary even more widely from state to state. In 1972, average payments were 41 cents in Georgia (this includes the high payment received for the Ocoee National Forest); 21 cents in North Carolina; 17 cents in Kentucky; 15 cents in Tennessee; 5 cents in Virginia; and 11 cents in West Virginia. By comparison, the average payment per acre was $1.03 in California; $2.16 in Louisiana; $1.40 in Mississippi, $2.12 in Oregon; $1.01 in South Carolina; $1.23 in Texas; and $0.95 in Washington. The average payment per acre for all national forests in all states was 58 cents. The average payment per acre for all Appalachian national forests was 13.5 cents, less than one fourth the national average! Two other ways of looking at this situation help make clear just how discriminatory it is: (1) If counties in Appalachia had received "25% Fund" payments at the national average rate of 58 cents/acre, they would have received $3,125,868 instead of $734,641. (2) If all the revenue produced by the National Forests was divided among counties on the basis of their proportionate share of National Forest acreage, the Appalachian counties would have received $12,503,472 in 1972—seventeen times what they actually got. Another way of trying to evaluate the fairness or unfairness as well of the constitutionality of the way in which national forest revenue is distributed is to look at it in terms of payment per person to affected counties. After all, "25% Fund" payments were earmarked by the Weeks Act for support of roads and schools, the two items which usually make up the bulk of a rural county's budget. Since the national forest funds are Federal payments, it stands to reason that they should be distributed on an equitable basis. In the 37 Appalachian counties which have 20 percent or �The Forest Service and Appalachia 93 more of their area in national forests, payments per person in 1972 ranged from a low of 9 cents per person (Smyth County, Virginia) to a high of $5.01 per person (Rabun County, Georgia). The average figure was 93 cents per person. Compare this with payments per person made in Western counties with similar populations. These figures ranged from a low of $101.14 per person (Curry County, Oregon) to a high of $437.53 per person (Skamonia County, Washington). It doesn't take much imagination to see what Federal subsidies of this size could mean to education in revenue-starved Appalachian counties. A further problem caused by the fact that national forest payments depend on timber-cutting revenue is that counties are not able to predict the amount of revenue they will receive in any year. For example, in 1969, during the period of greatest clear-cutting in the Monongahela National Forest, counties received 25.9 cents. In Pocahontas County, West Virginia, this meant that income from national forests in the county dropped from $73,050 in 1969 to $33,931 in 1972, a loss of $39,119. For a county with a population of 8,640, this is a tremendous revenue loss. As rates per acre dropped between 1969 and 1972, other counties experienced similar losses. Throughout the Appalachian region, despite the fact that national forest acreage increased 3 percent in the three years from 1969 to 1972, the amount received from the Forest Service decreased $159,070. Of all regions in the country, Appalachia is one of those which can least afford this type of revenue loss. The loss of this amount of revenue may not seem significant to some people who are used to urban budgets. But it is important to realize that—partly because of the lack of growth due to lack of land—the Appalachian counties in which the national forests are concentrated are among the smallest and poorest counties in the nation. According to 1970 census data, the average population of the fourteen Appalachian counties with over 40 percent national forest land is less than 9,000. Their average rate of poverty in 1970 was 29.2 percent—more than twice the average for the United States as a whole. Not one of these counties had a poverty rate less than the national average. In the thirty years prior to 1970, these counties combined lost 13.2 percent of their population, and only one of the fourteen gained population in this period. �94 Colonialism in Modern America These counties are affected not only by revenue loss, lack of public services, high poverty incidence and outmigration rates, but—to add insult to injury—by local property taxes that are significantly higher than those in counties without national forest lands. Looking again at the fourteen counties with over 40 percent of their land held by the Forest Service, the effective tax rate* for these counties is on the average 15 percent higher than the average effective tax rate for the state.** This situation is especially apparent in Tennessee and Georgia. Polk County, Tennessee, for example, with 54 percent of its land held by the Forest Service, has an effective tax rate of $1.38 per $100 compared to a state average rate of $0.90. Of 75 Tennessee counties with single tax rates, Polk County has the fifth highest rate. In Georgia, Fannin County, which is 42 percent national forest land, has the highest tax rate of all counties in the state—higher than the non-municipal rates of Fulton (Atlanta), Muscogee (Columbus), Bibb (Macon), Richmond (Augusta), or Chatham (Savannah) counties. This situation has not gone unnoticed politically. The Commissioner of Roads and Revenues of Fannin County has made a summary statement of local attitudes toward the problem: Fannin County does realize a good many benefits in ways that encourage people to live here, but must also tolerate some serious circumstances. . . .The U.S. Forest Service now owns some 106,000 acres of land within Fannin County and this deprives the county of approximately $150,000 per year in tax revenue. A large portion of this land has progressively been acquired from private land owners who had formerly been paying taxes. This process has resulted in a steady undermining of our tax base. This example, combined with the tax rate we pay in Fannin County, creates a constant hardship on a lot of * "Effective tax rate" figures combine millage rates with assessment rates to reach a figure which can be compared with others on a tax rate per $100 of true property value basis. **In fact, the actual tax rates for these counties exceed comparable rates for rural counties by more than 15 percent, since the state figures include urban and metropolitan counties. �The Forest Service and Appalachia 95 our people who still own a fair amount of taxable property. Every time a piece of property falls into the hands of the Forest Service, the tax revenue formerly received from it is gone for good, and the remaining property owners must share this loss in revenue. . . .They purchase private land as it becomes available with our Federal tax money, and use it, in fact, to undermine the local tax sources where our local revenue must come from to support our local government. . . . We can no longer ignore the seriousness of these problems. There must be some compatible adjustment when land is acquired and results in a revenue loss.^ Responding editorially to the above remarks, one of the local newspapers, The Blue Ridge Summit-Post, wrote: The increase in taxes will no doubt place a great deal of strain on the working man's pocketbook. . . .Our tax rate in the past has been in no way below average standards, yet we, as a county, have profited little from the revenue obtained from it. We see as one of the reasons for our county's tax problem that great land speculator and wild real estate dealer, The Forest Service. We feel that the state and Federal governments should find a means of returning some of the revenue on this untaxed land to the county, where it belongs. Federal preservation of forest land is a good thing; we believe in some land control; but taxes are taxes, and Fannin County is having to strain the wrong pay check. Our residents work hard for their living, and carrying the load for the Forest Service is not helping the situation. We suggest some type of revenue return to the county on the part of its greatest landholder, The Forest Service.8 The Politics of National Forests The U.S. Forest Service itself has at different times taken different positions on the effect its policies have on local counties. Its usual position is that the "25% Fund" payments are a tremendous benefit to local governments. Their public relations �96 Colonialism in Modern America campaign to convince local, state, and national political figures has been so effective that a preliminary draft of The Last Stand: The Nader Study Group Report on the Forest Service stated: They [local residents] also receive generous public service benefits from National Forest timber cutting. To compensate counties containing National Forest land for their small amount of taxable property, the federal government pays them 25 percent of the receipts from National Forest timber sales within their bounds to support construction of public schools and roads.^ To term the token payments which the Forest Service makes to local counties "generous public service benefits" is, to say the least, not particularly accurate (the statement has been deleted from the final report); but the example does show the tremendous extent to which Forest Service public relations has been effective. At other times, the Forest Service has downplayed the "25% Fund" and emphasized other benefits from National Forests. One Forest Service spokesperson has stated: Without any doubt, the many other contributions to the economic development of the Appalachian Region made by the National Forests far outweigh the 25% return to the counties. It is not practical to place a monetary value on many of these contributions. I refer to such things as: -Recreation use plus hunting and fishing. . . .In a National Survey of Fishing and Hunting by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service in 1965, they placed an economic value on a fishing man-day of $5.60 and a hunting man-day of $6.03. It would be higher today. So, you can see that this item alone would exceed the value of the 25% fund which is used only on schools and roads in the counties having National Forest lands. --Watershed protection benefitting local areas as well as down stream flood protection. -Employment of people maintaining and administering National Forests plus those employed to harvest timber which we have grown, etc. -Construction and maintenance of roads and �The Forest Service and Appalachia 97 bridges which would otherwise have to be maintained by the counties or state. ® The inaccuracies in this statement are highly misleading. The "economic value" of fishing and hunting involves money spent at local stores which is useful, but not to be confused with county income from taxes which is spent on education, health, and welfare. Clear cutting on national forest lands has destroyed many watersheds and increased hazards of flooding. Forest service employees are paid out of money appropriated from the Federal budget, which comes from taxes paid by local residents. No one is "employed" by the Forest Service to harvest timber; the wood is sold on the stump to woodcutters and timber companies. Most of the timber on national forest lands was not "grown" by the Forest Service; it was there when the land was acquired from private landowners. Few of the clearcut areas in the Appalachians have even been reforested. Nationally, the Forest Service is 733,000 acres behind on reforesting clearcut lands.11 As for road maintenance, this year alone the Forest Service closed 60 miles of roads in the Chattahoochee National Forest out of a total of 1,392. And the damage done to county and state roads by overloaded trucks carrying timber from the national forests is a direct cost to local government and a hazard and inconvenience to local residents. The fact is that other benefits do not "outweigh the 25% return to the counties"; they do not begin to compensate for the loss of tax revenue. In fact, the Public Land Law Review Commission in its 1970 report to the President and Congress concluded: While benefits are national, the geographical distribution of the Federal lands makes their burdens regional and local, and, in general, Federal ownership of public lands provides no distinguishable benefits to state and local governments in lieu of the benefits they would receive if the lands were privately owned. The Forest Service has also argued on occasion that one third of the United States is owned by the Federal government and that it would be impossible to make payments for all these lands. But there is a difference between many of the western national forests which have always been public lands and the �98 Colonialism in Modern America national forests in Appalachia, which have been bought up since the passage of the Weeks Act in 1911. Before 1911, none of the land now in the Appalachian national forests was owned by the Federal government; all of it was owned privately and was subject to local property taxes. The acquisition over the past 62 years of so much Appalachian land by the Forest Service has meant an increasing destruction of local tax digests, especially in those 37 Appalachian counties where between 20 percent and 61 percent of the land has passed into Federal hands. It is clear that the national forests are not contributing nearly as much as the Forest Service claims to the economic growth of the counties where they are located. The evidence suggests that the opposite is true. The loss of tax revenue has produced a scarcity of public services, including education and health care. The control of so much land by the government has artificially driven prices up for mountain land. Because of the demands for summer homes, recreational development, and land speculation, farming is no longer economically possible in many places. These conditions have helped encourage many young people to leave the area and have prevented many who have left from coming back. Whatever benefits the Appalachian national forests provide to the nation as a whole, for the residents of mountain counties they mean higher taxes and decreased public services. In effect, the people of Appalachia are being taxed to provide recreation and relaxation for people from other wealthier areas. No one can deny that there is a national need for recreation; but that does not make it right that mountain people should have their taxes raised and their public services cut back so that well-to-do tourists can enjoy themselves at no cost. There are several Federal precedents which strongly suggest that the Forest Service's way of doing business in Appalachia is neither desirable nor necessary. A startling comparison comes when we contrast payments made to counties by the Forest Service with those made by the Tennessee Valley Authority (TVA). In 1972, for example, TVA paid $252,766 to Polk County, Tennessee, in lieu of taxes on the 3,418 acres it owns in the county—$66.05 an acre. The Forest Service paid the county $22,612 for 150,870 acres-15 cents an acre. To put it a little differently, the Forest Service owns 44 times as much land in Polk County as TVA; but TVA paid the county 11 times as much! �The Forest Service and Appalachia 99 TVA's responsibility to counties where it has operations, however, is very different from the Forest Service. The Tennessee Valley Authority Act provides: TVA's payments to the respective states shall not be less than the higher of (1) the average of state, county, municipal and district property tax levied by them on purchased power property and on the portion of TVA land allocated for power use for the last two years such properly was in private ownership or (2) $10,000. TVA pays directly to counties amounts equivalent to the former county and district taxes derived from power properties purchased as such by TVA and from reservoir lands allocable to power. . . .These direct payments to counties fully replace tax losses which result from the transfer of such properties to public ownership [ed. emphasis] .1* The TVA Act is not the only Federal precedent for the principle of full income replacement to counties. Public Law 81-874, commonly known as the "impacted areas" program, provides under Section 2, "Reduction in Local Revenue by Reason of Acquisition of Real Property by the United States": A school district may be eligible if (1) the property was acquired by transfer and not by exchange since 1938; (2) the assessed valuation of such property represents 10% or more of the assessed valuation of all realty in the district at time or times of transfer; and (3) the acquisition has imposed on the school district a substantial and continuing financial burden. Maximum entitlement is the product of the applicant's current expense tax rate applied to the estimated assessed valuation of the Federal property (exclusive of improvements since transfer date).14 In fiscal 1969, a total of 106 school districts in the United States received Federal tax replacement payments under this provision. The total paid to these districts was over $3Vz million. It is obvious that it is way past time for the U.S. Government and the Forest Service to begin full compensation to Appalachian counties for tax losses caused by national forest holdings and perhaps to compensate these counties for their �100 Colonialism in Modern America losses in past years as well. This has been recognized by two recent studies. The Last Stand: The Nader Study Group Report on the U.S. Forest Service states as one of its final recommendations: To reduce local pressure on the Forest Service and members of Congress to increase National Forest timber cutting, Congress should abolish the practice of returning 25 percent of timber sales receipts to the counties in which the timber is cut. It should replace these payments with the more equitable and dependable federal aid to impacted areas (now granted to states containing nontaxable Defense Department property) to all counties embracing National Forest land, regardless of the amount of timber cutting.* ^ A much stronger statement has been made by the Public Land Law Review Commission. In its official report, One Third of the Nation's Land, the Commission states: The legislative history of the acts providing for the sharing of receipts from forest products and oil and gas, as well as other leasable minerals, clearly reflects that the payments to the states and local governments were intended as compensation for the fact that the lands in question would no longer be available for private ownership and property taxation. . . .Since the ad valorem tax system has been the foundation for the financing of programs providing municipal services, the Commission believes that all landowners must share in payment for these services. This should not exclude the Federal government as landowner, except where the federally owned land is being used for facilities, such as in the case of post offices, to furnish services to all the people throughout the country . . . .If the national interest dictates that lands should be retained in Federal ownership, it is the obligation of the United States to make certain that the burden of that policy is spread among all the people of the United States and is not borne only by those states and governments in whose area the land is located. Therefore, the Federal Government should make payments to compensate state and local governments for the tax immunity of Federal lands. . . .We find further that any attempt to tie �The Forest Service and Appalachia 101 payments to states and local governments to receipts generated from the sale or use of public lands or their resources causes an undue emphasis to be given in program planning to the receipts that may be generated. " There are a number of other Forest Service practices which often conflict with local needs. One is the charging of fees to use recreational areas in the national forests. These fees range from $1.00 to $3.00 a day, or $10.00 for a "Golden Eagle" passport which allows entry to certain areas for a year. These fees may seem reasonable to tourists, but they are out of reach for most poor families. As a result, local residents are often not able to afford recreational facilities built by the Forest Service in their own counties. One North Georgia mountaineer, commenting on the Forest Service's plan to build campsites in the Cohutta Wildlife Refuge, one of the few wilderness areas left in the Eastern United States, said: There's a lot of old mountain people beside me who aren't going to take kindly to the idea of getting a permit to go onto land they call home.*' Many Southern mountain residents are also concerned by the rate at which the Forest Service is still acquiring land. A recent example of this process occurred in 1971 in Bland County, Virginia, in the Jefferson National Forest. One Virginia resident and forestry student who has been in close touch with the situation wrote: Consolidation Coal Company owned 46,000 acres of land in the county, containing relatively small amounts of semi-anthracite coal. Consol sold the land (finding the coal too poor to be profitably mined), amounting to one fifth of the county, to the U.S. Forest Service, which has incorporated it into the Jefferson National Forest. Combined with the county land already controlled by the Forest Service, it will put nearly a quarter of the county's real estate under government ownership. Large opposition to the land sale was expressed by Bland County residents. By the government owning one-quarter of the county, local revenues will be severely hurt. When Consolidation Coal owned the land last year, the com- �102 Colonialism in Modern America pany, a subsidiary of Continental Oil, paid just 14 cents an acre in taxes, amounting to a total of $6,800. The Forest Service pays no taxes, but will pay a small compensation of $3,600—or just eight cents an acre. The $3,200 loss, opponents say, could destroy the Bland County budget, which has had severe fiscal problems for some time. Most of the biggest supporters of the land sale were nonresidents and outside agencies, including various sportsmen^ clubs. The Bland County Board of Supervisors voted against the land deal twice last year. But a new Board of Supervisors has now voted in favor of the sale, yielding to the heavy pressure by outside groups. So now the land is destined for tourist and recreational development by the Forest Service. Just how this will benefit the residencts of Bland County, only time will tell.18 Appalachian working people are also critical of the ways in which timber sales are conducted. These sales are carried out by sealed bid. However, the Forest Service requires the posting of a cash "bid bond" with each bid. On a recent sale in which the minimum bid permitted was $2,297, the required bid bond was $300, a hard amount for self-employed woodcutters to come by. "Performance bonds," sometimes in the total amount of the contract price, are also required. These rules have the effect of making it extremely difficult for the small independent woodcutter to bid successfully on Forest Service timber. The contracts thus go more often than not to the large timber corporations. Of the Forest Service practices, none is more deeply resented than their use of condemnation proceedings to acquire homes and farms for national forests. Because of past abuses of its condemnation powers, the Forest Service's power to condemn land for National Forests was removed by Congress in 1964. This power is retained, however, in the case of national recreation areas. The pending Eastern Omnibus Wilderness Act (S.316) would restore condemnation powers to the Forest Service in the proposed Eastern Wilderness areas. One develop- �The Forest Service and Appalachia 103 ing national recreation area is located in the Jefferson National Forest in Southwest Virginia. One organizer who has been working with local residents to save their homes and farms from condemnation has written: The Mt, Rogers National Recreation Area, as defined by Congress in 1966, covers 154,000 acres in five counties of southwest Virginia. These counties are: Washington, Smyth, Gray son, Carroll and Wythe. The National Recreation Area (the Forest Service's equivalent to a National Park) is to be developed to accommodate, by present plans, an estimated five million tourists a year by 1990. To do this, the Forest Service has begun acquiring lands for campgrounds, livery stables, lakes, ski slopes and other recreation facilities. Some of the land has been openly bought from residents who, according to the Forest Service, are "willing sellers.'* While the Forest Service claims that condemnation proceedings are necessary to acquire land efficiently, many residents resent this practice and point out abuses of it. The central issue, as many local residents see it, is not simply whether or not there should be a National Recreation Area, but rather the fact that the people are having no say in the plans and developments of their communities and homes. ^ This lack of local input into Forest Service planning is a complaint heard frequently in Appalachian counties where the national forests are found. Traditionally, the Forest Service has carried out its plans without consulting local government or citizens. Lately, in response to public pressure from many sources, it has taken to holding 'listening posts" at which local residents are asked to present their opinions. These ' 'listening posts," however, have generally been held after the Forest Service had already prepared written plans of action for the areas in question. There is also evidence that the hearings are not taken into serious consideration. At a recent hearing in North Georgia, over 90 percent of the witnesses spoke against Forest Service proposals. These proposals would have included clear-cutting vast areas of the Cohutta Wildlife Refuge, despite the fact that this �104 Colonialism in Modern America area has been proposed as a Wilderness Area in the Eastern Omnibus Wilderness Bill. Yet, when a transcript of the hearing was requested, the Forest Service replied that it did not plan to transcribe the tape they had made of the hearing. It is difficult to see how a hearing could be a legitimate part of a public planning process when the only record of it is a tape recording in a Forest Service office. This type of practice led one county official to react in a letter to the Forest Service: After attending your meeting at Etowah on the Hiwassee Unit, I came away with the feeling that the Forest Service has already drawn up a tentative plan. If this is the case, I think in the interest of saving time and effort, the Forest Service should present their plan and then have hearings before it is adopted. . . .The U.S. Forest Service [has] never attempted to work with local government on future plans for U.S. Forest Service lands within their political subdivision. Conclusions It is evident that Appalachian people are bearing an unfair share of the cost of maintaining a national forest system and are getting very few of the benefits. If the national forests in the Southern mountains are to benefit Appalachians as well as other Americans, some changes in Forest Service policy must be made. The following are recommendations which, based on the facts set out in this study, are necessary to achieve this goal. (1) The Forest Service should make payments in lieu of taxes to all counties in Appalachia (and elsewhere) where national forest lands are located. These payments should be equal to the amount of ad valorem tax these lands would produce if privately owned. (2) Until such a system is adopted, all income from the national forests should be redistributed to the counties in which these lands are located in proportion to the share which each county has of the national total. Such a system would provide each county in Appalachia with national forests approximately sixteen times its current payment. It would also remedy the gross inequalities in distribution of national forest revenues �The Forest Service and Appalachia 105 which now exist among different national forests and states. The present system is a gross violation of the equal protection provisions of the U.S. Constitution and should definitely be challenged in the courts. (3) To avoid destruction of county economic bases, a limit should be set on the amount of land the Forest Service is permitted to own in any given county. (4) Admission to Forest Service recreational areas should be free to residents of counties where these areas are located. (5) The Forest Service should be required to hold public hearings before closing any national forest roads and to show cause before taking action. Procedures should be established through which local citizens, without undue difficulty or expense, can stop such proposed Forest Service actions where they are definitely not in the interest of the local community. (6) Any Forest Service plans for land acquisition, recreational development, road construction, logging, subcontracting, mining, land swaps, special use permits, and other uses of the national forests should be subject to the prior approval of an elected county committee. (7) The Forest Service should be absolutely prohibited from using condemnation proceedings to acquire any owneroccupied farms or homes in national forests, wilderness areas or national recreation areas. Where such lands have been acquired by condemnation, they should be returned without cost to the previous owners. (8) Timber tracts should be bid off in small enough lots so that small independent woodcutters can compete. Bid bonds should be abolished and a different system established to guarantee performance that would not discriminate against individual woodcutters. It should be required that 50 percent of all national forest timber be sold to independent woodcutters, cooperatives, or small wood companies which are located in the county where the boundary of timber is located. This will help reduce abuse of the current bid system by the giant timber corporations. �106 Colonialism in Modern America (9) Where the process of removing national forest timber damages county or state roads, the Forest Service should be required to pay for their maintenance and repair. (10) Clearcutting, a process which destroys timber, land and water resources, should be totally prohibited on national forest lands. (11) County and town governments should have the right to acquire national forest lands through eminent domain proceedings to build public facilities such as schools and hospitals. The situation as it now exists in the Southern mountains violates the letter, and certainly the spirit, of equal protection laws. It is grossly unfair that the financial burden of providing recreation for the Eastern United States should fall so heavily on some of the poorest citizens in the country, yet this is exactly what is happening. It is ridiculous to spend millions for campsites in communities which lack funds for schools, hospitals, health care, transportation, water systems, sewage disposal, and housing; yet this is what is happening. A number of Appalachian writers have suggested that the Federal government sees Appalachia mainly as a support area for the Eastern Seaboard, providing coal, minerals, electricity, timber and recreation to people outside the mountains. It is possible that in the minds of some economic and political planners, such as the Forest Service officials who wrote the Guide for Managing the National Forests in the Appalachians, the Southern mountains exist in the future as one vast Federal holding to be harvested by the coal corporations, the energy conglomerates, the timber and tourist industries. Mountain people are living on top of some of the greatest natural resources in the United States. History teaches that when poor and working people stand in the way of harvesting such resources, they and their interests will usually be moved aside. On the other hand, the national forest lands in Appalachia could become a real resource to mountain people by providing jobs, land for public facilities, and the revenue for badly needed service programs. Even more, these lands, which have been taken from Appalachian people, could some day be returned to them to live and work on: lands which their grandparents �The Forest Service and Appalachia 107 settled and cleared and which their children are being forced to leave. �108 Colonialism in Modern America NOTES *Guide for Managing the National Forests in the Appalachians, pages 7, 33. 2 Guide, page 8. $ Guide, pages 7, 8. ^The Atlanta Constitution, May 12, 1971. *The Principal Laws Relating to the Establishment of the National Forests and to Other Forest Service Activities, page 45. "Undated petition beginning "We, the undersigned are against S.316, H.R. 1758, Wilderness Study Act H.R. 2420 and such Eastern Wilderness bills. . . .," author's possession. 7 Blue Ridge Summit-Post, Blue Ridge, Georgia, October 11, 1972. 8 Ibid. ^The Last Stand: Service, pages V-l 3. The Nader Study Group Report on the Forest * ^Letter from W. W. Huber, Chief, Division of Information and Education, Southeast Region, U.S. Forest Service, dated January 18, 1971. ll The Last Stand, pages III-9. Third of the Nation's Land: A Report to the President and to The Congress by the Public Land Law Review Commission, page 238. 13 "TVA Power: Payments in Lieu of Taxes," TVA Information Office, Knoxville, Tennessee, November, 1972. �The Forest Service and Appalachia 109 14 "Administration of Public Laws 81-874 and 81-815: Nineteenth Annual Report of the Commissioner of Education," Office of Education, U.S. Department of Health, Education and Welfare, Washington, D.C., June 30, 1969. 15 The Last Stand, pages VI-37. 16 One Third of the Nation's Land, pages 4, 236, 238. l^U.S. Forest Service "Listening Post" on Cohutta Mountains Unit, Chatsworth, Georgia, August 1, 1972. 18 Letter from Dave Tice dated January 22, 1973. 1 ^Letter from Dave Tice dated February, 1973. 2®The McCaysville Citizen, McCaysville, Georgia, September 23, 1971. ����Ill 111: The five the the and set up son and the in the In the of Sue the life the and the and and it in the of to the velopers in by Theft" He the the the of and the the use of the of in "The at of be- the of in "The Big of the the of to in "Property, powerlessness. the cure to the of of control. in the by He to to to se- Rag" by de- by in to the of for the the life in in and to for the to the the to ��IN or AT BIG MY by or and has of or Dix is an in "the unIn reof it—"neo-colonialism," to the to nt tbe to at the A Asso is a of on Reis A at in an tbe is a in in tbe a of tbe at is fit St. �114 Colonialism in Modern America the two most resistant aspects of traditional mountain culture, the family structure and religion, to see in what ways they resisted or adapted to the process or how they were used as instruments of colonial domination. Central Appalachia—which is made up of eastern Kentucky, southern West Virginia, southwestern Virginia and northeast Tennessee—was the most isolated part of the Southern mountains. Except for a few outposts, the area was not settled until after the Revolutionary War. Mrs. John C. Campbell describes the area and its early settlement and characterizes the people living in the mountains as descendants of colonial English, Scotch-Irish, and German stock, "the advance guard of the great migration to the west who were seeking land, liberty, game." Many settled and remained in the area from the pure chance of a ''broken axle" but more stayed from choice. The population spread back up among creek and branch, wherever a little bottom land was to be found, fresh game or new springs of clear water. Traditions brought from lands across the sea blended with customs and prejudices bred by the frontier existence and were maintained during a relatively long period of isolation following the original settlement. (Campbell 1925, 9-13) Whether mountain culture should be properly described as a culture transmitted unchanged from the founders or an adaptive culture which developed in response to the isolated mountain conditions, descriptions do convince us that there was in the area at that time a society and culture different from the mainstream American way of life and certainly different from that of the outsiders who came into the mountains with industrialization. Since the outsider noted peculiarities, emphasized differences, and described the oddities, it is very hard to find reliable and clear descriptions of early family structure or religion in the mountains. Raines (1924,X) in his book The Land of Saddlebags states that uwhile the rest of the nation has grown far from our revolutionary ancestors, the Mountain People have been marooned on an island of mountains, and have remained very much the same as they were at that time." �Family, Religion and Colonialism in Central Appalachia 115 A sociologist visiting the hills of Kentucky in 1898 (Vincent 1898) describes a society based upon hunting and subsistence agriculture and a social organization based upon kinship. There were isolated mountain families living up coves and hollows with strong ties of kinship built upon three or more generations of intermarriage. Brown (1952) describes the traditional mountain family structure as a ' 'family group/' conjugal families living in family kin groups which formed small neighborhoods. The kin relations were extensive and complex, and neighborhoods acted as mutual aid societies. The groups were isolated, stable, self-sustaining, localized groups. Although the family was described as strongly patriarchal with a highly differentiated division of labor between men and women, there were many family cooperative activities in work, recreation, and visiting. Men and women had to substitute for each other; and both needed to be strong, resourceful, and selfsufficient. Women's work was an integral part of the total operation, and although her work was hard, it was also hard for everyone in the family. There was an equalitarian simplicity in the terms used by husband and wife: "the woman" and "the man"; or "my woman" and "my man." It was a life which stressed both independence and cooperation. The family and also the individuals had to be self-sufficient and independent and must not depend on others for help; one must be prepared to manage somehow by himself, but when he could, he helped. To be a good neighbor on a friendly, equal basis, "accommodating," was very important. Visitors to the mountain home frequently remarked on the lavish hospitality, generosity, uncompetitiveness, openness, directness, and simplicity of the mountain people. They were described as free from self-consciousness, dignified, quiet, reticent, and courteous. The early church was characterized by writers as separatist, immersionist, hardshell, strongly Calvinistic, anti-missionary; the people were literal interpreters of the Bible, rejecting infant baptism and placing emphasis on experience. Vincent found theological discussions popular in the family,and he felt these satisfied the appetite for metaphysics and offered opportunity for intellectual exercise and discipline (1898, 18). The church or meeting house served as a gathering place; �116 Colonialism in Modern America the monthly or less frequent meetings were an opportunity for sociability and a time to hear a preacher and have funerals preached. It served more as an occasional gathering place than an ongoing organization, although in the ' 'settlements" the church served through monthly business meetings the function of a civil court, sanctioning the behavior of the members and disciplining those who fought with neighbors, abused their brothers, used rough language, or retailed ardent spirits (Henson 1972). There was little church machinery; and the mountain values of simplicity, equalitarianism, and democracy were reflected in the ceremonies of footwashing and laying on of hands. The insistence on untrained ministers who were given special authority only through the spirit also reflected an antielitest bias in mountain society. Services were informal, congregations could sing down the preacher, people could wander in and out of services, but every preacher was given a chance to preach. Rhythm and eloquence and emotional ecstasy were admired and encouraged in the preacher. This emotional extravagance has been thought by some to be contradictory to the portrait of the stolid, impassive, dignified mountain man; but perhaps this unselfconscious ability to display emotion was in keeping with an unsophisticated, straightforward approach to life. Mrs. Condon (1962, 88) reports that the Presbyterian church grew slowly in Harlan County because people thought the members were distant, cool, and unfriendly. Though the area experienced gradual alterations between its settlement and the turn of the century, the biggest changes for the area came about 1890 as a result of the railroad, lumbering and coal mining, and the missionaries. Mrs. Campbell writes that at the turn of the century "suddenly the retarded frontier was rediscovered by two classes: those who saw the natural resources and sought them regardless of the interests of the natural owners; and those who with missionary zeal rushed in to educate and reform" (1925, 9). Mrs. Campbell, herself one of the missionaries, points to the "natural" alliance of exploiters and missionaries who came together to the hills. John Fox, Jr., a writer of romantic novels and a member of a coal-developing family which came into the mountains at the turn of the century, supports this natural alliance: The railroad comes first as an element of civiliza- �Family, Religion and Colonialism in Central Appalachia 117 tion, but unless the church and the school in the ratio of several schools to each church quickly follow, the railroad does the mountaineer little else than great harm. Even with the aid of these three, the standards of conduct of the outer world are reared slowly. A painful process of evolution has been the history of every little mountaintown that survived the remarkable mushroom growth which, within the year of 1889-90, ran from Pennsylvania to Alabama along both bases of the Cumberland. (1901, 209-10) The process of colonization as it occurred in the Central Appalachians generally followed these stages: 1. Gaining entry: invasion and securing of the area or resources 2. Establishment of control: removal of opposition and resistance to prevent expulsion of invaders 3. Education and conversion of the natives: change the values and social system of the colonized 4. Maintenance of control: tion political and social domina- THE FIRST STAGE: Gaining Entry The invasion was well planned and well executed almost before the natives knew what had happened. A well-trained force of lawyers, surveyors, geologists, and land buyers came into the mountains and millions of acres of mineral and virgin timber lands passed into the hands of development companies at from 30 cents to one dollar an acre. Even Franklin Delano Roosevelt, just out of Harvard, abstracted titles and surveys in Harlan County for his uncle, Warren Delano (Condon 1962). Vanderbilts, Fishes, and other big financiers from the Northeast visited the mountains to help secure mineral rights and building rights and make arrangements for the railroads. Thomas Nelson Page of Richmond, Virginia, in a speech to the Daughters of the American Revolution in 1910 urging them to give money for missionaries in the mountains, describes the coming of the �118 Colonialism in Modern America exploiters: When the outer world has reached them, it has mainly been to trade upon their ignorance and rob them of what should have been their wealth. There are lands which were bought of them for a few dollas an acre, which are bonded now as many thousands, and the justification for such legalized robbery at the hands of predatory wealth is that which is as old as Cyrus—that is was of more use to the taker than to the lawful holder. It is small wonder that they are suspicious as to the advances of civilization where the advance couriers are the land agent and the coal prospector—little wonder that, when evictors come under color of ancient patents to drive them from the lands which their fathers have held for generations, they should break out in feuds and violences. (66-67) In the early days there were few to criticize the methods. In 1924 Raines describes the situation as follows: The mountain people are suffering from the ruthless exploitation of large financial interests. These foreign juggernauts may have secured their coal and timber lands for a song, but taking money from those that have no special use for it is not a fatal damage. The deadly sin is the thrusting of a ferocious and devouring social system upon an unprepared and defenseless people. (236) Others interpreted the invasion as something akin to manifest destiny: "It is a region of vast resources that has been blocked out of the wild by a great people and held in trust, as it were, for the modern capitalist to develop and utilize. Its people are beginning to see the dawn of a new day" (MLW, 1-1-1925, 2-3). In the process of entry, both the missionaries and the industrialists were amazed by what they found. They sought to understand and to categorize the mountain people and culture. Letters were sent home, reports were sent to church boards, and newspaper articles were written about the development. Picturesque stories appeared in magazines. Some were horrified at the illiteracy, the lack of schools and medical facilities, and the �Family, Religion and Colonialism in Central Appalachia 119 limited diet; they were appalled by the lack of roads, the isolation, the lack of conveniences, and the hard life of the women; they were intrigued by the songs, beautiful weaving, quaint language, marriage and funeral customs, and unorganized church meetings; they were admiring of their courage, honesty, directness, and lack of sophistication. But always the mountain people were compared with "back home": the educated and professional middle-class, the urban homes and situations from which they came. The biography of one of the early missionaries, Rev. Murdoch of Buckhorn, relates his first trip home after seeing the mountains (May 1946): His heart and mind bursting with things to tell his Brooklyn friends. They were jotted down on a folded piece of paper. A kind of vivid moving picture of the crowded months since he left them. There was the mother who watched over her son to keep him from using profanity while shoeing his horse; children chewing tobacco, other children going barefooted in the snow; the rich veins of coal laid bare along the creeks, destitute families in rickety cabins, burial without ministers, whole districts without schools, the silent forest at the head of Squabble Creek, the flowers and birds along the trails, the character sketches of some of the people he had met in his travels. Such terms as arrested development, retarded frontier, remnant, a distinct relic, a peculiar people, survivals, ancestors, backward, and limited outlook were commonly used. Mrs. Campbell writes that a conventional world was charmed with its picturesqueness and startled by its illiteracy and disregard for law. "It could not understand how people could at once be a feudist and man of integrity and responsibility in his neighborhood. How they could be illiterate, yet have a real and deep culture. Personal experiences led to undiscriminating generalizations on the 'finest of Anglo-Saxon blood' and the 'off-shoots of degenerate refugees and criminals/ No people have ever played more completely the mixed role of villain and neglected hero in the public eye" (1925). John Fox, Jr. played a large part in stereotyping the moun- �120 Colonialism in Modern America tain culture for the outside world and justifying the imposition of power and control over a native people. He, like most of the newcomers, was both admiring and denigrating. He describes the Southern mountaineer as truthful, honest, courageous, hospitable, peaceable, and a man of law—yet known for his moonshining, his land-thieving, and his feuds. But he goes on to blame the Civil War, the revenue service, and the "system of land laws that sometimes makes it necessary for the mountaineer of Kentucky and Virginia to practically steal his own home" for making the mountaineer a "criminal" (1901, 209). The invasion brought in the outsider and opened up the mountain culture to view, and the mountaineer became aware of himself as different. He began to compare himself with the newcomer and learned to judge himself as inferior. Jean Ritchie (1955) describes the development of the schools and its effect on her family: The settlement schools and the railroad began to bring the ways of the world to us in a kind of steady trickle. . . .The settlement schools [brought] in levelcountry people who settled among us and whose ways of doing things, whose very speech and actions, helped us to see that there was a different kind of life than the hard one we knew. (pp. 225ff.) An editorial in Mountain Life and Work (April 1925) criticizes "unauthorized characterization by professional writers and unscientific reformers which built up among the mountaineers what the psychologists call an inferiority complex. It has found expression in the humble submission to outside invasion and in the eager acceptance of small favors and paltry benevolences." ESTABLISHMENT OF CONTROL John Fox describes, either naively or arrogantly, the process whereby the newcomer gained control and subdued the native population. In an article entitled "Civilizing the Cumberland" (1901,209ff.), he describes how in Big Stone Gap, Virginia, the "sternest ideals of good order and law were set up and maintained with Winchester, pistol, policeman's billy, and whistle through a unique experiment in civilization." A volunteer police �Family, Religion and Colonialism in Central Appalachia 121 guard, a private army, manned by the young newcomers, was organized. Fox describes it as a police force of gentlemen: "aristocrats and pultocrats," American and British, lawyers, bankers, real-estate brokers, newspaper men, civil and mining engineers, geologists, speculators and several men of leisure. All were college graduates (Harvard, Yale, Princeton, University of Virginia) "who had come into the mountains of Virginia to make their fortunes from iron, coal and law." They were first organized to put down a strike of mountain workers at a newly established brick plant in the Gap. Fox then relates that they became precision troops who guarded jails against mobs, cracked toughs over the head with billies, lugged them to the calaboose, and appeared as witnesses against them in court the next morning. They turned a mountain crossroads town where mountain boys frolicked and fought into a quiet, respectable outpost of high society. Since the developers wrote most of the history, there are few accounts of native opposition in the record. John Fox does mention that there was considerable hostility and dislike for the newcomers, and he mentions that fighting clans tried to make the "furriners" leave the county. He says that the strike of mountain workers became a confrontation between the newcomers and the mountaineers, and the opposition of the local people was readily discouraged by the newly formed guard. He relates how the newcomers were harassed, the guard mocked by the mountain "toughs," and the townspeople frightened and inconvenienced by the "wild jayhawkers from old Kanetuck" who were accustomed to coming to the Gap to sow wild oats and fight with the boys from Wise and Lee counties. He also reports that with the organization of the guard and the establishment of town ordinances which outlawed drinking, shooting, and yelling, all this was changed and mountain people were practically prevented from entering town (except as "meek sheep"). "It arrayed the town people against the country folk. . . but with each element of disorder there was a climax of incidents that established the recognized authority of the guard." The hanging of a local bad man, Talton Hall, became a ceremonial display of power, thereby showing the legal conquest of the mountains through a confrontation with and defeat of the family-clan system. "Never had a criminal met death at the hands of the law in that region." The badman was a Kentucky �122 Colonialism in Modern America feudsman and his clan was there to rescue him from the gallows. The guard won, and Fox points out that it showed "that a new power had come in the little band of 'furriners,' high-spirited, adventurous and well born, who had taken matters into their own hands, and subdued local lawlessness" (p. 25). The guard extended its "benign influence" throughout the area, and other boom towns formed similar organizations. After that, the natives, "the easy-going, tolerant good people, caught the fever for law and order." This early show of force and organization of political control made it possible in later years for the owneroperators to rely on the local authorities to protect their interests and maintain the needed law and order. After that, natives did most of the policing, and not until the unionization of the mines did the outsiders again have to take up guns to protect their interests. The establishment of control may not have been quite as rapid or efficient in other parts of the mountains, but the pattern was much the same. The technological superiority of the newcomers made conquest inevitable. The shrewd manipulation of the machinery of law made the newcomer the supporter of law and order while the native became an outlaw. Since the newcomer wrote the history, the colonizer is "adventuresome" while the native is "tough." Raines was to write later: "The Mountain Man that attempts to redress the injustice of the law by using the rifle is no more guilty in his lawlessness than is the millionaire corporation that uses shrewd lawyers instead of rifles" (1924, 144). EDUCATION AND CONVERSION OF THE NATIVES The role of the missionaries and educators was an important one: to make legitimate the exploitation, to eliminate some of the worst abuses, and to educate and change values so that the people would accept the new ways. John Fox recounts another incident of resistance to the newcomers and the use of religion to win over the natives. He reports that when the first printing press was taken to a certain mountain town in 1882, a deputation of citizens met it three miles from town and swore that it should go no farther. An old preacher mounted the wagon and drove it into town. �Family, Religion and Colonialism in Central Appalachia 123 There are other reports of resistance to the missionaries, and some ministers were run out of communities and their churches burned. The preachers and church boards soon found that women were more welcome, especially if they had any skills such as teaching or nursing, for the mountain people were eager to acquire teachers and health workers who could most effectively reach the people. A former missionary reported that women were sent in to "pave the way" for the ministers. She rode horseback all over eastern Kentucky without fear of any harm, whereas the preachers would be run out. She started schools and clinics, but she knew that she was really there to pave the way for the preacher to save souls. In a report in 1915 of the Conference of Southern Mountain Workers (an inquiry into their needs, and the qualifications desired in church, educational, and social service workers in the mountain country), one churchman writes: I place first [in needs] academic schools rather than Sunday schools for the reason that the former have the stronger appeal and are less liable to sectarian objections and denominational opposition. In this kind of school it is possible to successfully mold the character of the young and to prepare them for more efficient lifework. Through the young, it reaches out into the home and social environment of the parents. Next in importance, I place the Sunday school. It is a more plastic and adaptable agency for reaching the young and adult mountaineer than church services. Its approach is more immediate and acceptable. Well organized and tactfully conducted, the Sunday school's religious and social enterprises can come in closer touch with the homelife and social habits of children and parents, (p. 11) Jean Ritchie relates the story of the arrival of a strange woman into Hazard in 1895, driving a wagon and traveling ahead of the railroad: Folks couldn't rightly make out why she had come all that weary way up into Perry County; she had no people here that anyone could see. . .she was friendly, "nice-spoken," "a little bit nosey," "visited nearly every family," "stayed the night," "would pitch in and help," �124 Colonialism in Modern America and sometimes she'd come right out and rail at them over doing something a wrong way or a hard way and show them a better way. Miss Pettit had such a way about her that she got by with it. After several years of summer visiting, Miss Pettit returned with tents and other women and started teaching school. They held classes on how to cook, sew, mend, darn, and take care of sick folks. They read the Bible and talked about the evils of drink. The Women, as they were called, developed both Hindman and Pine Mountain Settlement schools. Jean Ritchie relates a story about her grandfather which was told by the Women and published in books describing the development of the settlement school. It is a story which has its counterpart in other parts of the mountains and takes on the nature of a legitimizing myth. It relates how a mountain man came to support the Women and their school and to claim them as saviours for his people. He walked long distances across the mountain; and he said: "I growed up ignorant and mean; my offspring was wuss; my grands is wusser, squandering their time drinking and shooting; and what my greats will be if something hain't done to stop the meanness of their maneuvers, God only knows. Women, I am persuaded you air the ones I have looked for all my lifetime. Come over on Troublesome, Women, and do for us what you air a-doin' here" (p. 227). Another missionary, Alice Lloyd, from Boston, came to a Presbyterian Mission, Hope Cottage, on Troublesome Creek. Another old mountain man, Abisha Johnson, went to Hope Cottage and begged Alice Lloyd to teach his children to live "not liken to the hog but unliken the hog" and gave her 150 acres for a school on Caney Creek. Many other women made similar treks. Deaconess Binns of the Episcopal Church came to Nora, Virginia, on the first train that ran on the line to teach in the schools and start Sunday schools. In 1905 an Englishwoman, Miss Toddy Collins, who became known as the Angel of Happy Hollow, walked across Big Black Mountain from Kentucky to Roda, Virginia, a mining camp, to begin a church and a school, preach funerals, make coffins, and mother the sick. The Women were usually welcomed by the coal operators who provided houses and buildings �Family, Religion and Colonialism in Central Appalachia 125 for churches and schools. An Iowa minister came to Beverly, Kentucky, which he described as u the wildest part of the Cumberlands." Following the gleam "to this neglected place where lawlessness and ignorance reigned," he built schools and churches and became known as the Shepherd of Red Bird Mission (MLW, January 1929, 17). The missionaries were sincere and dedicated to educating mountain people, nursing the sick, caring for orphaned children, and assisting families in many ways. They also had a profound effect upon family life. Jean Ritchie reports that families moved closer to the settlements to be able to send their children to the schools. The Women made a great impression on the people with their stylish clothes, the pretty furniture, and the nice way they talked. Jean Ritchie and her sisters were impressed: "What if I could grow up to be like that. . . .It was like the whole world was opening up like a blossom" (pp. 230-231). One story is typical of how a community sought their help: "At the request of the community, who were asked in a public meeting to vote on it, a church famous for its high standards was induced to begin work there. It sent a well-trained, consecrated woman as full-time religious worker. A congregation was organized and a school with several teachers. Every year a fresh crop of young people go out from the community to the mission schools to train themselves for worthwhile service" (MLW, April 1929, 13). The missionary and settlement schools were successful in educating a whole generation of teachers and middle-class leaders for the mountains. In a brochure about Konnarock Training School in Virginia, Mr. Kenneth Killinger says: "These schools lead and train youth in Christian womanhood and manhood, developing Christian leaders who will ultimately raise the spiritual, social, educational, cultural, and economic standards of the mountain people." The training at some of the schools was so successful that an educated native, an extension worker for the University of Kentucky, could look back at his people and state that through Junior Club work he was finding that what was really wrong was "laziness or we may call it, lack of industry" (MLW, July 1925). �126 Colonialism in Modem America The missionaries worked on two levels, which insured their influence in the development of the education, health, and social service systems. First, they came as direct representatives of the church and started a denominational church school, or they started Christian schools of no particular denomination in order to avoid direct conflict with local preachers. Second, the missionaries would work in the already existing school system for no pay, as did Deaconess Binns of Nora, Virginia. Deaconess Binns worked for the school board for 35 years for a dollar a year. Thus, her efforts to start a Sunday school and various recreational programs for children met with community approval. It was through this method that an Episcopal church was started and maintained until her death in 1968. All the schools and missions offered various other services besides the rudiments of education. People in the communities quickly learned that they could go to these missions to receive health care and free used clothing and to leave orphaned children, etc. These and other services had been taken care of in the past by the family and community. Now, missionaries with much better facilities were able to "show-up" the meager efforts of the past. In their eagerness to be accepted by the community, many missionaries were overgiving, which placed people in dependency relationships, since missionary help was the only alternative to the hard life of the past. There was another side to the training. The mountaineer became overwhelmed and ashamed of his culture. Fox was to relate that as religious and educational agencies work on the mountaineer "he is cowed by the superior numbers, superior intelligence of the incomer and he seems to lose his sturdy selfrespect" (p. 50). Raines reports that more than 200 schools, orphanages, academies, and colleges brought in by church boards had been established by 1924 (pp. 176-77). He points out that most were boarding schools which provided greater opportunity to mold the habits and thoughts. The schools included household and garden chores, religious training, and constant supervision. He describes the curriculum in what he calls the "brought-on, nonindigenous schools." Most of the cultural people coming into the moun- �Family, Religion and Colonialism in Central Appalachia 127 tains to teach unconsciously use the same methods and the same materials to which they were themselves accustomed. . .which are poorly adapted to the super-rural conditions in the mountain area. They either urge the mountain pupil away from the mountains or overwhelm him with hopeless discouragement. In either case, they unfit him to remain at home. (p. 181) It was these schools which developed a dual society where children had one relationship and identity at home and one at school. The schools, books, and teachers represented another world, another history, and another literature. Some of the teachers attempted to preserve certain aspects of mountain culture such as crafts and music. Jean Ritchie reports that "if it hadn't been for the settlement schools, many of the old mountain songs would have died out when the ways of the world came in on us. But the Women loved our music and plays so that they became a regular part of the life around the two schools" (Pine Mountain and Hindman, 231). Other teachers, however, found no singing and a complete lack of suitable good songs in the mountains (MLW, July 1925, 3). One teacher found children singing "I've Been Working on the Railroad/' an "obviously unchildish song," and only two out of 23 students knew "Annie Laurie." This teacher brought in a progressive music series and promoted such operettas as "The Windmill of Holland" and "The Quest of the Pink Parasol." Such denials of mountain culture made native children ashamed of their heritage. Churches and missionaries gave some support to certain harmless aspects of native culture. This fact served to soften the impact and ameliorate some of the abuses of the system, the denigration of mountain culture, and the development of feelings of inferiority by mountain people. The churches and schools, however, taught the values of organization, planning, hard work, and thrift. They made the industrial process legitimate by blaming the ills of the system on the mountaineer himself. He must learn to be more "cagey" (not so gullible and taken in by the land sharks); he must learn to be more thrifty and hard-working, more respectful and cooperative with the mine operators. Although some of the missionaries saw clearly the exploitation, they still had great faith in progress and the benefits �128 Colonialism in Modern America of industrialization. The superintendent of mountain work of the Presbyterian Church wrote in MLW, January 1929, of the tremendous multiplication of industries, some of them of gigantic scale and from alien sections and nations. He saw a need for the states to provide safeguards against the exploitation of their population, for "only as church and state move hand in hand will industrialization become an unqualified blessing." Some were more critical. Perry Davidson, writing in 1926 in MLW, says: Coal, the chief material wealth of the section, is now owned by outside capital. It is doubtful if any of the profits accruing from the exploitation of this natural wealth will be reinvested in the welfare of the mountain people. No great agricultural prosperity is to be hoped for. The timber is gone. This narrows prospects, but let's not despair. And this is his solution. Maybe there is oil below the coal, and if it is struck the native will not let the "furriner" outwit him next time. (January 1926, 10) In an industrial round table of the Conference of Southern Mountain Workers in 1926, the group agreed that the industrializing of the mountain resources had been deadening to the constructive instincts and had inhibited the forming of habits of thrift and a feeling for conservation. This group hoped to obtain the cooperation of the heads of companies in working out remedial programs. The consensus was that the employers have hearts and that they vaguely realize the evils of their industrial system but do not know what to do about it. The feeling was that if they were approached in the right way they would welcome counteractive influence. Another Episcopal missionary, who earlier worked among the Indians of Canada before coming to his mountain post, worried about the fact that mining was not constructive and that recklessness took the place of thrift, the miner did not learn to save. "While the accumulation of money is neither the most desirable thing or the only desirable thing, it is a good indication �Family, Religion and Colonialism in Central Appalachia 129 of a man's habits, and a man who tries to save a little can be depended upon to fight temptation against slackness of life and conduct7' (MLW, January 1926, 22). Some few missionaries thought the church should be more vigorous in warning the mountain people of the danger of large corporations and also in preserving parts of the native culture. One missionary who came as early as 1876 wrote with appreciation about the mountain people: They need the inspiration of the outside world without its greed and corruption. . . .they are closer to an original type of American manhood than any other section of our country. They should not be changed in their fundamental characteristics. . .they need to be warned of the danger of disposing of their large mountain holdings for a song. Corporations and trusts are a constant menace . . . .they threaten the mountaineers by transforming them into a servile class. (An Inquiry, 20) The missionaries saw the family and church as problems to be resolved (Tadlock, 3). The superintendent of mountain work of the Presbyterian church found the native church non-progressive and without any activities other than monthly preaching by uneducated ministers with an emphasis on doctrine unrelated to life. "But industrialism has brought its nucleus of Christian people, pastors, evangelists, church and independent schools which are centers of religious progress. . .with modern church programs, efficient pastoral leadership (MLW, January 1929, 20-23). Even those ministers who admired the primitive, simple, real worship found the lack of organization of the churches a drawback; services were not regular enough and preachers were ineffective and inefficient. Here again, the outsider judged the family and churches as needing to be better organized—or disrupted—if the native was to be fully integrated and assimilated into modern society. The missionaries formed themselves into an organization called the Conference of Southern Mountain Workers which began publication of a magazine Mountain Life and Work. In the first issue (April 1925, Vol. 1-1) a statement of philosophy, A �130 Colonialism in Modern America Program for the Mountains, was included. It summarizes well their attitudes and programs: First the program for the development of mountain resources by mountain people: . . . .Northern and Eastern artisans and capitalists are our friends and we invite them among us but we must not permit them to crowd us out and take away our heritage and birthright. There is no insinuation that this heritage and birthright are being dishonestly taken from us. They are simply slipping from our hands because of our inability to hold them. We can hold them only through education, skill and efficiency. These three acquirements must become our possession if we would develop the mountain resources. The program for "The perpetuation of Mountain Home Life Along the Lines of Our Own Best Traditions" emphasized the development of God-fearing homes where education is encouraged and love reigns; homes wisely planned. . . .the creation of beauty. . . .building upright character. . . .conveniences to relieve the drudgery of wife and mother. . .the precepts and examples of law abiding citizens are held in reverence and everything derogatory to peace and order and neighborly good will is discouraged. In the program for "A Religion that Functions Actively in the Life of the People" churches should work at a common task and jealousies and competitions should be forgotten. The churches should promote unselfish devotion to the welfare of neighbors and the cause of Christ. There was a need for a religion felt in politics and business and to motivate the civic life of people. . . .patriotic enforcement of law by ballot box and community backing of public officials. . . .election of God-fearing, country-loving officers who will do their duty. Training the youth that bravery and heroism are not expressed by intimidation, revenge and killing, (pp. 20-21) Throughout the program, the emphasis is on the need for education, skills, efficiency, planning, law and order, material conveniences, fear of God and a sense of duty, all very helpful values for the new society. �Family, Religion and Colonialism in Central Appalachia 131 THE CHURCH AND FAMILY RESISTS Both the family and church became defensive and reverted inward in order to protect members from the sudden influence which came with the development of industrialization. Some of the characteristics and "problems" ascribed to children and families today by psychiatrists, educators, and social workers can possibly be traced to this process whereby the family tries to preserve traditional mountain culture and resist or adapt to the colonization process. In outline one can point to the following reactions and ways through which the family system has resisted colonization: 1. The family and kinship group became a refuge for its members. 2. The family became more resistant to certain changes and developed sabotage techniques. 3. Used as a refuge, the family resulted in overprotection of children. 4. The family and family groups in neighborhoods became defenseive, exclusive, and closed. 5. The family and family groups became the center for "underground" mountain culture. 6. The family and family groups encouraged biculturalism. Each of these reactions will be discussed briefly. Some of these conclusions can be documented from other reports and studies of family and children in the mountains, but many of these remarks are highly impressionistic observations based on our experience growing up, being educated, teaching, living, and working in the area. 1. The family becomes a refuge. In studying the families in the Southern Appalachians and Appalachians in the cities, researchers have continued to find the society familistic, kinship ties strong and viable, loyalties to kin taking precedence over �132 Colonialism in Modern America "civic" responsibilities, kin groups acting to ease migration problem and to provide a home base for the returning migrant (Brown 1971; Ford 1965; Pearsall 1959; Coles 1971). In the coalfields, where there are few alternatives for employment, the family offers the only alternative means of support. If one "can't take it" any longer, he will be accepted back home and cared for until he has the strength to go back into the mines, locate a new job, or migrate to (or reenter) the city. Rather than being destroyed by industrialization, the family and family ties remain or perhaps in some cases become stronger as the family requires more commitment on the part of members. The Appalachian is expected to be loyal and help members of his family whether he likes them or not. This family loyalty can also be used against the family. Industries soon learned to use family loyalties to minimize criticism of industrial operations. One will not endanger a relative's job or criticize a situation in which a kinsman is involved. Mine operators, for instance, have learned to hire through families to find loyal workers; they also hire from a number of families to cut down on criticism of strip mining within a community. 2. The family becomes resistant to change. Family members restrain their members from taking social action. There is little revolt or conflict since one is afraid to disrupt the only remaining refuge. A number of persons have commented on the permissive mountain mother, and some have suggested that she is afraid to discipline her children for fear of a disruptive conflict. Many school social workers and nurses have commented on mothers who say they can't make a six-year-old go to school, eat proper food, or go to the dentist. This has a contradictory aspect in that the child is taught to rebel against certain institutions such as health and school. The child seems to be trained by the mother to be "willful," and the mother seems to take pride in a child who cannot be controlled. This serves to cut down conflict within the family and also keeps the child at home as he rejects the institutions. 3. The mother frequently becomes overprotective. She holds the child close and makes him feel guilty about leaving home or developing new ideas. Memmi remarks that this is a problem in other colonial situations. "The soft warmth of clan �Family, Religion and Colonialism in Central Appalacbia 133 reunions is satisfying and one is afraid to leave it." Looff (1971) in his book Appalachians Children agrees with Memmi (p. 99) that the "young remain glued to family which offers warmth and tenderness and clutches and emasculates him." 4. The family and neighborhoods become more exclusive and closed. Early visitors—including industrialists, missionaries and tourists—found great hospitality, open goodwill, as well as the beginnings of cautious suspicion. The mountain people learned to distrust. Semple (p. 610) reports that people were beginning to resent the coming of "furriners" among them on the grounds that outsiders came to spy upon them and criticize and "tell-tale" as they put it. A cautiousness toward outsiders has been encouraged in the family. "Listen and don't talk" is widely used as a protection. One can also put down an outsider's idea, with, "You are not one of us. You don't understand." This is a form of defensive racism, and the burden of understanding is placed not upon the Appalachian but upon the good shepherd in wolf's clothing who desires to "help" mountain people. This can lead to the family's becoming oversensitive to criticism, more negative, more unchanging and traditional in approach to problems. 5. The family becomes the bulwark against the loss of native culture. Memmi points out that what is saved may be meagre or it may go underground since the colonial falsifies history, extinguishes memories, and devalues native culture. Since he stresses differences, he is always compared with something "better"; therefore, the native becomes ashamed of his heritage and draws less and less from his past, which results in a "present orientation" according to Pearsall, Weller and Ford. The Appalachian takes on the myth perpetuated by the industrialist that there was nothing here until coal came in to develop it. The main aspects of the culture which were fought for and were the hardest to change were mainly patterns of relationships which can be described as basically non-competitiveness. Family members and neighbors depend on each other, but it is a dependence which also encourages independence or "let the other fellow alone." People help each other in time of need; they share the load; but this help is not imposed nor organized and leaves room for independence and individuality. �134 Colonialism in Modern America The family also develops ways of holding down conflicts, "talking things over," and face-saving games. Disputes must be settled amicably; therefore, certain things are never mentioned and certain behaviors are ignored. Equality is maintained through treating all children the same and providing them with equal inheritances wherever possible (Brown 1952). The only consistent exception is "baby," and if land is passed on to only one child, it will more often be the youngest, who in exchange stays home to care for parents. To keep a sense of equality and non-competitiveness, a "local success" or ambitious hillbilly almost has to leave his family and neighborhood and live with the colonizers. In his small neighborhood he will be sabotaged and people won't help him. He will be put down as not neighborly and "out for himself." Perhaps this explains why the local success seems to become more exploitative than the outsider. He goes against his rearing, he is punished, and he retaliates and must find his support from the outsiders. Equality is still important. Mountain people resist experts, titles, and people who put on airs or get above their raising. 6. The family encourages biculturalism. The schools create a duality—a world different from the family environment. Branscome speaks of the "annihilation of the hillbilly" by the institutions. Many mountain youth remember the shaming process when they had to deny their "mother tongue," reject their music and their religion. Memmi (p. 108) says the colonized turns away from his music, the plastic arts, and, in effect, his entire traditional culture^the consequence of which is ambiguity. Smathers talks of two routes the educated mountaineer can take: cultural schizophrenia or cultural transvestitism (biculturalism). Mountain children are taught early to act properly in public and be hillbilly at home. Mountain people learn to deal with medical, welfare, educational, governmental institutions and speak their language and use their techniques. They learn to use institutions, outsiders, etc. selectively. But the strain is great. The mountain person is taught how to use the hillbilly stereotype for his own protection and to confound, aggravate, harass, and thwart the colonizer. (They leave the program planner wondering why that didn't work.) One example is the stereotype of �Family, Religion and Colonialism in Central Appalachia 135 laziness, dependency, and irresponsibility which the Appalachian has learned to manipulate effectively in order to sabotage the colonizer's attempts to organize the mountaineer into pseudoparticipatory democracy rituals which further splinter Appalachian solidarity. The mountain church also went through similar reactions. Briefly, the church also became defensive: the native minister reacted against his characterization as ignorant and uneducated by making lack of training and education positive values. Local preachers attacked the incoming trained clergy for their "high laming" and accused them of being lacking in "spirit." The church resisted the social consciousness which was being promoted by outside religious institutions; therefore, the church became more fundamental and rigid in doctrine. It saw the establishment churches as supporting a system, political and economic, which was destroying a way of life. Its best defense was to become less worldly. Few outsiders felt comfortable in the primitive Baptist services; therefore, keeping their services expressive became a good protection. The church maintained equalitarian rituals and strict rules of behavior which set them apart. Mountain people still do not belong to Presbyterian, Episcopal, or town Methodist churches unless they have become middle class professionsals or successful businessmen. Other churches (which became more popular with younger Appalachians) developed in the area, including Free Will Baptist and Pentecostal churches. In these churches, foot-washing is still maintained as part of the ritual; the services are informal; there is still shouting and expression of religious fervor; and preachers still "preach." They now have Sunday schools, sing more popular gospel songs, and even train and pay their preachers; but the city churches are still shunned as coal operators' churches, too fancy and elegant for plain country folk. But while helping to preserve certain aspects of indigenous culture, the native church refused to become involved in politics or to be critical of the economic exploitation of the area; this fact has worked against change in the status quo. Memmi (pp. 99, 101) finds that in a colonized situation both religion and the �136 Colonialism in Modern America family serve as refugees and save the colonized from the despair of total defeat. He feels that the native society gets in a bind; in order to preserve or save the collective consciousness, it must shut itself off, live isolated. In so doing, it hardens, petrifies, and "degrades its own life in order to save it." This appears to be only partly true in Appalachia. The church and family still reflect and teach basic mountain values of equality, non-competitiveness, and family-neighborhood solidarity. These positive and viable aspects of the expressive church and the solidary family may be powerful allies in and the basis for a revitalization movement in Appalachia. Mike Smathers suggests that "resistance strategies" should be considered as positive strategies for the future saving of Appalachia. Those committed to the liberation of Appalachian people might well study the ways in which the mountain family and church have continued to resist the institutions in order to give help to controlling the new "developers": federal government, tourism, and T.V. The new missionaries, the new professional planners, educators, and community organizers might well look at their roles in the new development to see how they also may be aiding and legitimizing the further destruction of Appalachia. �Family, Religion and Colonialism in Central Appalachia" 137 REFERENCES CITED Blauner, Robert 1969 "Internal Colonialism and Ghetto Revolt/' Social Problems (spring) Vol. 16, No. 4, 393-408. Branscome, James 1971 Annihilating the Hillbilly, Huntington: ment Press. Appalachian Move- Brown, James 1952 "The Farm Family in a Kentucky Mountain Neighborhood," Kentucky Agricultural Experiment Station Bulletin 587, Lexington, Kentucky (August). Brown, James S. 1971 Mountain Families in Transition, Penn State. Burlage, Rob 1971 "Developers and Colonizers" in David Walls and John Stephenson, Appalachia in the Sixties, Lexington: University of Kentucky. Campbell, Mrs. John C. 1925 "Flame of a New Future for the Highlands," Mountain Life and Work (April, pp. 9-13). Caudill, Harry 1962 Night Comes to the Cumberland, Boston: Little and Brown. Coles, Robert 1971 Migrants, Sharecroppers, Mountaineers, Children of Crisis, Vol. 2, Boston: Little and Brown. Condon, Mabel Green 1962 A History ofHarlan County, Nashville: Parthenon. �138 Colonialism in Modern America Conference of Southern Mountain Workers 1915 The Southern Highlands: An Inquiry into their needs and qualifications, desired in church, educational and social service workers in the mountain country. Diehl, Richard 1970 "How International Energy Elite Rules," People's Appalachia (April, May). Dix, Keith 1970 "Third World Pillage," People s Appalachia (April, May). Egerton, John 1966 "Alice Lloyd: The College That Can't Be," Louisville Courier Journal, October 23, 1966, pp. 7-12, 26, 27. Ford, Thomas R. 1965 Value Orientations of a Culture of Poverty: The Southern Appalachian Case. Working with low income families, American home economics association, Washington, D.C., pp. 57-69. Fox, John, Jr. 1901 Blue-grass and Rhododendron, New York: Scribners. Henson, Edward L., Jr. 1972 Gladeville and the Mountain Stereotype 1856-1860, Virginia Cavalcade (spring, 21:4, 30-35). Lesser, Roger 1970 "Culture: Toward Tomorrow's People," People's Appalachia, No. 1, March. Lewis, Helen M. and Edward E. Knipe 1970 The Colonialism Model: The Appalachian Case, paper read at American Anthropological Association Annual Meeting, San Diego, California, November 22, 1970. Looff, David H. 1971 Appalachia's Children, Lexington: University of Kentucky. Mahy, Gordon G., Jr. 1946 Murdoch of Buckhorn, Nashville, Tenn.: Parthenon Press. �Family, Religion and Colonialism in Central Appalachia 139 Memmi, Albert 1965 The Colonizer and the Colonized, Boston: Beacon. Mountain Life and Work 1925-30 Files of back issues, Conference of Southern Mountain Workers. Page, Thomas Nelson 1910 The Mountaineer of the South, American Monthly, June 1910. Pearsall, Marion 1959 Little Smokey Ridge, University of Alabama. Raines, James Watt 1924 The Land of Saddle-bags, New York: Council of Women for Home Missions and Missionary Education Movement of the United States and Canada. Ritchie, Jean 1955 Singing Family of the Cumberlands, New York: Oak Publications. Semple, Ellen Churchill 1901 The Anglo-Saxons of the Kentucky Mountains: Anthropology, Harper, VI, 588-622. A Study in Simon, Rich 1972 "An Historical Sketch of Migration in Appalachia," People's Appalachia, Vol. 2, No. 3, July. Smathers, Mike 1972 Talk at rural sociology meeting on Appalachian Research, Baton Rouge, Louisiana, August 25. Tadlock, E. V. 1929 Coal Camps and Character, January, 1929. Vincent, George E. 1898 "A Retarded Frontier," American Journal of Sociology, IV, 1-20. Weller, Jack 196 5 Yesterday's People, Lexington: University of Kentucky. �This page intentionally left blank �PROPERTY, COAL, AND THEFT by If I had to I to (l the in t is si a very ? " a n d i f "murder" I 1 to the to dehis is to is to be prive a a to of his of Why, not to the "Wftdtf is property?" "theft" to be is I I am the of the first? a ... In is We can by the •'A ' ' of lit " of this at the "/» Is I, JVo, 2 in ts of of the o/ tit �142 Colonialism in Modern America berland Mountain and lying on the border of Kentucky and Tennessee. Here one finds the results of corporate exploitation at its worst. Once a booming mining area, automation and strip mining have left 30 percent of the population unemployed. Mountains are gouged by the relentless blade of the bulldozer and blasts of dynamite. Streams are filled with silt and flooding; timber and wildlife are destroyed. Not just land, but a way of life is eroding. Thousands have had to leave to find homes and jobs in the cities of the North and to make way for the strippers. For those who remain, houses are poor, and incomes for over 70 percent of the population are less than $4,000 annually. Within that same valley in Bell County, Kentucky, and Claiborne County, Tennessee, approximately 85 percent of the land—50,000 acres—is owned by a single company, the American Association, Ltd., of London, England. From its land, over 2.2 million tons of coal a year are carted away, mostly to Georgia Power and Duke Power. And from the royalties on that coal, thousands of dollars a year are exported to the company's London headquarters. Yet, there in the midst of England's "Wall Street" the wealth may scarcely be noticed. The chairman of the company's board of directors, Sir Denys Flowerdew Lowson, a former Lord Mayor of London, controls an estimated 88 such companies around the globe; and he personally is listed as chairman of 40. The American Association is one of the smallest of his concerns. To the people of Clear Fork Valley, however, the company represents tax evasion, destruction of land and jobs, and the denial of the future; to Sir Lowson, however, the company's listed value represents a piddling one half of one per cent of his estimated personal wealth. It is no misnomer that one of the American Association's parent companies should be named London Foreign and Colonial Securities. But its English nature should not detract from its similarities with the other absentee property owners of Appalachia. By looking at the historical development of this microcolony in Clear Fork Valley and the meaning of its colonial control in the modern day energy demanding world, we can learn something of a situation common to much of central Appalachia. And by understanding the micro-colonial relationship, we can learn something not only about Clear Fork but also about the �Property, Coal, and Theft 143 relationship of other regions to the energy conglomerates. The Making of a Micro-Colony It is an irony of history that many of the first settlers to come to the mountainous areas in and around Cumberland Gap were the rebels. In the Appalachians they found a place to escape the rapid industrialization of England and of Europe and to establish a new way of life, free from the exploitative social relations which they had known before. As Jack Weller describes in Yesterday s People, some of the settlers came from the Levellers movement in Britain, where they had challenged the power of their English landlords, and they came "in rebellion against a form of government that imposed its rule from the top."8 Yet their freedom in the frontier mountains was changed in the late 1800's when coal and iron ore were discovered and demanded to feed the new wave of westward industrialization. In the Cumberland Gap area it was a young Scottish-Canadian capitalist, Alexander Arthur, who foresaw the Gap as an iron, coal, and steel center to feed the rapidly growing South. Backed by capital from Britain's Baring Brothers, a company was formed, the American Association, Ltd., which in turn transformed the Yellow Creek Valley of Kentucky into the booming coal town of Middlesborough, named after its British counterpart. Rarely has there been such a colonial boom. Between 18881892 over 20 million dollars of British capital poured into the area. Railroads, furnaces, industry, hotels, streets, and lavish halls were built. Thousands of people—many from England, others from the east, some from the south—poured into the area. The town was quickly dubbed by its promoters and others as "The Magic City of the South," and in 1892 its magic was valued on the British stock exchange at over 40 million dollars. Founding Father Alexander Arthur, who came to be known as the "Duke of the Cumberlands," proclaimed to a group of investors on November 11, 1890, "This is but a transfer of British business to American soil."9 And, indeed, soil they had acquired—an estimated 80,000 acres in the Yellow Creek, Clear Fork, and other valleys, all rich �144 Colonialism in Modern America with coal and timber. The most famous historical account of the development of the area, Wilderness Road by Robert Kincary, simply states that the company acquired the land within a few months. In fact, modern day courthouse deeds show perfected titles. But there is more to the story. Residents describe, still with anger, how the agents tricked, threatened, or forced the uneducated mountaineers to give up their land. Some mountaineers, not knowing or even caring about the value to the industrial world of the wealth beneath them, "Voluntarily" sold the land for 50 cents or one dollar an acre. An entire mountain, from which Consolidation Coal now supplies the American Association almost $200,000 yearly and Georgia Power over 1,000,000 tons of coal yearly, was reportedly traded to an agent of the company for a hog rifle. Other mountaineers were victims of legal tricks. One method, oral history reveals, was to have someone jailed and then offer to post bond in return for his land. Where there was resistance, force was used. Residents tell stories of how the company men would burn their fathers out if they wouldn't sell. And though many of the courthouse records of this era have been burned or have disappeared, it is not uncommon for a local Appalachian to look out from the front porch of his companyowned house and remark, "See that mountain? They stole it from my daddy." "Property is theft," but to endure, theft has to be legitimized. In Middlesboro, as in the modern era, the tools of legitimacy were the concentration of power in the hands of a few and an ideology of boom and progress to attract the support of the many. Certainly, the American Association had the power in the boom town. It retained controlling interest in everything—banks, industry, railroads, even the Four Seasons Hotel in which were hosted the recreational shenanigans of the rich. One is reminded quickly of modern plans for development of Appalachian playgrounds. Anyone who had or who wanted any part of the economic benefit of the new society was dependent on the will of those few who controlled it. With the dependency on the economic controllers, though, also came a supporting ideology of progress, civilization, and re- �Property, Coal, and Theft 145 sponse to social need. Arthur proclaims it this way: I would say that America needs this place and our AngloAmerican money, experience and push. . . .We have also the sinews of body and of money and stand ready, cleancut, and vigorous, for a generation of progress and success in manufacture, arts, and sciences. Come and join hands with us in the great enterprise which is worthy of us all, native or foreign born though we may be. ^ The New York Times and other publications applauded the development. For Harper's magazine it represented "a summing up of the past and a prophecy of the future. . . .the last of the mountaineers passing away before the breath of civilization."11 Like other traditional colonialists, the virtues of this "civilization" were unquestionably better than the past, somehow less-than-human, ways of the "natives." The imagery from the same Harper's article demonstrates this equation by the colonizers of progress with economic boom, of human dignity with the material gain: As I stood one day in this valley, which has already begun to put on the air of civilization with its hotel and railway station and mills and pretty homesteads, I saw a sight which seemed to complete the epitome of the past and present tendencies there at work. . . . . . . .creeping slowly past the station—so slowly that one knows not what to compare it to unless it be the minute hand on the dial of the clock—creeping slowly along the Wilderness Road toward the ascent of the Cumberland Gap came a mountain wagon, faded and old, with its dirty, ragged canvas hanging motionless, and drawn by a yoke of mountain oxen which seemed to be moving in their sleep.. . . On the seat in front . . .sat a faded, pinched and meager mountain boy. . . .His stained white face was kindled into an expression of passionate hunger and mental excitement. For in one dirty claw-like hand he grasped a small paper bag, into the mouth of which he thrust the other hand, as a miser might thrust his into a bag of gold. He �146 Colonialism in Modern America had just bought with a few cents he had perhaps saved no one knows how long some sweetmeat of civilization which he was about for the first time to taste. . . . So it is easy to see how for the American Association the combination of monopoly and ideology fused tq portray it not as a colonizer or controller but as a conscientious and necessary contributor to the social good. A Scribner's Magazine article in 1890 reflects this social view. The American Association ''leases its mining and other properties but does not and will not sell them. This fact is evidence of the interests which it has and will always have in the prosperity of Middlesboro." The company controls the coal commerce from "the raw state of the earth's bed until the final and finished result is in the hands of the consumer. . . .To this parental character of the American Association " the article concludes, "and to the comprehensive protection with which it pursues the course of industry is largely due the prosperity of Middlesboro. "12 For those to whom the economic dependency brought rewards, the ideology of progress brought responses of loyalty appropriate to the "parental character." In 1891 local newspapers report that a three-hour mass meeting was held to express appreciation to the officers of the American Association. Held at the Opera Hall, it was the "largest and most enthusiastic meeting" ever witnessed and one at which quite a number of "the fair sex graced the scene."13 For those mountaineers who did not accept the new ideology, such progress meant the intrusion into and colonization of their culture. But their protests and situations were ignored, justified as a "social cost," or pitied by those who saw them as "left out of the mainstream." The literature of the city's development says little of its effect on the mountain people. But one 1905 account describes the colonization of the free life of the mountaineer in rationalities frighteningly similar to what one might hear today: The Association have between 200 and 300 tenants of mountain people and are on the best of terms with them. The Association has not always treated them fairly and justly, but has gone out of its way to assist and to encourage; they have responded by being true friends, �Property, Coal, and Theft 147 assisting the Association in protecting its property. It is much regretted that these people have not yet got the advantage of schools and churches to which they are entitled.14 The Yellow Creek and Clear Fork valleys had been colonized. Through the power of property the propertyless had been made the powerless. Not only is property "theft" but it is also the ability to legitimize itself: to make colonization acceptable. But the glory of the Magic City of the South didn't last long. Money from London dried up. The American financial panic of 1893 hit the hills of central Appalachia. A 1911 issue of the Middlesboro newspaper describes in retrospect: "It may be doubted if ever in the history of boom towns there had been so great a collapse." The properties in the town of Middlesboro were auctioned off and the 80,000 acres of land were mortgaged to the New York bank and a Mr. J. H. Bartlett was appointed auctioneer. At that point, the American Association changed its name from Limited to Incorporated yet retained essentially the same shareholders. In the auction, an agent for the "new" company bought back for $25,000 what had been mortgaged for $1,500,000 only a few months before. Shortly thereafter, J. H. Bartlett became general manager of the American Association, Inc. The strange transaction did not go unnoticed. Creditors of the American Association, Ltd. sued, claiming "fraud," rigging of federal courts, and perjury. The outcome of the suits is undetermined; the records went up in flames in one courthouse and seemed to have disappeared from the dockets in another county courthouse. Though the company had lost its property, it hadn't lost the power to steal it again. Middlesboro as a company town was gone, but the company had regained 80,000 acres of surrounding coal-rich mountain land, and on that property it could continue to control its colony. A Modern Day Colony It was last summer and Lewis Lowe looked out at his small �148 Colonialism in Modem America one-half acre of land located along the Clear Fork Creek, now covered with strip mine silt deposited on it from the latest flood. For the last few years, he hadn't been able to farm much on his land. "Strip mine mud. . . .nothing will grow on it," he said angrily. And today he was thinking of leaving, of moving out of the mountains where he had lived the close to seven decades of his life to an unknown town somewhere. "You'd think we were animals or something, the way they Ve treated us . . . .the strippers and the Association." His life represented much of what had happened in the eighty or so years since the Middlesboro bust. The coal mines and company towns had come to the Clear Fork Valley. For 46 of these years, along with hundreds of others like him, Lewis had worked "from sun up to sun down, worked in almost every mine around, I did." Then, though, it was other companies, those that leased from the Association, that were the "villains." They owned the stores, ran the mines, built the houses, extracted most of the profits, and supplied the Association handsome royalties. These companies needed the labor of the men like Lewis; and though exploitative in the many slave-like ways of the coal camp era, they provided jobs and camouflaged the controlling palm of the behind-the-scenes, landowning American Association. But in the 1950's came the coal slump. For a variety of reasons, the deep mines closed down as they did in much of central Appalachia. In its relentless, ugly way came reminders of who it was that still possessed the property upon which the companies had operated. In 1952 there were 1,230 coal-mining jobs in the county; by 1958 there were only 282. The American Association no longer had the need for men on its land, and, therefore, it no longer provided the employment that had subdued the recognition of the colonizer. Most of the men had to leave the valley to try to find work in the cities of the North; the American Association made no attempt to provide or even to allow alternatives. Lewis had wanted to stay and did until the company told him one day in the dead of winter that he, his wife, and six kids would have to leave in three days. The strip miners were coming in, and they used bulldozers. People got in the way. Twice Lewis was evicted, forced to leave the land that he had tilled with �Property, Coal, and Theft 149 his hands and labor. The home, the garden, the spring that through his work had come to be his now were to be shoved aside by the bulldozer. He didn't get any compensation; after all, they said, it was the company's land. Finally, in 1960 he had found and saved the money for the small place where he now was and had tried again to create a peaceful home that he could call his own. But now, the stripping had caught up with him again, and he was thinking of giving up, of leaving for good. Here in the life of a single miner comes a human example of what is meant by "property is theft," for Lewis Lowe was propertyless, and those who had the property had controlled, manipulated, and finally defeated his will, expression, and pride as a human being. Here also in Clear Fork Valley in a larger sense is an example of the insidious power of absentee corporate ownership that is the murder of Appalachia. We have already witnessed the fundamental form of theft. In the valley today over 2 million tons of coal a year leave to provide over 10 per cent of Georgia Power's fuel, all from the land of this single London based company. Much of the coal is deep mined from a single Consolidation Coal mine, owned in turn by Continental Oil. The rest comes from strip mining by only a few profitable firms, mines which were originally owned by a set of mountain elites but which have now been acquired by the energy conglomerates. Royalties on all the mining, from 20 cents to $1 a ton, are carted away to offices off Bank Street in the financial district of London. We have recognized this form of inequity, and most of America today has accepted the ideology that legitimizes it. But there are other forms of theft in the colonial relationship which grow from that inequity of property that inevitably means the inequity of power. Consider several examples. Property Tax Evasion. Traditionally (and theoretically) the normal social mechanism for sharing or redistributing wealth is taxation. For local governments, property taxation is the major source of revenue, and, supposedly, property is taxed at an equal rate so that those with large amounts of valuable property pay more than the owners of small amounts of less valuable property. But it hasn't worked that way in the Clear Fork Valley. �150 Colonialism in Modern America There the American Association owns 17 percent of the land surface of Claiborne County and perhaps 90 percent of the county's coal reserves. Yet in 1970 its 44,000 acres provided only 3 percent of the local revenue. Even after citizens' challenges demanded that the law be enforced, the situation remained similar. Vast areas of untouched coal reserves were being appraised at $25 an acre, less than the least expensive farmland in the county. And Claiborne County is no exception. In 1971, the nine land companies that controlled 35 percent of the land surface and approximately 85 percent of the coal reserves in Tennessee's five major coal-producing counties accounted for less than 4 percent of the local revenues. In West Virginia, Kentucky, and Virginia—despite laws to the contrary in every state—property taxation has failed to reap the benefits of the immense property wealth for local government.15 These are the counties that need local revenues the most yet get the least. Consequently, the amount of money they have available for education, health, welfare, housing, and for the means and services of human development is far less than the national average. The local small non-mineral holders pay an unfair share of taxes; they pay for loss of services; and they pay in innumerable other ways for the destruction caused to their roads, streams, and lives as the wealth is carted away. Property means not just poverty for the property less; it means the power of the colonizer to avoid traditional forms of sharing that property. Theft of revenue means more than a loss of money; it means in Appalachia the denial of the basic services and means for building independent local communities. Strip Mine Theft. The American Association hosts more strip mine operations than does any other landowner in Tennessee. Almost 5,000 acres of its land have been laid waste by the devastation of bulldozers and dynamite. In central Appalachia itself an estimated 600,000 acres of strip-mined land have been left unreclaimed.16 And as in the Clear Fork Valley, it is on the property of the absentee owners, who escape the consequences, where most of the stripping is done. To many outside of the mountains, stripping is viewed as an �Property, Coal, and Theft 151 environmental issue, and indeed it is. The strip miner literally blasts away the sides or top of a mountain; debris is bulldozed over the side, and the exposed coal is shoveled out. While the process is fast and highly profitable, it leaves the mountain a gaping sore; ecological cycles are upset; timber may take several hundred years to recover; streams are filled with silt and acid. Reclamation, though ostensibly possible, is expensive and rarely carried out in the mountains. It is, as some have put it, "like putting lipstick on a corpse." To many Appalachians, though, stripping is more than an environmental issue. It is an economic one. Folks look back to the days of the deep mines when there was work, and to that deep mining many would like to return. * We've been deprived of our livelihood," says J. W. Bradley, a former deep miner and now a leading figure in the anti-strip-mine effort. "The strippers came in under falsehoods and stole our jobs from us," he says. And, in fact, the Report of the President's Council on Environmental Quality in March, 1973, observes that if stripping in the mountains were stopped today, there would be jobs for three times as many men in Appalachia in deep-mining and probably at higher wages. But for mountain folks the destruction of stripping is the destruction of something even more basic. For people who have always lived close to the land, who have built their lives and their communities around the freedom and confines of the mountains and the streams, stripping is the symbol of destruction of a way of life, a culture. "Every time we see a bulldozer go into the mountain, it's like someone has stabbed a knife in our heart," explained one mountain woman to a group of city folks. Stripping, economically presided over by the absentee property owner, is theft of both a means and a way of life. Theft of Alternatives. As if the theft of wealth, of taxes and services, of a means and way of life were not enough, another most insidious theft is the denial of alternatives to the Appalachian. The carving up of the mountains by a few owners means that others have no choice in building their futures; they are subject to the will of the large landowners. In Clear Fork Valley it isn't enough to say that Lewis Lowe can go elsewhere; there aren't any elsewheres, at least in the �152 Colonialism in Modern America mountains. There in the valley, Alvarado E. Funk, the General Manager of the American Associaton, has announced a policy of depopulation: 'The people would be better off, and we would be better off, if they would be off of our lands," he said. And, because of a lack of jobs or homes, or because of the destruction wrought upon them by the land-use practices of the corporate owners, people are forced to leave. In the valley people are trying to hang on and to provide alternatives. A non-profit community development council has sought for five years to provide the alternative by building new industry and homes. Yet for five years they have been denied any land upon which to build. Just last year the American Association would not even consider freeing one-half acre of its 50,000 acres in the Clear Fork Valley for a clinic. Nor are many other industries interested in coming in. Also, large blocks of land kept unused deny smaller landowners services such as roads and sewers and the chance of their own development. The outmigration of thousands of people from the mountains over the last twenty years hasn't been a matter of choice for most. They've moved to make way for the bulldozer, and now there's talk of having more of them move again to make way for recreation, to allow folks to escape the now overcrowded mountains. Theft takes many forms. Here in the Clear Fork Valley it is not only what is done but what is not done, not allowed, that prevents possibilities of new industry, developments, futures by and for the Appalachian people. What then is the modern day colony? It is theft by the property owner of the resources, of taxes and a base for community services, of a means and way of life, of the possibilities of choice for the colonized propertyless. As was true in the 1890's it is either ignored or rationalized to the rest of the nation by an ideology, the need for energy, or the need for the South to grow, to "catch up." But hidden beneath the ideology is the dependency of the propertyless on the property of others and threat of destruction of a land and a people. In Appalachia, the corporate property holder, like the slave owner, holds the power to deprive "will and personality," a power of "life and death." In Appalachia, property is theft. �Property, Coal, and Theft 153 Energy and the Nation: The Making of a Macro-Colony? The colonization of people by the energy conglomerate extends to others in America, outside the Appalachians. One ought to be able to learn about the nature of social thievery and the process of colonization from history. In the development of the energy industrials and in the "boom" in the South today are signs of a macro-colony, parallel to the development and boom of Middlesboro, the micro-colony of the 1890's. The first similarity is that the energy conglomerates or their representatives, particularly the oil industrials, are buying up all the land and minerals they can get in Appalachia and the West. Jim Ridgeway's new book The Last Play gives a good account of the recent major transactions: Consolidation Coal by Continental Oil, Island Creek Coal by Occidental Petroleum, Peabody Coal by Kennecott Copper, etc. There have been countless others on a smaller scale. And in some instances the form of barter is similar to that of the 1890Js: One company offered an Indian tribe in Montana a health clinic in return for several million dollars worth of minerals. Not only are these few corporations gaining vertical control, but they are developing horizontal alliances—with the landowner, with the fuel company, with the energy producer. Like the American Association in the 1890's, control is being gained by a few from the product to the final good of electricity. Other industries in the South and the nation are becoming dependent upon the energy conglomerates for their own economic strengths and futures. A second similarity of the energy boom is that this dependency on the economic concentration in the hands of a few is supported, even concealed, by a prevailing ideology: the demand for energy for progress and growth and defense, the fuel crisis, etc. The United States has only 6 percent of the world's population yet already uses some 46 percent of the world's energy. Yet we have no suggestions for cutting back on the use of energy, only the need for more and more fuel. Not only can the fear of an "energy crisis" be invoked, but with the capacity to advertise, to create demand and to control supply in the same hands, the ideology can be self-sustaining—and profitably so to the sustainers. �154 Colonialism in Modern America Thirdly, like those riding the bandwagon of the Middlesboro boom, the combination of dependency and ideology have brought support of emotional loyalty from the general American consumer. The boom has been a quick one; the sequence of events in the last year alone has been dazzling. All the major weeklies—Time, Newsweek, Business Week—have declared a fuel crisis. Time magazine sponsored a conference to consider solutions to the crisis to which several dozen representatives of the energy conglomerates, Nixon's key energy advisors, and two environmentalists were invited. Shortly thereafter, Nixon's famed "energy speech" declared the need for more tax loopholes, for relaxation of environmental controls, for more social thievery to "solve" the "crisis." Generally not wanting to interrupt growth or in the belief that their lights would grow dim, the American public accepted the steps, or others like them, as necessary. And, like in the Middlesboro boom, little attention is given by the press or the public to the destruction of a land and people back in the mountains. In cases where the plight is noticed, the colonization and depopulation are justified as "necessary social costs." Attempts at correction aim only at "allowing4* the Appalachian to join the already overcrowded and mountaindirected mainstream. The analogy of the energy boom to the boom of the Magic City in the 1890's is not meant to say naively that energy sources and use are not major social problems. They are. But it is meant to show that the present ownership of energy resources and the supporting ideology of "energy crisis" can be used to disguise social thievery from the urban public as well as from the mountaineer. Consider the following three examples. Labor. Georgia Power's union and race policies brought to our attention by the "Georgia Power Project" or Shell's response to demands of its refinery workers for better working conditions show that in the name of "energy crisis," workers can be exploited. As in the coalfields, the demands of labor are discounted as minor compared to the national needs for energy supply. The Consumer. The growing monopoly within the energy industry means that prices can be increased for the consumer without bringing any benefit back to the coal fields. Usually, �Property, Coal, and Theft 155 for instance, it is the function of the Federal Power Commission to control price increases of electricity. But hidden within their code is a provision known as the ''fuel-release" clause. Essentially, this clause means that wherever the price of fuel (coal) increases, the consequent price of power (electricity) can be passed on to the consumer, no questions asked. The effect is obvious: if a large stripping operation on American Association land raises the price of coal to Georgia Power, then Georgia Power can raise the price of electricity to the public. The extra cost is born by the consumer, but the profits don't go back to the people of Clear Fork Valley or to reclaim their mountains. They go to increase the wealth of the already wealthy few who own, produce, and supply the coal and power. The "Energy Crisis." Energy companies justify strip-mining destruction by claiming the need for cheap fuel to supply the consumer. Yet, only approximately 10 percent of Appalachia's coal can be stripped; the rest must be deep mined if it is to be recovered. Moreover, stripping "for the cream" damages the mountain in ways that will make far more expensive and dangerous the deep mining required for "the rest of the milk/' While the Appalachians are being destroyed, the consumer is being duped. The lack of a rational fuel policy today means that he will have to pay extra costs tomorrow. Someday, as was the case in Middlesboro, the quick, cheap profits will be over. But while the companies will retain their control, the consumers who accept the credibility of their colonizers will have to pay for and suffer the losses. Yes, just as we could see in Middlesboro the founding of a micro-colony out of which have grown ever more insidious forms of thievery, we can see in the modern boom for coal, energy, and "progress," the building of a macro-colony whose similarities to its predecessor ought to sound a warning: property is theft and not just in Appalachia. In the current context, it becomes chief collaborator with other energy industrials in theft from labor, from the consumer, from the future, and from others throughout the nation as well. A Bit on De-colonization There is a difference today in the Clear Fork Valley as �156 Colonialism in Modern America there is in the rest of the mountains to the time of the 1890's, however. People are resisting and a movement is building. The movement takes many forms. In the Clear Fork Valley, citizens have begun to challenge for the first time the American Association and its London holders. Some gains have been won, including the acquisition of some of the company's property with which the local community development council can build a fresh future growing from within rather than controlled from without. In the five major coal-producing counties of Tennessee, Save Our Cumberland Mountains, a grass-roots organization of some 200 people, has in the past two years begun to challenge forcefully the tax evasion, strip mine destruction, and economic and political controls exercised by the large land companies in their areas. Led by J. W. Bradley, SOCM, like many other groups throughout the mountains, is an attempt by the people of Appalachia to regain control of their land and their lives. Whether expressed through working for union reform, fighting strip mining, developing community-controlled industry, or demanding welfare rights, people are angry. Organizations are building. There are those who have compared the mood in the mountains today to the pre-dawn of the civil rights movement—waiting for a spark, a leader, or the right combination of social events that make such movements happen. Those who learned from the failures of the 1960's, though, know that such movements must come from within, must be led and fought by Appalachians, and cannot be fought from the outside. Just as the 1960's provided for non-blacks in the South a brutal awakening of consciousness to the meaning of the statement "slavery is murder, 7 ' perhaps from the 70's the South can come to recognize that in Appalachia "property is theft." Just as the murderers of the slaves aren't necessarily in Mississippi, the colonizers of Appalachia aren't necessarily in Appalachia. Perhaps with this recognition we can see that whether we are mountaineers, workers, or consumers, urban folks or rural folks, we face in the energy conglomerate the same thieves. And if there can come that understanding, there can also come the hope that a movement for decolonization of Appalachia will spark a �Property, Coal, and Theft 157 struggle for radical change of structure and of ideology in the rest of the South and the nation. �158 Colonialism in Modern America NOTES ^Proudhon, Pierre-Joseph, First Memoir - Quoted in Selected Writings of Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, Stewart Edwards, ed., Elizabeth Frazer, Trans. London: Macmillan and Co., 1969, p. 124. 2 Schmidt-Bleek, F., "Towards a More Beneficial Use of Coal," Appalachian Resources Project, University of Tennessee, 1972. ^Gaventa, Ormond, Thompsen, "Coal, Taxation and Tennessee Royalists," unpublished study for the Vanderbilt Student Health Coalition, 1971. 4 Kirby, Richard, "Kentucky Coal: Owners, Taxes, Profits," a study in Representation Without Taxation," for the Appalachian Volunteers, March 11, 1969. ^McAteer, Davitt, "Profile of West Virginia as a Colony," unpublished study, 1971. ®Dun's Review and Modern Industry, April, 1965, p. 40. 'Capital Resources in Central Appalacbia, prepared for the Appalachian Regional Commission by Checchi and Co., Washington, 1969. ^Weller, Jack, Yesterday's People, University of Kentucky Press with the collaboration of the Council of the Southern Mountains, Inc., Lexington, 1966, p. 11. ^Speech by Arthur, November 11, 1890, published as a pamphlet by the American Association. The other historical material comes from cited works or from my own research in local newspapers, courthouses, library records, and interviews. �Property, Coal, and Theft 159 11 Allen, James, "Mountain Passes of the Cumberland," Harper's Magazine, copyright by Harper and Brothers, 1890, p. 8. ^"Southern Lands: November, 1890. Middlesborough, Ky.," Scribner's Magazine, 13Recounted in The Middlesboro Daily News, August 19, 1965, pp. C-22. 14 Tipton, J. C., The Cumberland Coal Field and Its Creators, Pinnacle Printery, 1905. 15por f ur ther information, see "Property Taxation of Coal in Central Appalachia," A report for the Senate Subcommittee on Intergovernmental Relations from Save Our Cumberland Mountains, Inc., prepared by John Gaventa. ^Schmidt-Bleek, Appalachian Resources Project. References are provided only for direct quotes from other printed works. �This page intentionally left blank �THE BIG STEAL by as the the to Jr. the lies the of the the has the "frontier." I as a to it, of a of the of to of his of ffo In the are the at the of the in of It is of the to for the Of (if a a it in the mediate the as on the a for the be of to in the in the in the no imto the in of tiff i « in of iff Iff fi �162 Colonialism in Modern America to stock-raising, and later to the precious mineral rushes. The riches of the timbered hills were by-passed, the coal strata and other minerals were at first unknown, and few, then as now, appreciated the aesthetic qualities of the Cumberland atmosphere. We can therefore say, with a degree of assurance, that southeast Kentucky was settled, very thinly and for an abnormally long period, by a rather distinct social type. We may not here take time for much observation or comment or proof, but it is the significant and apparent fact that the Daniel Boone "type" was of necessity the earliest settler. (Isolation carried forward the character process; organized industrial rapacity preyed on what it found and completed the process of southeastern Kentucky society.) It is noticeable that not even Boone tarried in the mountains when he came leading groups in from North Carolina, but he pressed on toward central Kentucky. The few who came and stayed generally followed Boone's trail from North Carolina, coming in through southwestern Virginia; lesser numbers came from Pennsylvania and western Virginia. A few came in directly from Europe; one of my great-grandfathers came directly from Ireland, and a great grandmother came from Holland. I would but make the point in regard to all these: The mountains typed them all to a degree which it may well be doubted is known in its singularity anywhere else in the States. When I credit this result to the mountains, I mean to signify the national isolation, the personal loneliness, and—if a metaphysical idea may be permitted in a sociological thesis—the natural atmosphere of the Cumberlands. In 1964, after a period of about four years of research in local history, in the state judicial system, and in the region's sociological aspects, I mapped a section of Pike and Letcher counties, a section perhaps five miles in length and comparably much narrower. This mapping was aimed at coal-title research and at a history of the development of the coal empire. It was quite interesting for me to find the first land patent ever granted in the mountain hollow where I was born and had grown up, interesting to attempt to fit these records of 1832 to the easier work of the following decades. I mapped many of the patents of the 1840's, and each decade's history grew more discernible as I found and located the natural objects (for authenticity), both on paper and on the ground. �The Big Steal 163 I discovered that shortly after the Civil War a little flurry of interest in the awareness of the mineral wealth was manifested, unbelievably, by a trio of local people. These men established leases or options of record on hundreds of acres near Jenkins. These leases, of necessity, could but expire and cease to be of legal import; railroads and capital were still far in the future. Twenty-five years of subsequent isolation brought the history to 1890 when, for the Elkhorn Valley of Pike and Letcher Counties and the Shelby Valley of Pike County, the speculators came in a rush.1 R. M. Broas from New York organized the first mass-buying venture. Whether he was buying for himself or as a direct agent for those to whom his "titles" were transferred eleven years later, I have not discovered. He was fairly well furnished with money by the standards of the day. From records of Pike Circuit Court and from material in the Appellate records (Northern Coal and Coke Co. v. C. S. Nield, et al.) it appears that he had "about 20 corps of engineers (surveyers). . . .besides abstractors and attorneys examining titles." His daily payroll was asserted to be four hundred dollars, which perhaps reveals why he chose to deal in leases rather than fee purchases or outright mineral severance deeds. One dollar per acre was paid to consummate the transactions by consideration, and provisions for paying two more dollars per acre "when and as mined" were written into the documents. Not only did this dollar per acre permit Broas to reach twice or thrice as far in acreage grasped, the question of taxation, either on the surface or on the dormant mineral reserve, was left to the lessor. Although any unbiased arbiter could easily perceive that such a lease, granted for a period of 999 years, was an open contravention of Kentucky statutes on "perpetuities," the leases were upheld then in the subverted court system and were more definitely upheld as late as the 1950Js when Pike Circuit Judge Jean Auxier ruled that in all effect the leases were "deeds." This occurred in the face of the mountain court record books wherein the documents had been listed as "leases" for sixty years. At once the Court of Appeals upheld Auxier, and since the substance of the perpetuity statutes had already been voided, there was a sophistry truth in the reasoning. The law against "perpetuities" had ruled that no instrument, in general, was valid that did not provide consideration that could be utilized by �164 Colonialism in Modern America the grantor in a reasonable time, presumably his lifetime. Here was a lease consideration wherein the lessor's grandchildren to the point of economic infinity could not obtain consideration, and then only as the coal was mined (i.e. perhaps ten dollars one year for the mining of five acres and ten dollars in the next century for five more). Nor was the injustice to such grantors the only reason for denial of such transactions; public policy was very much at stake. A wealthy corporation could thus, at a minimal expenditure, tie up and obviate hundreds of thousands of acres or other resources in opposition to the state's or the nation's need. In reference, however, to the removal of public resources and public necessities from the normal availability to the public, the perfect illustration is supplied in the thousands of unsightly shacks and broken men with broken families visible to those who merely pass through southeast Kentucky while the denuded hills, though despoiled, still hold plentiful means of subsistence and self-respect for men who are trained for no other work. But the Broas leases still stand, 16,500 acres of them in Pike and Letcher counties. By my computations, Broas' agents obtained leases for prospecting and mining, generally on the standard form partially described heretofore, 5,167 acres in the head of Shelby Valley between May and August, 1890. These leases comprised part of the area mapped, where the titles were fully or partially abstracted in my research project. Condensing all the material upon which this report is based to the smallest amount of space, I believe it worthwhile to indicate the outstanding facts of just two days of the Broas activity: May 12 and May 15. The following instruments were executed in Shelby Valley (all but one) and show on May 12: Jacob Sanders and Mahulda (leased) 471 acres—coal only—her signature by mark; William Vanover and Sarah—313 acres—coal—signed by marks of both lessors; Wm. Vanover, Jr. and Dicy—182 acres—coal—her mark; James and Mary Elkins—147 acres—coal—her mark. On the 15th: Isaac and Elizabeth Belcher—177 acres—coal—both lessors' marks; James and Sarah Estep—272 acres—coal—her mark; �The Big Steal 165 Reuben and Bethena Johnson—207 acres—coal—both signatures by marks; Richard and Elizabeth Branham—191 acres—coal—her mark; G. H. and Dove Belcher—70 acres—coal—her mark. It will be noted that not one of these wives was able to affix a handwritten signature to the Broas leases; it must not be assumed that the five husbands who apparently did were able to either read or write. It is a pathetic fact that men then were proud of being able to sign their names, and any facsimile was of course a legal signature. From further research related to valid titles, I was able to establish as fact that but three of the men were able to read and write from among the eighteen lessors above, but three were legally competent. And that is, I would suggest, a fairly representative figure for the mountain society of that date. The instruments above were duly acknowledged by a local notary, but the witness required for all instruments signed by illiterate grantors was the agent of Broas, certainly not a disinterested party. Incidental to the lease executions, the agent drew and the notary took acknowledgment of two quitclaim deeds between certain of the parties designated, and with one most interesting citizen whose activities are yet furnishing spice to the odors of Pike Circuit Court. A quitclaim deed from William and Sarah Vanover to James Estep was witnessed by Morse, the Broas agent, and signed by the marks of both grantors. This deed gave Estep "color" upon which to base the lease he was executing; Morse was accepting a dubious lease and helping to bolster it up by a quitclaim brazenly drawn on the same day. The other quitclaim was drawn to the enterprising mountaineer I mentioned above; this instrument quitclaimed a property of description too vague to be located to the benefit of one Denny Vanover, who as his numerous remaining nephews assured me, would "make you a deed to anything; just point out what you wanted." I understood, and my future research indicated that I properly understood, that had Denny lived in New York City he would have sold the Brooklyn Bridge perhaps fifty times. Morse did not take Denny's lease that day; I doubt that the survey, which was to enclose 3 52 acres acquired through him, was yet completed. It was a more delicious fact, still apparent �166 Colonialism in Modern America after eighty years, that Denny owned but 100 acres in the center of Three Mile Creek, and that under a "cloud" when he happily leased Broas the entire left fork of Three Mile Creek, 352 acres. I had the honor and pleasure of placing these facts in Pike Circuit Court for the benefit of the present owner of the so-called surface, who, should he be able to find an attorney of integrity in the noble old Common-wealth, may be recognized as the owner in fee, able to purchase a quarter million dollars worth of chewing tobacco. (I would not wager highly on his chances; the case has lain dormant for four years, stalemated by his inability to find counsel and the court's uneasiness about dismissing the material I inserted in his counter claim.) (Bethlehem Minerals Company vs. John Johnson, Civil Action 7288, Pike Circuit Court.) The color (i.e., color of title, which I mention above in regard to the Broas leases) is an important element in the policies and operations of the coal companies. "Color" means no more than suggestions of title; it may be the flimsiest of title ground upon which to take a stand—such as a quitclaim, as above, from a person who obviously has no right or even a claim to transfer. If the receiver of such an instrument can make any showing of accepting it in good faith and as having some element of value for him, he can use it as "color of title." And there is no criminality ordinarily in giving a quitclaim deed, certainly when rendered to a person of average intelligence and competency; the grantor merely passes whatever right he has in any subject matter to a grantee, without professing any right or giving any warranty. Such a deed could give title to a fortune or might not be worth the ink in its writing. Under Kentucky law, I can quitclaim my interest in this college for a thousand dollars, if to a competent grantee, and no criminal charge will lie to the instrument. And what is the interest of the mining companies in such deeds and others insufficient as to valid title? This: The illegal mining of a tract of coal under color of title means that at worst the operating company will be forced to pay but standard royalty, usually around twenty-five cents per ton, which would have been but good business for it in the beginning; it may never be called to account, which is better yet. But without color of title, a company would be responsible for all coal extracted and liable at the then present market price at the pitmoutb. One of the many interesting angles of the Bethlehem-John Johnson Case is that the company must now mine the coal on the merits of its �The Big Steal 167 case; its title has been challenged and color cannot avail if the landowner successfully maintains his title in court. Let us consider for a moment the relation of the Big Steal (in eastern Kentucky) to lawful execution of deeds and leases. In Corpus Juris Secundum the commentary reads: More inadequacy of consideration is not a ground for the cancellation of a conveyance of minerals or mineral rights, but where a gross inadequacy of consideration is shown, and also weakness of mind, illiteracy, and inexperience of the grantor, and where misrepresentations have been made by the grantee, courts of equity may grant relief by way of cancellation. A mineral conveyance may be cancelled where the minds of the parties failed to meet on the amount of the purchase price. (Sec. 163, P. 350, Vol. 58) The pertinent citation reads: In case of fraud, overreaching or other circumstances justifying equitable relief, court will readily cancel transactions by which speculators procure from indigent and illiterate grantors for nominal considerations, conveyance of ... mineral rights in farm land which has been made subject of oil and gas leases to reputable oil companies. (Durbinv. Bennett, D.D. 111., 31 F. Supp. 24) Though I am somewhat doubtful of the existence of any "reputable oil company/7 it is clear that this federal principle would tear the Big Steal all to Hades, even at this late date. I have demonstrated the degree of illiteracy in the Broas lessors. How indigent were they? It is very likely that some of them lived on dirt floors. What about the considerations? Much has been made of the position that the rediculously low prices were then reasonable, that a dollar then was worth ten, even twenty, today. The essential element in the case is inadvertently given by Appellate Judge E. C. O'Rear, serving the mineral interests on the Frankfort appellate bench as he had served them in the very buying of that subject matter on which he sat Not seeing the application of all he wrote in a lengthy opinion sustaining a Pike County Judas (who had ordered that the validity of the Broas leases should not be SPOKEN AGAINST), O'Rear said: �168 Colonialism in Modern America These conditions have attracted and will doubtless for some time continue to attract investors and speculators. Another natural consequence is that prices for such properties will be advanced under present improved conditions, very considerably over what was even a high price for the same properties a few years ago [Emphasis mine]. (NCC v Nield, Pike Circuit Court) Contrary to his own words in an earlier portion wherein he opined that Broas had purchased with mere hope in the "future," the eminent jurist is recognizing that the speculators already know the value of a southeastern Kentucky dollar, that it is but waiting on the completion of the rail line to climb like a rocket, and this is what justice must compute the consideration on. This factor alone takes us back to the Corpus Juris commentary: "A mineral conveyance may be cancelled where the minds of the parties failed to meet on the amount of the purchase price." (Of course, none of this law nor those facts matter, but they furnish us with a sociological study.) One other factor remained in the list of possibilities toward cancellation; it was the question of misrepresentation. An earlier but near relative of that same Auxier who ruled against Pike County in the Broas situation of the 50's prepared sworn evidence in an early move against the Broas transactions to the effect that part of the consideration of the leases had been Broas' assurances that the railroad would arrive in five years and then mining, hence payment, would forthwith begin. Misrepresentation of another type, a humorous and pathetic type, was the lessee's solemn covenant that all gold found in the leaseholds would remain under title of the grantors. In spite of all these factors which alone or cumulatively warrant cancellation, we would do the mountain people an injustice to assume that they supinely submitted to the Broas steal once it became a matter of public knowledge. Efforts were made to break the leases in court, attempts were made to return the dollar-per-acre payments, and some lessors openly resold to willing grantees over the Broas documents of record. (The leases were truly void for a half-dozen legal considerations which are offered in the above, but the corporations had conspired with state government as an initial move; in the entire history of the Big Steal only one significant ruling has been awarded the landowners: i.e., lateral and subjacent support which I hope to discuss briefly. In that �The Big Steal 169 time, only Governor Breathitt of the 1960's has established a record among his predeeessers of openly standing with and for the people and that only in the latter half of his term.) Let us consider the prospects of a newly-arrived speculator or buying agent, one who is in the first wave into the mountains and is "in on the ground floor." If he is from the North or East, as I imagine all were, he has never seen such a country, such potential, for even the steep hillsides may be propitious. (Coal would be dumped directly into rail cars.) Only on the West Coast could the value of the timber stands be surpassed, though the lumber men had arrived earlier, seeking only the very best of the best types. The black walnut and yellow poplar had been cut heavily, and the best of the white oak is gone, but the eye could not from any distance perceive the difference. There are no roads worthy of the name; wagons can be used, or sleds, but the creeks are forded, not bridged. Through the decades of isolation only the creek bottoms are cleared and some of the "cove" fields. The timber grows down to the creeks, hanging over the paths and wagon trails. The tentative earlier prospecting had quickly established an important truth; no great care need be exercised in buying. The coal was there, everywhere; the only difference would be in grade, and none of it was worthless. So one could buy freely as to site. Buy from site to adjoining site future mining fields by accretion. But buy anywhere as opportunity offered to make the capital reach as many fools as possible. Here was a people who had known but six-month or sevenmonth schools as the annual custom. But this means less than we might expect. The severe winters could cut that time to four or five months, and distance was very much a factor in attendance. Many families did not even choose to send their children, though others were more than willing. Short-term "writing schools" sometimes supplemented the regular term; these might last as little as ten days. Eighth grade students could teach, and I suspect that in earlier days anyone who could read and write was eligible. The mental capacity of the people thus ranged from an understandable illiteracy to a vicious stupidity in some cases. �170 Colonialism in Modern America (There were the exceptions; I have learned of men who could plot land surveys and there were men who left the mountains and returned as doctors and lawyers. These exceptions were probably rare indeed earlier than 1890.) But the buyers found a general atmosphere of geniality; they were expert in breaking down the innate suspicion. They addressed the victims by their first names; they placed themselves inside the obligations of hospitality, for many, even among the violent types, considered themselves responsible for the safety and feelings of a guesteven if he was sleeping on a cornshuck mattress and being fed cornbread and salt bacon. For these mountain people to see a hundred dollars in cash at one time was a life experience; and in addition to the lack of education, they were and are yet exceptionally naive. As much as they may distrust outsiders in general, they have the strangest veneration for education (even if hidden under hostility). At that time, it is to be doubted that a single one knew the implications for the future in the mass selling; many thought the coal existed in only one seam; some thought it existed only in certain places. I have written all this in regard to the buyer and his advantages to illustrate his one great disadvantage, that which has been a burden on the back of the industry up to this date, and that which would have changed the regional social system had not the industry prepared for its potential troubles by aligning with state government and maintaining either an alliance or a rapport unto this very day. The industry's problem was this: There were no legal means of obtaining titles to the great coal strata. There was comparatively little population; this was good in a way for the region was uopen." But relative to population, there were but few settlers per lineal mile on the creek systems; there were even fewer claimants of property, for incredible as it may sound, this region has always had a "renter" class, even when land warrants and patents could be obtained for a pittance; sympathetic county surveyors would come to the farm, survey one line and geometrically calculate the other three, back to the starting point, to lighten the cost of the patentee. But there were those who had never obtained land. I have concluded that it was seldom indeed that this class stayed on one location long enough to perfect a title by residence. These who were later called "renters" did not then necessarily have to rent; they were often squatters, moving from one creek to another as the whim or necessity moved them. �The Big Steal 111 Furthermore, many of those who considered themselves to be landowners were definitely not. The mountaineers honored each others' deeds (in general), but these were often based on original squatting or arbitrary claims, and the continuity that would have perfected preemption or adverse possession had often been broken to spoil the possible or pending title. Even when absolutely valid patent titles had been obtained, men would sometimes abandon them and others might obfuscate the record by patenting over the same lines, unwittingly or knowingly breaking the patent laws. But titles, as far as corporations are concerned, must be obtained through individuals, through title holders. So the industry knew its problem in advance, knew that only in a region so deprived and isolated could it hope to grasp and maintain such a tremendous chunk of the national wealth. The entire governmental system was subverted to maintaining this national swindle, and on the local level the two parties took on the aspects of two bloated swine fighting in the swill trough, careful never to turn it over—for who knows but what we might win next election. From the Court of Appeals down to the average police court, the judiciary became a class of parasites whose only necessity for a show of legal knowledge lay in the cases wherein two non-political people had suits of private nature, and both were evenly matched as to influence and access to money. Returning directly to the Broas leases and other sources of title, I sought to make the point that titles may only be obtained where they exist, and for the massive purposes of the industry there were no massive title sources. It was realized from the first that continual title improvement must be a goal and remain an integral part of operations for years. Many of the Broas lessors were again contacted and induced to sign outright mineral conveyances by mere payment of the two-dollar-per-acre contingent consideration. These new conveyances were the notorious forms known synonymously as the Northern Coal and Coke form, the Mayo form, the broad form, or the long form; and the mineral grantees at this phase also picked up all minerals on the properties in addition to the coal and obtained the rights which the cooperating Court of Appeals said were tantamount to outright control of the surface. (In all honesty, no other factors of law being considered, this was essentially true.) But none of these acquisitions affected the basic title situation which was �172 Colonialism in Modern America based on the ability of the original or the new grantors to give sound titles. However, in the next two decades, many of the instruments became valid as some of the grantors perfected their suface titles by fifteen years of various forms of possession, validating the mineral conveyance by the same token. Various means were used by the industry to aid and encourage specific landowners to improve their titles, though the companies had to work here in privacy for fear of exciting a public or an individual interest in the possibility that the landowner had a better mineral title than the operators themselves did. THIS IS STILL THE BASIC FACT OF TITLE RESEARCH IN THIS REGIONREGARDLESS OF ALL THE PURPORTED SEVERANCE OF MINERALS FROM THE SURFACE, NO SEVERANCE IS VALID UNLESS EXECUTED BY ONE WHO HAD A VALID TITLE IN FEE. An invalid or false severance can be made valid if the grantor in question later develops or obtains for himself a good title to the property in question. IN THE AREAS I HAVE MAPPED AND ABSTRACTED, I WOULD ESTIMATE THAT THE MINERAL INDUSTRY HAS A FIRM TITLE TO ABOUT SIXTY PERCENT OF THE TERRITORY IT HAS MINED OR IS MINING. And this figure would be less had there not been a continual program of shoring up weak spots, obtaining various statute concessions, and an increasing percentage of buying in fee. I could cite incredible instances, however, if space permitted, where large tracts are awaiting exploitation on title grounds which can reflect nothing but that desperation in the thirty years after 1890 to get some sort of a document from any sort of a person to cover the accretive surveys of Broas and his successors. In the head of Shelby Valley I found a mineral deed to a large acreage, granted by an uncle of mine to Consolidation Coal Company; the amazement of the present "surface owners" equalled my own, for as I had suspected and as they knew, his uncle, deceased for several years, had never in life had the slightest claim on the property in question. And not only was he a good respected citizen, he was certainly too sensible to have executed such a deed in the face of his immediate neighbors. I can cite a variety of similar instances in a radius of five miles, but I am trying to deal with trends rather than examples. Incidentally, this acreage had already been obtained as a Broas lease; the new or later document showed clearly that Consolidation was foreseeing possible difficulty with the leases. �The Big Steal 173 So, while the Land and Property Departments at Jenkins, under the long chain of operating names of Consolidation Coal Company and Bethlehem Mines Corporation, schemed and drew and redrew its maps and watched over possible future sore spots, the industry maintained or tightened its grip on the state judiciary and the political systems. In the history of Kentucky mining, only one circuit judge has proven his integrity and openly fought for justice.2 This is Courtney C. Wells of Hazard, Perry County, now in private practice. In BLUE DIAMOND COAL COMPANY v. NEACE, Perry Circuit Court, Judge Wells, having been already overruled by the Court of Appeals in a strip-mining case reversed for the operator, had to instruct a jury in a second one. Facing the fact that our honored appellate statesmen had ruled that only such stripping as was "arbitrary, wanton, or malicious" was forbidden or compensable, Wells gravely stayed inside their logic and told the jury: The Court instructs the jury that the plaintiff, Blue Diamond Coal Company, had the right to the use of the surface in the prosecution of its business of mining, for any purpose of necessity or convenience, unless this power was exercised oppressively, arbitrarily, wantonly, or maliciously, and if you believe from the evidence in the case that the plaintiff in the prosecution of its business of mining, exercised this right of power in an oppressive, arbitrary, wanton or malicious manner, and the defendant's property was damaged thereby, then the law is for the defendant and you should so find. It was a foregone conclusion as to how a mountain jury would react to these instructions, and Wells, knowing that the Frankfort rogues would overrule him again, added a judicial opinion to the appeal record, flatly asking the Court to reverse its ruling and overturn the Buchanan v. Waton precedent upon which Kentucky stripping was based. Of course, all he established was his integrity, while that eminent jurist who was once promoted here for governor, the Right Honorable Judge Palmore, really put the appellate position in the proper perspective: "The mere exercise of a right to mine in a particular fashion cannot of itself be classified as arbitrary, wanton, or malicious. It is the manner of the mining operation, as distinguished from the fact of its being carried on, that determines liability for damages."3 �174 Colonialism in Modern America And to show that he was capable of more than sophistry and that Kentucky law is what "this Court says it is—this week" (a direct quote from one of the seven Judases), he wrote some of the most astounding words seen in American jurisprudence: . . . .we are obliged to point out that Buchanan v. Watson does not upset any existing law, but applies the old principles to a new fact situation, AND RIGHT OR WRONG, it would be a grave matter indeed for this court by overrulling it now to upset property interests which have since been invested in reliance upon it. (Emphasis mine) It would be hard to find plainer English to say that Kentucky's Court of Appeals would not overrule the mineral industry's prize precedent for any reason, and a franker confession that the Court is a base for the interests "relying upon it" could not be stated. �The Big Steal 175 NOTES *A few notable severances had been executed earlier than 1890 by Virginia Mining and Improvement Company, (Probably less than a halfdozen, in the late 1889's.) ^It would be well for me to note that two other judges have voiced opposition to the mineral-political-judicial combine. John Chris Cornett of Knott Circuit Court has twice denied the right of the operators to destroy the surface without compensation to the surface owner. Judge Edward Hill, formerly of Floyd County, now a Judge of the Court of Appeals, dissented in the latest appellate case which reversed Cornett in Martin et ux V, Kentucky Oak Mining Company et al. In the dozen or so mining counties with circuit judges having a four (six?) year term of office, these three legalists form a tiny and significant minority during a period spanning eighty years. ^Lateral and Subjacent support is required for the surface owners under Kentucky law. From the early days it has been illegal to remove all the coal under any area without leaving pillars (blocks) of coal to support the surface; the coal companies must expressly buy the right of total removal, i.e., breaking the surface. This is from a state judiciary that later permitted the entire destruction of the surface. �This page intentionally left blank �THE LAND DEVELOPMENT RAG by This the by in North by in to It on the velopers' shovels. The the of the people in the and of for to conAver}7 to fall under the deof this is to docuto be the the up en™ of Is centers." to by iy the is a a in (c) and for to om �178 Colonialism in Modern America ed by gently sloped mountains to a cacaphony of strip-development/fast-food chains. The land grab has boosted land prices so that farmers can't afford farmland and has intruded a culture of affluence on farmers who are left to work as greens-keepers and domestics, to commute to industry towns, or to sell and move out. Developers say North Carolina farmers are simply following a national pattern of leaving the farms since World War II. But the national decrease in farm acreage harvested was 10 percent during the past decade, while the decrease in Avery County was nearly 40 percent. In more developed Watauga, it was a whopping 50 percent. Farmers admit that it's been getting more difficult to stay on the farm every year because of rising prices, but the financial blow caused by tourist resorts makes farm life almost impossible. The seasonal beauty of the Blue Ridge and Appalachian chains attracted corporate developers, many of whom had already splattered the Florida coast with beachfront resorts. They saw a quick profit to be made in an area with four tourist seasons, low tax rates, accessibility to the Appalachian Development Highways, and a 60-year history of exclusive, small resort communities. They came, they saw, they bought. While the turnover of land to outsiders has been sizeable, the boom was initiated locally, in the early Sixties, by Hugh Morton and the Robbins brothers, who recognized the profit to be made in major land development. Morton, called a "conservationist before the word was invented" by one of his salesmen, subdivided a portion of the 7,000 acres of his family's land to create expensive resort subdivisions. Morton's and the Robbins' developments would have 6,000 people living on delicate mountain land. The Robbins' Hound Ears development charges $20,000 for a half-acre lot with covenants to build $50,000 homes; and the Morton family's Invershiel, a Scottishdeco community, charges $50,000 for two-acre lots with architectural covenants to build Scottish manor houses. The most exclusive and expensive development is Grandfather Mountain Golf and County Club. Morton and Oklahoma Oilman John Williams carved a suburban vacation complex into Grandfather Mountain and demand $20-30,000 per acre, $6,500 for country club membership, $600 annual dues, and $80,000 to $250,000 �The Land Development Rag 179 homes. Corporate developers like Carolina Caribbean and Sugar Mountain, as well as a flock of smaller subdividers, have capitalized on Morton's cue and created a land grab to build moderately priced resorts modeled after his exclusive mountain retreats. The developers scalped the mountains from Avery County to Watauga's Boone to make room for a string of resort complexes, then pocked the roadsides with billboards which advertise "kicks in the sticks" images for urban tourists. The choice of a second home depends upon the size of your pocketbook. The most exclusive, like Hound Ears and Grandfather, are self-contained units which offer everything from golf, tennis, and skiing to restaurants and the requisite country store. Further down the road, Beech, Sugar, and Seven Devils hawk cheaper versions, and trapped in between are hurriedly-built places like Adam's Apple and Mill Ridge, with poorly built houses, some below the water flooding, and a single ski slope which runs virtually down onto the highway. The secluded and exclusive resort complexes appear to taunt the neighboring communities where some residents live in substandard housing with outdoor plumbing, no running water, and a per capita income of $1,500 for farming families. Developers claim that their construction primed Watauga's and Avery's economic pump. But the facts speak differently. True, some people have profited from the spectacular land grab, but most people are hurt by the apparent and hidden costs of land speculation. And the buying was spectacular. Realtors turned land over three and four times in as many months, inflating the prices according to what other speculators or vacationers would pay. One realtor bought 300 acres at the base of Grandfather Mountain for $30,000 and sold less than of a third of the land the following month for $156,000. Land that once cost $250 an acre sold for $2,500 and up. Farmers couldn't resist the money and sold their land. Those who held out demanded prices they didn't dream possible and got them. "I asked $80,000 for my back 40 acres, and some fellow from Florida paid it," said one man who saved his farm by selling his mountain land. Other farmers were pressured to sell or swap their land, leaving the developers with huge tracts for subdivision. Beech Mountain quarter-acre lots cost 820 times the original buying price, and land prices in the rest of Avery County were boosted �180 Colonialism in Modern America 401 percent in five years. (During the same period, farmland prices in the nation as a whole increased on the average from $115 to $194 per acre, or 60 percent.) According to a North Carolina Public Interest Research Group study, by 1975 outside speculators owned 164 percent more land in Watauga County and 47 percent more in Avery County than they did in 1970. Land boom threaded everybody's conversation, and realtors thought they'd never see the bottom of the money barrel. Hard Times But the recession hit the developers hard, and salesmen aren't showing anybody house lots anymore. "When the economy is strong people buy luxury items like second homes—in a recession we're the first item to go," said a developer. Most of the less exclusive resorts face bankruptcy, and several larger developers like Beech Mountain have gone under. The history of bankrupt Beech Mountain challenges the assumption that the only reason for the failure of resort developments is that they've fallen victim to national recession. Beech's and Sugar's near bankruptcy demands an examination of the assumption that the development of recreation communities is a positive means for farming communities to sustain themselves. In her master's thesis, Robin Gottfried judged that "unless more and more homes are constructed in subdivisions, scattered lots or new recreation communities—the [economic] flow of benefits stemming from new construction will cease. If nothing else fills this gap, [the community]. . .could face a serious crisis."1 Beech owes $10 million more than its $25 million assets to a string of banks which includes North Carolina National Bank, Northwestern Bank, and Tri-South Mortgage Investors Trust of Atlanta. Former Beech President Roger Hard said Beech could have stayed afloat if the government had granted $8 million in tax-payer money to correct water and sewage violations and if bankers lent an extra $500,000 to prepare its ski slopes. But federal dollars cannot be used to build sewage plants for private industry, and the lenders said no. Beech's collapse is also due to more than the recession. �The Land Development Rag 181 According to court-appointed trustee Ralph O. Hutchinson, an investigation by the Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC) into Beech Mountain activities showed a 'Very relaxed attitude toward cost control, poor management and a complete lack of development and operational planning/' He also said that the investigation uncovered some ''irregularities in the use of corporate funds." Because of its financial and management shenanigans, Carolina Caribbean, Beech's corporate father, was suspended from the exchange. Beech, like other resorts, "ran the financial numbers game to stay afloat," says President Hard, who was brought in by Carolina Caribbean to bail out Beech and is now attempting the same at neighboring Sugar Mountain. Hard says the resort developers put up tremendous amounts of front money to build ski slopes, lodges, and restaurants to attract people to the mountains in the first place. Then overhead costs for water, sewage, and operating expenses were borrowed on short term notes while the lots and houses were sold long term. "It's a cash flow problem," he said. "A purchaser buys a $10,000 lot but makes only a $1,000 down payment while it costs us $7,000 to prepare it." "The $7,000 didn't include soft costs which added to our immediate obligations," said Hard. Nearly 75 percent of Beech's operating expenses were for salesmen, advertising, enormous salaries, and hefty expense accounts. "The original corporate owners should have put land sales money into escrow to build equity for land development; but they borrowed loans upon loans based on nothing but paper until the business operated only on financial device," said Hard. Banks and Real Estate Investment Trusts couldn't wait to press money into the developers' hands. They loaned 100 percent money at five and six points above prime for paper collateral. "It just didn't work," said Hard, who couldn't issue a 1975 annual report because of Beech's faulty bookkeeping. Hard says he's a little more successful with his Sugar Mountain rescue, but he pays himself a month's salary in advance "just in case." Sugar is delinquent in all of its normal trade accounts. What Hard did was arrange with Sugar's lenders to defer payment on loans of $10 million which are currently secured by corporate real estate. The bank couldn't refuse to wink at Sugar's debts. Hard showed the lenders that they would lose $500,000 more by �182 Colonialism in Modern America foreclosing than by placing a moratorium on his old debts with no principal or interest. He says if he stabilizes his credits, pays current bills C.O.D., and borrows $2 million more, he'll make money in five years. "This time," says Hard, "we're going to change Sugar Mountain from a semi-private to a public resort." Hard plans to halt land sales, push the ski lodge and convention business, and create a weight-loss camp. Opening the doors to the public invites criticism that local people who can afford to use the ski slopes are caught in an economic ping-pong game. When times are bad for the resorts, local residents are welcome. When times are good, they're excluded. "We want to generate traffic through the resort to sell houses," says Hard. "When the second home business gets built out again, the slopes won't be able to handle local people—there won't be room. So we'll have to close the local people out." Hard Sell Developers say the resorts meet urban dwellers' recreational demands. "Mountain retreats are what the people want," said a realtor. But carnival marketing techniques of large resorts like Beech and Sugar indicate that this particular form of recreational demand is produced by the developers. "The whole thing is created," admitted a former salesman for the Beech sales team. "Developers create the value, the impression, the atmosphere— and then sell it with emotional appeal." Professional sales teams are trained to invent what people think owning mountain land is: country living with suburban familiarity. Beech's well-rehearsed dog-and-pony show tactics begin with a deluge of telephone calls made to randomly-chosen people in "prime target areas." When enough people agree to participate in a free tour, chartered planes whisk the targeted clients to a mind-boggling weekend of loose money and fast talk which intimates that the last quarter-acre of Appalachia might be sold before they got off the plane. The sequence of well-controlled events leaves little room for thought. "If they think twice about buying—they'll change their minds," said a salesman who admitted that most people hadn't thought of buying land before the sales team called. Free meals, free lodg- �The Land Development Rag 183 ings, and the developers' idea of mountain culture are part of the package. "At Beech," said the salesman, "pretty little girls dressed up in Indian costumes drive buyers around the golf course and deposit them in briefing rooms where the benefits of purchasing a lot are described." Then they're released to the salesmen. The salesman's job is to generate enthusiasm to sell land. "Salesmen drive people to the top of the mountain and literally cry about its beauty," said a man who did it. The procession to the mountain resembled an army convoy. Jeeps carried the buyers to pre-selected lots, the man in front and the woman in the rear. Two-way radios connected salesmen with each other and with general headquarters. Several jeeps would converge on a lot at a prearranged time. Sales were flashed onto the jeep radios. If a tourist wavered, the salesman radioed his indecision in code to headquarters who radioed the lot number of other jeeps. Bidders for the unclaimed lot would crowd the frequency. "What's important is to create a sense of urgency," said the salesman. After paying $8,000 to $10,000, what does the client get? "Not much," according to a salesman. "The clients lose, too. Resort facilities aren't built to last. They're simply paste-up jobs to sell as much land as quickly as possible." Developers often build the minimum to sell lots and then leave the property owners to worry about maintenance and other problems like fire protection. Purchasers find themselves having to maintain security, water and sewage systems, golf courses, ski slopes, and roads not built to anyone's standards except the developers. "Nothing was built to last," repeated the salesman; "it was built to show that it had been done. We've butchered some of the prettiest mountains you've ever seen." Fancy Doctors and Salty Roads Resort developers say they're good for the county because they spend money locally and pay taxes. But laid off resortconstruction workers are trying to revitalize their neglected farms, and female-oriented domestic jobs are seasonal and lowpaying. "We've increased the tax base immeasurably," said the vice-president of Grandfather Mountain Company. If this were �184 Colonialism in Modern America the ease, then tax rates should have decreased or county services increased. In fact, not only have land values skyrocketed with each tax assessment, but Watauga's property rate increased by 46 percent last year. Also, high density resort communities overload a town's services and facilities. As for county-provided services for those increased tax dollars, local citizens say they get little and are second priority for the services that the county does provide. County services have not increased since the resort boom. Road maintenance typifies an unequal provision of services. North Carolina's roads are state maintained. Snow removal is a primary maintenance function. Both Avery and Watauga counties are included in a "bare pavements program" which salts 165 of the 400 miles of paved roads at the first snowflake. Highway officials salt the most trafficked roads: All ski roads get first priority. Farm roads, often impassable in winter months, are not priority. Several Valle Crucis farmers said the school bus couldn't take their children to school during last winter's weeklong storm because of the bad roads. But skiers could reach the slopes. Local maintenance workers, who once looked favorably on ski resorts, said they use one-third of the state's entire snow removal equipment to clear Avery and Watauga counties, but their own roads remain blocked. Road salting is rotting cars and polluting people. The highway department dumps 6,000 tons of sodium and calcium chloride on the winter roads. Truck farmers say that since the salting began they've had to buy a new pick-up every two years because of corrosion. When the snow melts, salt percolates into the soil and drains into water systems. A district highway engineer said, "I daresay there's people who've got salt in their water systems right now." The reason the highway department uses salt instead of neutral sand is that "salt clears the roads cleaner and faster to the ski areas. We have to use so much of it anymore, it's cheaper." The district engineer said he wished the state would put more money into road maintenance instead of expanding the highways to draw tourists, but he plans to build a $9 million expansion of the 5.3 mile tourist-used road from Boone to Blowing Rock, Watauga's only wet city. A coverall-clad realtor wondered why they "just don't move the liquor to Boone instead of �The Land Development Rag 185 building a $9 million four-lane." Seasonally overcrowded hospitals force local people to bear the costs of new hospital-expansion bonds. The hospital at Banner Elk serves the resorts at Beech and Sugar Mountains, Seven Devils, and Grandfather Mountain, as well as Avery County residents. Hospital Administrator Juanita Shoemaker says, "It's simple to understand. We've had to expand the hospitals along with the developments." Mayor Charles Cannon agreed. "During ski season and hang-glider days, the emergency room is full." Shoemaker says the emergency room was a nightmare during Beech's first ski season. "Evetyone worked weekends and nights to set broken legs and bones." A record 11,000 people used the emergency services that year while local residents complained that their children's illnesses often went unattended. Hospital administrators are unsure of the number of out-of-county patients because second home dwellers use local addresses for hospital admittance. Even so, nearly 30 percent of the patients at Cannon are not from Watauga or Avery Counties. When Beech Mountain collapsed, the total number of local patients at Cannon increased by 17 percent. Boone's hospital is a highly specialized and expensive medical complex—a magnet which has tripled the number of its specialists in the past five years. Last year, the hospital board voted to purchase additional equipment and build a new wing to house the specialists. Local people judge they would be better served by community clinics engaged in preventive medicine and primary medical services instead of the highly specialized and expensive medicine available at the hospital. "We need regular doctors, not fancy medicine," said a woman who can't easily commute to the centralized hospital because she doesn't have a car and there's no public transportation. Deeds and foreclosures descended like a paperwork avalanche on the county sheriff's office. The sheriff blames the rise in drug arrests and breaking and entering on second homes. "Robbers thrive on second home developments and tourists bring in drugs," he said. Some of the resorts maintain their own security, but the deputies routinely patrol the resorts and if there's an arrest to be made, "It's our baby." During the past 10 years, the sheriff has tripled his force and he says with the extra seasonal work, "It's not enough." �186 Colonialism in Modern America Volunteer fire departments suffer more than the police. With old and minimal equipment, the volunteers must douse fires in developments whose roads are sometimes so narrow that the truck can't squeeze through to the burning house. Rev. Campbell, who heads the Foscoe Fire Department, says the problem is more than firefighting, since the "closest thing we have to community action are the volunteers. Helping developers out cuts into our efforts to stop them from destroying our land." Some resorts, like Grandfather and Hound Ears, contributed money to local fire departments for extra equipment. "They've bought allegiance, round-the-clock protection, and lower insurance rates," said Campbell. County officials agree that they spend proportionately more time meeting tourist demands than attending to local residents. "Tourists are a different class of people. They expect more service," said one official. The problem of service is both attitudinal and financial. Summer people pay taxes but aren't interested in specifically local issues like education. Therefore, their tax dollars become proxy votes to ensure that their interests are honored. Also, Watauga's government has invoked a spate of regulations to prevent future land abuse, which means more tax dollars must be spent on enforcement. Cutting Up the Mountains Developers have destroyed much of the ecologically fragile farm and mountain land. One of the worst problems is erosion caused by steeply graded subdivision roads. At Hound Ears the grades run as high as 20 percent—8 percent higher than the law allows. A county planner has said that some of the Hound Ears land as well as that of Seven Devils should never have been touched by a bulldozer. Not one lot has been sold in some smaller subdivisions, but hundreds of roads scrape through the mountains. The planner estimates that 11,000 recently subdivided lots sit on Watauga's roadripped mountains. At Beech Creek, a developer graded a zig-zag through the mountain's steep north face. Because the winter sun doesn't hit the north slope, the slick wet roads washed away after the first winter, leaving the developer with a several thousand dollar loss and the mountain with an eroded skin. The planner estimates that hundreds of road miles like Beech Creek were abandoned without the first �The Land Development Rag 187 house ever being built. "There's no way to stop that road building—all we can do is require permits to keep the stone stabilized." Road erosion scrapes the mountain clean of its protective vegetation, causing floods and runoff. When the slope is scalped, rain water runs off without being absorbed by the streams and lakes. In a monograph for the Economic Development Agency, Ray Derrick estimates that after a one-inch rainfall, 28,000 gallons run off a one-acre dirt slope. This causes sedimentation, flooding, and the lowering of the water table. Robin Gottfried, in her master's thesis, says that sedimentation is a major effect of resort construction which bares the mountains of their natural vegetation for ski slopes, access roads and second homes. And at developments like Hound Ears, more trees than necessary are cleared so each lot owner can have a mountain view. Bacterial pollution in the rivers and streams has increased dramatically because the developments do not adequately provide for disposal of refuse and human wastes. Small developers can't afford the expensive treatment plants, while larger resorts like Beech were placed under a federal building moratorium because their sewage facilities are not adequate. Community Planner Tom Foxx says that even if the waste is treated properly, the effluents—treated chemical wastes—kill fish. "What we're going to have around here is pure dead water." At Sugar, septic tanks are on one-half acre lots. A local joke is that when Sugar Mountain people flush their commodes, the water table rises in the valley. But the people living at the base of Sugar in the Norwood Community aren't laughing. They resent the developers who caused them to lose their farms and peaceful valley. Most of the 30 farming families left in the hollow depended upon prized farmland for their food and clear streams for their water. All that has changed now. Sugar Mountain Corporation built its golf course adjacent to their land. Access roads to the resort traverse the natural water flow and eliminated some streams. While the remaining streams must absorb all of the water, Norwood people are flooded each spring. The farmers say they can no longer harvest a garden since the water floods their crops and destroys everything in its path. One farmer tried to sell his land, but nobody wants to buy property that is flooded each spring. �188 Colonialism in Modern America Another farmer said the streams won't hold a lizard now because they're polluted from Sugar's wastes. Every fish in the creek died, and the water became undrinkable even for the cows. Not only is sewage running down the stream beds, but the mountains themselves are crumbling into a mud and rock mixture which dams the streams. Sugar contractors laid tiling on the access roads to keep them from washing away. The tiling reroutes storm water directly onto Norwood gardens. "Before Sugar Mountain came here," said one woman, "we didn't have a drop of floodwater. Now it runs into my living room, kills the vegetables, and rises as high as the top of the pick-up's wheel base." But Sugar executives refuse to respond to the Norwood people. The woman whose garden was flooded called Sugar's executives to explain what was happening to her community as a result of Sugar's development. The executives did not assist Norwood, but Sugar's maintenance people did throw old wood, junk tires, and metal scraps against her fence which sits about 20 feet from the resort's golf course. "Early on," said the woman, "they tried to buy us out—now I reckon they're going to try and run us out." Noise from the snowmaking machines crashes into the valley late at night. "When they're making the snow you can't sleep. I never heard such a racket in all my life," said one woman. The ski-doos and trail bikes add to the racket and scare the animals. "It's not so peaceful any more." she said. Invading the Culture Like the problems at Norwood, the effects of tourism and resort development cannot all be measured by cost-efficiency analyses. Mountain living is packaged and huckstered so that business-filtered remnants of mountain culture can be purchased at tourist shops which capitalize on Al Capp myths of corn pone, white lightnin', and geehaw whimmeydiddles. "The new shops make you think hillbillies are old-withered-up people who just sit and make those whimmeydiddles all day long," said a young man who returned home to Watauga after completing college. "We aren't someone's vacation fantasy. What the Florida people �The Land Development Rag 189 and developers don't understand or care about is that their actions keep us from living the way we want/' Shopkeepers who long served their communities with food, farming equipment, and such have learned they can make more money by catering to free-spending tourists and second home dwellers. Richard Mast, county precinct captain and son of the former owner of Mast's General Store, described the changes in his family's recently sold store. "The new owners raised the prices so that local people can't afford to shop there any more and now what was once a community supply store and meeting place is a curio shop which sells pottery made from organic dirt and three-dollar baloney sandwiches which you have to make yourself." The new owners of Mast's store, also the oldest Exxon station in the United States, plan to build an 85-seat delicatessen, with funds provided by Exxon, to commemorate the Bicentennial. One burley tobacco grower wondered what use a high-priced restaurant would be to working farmers. Local community associations have been taken over by second-home dwellers. In Mast's Valle Crucis community, monthly get-togethers and pot luck dinners once provided a forum for community discussions. Second-home people flooded the summer meetings, elected one of their own as chairman, and cancelled winter meetings because they wouldn't be able to attend. Angry farmers labeled them the "Valle Crucis Cut-up," boycotted the meetings, and are forming a new community group. Mast says Valle Crucis is being torn apart. Local landmarks are also being torn apart. Dutch Creek Falls has been a Valle Crucis playground for as long as anyone can remember. Two years ago, the falls were bought by an attorney who is building a house on a platform he erected directly over the water. To make room for the house and equipment, the attorney scraped the area clean of its trees and brush. He also hung a no trespassing sign on the land. "The first thing those outsiders do is hang up a no trespassing sign," said a woman whose grandmother's name is carved on the Dutch Creek Elm. "Land that was used for hunting and shortcuts isn't ours to use anymore, and there are so many signs you need a plat to tell where you can go," she said. "I used to love this land, but now I'm ready to move out." �190 Colonialism in Modern America Politics As Usual Despite any evidence to the contrary, development agencies like the Appalachian Regional Commission (ARC), which are supposed to assist communities like Valle Crucis, actually pave the way for the current brand of tourism and recreation development. During the past nine years, the ARC has sunk a half million dollars in studies to evaluate the economic and social benefits of tourism and resort trade in Appalachia. Most of the studies warned the Commission to stay away from investments in tourism. ARC's preliminary study on the impact of tourism in Appalachia warned the ARC that the resort industry is one of "low pay and seasonal in nature." Later, a Spindletop Research Project confirmed the earlier conclusions and added that the tourist business creates a "service class of an entire body of people." The single study which supported tourism was sponsored by the Department of the Interior, whose primary concern was to alleviate urban congestion. The conclusions of ARC's own studies describe resort investment as a "poor financial risk and deterrent to mountain life." In 1974, the ARC released a film documenting bulldozed mountains sprayed with resort developments and quick-snack shops. Its public relations director said the film was made to "sensitize the region's people to abuses of tourism and resort development." But the bankrupt developers found the way to their governor's ear, and ARC's sensitizer was filed with the rest of their mountain of tourism studies. A new $100,000 study was called a "significant document making the case for public assistance to the troubled resort industry" by North Carolina's Secretary of Natural and Economic Resources, James Harrington, a former Sugar Mountain executive. The Twin Sentinel flatly disagreed with Harrington in an editorial which called "the ARC attempt to reinflate the resort balloon at public expense, the height of folly." Some critics call the problem of resort development more a matter of structure than of judgment. One observer said, "The ARC serves the narrow interests of specific industrialists under the guise of community development." The ARC implements its development programs through its development district, called �The Land Development Rag 191 Lead Regional Organizations (LRO). The LRO Board consists of mayors and county commissioners—no directly elected members. In the overall economic development program for Watauga and Avery counties, LRO Director Carl Tuttle wrote that the "tourism industry should be the single sector of the economy to make the largest gain." To make sure the prophecy is fulfilled, the LRO does not court small factories which would employ farmers during off-season because such development might interfere with the "scenic quality" required by resort developers. Even though Watauga's factories are generally cut-and-sew, low wage, labor-intensive, predominantly employing women, farming families agree that they provide a steady income which allows them to keep their land. Tuttle's new development plans support tourism and resort interests at farmers' expense. In his 34 recommendations for community development, Tuttle directly supported resorts while making not a single recommendation to assist the 950 farmers who live in Watauga. H. C. Moretz, director of the five-county community action program (WAMY), suggests that the reason the LRO pays no attention to farmers is that there are no farmers represented on the multi-county planning body. "Oh, they'll tell you that elected officials who sit on the LRO board represent all the people but the fact is that farmers and poor people have no direct access to it. Elected officials who sit on the Board are either small businessmen who financially gain by tourist trade or they're politically tied to realtors and developers." Farming is pretty well written off by the chamber of commerce and county commissioners. When asked about the demise of farming in Watauga County, the chamber of commerce director—who works for Tweetsie Railroad—said, "Don't get hung up on agriculture." But farmers and some planners are hung up on agriculture. Tom Foxx, chief planner with the North Carolina Department of Natural Resources & Community Development, says, "We must scrutinize whether public taxpayer dollars should be further used to subsidize the resort business." Foxx, paid by the state to provide local planning and management services, is at odds with LRO planners who ignore farmers. "The initial impact of resorts on tax revenues was positive," said Foxx. "Now the services required to sustain the developments, higher taxes, and land prices �192 Colonialism in Modern America are not worth the additional dollars collected." Foxx says resorts will increase their demand for services. "What we're doing is providing an inordinate amount of services to attract skiers and don't have money left for people who've lived here all their lives." Foxx has his first opportunity to stop taxpayer assistance to resort developments in a current thrust by Sugar and Beech Mountains to win federal-state-ARC financing of a water and sewage treatment plant. Sugar's President Hard figures that a government bailout is the only thing that will save the resorts from certain bankruptcy. Hard wants an area-wide $10 million waste treatment plant to serve Sugar, Beech, and the town of Banner Elk. Without Banner Elk's participation, the resorts are not eligible for federal largesse. Banner Elk's mayor says, "We need a sanitary district to relieve developers from having to operate their own sewer and water facilities." But the mayor privately fears that a sanitary district consolidation might be the first step toward resort rule. He's right. To obtain the necessary federal money, 51 percent of the property owners must sign a petition. Two categories of property owners live in the farming-resort communities: one is a freeholder—property owner, and the other is a resident freeholder—resident property owner. Since Beech and Sugar's resort owners greatly outnumber permanent Banner Elk citizens, freeholder voting status would plunge long-time residents into an automatic minority. The developers are looking down the road and want to incorporate the sanitary district into a township. Then they would be eligible for federal funds, revenue sharing, and state aid. "What we're planning is incorporation but it's not good to publicize the fact; it's too political," admits Sugar's publicity director. Since the developers want legalized liquor in dry Banner Elk, the first confrontation is likely to force a difficult change on the community. Hard says he doesn't want to lose control of sewage facilities or a power base. "If we create a city and give up control, we'd be creating a monster in Banner Elk that could kill us." Farmers near Banner Elk say their farms are more likely to be killed than the resort business. Valle Crucis and Matney �The Land Development Rag 193 residents, who live in the shadow of the resorts, approached Foxx and his planning board to stop developers from encroaching on their communities. They asked the zoning board to prohibit resort-type developments in their townships. But Foxx couldn't do much. "We could zone them residential—that allows golf courses and subdivisions—or industrial." North Carolina state law makes no provision for agricultural zoning. Foxx says alternatives for agricultural developments do exist, but the state never passed enabling legislation and officials aren't interested in lobbying for farm legislation. "The destruction of farming is a self-fulfilling prophecy. Officials read statistics of declining farm land and decide that farmers don't want to work the land any more. Then they assist developers which increases the farmers' problems, and go back and read the statistics," said Foxx. The county could provide incentives to maintain farmland as farmland and commit non-farm land to nonurban types of development. "If a 100 acre tract of land was not used for 20 years, it doesn't have to be taxed. Five-acre conservancy zones could be designated to prevent large developers from tearing up farmland and ecologically fragile wood-land. Nearly 50 percent of the county would fit into this type of zone," explained Foxx. But developers and county officials aren't interested in land preservation because high growth development brings in money. After the tourism boom, said Foxx, "Farmers lost the right to decide how they will use their land." Land Use Planning and the Small Farm Foxx believes the county can stop unchecked growth with the tools of land-use planning and regulatory ordinances. The Watauga County Planning Board recently imposed regulations to stop the developers' worst abuses: excessive subdivisions, building violations, erosion, and flooding. But regulations must be enforced to be effective, and even then they don't halt development—at best they slow it down. Government-controlled land-use planning has its own set of problems. Who will control land-use decisions? Will land planning create more uncontrolled growth or will it be structured to encourage cooperative development? Resort developers are against government intervention and call the free enterprise �194 Colonialism in Modern America system "its own plan." 'The value and use of land will be determined, rightfully, by the open market," said realtor Randy Phillips, who tripled his land investments in one year. Phillips says government control and planning raise the costs of development. County planners say strict government control will inhibit destructive growth and direct future land development so that it will benefit all county residents. Farmers generally want nothing to do with government control because, as one farmer said, "The right to private property is inviolate." But the developers' easy money gives them a higher right than the farmers. Whether government control or laissez-faire, farmers are locked out of the decision-making process and excluded from growth plans. "Maybe we ought to build land and market cooperatives which would benefit our kind of people instead of those scalawags who cross state lines to destroy our land," said a Watauga County farmer. "Maybe," he said, "we ought to ask ourselves if this growth thing is good for us." "Whither growth?" is a question never asked by developers or government planners. Developers think of land as a commodity and not as a resource. The government says the land resource should be developed for its optimum use. While the private developers and government planners appear to be at odds over what generally amounts to environmental issues, both eliminate farmers with their growth plans. The only real question is "how fast the elimination." The contradiction of specialized growth is implicit in the system of development. While the federal government does not have an overall land use and growth policy, grants for highway construction, sewer lines, water systems, and the like define land use. Government-paid definition is encouraged by some developers who, like Hard at Sugar, define land's highest use by its highest profit. Since growth agencies like the Appalachian Regional Commission only invest in projects with the greatest dollar return, private developers and government policy complement each other. Senator Morris Udall agrees when he says the politics of land use has given special interests "the upper hand." State planning is little better than federal planning. Special interests are acutely evident in North Carolina's defeated Mountain Area Management Act which was introduced in the 1974 N. C. Legislature. The act called for a 15-member mountain commission to oversee a comprehensive state-local plan which �The Land Development Rag 195 would designate specific areas of environmental concern and enforce orderly development through a system of permits. The political nature of the bill is evident; timber and utilities are exempted from regulation. The opposition, according to an article by Joy Lamm in Southern Exposure, called the bill "politically tied." "The state government is mistrusted by past action, condemnation powers would destroy an already weak tax base, lack of local input ensures that development would be tied to a small group of individuals and there is no provision for class action suits." County-controlled zoning fares no better in the test of planning by special interests. Zoning defines land use by the dollar. Foxx says the LRO planners predicted that "between 1970 and 2020 agriculture will drop from the present level of approximately 6,000 people to about 3,000 and then will stabilize at this reduced level." uWhat planners don't understand is that implementing policies like zoning for special interests will cause their statistics to come true/ 7 said Foxx. But many farmers don't intend to bow to statistics. "The land is our frontier," said a farmer, "and we're planning to get up a posse." The posse is forming slowly and deliberately. "To survive we need a cheaper way to buy supplies, and markets to sell our produce," explained a farmer whose wife took a cut-and-sew job and whose children help cut their burley tobacco. "What we've done is organize a Farmer's Market to sell some of our extra crops." The market was created as an economic alternative for farmers who don't have outlets for their vegetables. Most of the 80 farmers who sell their produce through the market own small farms worked primarily for family consumption. Now the market allows them to sell their excess and plant additional crops in anticipation of a cash market. "Last year," said one market regular, "I made $3,000 during the selling season. It certainly helped out." The market costs $2 to join and a flat 50 cents fee per selling day. Food stamps are accepted by sellers who undercut supermarket prices by ten cents per item. Quality control is sometimes a problem since the group doesn't set standards, but most of the vegetables are graded by the growers. "We can't let bad quality vegetables slip in because we'll lose our customers. We're still in the organizing stages about things like that," said one of the planners of the market. �196 Colonialism in Modern America One farmer thought organizational problems stemmed from the fact that the market was conceived and implemented by nonfarmers and picked up by the New River Resources Conservation Development Committee. "It may never have gotten started without outside help, but we must make decisions about the market's future." The consensus is that farmers must have an outlet for their crops and access to equipment. Market members say they should be more tightly organized and focus on one issue at a time. "The first thing we need is a permanent facility so the vegetables won't wilt in the sun and we can sell refrigerated cheese and meat," commented one market organizer. "Then we should buy a truck to deliver produce regularly to shops." Cutting production costs is high on the issue list. Common purchases of grading or spraying machines would reduce expenses and create greater purchasing power for the entire community. "After that we can think about farmingsupport industry like canneries, mills, and supply stores," said a farmer who has been nearly wiped out by the tax increases and the rapidly increasing prices of equipment. "We've got the problems of all small farmers in the country and the added affection of resort developers," he said. Agricultural extension agents could be helpful, with the organizational experience they've gained from the 20-year-old cooperatives which sell specific items like sheep and cattle to large eastern markets. Their wool and cattle cooperatives generally involve larger farms, but the county agent said, "If a man has one cow and it meets our standards, he can sell it through us for a better market price than on the open market." The cooperatives, like the Farmer's Market, return more money per pound to the farmers than the open market while saving customers money. Looking down the road, market organizers see several phases of action which must occur simultaneously. The first is a transition to high yield, not so labor-intensive specialty crops. "The problem is that we're not competitive with mid-western farms. Our mountain land is not suitable for mechanized farming, so we have to go with things like cabbage or burley tobacco." Second, a combination of crops would prevent farmers from being wiped out if one crop didn't make it. Third, a more tightly organized Farmer's Market, with capital and equip- �The Land Development Rag 197 merit shared by the participants, would free money for other things. Fourth, outlets must be found for the produce. "Community Development Corporations like Chicago's Fedco and the Cooperative League in Washington, D.C. would be direct connections for our produce." Fifth, farming-support industries like cooperative canneries, supply stores, and mills would increase the markets, return money to the community, and allow farmers to grow more. "If we get this underway, we wouldn't have to work for the resorts or cut-and-sew places/' said a woman who works as a maid for Sugar. And finally, the resort developers must be forced through community organization and county government to halt their farmland gobbling and ensure a more equitable use of tax dollars. "The Farmer's Market is a way to get a handle on all these problems, but we've a long way to go," said a market member. Some tax and land plans could be implemented through the, Farmer's Market. The "circuit breaker" system rebates taxes to farmers if property taxes exceed a fixed percentage of income. If no taxes are paid, a rebate is paid by the state treasury. In Michigan, the circuit breaker is tied to state and local planning. The Internal Revenue Code, in occasional cases, is used to preserve farmland. Section 501(a)(3) governs the rights and responsibilities of certain non-profit corporations. Groups have incorporated themselves, gained non-profit status from the Internal Revenue Service, and donated land or money to an incorporated land trust. The trust is committed to maintaining the land as farmland and leases the land back to farmers. Because of the non-profit aspects of the trust, the land is not taxed and the donor receives tax advantages from the transaction. The problem, of course, is giving up the land to the corporation. In California, the Northern California Land Trust intends to use its land base as a vehicle to help migrant farmers live and produce on their own land—land owned by the trust but theirs to work and pass on to their children. Land banks are another land planning device. In British Columbia and on Prince Edward Island, the land bank system allows the state to purchase farm land. Instead of a retiring farmer selling his land to a corporation, the state buys his land and leases (or sells) it to another farmer. �198 Colonialism in Modern America The problems caused by corporate developers are not new to the mountains. Company towns used to mean coal towns which served the interests of the coal operators. Now a new set of corporate strip miners are disturbing the land and organizing labor around their resort-oriented needs. Mountain people are again going to be forced to fight for the right to decide how to use theor own land. County officials say that planned land-use regulations will block future over-development. They have hired professional planners to carry out what they perceive the public will to be. Who decides what that will is, and how conflicting demands on land-use will be accommodated in a rational land-use policy are decisions which cannot remain in the hands of the owners of the company towns if farming is to survive. NOTE ^Yolande DeB. McCurdy (Robin Gottfried), "An Ecosystematic Analysis of the Vegetation of Hanging Rock State Park, Danbury, North Carolina," MA in Ecology, University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, 1976. �by "You an to the local businesses, set up schools and other institutions which to do the job and and You an to in their 'place,' It's On the I a all of us. As to for are I for me old 1 can get the are on in to in of you is to by as I to On the the it's a to its or in of in I are I of my to at i» in fit is A a He is the of �200 Colonialism in Modern America heard, and felt, over the past four years. Tremendous changes are coming to the mountains—whether we want those changes or not. I hope some of you are already aware of these changes and I hope you are determined to participate in these events so we can all begin to influence the people who rule this country; for I came here today to talk about taking political and economic control of our country. Before I talk about how people might begin to take power, I want to say a few words about Berea College and about the changes which I feel sure all of you are experiencing as you spend time at this place. For those who are from Appalachia, who love it, and who want to remain, I'm sure each trip back home is a hard one; for the more formal education we get the more we tend to be isolated from the old ways and from our own people. Perhaps we need to examine why this isolation takes place, for I don't believe it is an accidental thing. If I understand Berea's aims today, you students before me are the cream of this year's crop. You are the best-read, most likely to succeed in the Berea Way, of those thousands who applied to come to this lonely and sometimes barren ridge. Those of you who stay here for four years and obtain a degree can be expected to go out and become teachers, doctors, scientists, engineers—the people who help to keep this country prosperous. Those of you who have successful careers and stay in the mountains can be expected to become leaders of Appalachia. I hope not, for I believe we have too many leaders in Appalachia already. There are too many now who believe they know what is best for the area and for the people. Most of these so-called leaders or experts are trained as I am trained, and as you will be trained, to think only as middle class people with middle class values and middle class ways. Because of this, I would say that many of Appalachia's problems result from the fact that its leaders are middle class and formally educated. Let me explain further. Back home, wherever that is, and probably within sight of this building, an older culture is dying before our eyes. The physical changes are the most obvious; the old cabins, nestled in a quiet cove with surrounding chicken coop and barn, are almost �Education and Exploitation 201 gone. For the expanding middle class their way of life differs little from that of middle America. The differences which still exist are mental ones: nostalgic memories stirred by church hymns or traditional music, the old friendships built before mills and roads brought a new way of dealing with one's neighbors. But for the working class, the unemployed, the subsistence farmer, the people who barely get by, the old ways and values are still a living thing; and the relationships based on an agrarian society are not so easily discarded despite the invasion of roads and schools and TV sets. Our real problem in Appalachia is not whether the old culture will die—only time will decide that now—but whether mountain people can begin to find ways to deal directly with the political and economic forces which are at work in Appalachia and in the rest of the country. If Appalachians problems are to be solved, it will be done because we understand our past and because we begin to find out who really controls this country. We need to know who really has economic and political power in Appalachia. America began to move away from Appalachia with the utilization of the steam engine, the building of the railroad, the opening of the West, and the coming of the automobile. Because the terrain was rugged and difficult to penetrate by modern means of transportation, it was easier for businessmen and speculators to go west, to gain their tremendous profits in the drive toward western seashores. But Appalachia was not forgotten for long. It was too rich, too valuable, and too close to the existing centers of industry in the Northeast. By the late 1890's the robber barons who made their fortunes in rails, steel, textiles, and coal began to turn their attention to new areas in their search for raw materials and cheap labor. Appalachia, in all its unspoiled splendor, was close at hand, for the area had huge attractive reserves of coal, timber, and water. Rail lines, which had paralleled the major ranges and opened up the broad river valleys years before, began to penetrate the deeper regions of the mountains. In these rugged hills, the oldest in the world, the robber barons found tremendous riches. In eastern Kentucky alone, thirty-three billion tons of coal would eventually be surveyed. Over the steep slopes from New York to southern Georgia were stands of magnificent virgin �202 Colonialism in Modern America timber, perhaps the most luxuriant growth of hardwood timber on the American continent. It was a land of great beauty, a wilderness island in the midst of America's industrial push west. And just as the early pioneers and land speculators devised ways to steal this land from the Indians, the northern industrialists began to devise ways to steal it from our ancestors. The opening up of Appalachia in the quest for raw materials and cheap labor was not unique. Across the Atlantic in their corporate offices European businessmen began to look for more markets for their wares. The targets they chose were Asia, Africa, and Indochina. The race was on across the world. For as industrial production rose to new heights, new markets were needed to supply raw materials, cheap labor, and more profits. The first industrial incursions into this region were tenuous ones, but over a period of time they were successful. My family, and yours, helped to make them that way. In the coal mines, lumber camps, paper mills, and textile sweat shops of the Southern mountains, our ancestors helped to develop this region with their labor and their lives. My folks worked for the paper mills and textile plants. Your families may have worked in the mines or mills. No matter. The results are the same. They worked for it, but we don't own it. Today, if we look across the region, we can see the process still going on. The names may differ from the past—U.S. Steel, Ford Motor Company, Standard Oil, Mead Corporation, American Enka, Eastman Kodak; the names may differ, but the process remains the same. The people who labored to build this country do not own it. Neither do their descendants. We are a people with some material benefits, but we are still at the beck and call of the rich 10 percent of our population who still control 90 percent of the capital wealth. And one percent of that 10 percent actually controls how all the wealth is spent. Impossible in a democracy? Yes, it would be impossible if we lived in a democracy. But we don't. Much of this is probably not new to you. I didn't come here to bore you with facts but to ask some questions which I think you will all face very soon. My questions have to do with what we can do to change these facts, if you think they need to be changed. Historically, people who wanted change in this country have �Education and Exploitation 203 worked with the people who are most obviously oppressed: with the union movement, with Black people, and with other oppressed minorities around the country. But so far all of these attempts to build a national movement have failed because people have been bought off, leaders have been killed, or the present system has found a way to meet the immediate needs raised by the protestors. Let's look briefly at some of these attempts. In the late 1800's the labor movement in this country developed along two radically different lines. The first branch was the traditionally-oriented trade unions or guilds, established along authoritarian lines and interested in obtaining immediate material benefits for their members. They wanted a larger piece of the pie, and they were willing to live alongside the bosses if they could get some pie. Out of this group came the American Federation of Labor and the Congress of Industrial Organizations. The other branch was quite different. The best known was the Industrial Workers of the World, popularly known as the "Wobblies." It was the most militant union industrial America had ever seen. It called for one big union of working people and for the workers to control and own all phases of production. It wanted no bosses. "This land is ours," the union said. "We built it, we should control it, lock, stock and barrel." Its tactics were the boycott, the strike, the lock-out, and, if necessary, industrial sabotage. "If we can't have it, it won't exist," was the cry. And as the union chapters spread across the land, they became a threat which could not be ignored. Eventually the strikes were defeated, the leaders jailed or killed, and the members blacklisted from any jobs. By the early 1920's the Wobblies were finished as an industrial power. Yet today many of their ideas are echoed in the demands for community control of police and schools and industry. The Wobblies failed and they were destroyed, but their ideas live on. In the 1930's with the Great Depression, a militant mood began to build again in the country. Big business and the federal government were forced to take action to overhaul a collapsing system. With the reorganization of the federal government and the reforms pushed through by Roosevelt, the last militant drive of the labor unions ended in defeat. The reforms were just �204 Colonialism in Modern America enough to satisfy people and to keep them from tearing the whole thing down. With the National Labor Relations Act and the right to collective bargaining given to the unions, the last attempt to build militant unions ended. FDR's recognition of labor's right to organize was a short-term boom for the unions; but in the long run it meant that the unions could be controlled, channeled, and directed by big business through the courts and through arbitration and contracts. FDR's ploy to save the system by changing a little part of it succeeded. The American trade unions, already rigid and authoritarian, bought a larger piece of the pie and none of the action. Mountain people—in Detroit, Cabin Creek, Blair Mountain, Gastonia, Elizabethton—fought for their unions during this time. Yet today these unions have sold them out. In the 1950's and 1960's Black people began to build a movement which had potential for a national coalition of poor people. Instead of just calling for more material benefits, Black people called for liberation from psychological oppression and then for economic equality. Organizations such as the NAACP, CORE, and SCLC began the fight. It was brought to a new level by the demands of SNCC and later the Black Panthers and other Black groups. And just as the Wobblies were attacked, so were Black leaders. Over the past few years we have seen Black leaders killed, jailed, or driven into political exile because of their beliefs and because they were willing to stand up for their beliefs. In the mountains things were no different. In the early 1960's a group of poor mountain people was formed in eastern Kentucky known as the Appalachian Committee for Full Employment. It was composed of unemployed miners who were trying to force their union and the coal operators to pay them full union wages. During the same time that Black people were demanding social and economic equality, poor mountain whites were making many of these same demands of the federal government. The methods chosen by the government to deal with both groups were the same—the War on Poverty. For in the same way the government bought off militant people in the 1930's, the War on Poverty was established to keep this country's poor quiet. The results can be seen around the country where federallyfunded projects have attempted to check, channel, and thwart �Education and Exploitation 205 the drive of America's poor for political and economic rights. Where the government has been unwilling or unable to step in, the large private foundations have provided financial backing, knowledge, and, most importantly, guidance. But while these programs have often diverted people's attention from some basic needs to the more easily controlled tasks of grants, paperwork, red tape, surveys, etc., the basic alienation of the American poor remains—along with their desire for drastic change. The reasons the poverty programs failed could be held to faulty reasoning: It's not really possible to save this system by reforming it. It might have failed because of a lack of will power on the part of most Americans. But I would say the program failed because of lack of trust. No government in history has paid its own people to overthrow it. Many poor people, either instinctively or consciously, realized this and never trusted the motives and designs of the federal bureaucrats and politicians who run the program. This has been especially true in the mountains where people are traditionally distrustful of any government. Part of this distrust is based on years of being on the bottom and seeing all kinds of promises but very little action. Poor people, because of their economic experiences, look for action—not talk. In order to survive they must become experts in judging people's motives and designs. They may not always make the best decision for themselves in the long run; but they are usually accurate in judging who has the power and who will use the axe, if and when it falls. What does all this mean to you people as students at Berea College? I think it has a lot to do with you, for many of you will probably end up being the people who will attempt to control the lives of Appalachia's poor folks. Earlier I talked of how the northern industrialists came into Appalachia and began to exploit its natural wealth and cheap labor. That trend continues, and it will continue for the foreseeable future unless there is an abrupt shift in how people act in the mountains. It's not enough to simply own a region if you cannot control it and then exploit it. In order to do this, you need people �206 Colonialism in Modern America in the middle who will do the dirty work. You need an educated class willing to run the local businesses, set up schools and other institutions which train people to do the job and keep their minds and mouths shut. You need an educated class to keep poor people in their "place." Around the world wherever empires are built, you can see the same process at work. An educated class is built from the native people—a class whose loyalties are not to their own people but to the people who own the region. These educated people, the middle men, are paid well with material benefits, money, status, and power. And they rule with an iron fist. Once such a system is established, it's not necessary for the rich folks to pass down orders to their stooges. The stooges already know what their self interests are and they will protect them at all costs. But where do you recruit an educated class and how do you train them? It's my belief that Berea College and other colleges in Appalachia have fulfilled this function since they were established. Berea College was founded by missionaries who believed they had a divine purpose to bring enlightenment and education to this rugged land. But education in our society means control, not freedom. It means a way of transferring values from one group to another so that the first group can keep the second under control. The missionaries, or their supporters, ended up by controlling the people they were trying to save from eternal damnation. This was true in India with the British, in Latin America with the Spanish, and in Appalachia with our own missionaries. By setting up an educated class of native people who are trained to be doctors, lawyers, teachers, and social workers, a larger society can control a smaller one or one without political power. How does Berea help in all of this? I think it's fairly evident. By training the people who have functioned best in mountain schools, Berea helps to insure a steady supply of people who will take over the reins of power when the existing local leadership dies. By teaching students a new set of values, values based on the dominant middle-class American society, this college insures that people can be co-opted and bought off like most other people in this society who are formally educated and �Education and Exploitation 207 middle class. This system will always allow a few people to fight their way to the top, for those few are needed to control those who are on the bottom. Remember this fact, and remember it well, fellow Bereans: We got where we are by climbing over the backs and bodies of our brothers and sisters who now work in the mills, mines, and factories, who fight in Vietnam, or who sit jobless at home and wonder what tomorrow will bring. I don't know what your reaction is to these thoughts. I don't mind anger. I hope you do have some kind of reaction. I also hope you don't feel guilty if you find some truth in what I say. Guilt is the traditional means of escape for the American liberal who rushes out into the cold world to help poor folks, whether poor folks want help or not. The problem is not with poor folks. The problem is with the rich folks in this country who control the wealth and then control us. And part of the problem is with the middle class who help to perpetuate this evil, racist system which we now have. We have the potential as a people to build a democratic society in this country. If we want to build a democratic society we must begin to figure out how the present system works. Then we must begin to build a new society which will serve people, not exploit them. ��lOtflNOD JO 3DNVN31NIVW 3H1 �nI• �IV: of a In the and trol of and Is the the of in and the act to of the and and and the the the the and In the In of and as the Jim of art. the to the is to the to is or re- pressed. Jr., A In of and the the and and the the ity" the of and of the the In and the and . .". a and his the the In 'The at to and and In and the "Coal the to of in the of of a of a of re™ �210 as a Phil to the the in in the TV A it has in the the an the the to of and of and to • . * • ''' ; r f~ "" Y ' �It* ��by James G. Branscome on of to the and has to be the Its a on the the a all a to the a on TV. All of on If the on the to his be an TV In the Jy a his of of taste." of the fe) a to he the or on This by a in of Fit is a �212 Colonialism in Modern America boycotts and perhaps even throw dog dung at Eva Gabor as she emerged from her studio. They might even go a step further and deal with that hillbilly maligning patriot, Al Capp. But with this, as all things Appalachian, silence. America is allowed to continue laughing at this minority group, because on this America agrees: Hillbilly ain't beautiful. The treatment given by the media to Appalachia is only one example of the massive failure of America's institutions for over a century to meet the needs of the people of the region. From government at all levels to churches, private welfare agencies, schools, colleges, labor unions, foundations, newspapers, corporations, ad infinitum, the region has received an unequal share of exploitation, neglect, unfulfilled promises, and misguided assistance. This is not to deny that America is interested in Appalachia. It has been interested for some time, in the peculiar American way, in Appalachia's worth to industry, of course; only erratically has it been interested in the plight of the people. General Howard of the Freedman's Bureau is said to have convinced Lincoln that he ought to try to do something for the poor mountaineers after the Civil War. The New Deal brought the then rather progressive Tennessee Valley Authority to one part of the region, but TVA's recently developed capacity to burn lower-grade strip-mine coal brought the hellish human and material waste of that process to Central Appalachia. John Kennedy and his brother Robert both professed an interest in the hillbilly and his vote; and eventually, under Lyndon Johnson, their interest was translated into the Appalachian Regional Commission, a unique political and economic development agency. But, as Harry Caudill remarked, its assignment was "one of the most awesome tasks since Hercules cleaned the Augean stables." It is especially Herculean when one applies some good American economic analysis: The agency was given about onetwentieth of the amount of money it takes to fight the Vietnam war for one year and told to use the amount over a six-year period to correct almost two hundred years of abuse to areas of a thirteen-state region! Now, for the riddle: If 80 percent of that money was spent on highway construction, how interested is America in the nineteen million people who occupy the territory the Commission described in 1964 as "an island of poverty in a sea of affluence"? This is not to deny that the Commission has �Annihilating the Hillbilly 213 had a positive influence on the region. Given the parameters in which it had to work, it has made many investments in public facilities and increased the accountability of state governments to their Appalachian sections. If Congress extends the program and significantly increases its funding for human resource programs, the Commission may be able to bring to the Appalachian poor some of the services even ghetto residents have come to accept as normal. There are some big ifs in this, not the least of which is the critical question today about the relationship between institutions and people: // an institution today had unlimited funding and unlimited maneuverability, could it bring to people the services they need without destroying the kind of life they want to live? If the ability of institutions to respond to people's needs is judged on the basis of the Federal government's enforcement of the Mine Health and Safety Act of 1969, then the answer to this question is NO! Loud and Clear. The death of 78 coal miners in Farmington, West Virginia, in November, 1968, led to the passage of that act, which is the strictest mine safety legislation ever to get through Congress and be signed by a President. The public outrage over Farmington gave government one of its few opportunities to wrestle successfully with the powerful American coal-oil conglomerates. But something did not work: Either there is no will or there is no desire by the bureaucracies (the institutions) of the Federal government to go to the mat with the conglomerates. Perhaps their interests are so inseparable that no contest is ever possible. In any case, since the disaster more than 700 miners have been killed in the mines, and more than 10,000 have been crippled or injured. There has been no public outcry to avenge the deaths of these men. Moreover, the Social Security Administrations's own Bureau of Disability Insurance provides some statistics to indicate how the bureaucracy of one fundamental institution—governmentdeals with one crisis that the 1969 Act sought to meet: compensation for miners disabled by "black lung" contracted after long years and long hours inside the mines. The national average of claims under the black lung provisions of the act processed by the Bureau of Disability Insurance is 43 percent. However, only 22 percent of the claims from eastern Kentucky and 24 percent of those from West Virginia had been processed by early November, 1970. And 52 percent of the processed claims of West �214 Colonialism in Modern America Virginia miners have been denied; 71 percent of Kentucky miners have been denied. The figure for claims denied for the rest of the nation is only 20 percent. If one reflects on the fact that in the past seventy years there have been 101,000 mine deaths, a number larger than the total of miners now working in Appalachia, and double the number of Vietnam deaths, then an inability of the government to enforce regulations, which are mild by international comparison, strikes one as not speaking well for the capacity of political institutions to use the very arena of action which is theirs by democracy's mandate, or for the American public's capacity to care for anything more than the dramatic, never the substantial. And with the death of thirty-eight men in the Finley mines near Hyden, Kentucky, on December 30, 1970, the nation was once again reminded about the plight of miners in Appalachian coal pits. The President of the United States himself announced that he would have visited the scene of the disaster—if it had not been for "the bad weather." (Yet no airports in the region were closed.) The more important visits (those of inspectors from the Bureau of Mines) had not been made on schedule some few days before the disaster in order to check correction of violations of the 1969 act cited on earlier visits. It was the same old refrain: New priority guidelines for violations under the new act had just come down from Washington to the bureau's regional office in eastern Kentucky, necessitating a new schedule of visits; the office itself was short-handed because some of the inspectors had taken "Christmas leave"; the mine operators complained that some provisions of the act were a peril to the safety of miners and mines; no one, not even the inspectors, understood all of the provisions of the act, etc., etc. In any event, the Finley mines were permitted to operate up to the disaster on December 30. They did so in large part because an inspection required under the 1969 act was subjected to the administration of a bureaucracy which, perhaps unwittingly but in fact, vetoed the will and intention of the Congress and the President and—if representative government is still taken seriously—the will of the people. Thirtyeight men were dead. And the litany of charges: Families of the dead miners were exploited by funeral operators, insurance claim men, and government officials; cover-ups and doubledealings and politics were involved in the "hearings" to inquire into the disaster; illegal "prime-cord" and "dynamite" had (had �Annihilating the Hillbilly 215 not) been used in the mines; an inspector "who didn't want his name used" said a simultaneous explosion ten times the legal limit was set off when the men were killed. The complete failure of the American corporate structure to accept even a charitable responsibility for the region that it has raped so successfully is hardly arguable. Since men like General Imboden in the late nineteenth century went before the state legislatures to argue that "within the imperial domain of Virginia, lie, almost unknown to the outside world and not fully appreciated by their owners, vaster fields of coal and iron than in all England, maybe, than all Europe," the American corporate community has wrenched resources estimated at a worth of nearly one trillion dollars from the mountains. While these companies pay some of the highest dividends of any company in the world to their already wealthy shareholders, the communities in Appalachia where those resources originated survive on a subsistence economy, if "survive" is the proper verb here. Often more than half of the money in circulation comes from state and federal welfare coffers. This fact alone tells us something about the American Way, if not the American Dream. Three months after the June 30, 1970, deadline for reducing the amount of hazardous dust in the mines as required by the 1969 legislation, 2800 of the 3000 underground mine operators had not complied. These same companies have continually opposed severance taxes on coal and medical benefits for the more than 100,000 disabled miners who suffer permanent lung damage from poorly maintained mines. Apparently when these corporate institutions of American free enterprise become incredibly wealthy, they cannot be expected to have the conscience even to allow government to pay for the damage they have caused. Somewhere that "pursuit of selfish interest accruing benefits to all" went astray in Appalachia. It has always been asserted with pride that America takes great interest in its children. "Dr. Spock" has been a best-seller for over a decade. But his "child-dominated" society has interest only in certain children. Of the more than 925,000 poor children under six in Appalachia, as estimated by the office of Economic Opportunity, only about 100,000 receive cash benefits in their homes from Aid to Dependent Children or other similar welfare programs. The national participation rate of children in Head Start programs decreased three percent between 1967 and �216 Colonialism in Modern America 1969; the Appalachian participation decreased 15 percent. The greatest decrease in Appalachia, significantly, was in full-year programs, those regarded as most beneficial to poor children. What other group in the country received the benefits from the cutbacks in Appalachia is unimportant here; that "hillbillies" were not on the priority list is obvious. In the area of prenatal and infant care, the situation in Appalachia is even more alarming. Examinations of children in several areas of the region have shown that as many as 70 percent have "parasitic infestation" (the euphemism for "worms"), one of the causes contributing to Appalachians unusually large number of retarded and "slow" children. "Worms" abound in the miserable shacks and grassless yards American free enterprise has put aside for the hillbillies. If the Appalachian infant mortality rate were reduced at the same rate as East Germany's in a fiveyear period (as reported by the World Health Organization), the lives of more than 1,000 children a year could be preserved. In certain areas of the region, as a matter of fact, the situation worsened over a decade. In Lamar County, Alabama, for example, the infant mortality rate rose from 32.5 percent to 40.9 percent in ten years. The rate in Hancock County, Tennessee, rose from 21.4 percent to 42.2 percent in the same time period. While increased attention to child development at the national and regional level promises to better the situation, for many the help comes too late. Perhaps if it were possible to estimate the number of mountain children who would be alive and healthy if Appalachia had received and retained a more equitable share of the nation's wealth, certain institutions could be persuaded more easily to invest in saving children. Until the case is made, however, we all labor under the curse of the prophets and the admonitions of the poets (increasingly, it seems, the only sane people) that the final judgement on civilizations and their institutions rests on how well they treat their children, who are—in appeal at least—the "least of these." The Appalachian child who makes it to school does not find the institution America has charged with equipping youth with basic "survival" skills any better prepared to meet his needs. The inability and unwillingness of local government to tax the property and extractive resources of large corporations have resulted in an educational system in Appalachia that can only be compared with that in the so-called "underdeveloped" nations. Add to �Annihilating the Hillbilly 217 this the fundamental resistance of middle-class teachers to acknowledge the unique cultural heritage of the Appalachian youth, and you have a laboratory for studying one of the classic historical struggles between a nation intent on erasing a minority from its midst and a people intent on preserving their identity and lifestyle at any cost to themselves. In an Appalachian school, the middle-class aspiring teacher is just as insistent that the student be aggressive, obedient, and joyless—in short, everything that his culture tells him he is not—as is the teacher in the Bureau of Indian Affairs school on a reservation. No wonder, then, that as many as 65 percent of the students drop out of school before graduation, a figure 25 percent higher than the national average. Responding to the fiscal needs of the Appalachian educational system alone is overwhelmingly beyond the capacity of government agencies as they are presently funded. In 1967, for example, the Office of Education estimated that the construction needs of the thirteen Appalachian states represented over 42 percent of the total school construction needs of the entire country. It would require the additional expenditure of $363 million annually just to raise the per pupil expenditures of Appalachian schools to the national average. Title I of the Elementary and Secondary Education Act, designed to increase the amount of funds available for the teaching of disadvantaged students, will spend more money on an equal number of students in the schools of Westchester, New York, where the number of poor students is about three percent of the student body, than it will in a county in Appalachia where more than half of the student body is poor. Talent Search, a special college recruitment and placement program funded by Congress for high-risk students, spends only 3.8 percent of its money in Appalachia as compared to the 10 percent the region deserves. Simply to make the Appalachian educational system equal in educational resources to the nation would require a political miracle at a time when no miracle workers are to be found. While Appalachia is heavily populated with institutions of higher learning supported by various religious denominations and state governments, the region's students are no better served than in the secondary institutions. Neither is the region's need for professional and para-professional manpower. No institution of American society, in fact, is more divorced from Appalachia than the higher educational system residing within it. �218 Colonialism in Modern America Forced by accrediting agencies, visiting boards, and hundreds of other pressures to maintain a facade of "academic excellence" and "a sound liberal arts education," usually with Christ thrown in somewhere, the church-supported schools spend little time thinking about the community below their own mountainside. Their emphasis on admitting Appalachian students is so small, their tuition so high, and pressure so intense from church supporters outside the region to admit their sons and daughters, that most of these colleges have an inordinately high percentage of students from states like New Jersey. Certainly to these colleges, "Christian" education has nothing to do with serving the victims of Caesar's educational system. The "open door" policies of state universities are often, in actuality, "revolving doors" for the Appalachian student. Once the student is admitted and the fees collected (either from him or the state), the more aggressive and well-trained student from another section of the state or nation, and the freshman composition teacher, can be expected to send the Appalachian student scurrying home. In January, 1968, the National Association of State Universities and Land Grant Colleges summed up the record of their members in the region as follows: "To maintain quality they raised student charges substantially, turned away qualified students, limited enrollments, and refused urgently needed public services." The regional universities and colleges place little emphasis on promoting a regional consciousness on the part of their students. In fact, there is not at present a single Appalachian studies program in the region which could begin to rival the offerings in Far Eastern studies or astronomy. One, Eastern Kentucky University in Richmond (which in reality is in "Blue Grass," not "eastern," Kentucky), prides itself on its training and research in law enforcement and police work. All this continues and intensifies a channeling process begun by the elementary teacher to send the Appalachian student—ashamed of his background and ill-equipped to meet the needs of his region—into middle-class society outside the region. The sixteen-year prpcess of credentializing that the student has been subjected to, becomes finally a ticket to the world of Dick and Jane, Support-Your Local-Police, and the affluence of America built at Appalachian expense. So a region that needs more than 200,000 college graduates—a minimum of 5,000 physicians, many thousands of �Annihilating the Hillbilly 219 nurses, teachers, businessmen, government leaders, ad infinitum— finds no help in another of America's institutions. The young Appalachian left behind by the higher educational system is destined to be the object of a number of complicated channeling devices. The male youth, if he can pass the examinations, is eligible for one of the more obvious youth channeling programs in the country, the Army. Selective Service does not maintain records on Appalachians as a group, but the number in the service is estimated to be higher than their percentage in the population because the armed forces represent the only opportunity available to many young mountain men to be assimilated into mainline America. Recent Department of Defense figures report that West Virginia led the nation in per capita Vietnam deaths. Twenty-five West Virginians per 100,000 population had been killed, compared to seventeen per 100,000 nationally. For the youth who seeks opportunity and training in some special opportunity program, such as the Job Corps, the fate may not be a great deal more encouraging. Because of the Job Corps' resistance to establishing a center especially for Appalachian youth, the mountain youth are sent to camps, both within and outside the region, where the population may be largely urban and black. Combining his unfamiliarity with urban life and blacks with his affinity for home and family, one can easily understand why the Appalachian youth drops out of the program in equal frequency with his Indian counterpart. Even if he lasts the program out, according to Joint Action in Community Service (the agency that contracts with the Job Corps to place and counsel graduates), it is very difficult to find him a job or to locate a person or agency willing to assist him in the mountains. For the youth who has not dropped out of school by the ninth grade and who has no prospect of attending college, vocational training represents the only channel open to him. Many find it a wicked channel indeed. Three years ago the Education Advisory Committee of the Appalachian Regional Commission reported that half of all vocational training programs in the region consisted of agriculture and home economics—areas in �220 Colonialism in Modern America which there were almost no job openings. Since that report the Commission and the states have required all 235 vocational programs which they have funded to teach job-relevant skills. While only half of the schools are now open and no thorough evaluation has been reported, it is expected that the schools will be better than their predecessors. As late as 1968, however, the West Virginia Commission on Higher Education reported that only about 18 percent of the students in that state had access to vocational training. Given the fact that post-high school vocational training is still not available to the majority of Appalachian youth, this major channel of supposed opportunity still has a long way to go to overcome the serious handicaps it has represented in the past. And with improvement, vocational education's role may be to channel all the so-called disadvantaged students into neat slots, thereby diminishing not only the student but vocational education as well. Additionally, so long as vocational school graduates must leave the mountains to find jobs, the region will remain a loser. It is already estimated that 900,000 high school graduates will have to leave the region to find jobs in the 1970's. They will thus become the people the cities do not want and the people the region cannot afford to lose. The fact that a mountain youth takes advantage of the opportunity to finish high school and apply to college does not guarantee that the tentacles of the system will let him go. For instance, one of the high-risk students I taught in the Upward Bound program at Berea College applied and was accepted in the fall at that college. During the preceding spring he was approached by a recruiter for the FBI who gave him a hard sell on the benefits of working for the Bureau in Washington. He dropped the idea of college and is now a low-paid clerk at FBI headquarters. Since this incident I have checked with school personnel in other areas of the region and found that intensive recruitment of high school graduates in rural areas is now carried out by the FBI and other government agencies which are not finding recruits for their clerk and typist posts in urban high schools. The law, it seems, has a long arm and no qualms about modern forms of impressment. Most high school dropouts (except those who marry and somehow find work or welfare payments) and unemployed high �Annihilating the Hillbilly 221 school graduates eventually end up being forced to migrate to find work. In West Virginia, for instance, 70 percent of the young people leave before they reach the age of 24. Usually referred to as "migrants" instead of more accurately as economic refugees, these youth join the more than 3,000,000 other mountaineers who have preceded them to northern cities such as Cincinnati, Chicago, Indianapolis, and Detroit since World War II. If they have a skill and happen to move during a period of relative economic prosperity or are willing to accept a job run by the stopwatch and a minimum-wage employer, as many do, their chances for survival are good. If, on the other hand, they have to move in with kin in the "back home" ghetto, the situation is different. The unemployed and unassimilated mountain youth finds himself in a bewildering ghetto that defies description and usually comparison with the ghetto life of other minorities. He also finds that in the city there is one thing more unacceptable than a black man—a hillbilly, a ridgerunner, a briarhopper. For the first time in its history America has recognized him as a cultural minority. If he ends up in juvenile court for stealing hubcaps, he is offered leniency with his promise to go "back home." Judges make this offer to youth whose families may have been in the city for three generations and can only consider themselves Cincinnatians or Chicagoans. If the mountain youth enters school, studies show that its foreign nature drives him out faster both psychologically and physically than it does his black migrant counterpart. For the mountain youth who is unable or unwilling to assimilate into the life of the city, there is little help from the social service agencies which understand much more about blacks than they do about him. He is thus not only without help, but, perhaps more appallingly, he is without an advocate in a city that he does not understand and that does not understand him. One group of Appalachians who are consistently overlooked and underserved by the institutions of the region is the blacks. As a matter of fact, both government and the so-called "private" welfare agencies refuse to acknowledge the existence of blacks in Appalachia. While the percentage of blacks in the region as a whole is low, about eight percent, they make up the entire population of many small isolated hollows and ghost coal towns abandoned by the corporations and welfare and poverty �222 Colonialism in Modern America agencies. Because the backbreaking jobs that brought black imports into the region are gone and because of the discrimination and competition with the majority of poor white people for jobs and welfare funds, their existence is a poor one indeed. As yet no agency report or journalist has documented the presence and needs of these people, let alone described the culture of a minority group in the midst of another cultural minority. America's unwillingness to deal with the Appalachian as he asks to be dealt with is probably no more baffling than America's seeming obsession with studying and understanding his unusual life-style and values. Even before the Russell Sage Foundation published John Campbell's The Southern Highlander and His Homeland in 1921, writers and sociologists were making forays into the mountains alternately to praise, condemn, and collect the mountain culture. The studies are still being made today in the midst of the technological revolution that is, for all practical purposes, making "Middle Americans" all alike. The conclusions of modern studies do not differ from those made in the last century. The Appalachian is different: He is existence oriented and independent, has close family ties, is fatalistic, cares for his elderly, ad nauseam. If, as Robert Coles and others have written of late, the Appalachian has a life-style and a culture that America would do well to listen to, if not opt for, why has America failed so miserably at times to meet his needs? Part of the answer is obviously that Appalachia has been in the main a colonial territory for America within her own boundaries. The life-style of the region served well the need of the mining and lumbering corporations for a subjugated people willing to be peasants in their own land. Even after the bloody struggles to unionize the mines, the capacity of America's institutions (including its labor unions) to contain the people's struggle remained intact. What on the surface appear to be quaint people whose character can be explained away by their isolation and independence may, in fact, be more accurately described as the historical reaction of the people to colonialism. What on the surface may strike Jack Weller, author of Yesterday's People (published jointly by the University of Kentucky and the Council of the Southern Mountains), as ignorance, �Annihilating the Hillbilly 223 that keeps people from taking polio shots even when they are offered free transportation, may, in fact, be better explained by Frantz Fanon, a physician himself, who argues (in The Wretched of the Earth) that the Algerians resisted "modern medical techniques" as long as the French were in control of them but adopted the new practices immediately when they felt themselves to be in control I have seen parents who had refused to have their children vaccinated at the public health clinic willingly have them vaccinated when it was "our" medical students who were giving the shots. One has to understand how the medical profession in Appalachia operates to appreciate fully this phenomenon. He has to sit with a young father in the mountains and hear the story of how his pregnant (now deceased) wife was turned away from the hospital because he did not have the hundred dollars that the doctors demand as a down payment for those who do not have medical insurance. It is these same compassionate physicians who, rather than reform their own practices to meet the needs of people, have turned the Medicaid program into a thriving business. The potential earnings from the health support programs is so great that a recent government report on physician manpower in Appalachia suggests that it is one of the most lucrative enticements to get doctors into the region—another colonial characteristic. A largely overlooked article in the Louisville Courier-Journal in the spring of 1970 describes how doctors and pharmacists have turned Medicaid recipients in eastern Kentucky into addicts and junkies. It repeats reports from law officers and nurses who had seen "whole families lying around in a stupor" and "glassy-eyed teenagers and small children wobbling or passed out along the roadside" because they took narcotics prescribed by their physicians. One eastern Kentucky pharmacist admitted that 65 percent of his business came from Medicaid dues. "The poor people are substituting pills for faith," he explained. He went on to describe why the abuses are allowed to continue: "It would cost the pharmacist a great deal in time away from work to keep a check on abuses. They are just too busy." By and large, American institutions can be said then to have held no respect for the mountaineer other than for his use as an object. Richard Davis notes in his recent book, The Man Who Moved a Mountain (Fortress Press), that large metropolitan �224 Colonialism in Modern America newspapers used the notorious Allen feud of the second decade of this century in Hillsville, Virginia, to interpret the Appalachian to their urban readers. Said one: The majority of mountain people are unprincipled ruffians. They make moonshine, 500 horsepower, and swill it down; they carry on generous and gentle feuds in which little children are not spared, and deliberately plan a wholesale assassination, and when captured either assert they shot in self-defense, or with true coward streak deny the crime. There are two remedies onlyeducation or extermination. Mountaineers, like the red Indian, must learn this lesson. Another editorial in a northern newspaper on the same event went on to conclude: The Scotch-Irish mountaineers are more ignorant than vicious, victims of heredity and alcohol, and now that their isolated region has been invaded, must change or perish. One of the often overlooked aspects of the outsiders' fetish for Appalachia has been the premises that underlie their own prescriptions for the people's future. One finds in Jack Weller's influential writing, for instance, comments such as these: There is little in the mountain child's training that would help him develop self-control, discipline, resolution, or steadfastness. Thus the way is prepared for future difficulties in the army or at work. Since the culture inadequately prepares its members to relate to "outsiders," there is a great need for "bridge" persons, who can help the suspicious and fearful to respond more positively to persons and institutions which will increasingly be of help and resource—doctors, psychiatrists, clinics, hospitals, government in the form of agency officials, policemen, public health nurses, welfare workers, and recreation leaders. The mountaineer's suspicion of these persons limits his use of them in crisis occasions, when, in fact, their purpose is to be of assistance in many ways at other times. He needs help in �Annihilating the Hillbilly 225 understanding that government and other institutions cannot be run in person-oriented ways but must be conducted in great measure on an impersonal objective basis. He needs help in seeing that a certain amount of bureaucratic organization is a necessary thing, and that a government does not exist for an individual person's benefit (Yesterday's People, pp. 157-158). Responding to the Appalachian culture, outsiders are sometimes incapable of interpreting the evidence because of their own training in research procedures. One (while, of course, repeatedly enjoining his readers that he is passing no judgment on the culture) describes mountain music and literature as "regressive looking/1 "nostalgic and melancholy," over all, "repressive." Thomas Merton, on the other hand, after hearing some mountain music for the first time at the Abbey of Gethsemani, gave the correct interpretation and exclaimed, "It's apocalyptic!" Perhaps the only fair hearing the culture of the people of Appalachia will receive is from persons like mystics and contemplatives who do not assign ultimate importance to the things that the modern state and today's seminarians have blessed as divine. The churchmen, educators, welfare agents, independent dogooders, journalists, and novelists, and the institutions which pay their salaries—that is, those who have made an extraordinarily good living trying to "understand" the mountain man—have studied the Appalachian not to learn from him but rather to "teach" him, to "school" him, to "doctor" and "save" him by making him into what they already are: Middle America, assimilated into the America of the television and Holiday Inn—the America which Tocqueville and Faulkner warned was founded by those who sought not to escape from tyranny but to establish one in their own image and likeness. Only in Appalachia, for example, have the mainline churches come upon a "Christian" religious expression which stands four-square against what they expect religion in America to "do." The rejection of the Christian Century by Appalachia has baffled and annoyed the mainline churches, their agencies, theologians, and sociologists. And because the church in mainline America is unable to understand the church in Appalachia, it has so far been unable to assimilate it. It has failed, in other words, to make it over into another of the agencies of social �226 Colonialism in Modern America welfare alongside HEW, Social Security, the Council of the Southern Mountains, the Commission of Religion in Appalachia, the Home Mission Board, etc. The mainline churches have tried to obliterate the Appalachian churches with demands for expressions which are "progressive," "rational," "contemporary," and "relevant." What more haunting and, in many instances, disgusting examples of the philosopher's ambiguity of "reason" or the theologian's "original sin" could be asked for? The liberal churchmen, Catholic and Protestant, insist that the snake handling of the mountain man must come to an end (as must the "emotionalism" and "irrelevance" of the black church). And all the while the mainline, liberal church ignores the more dangerous "snake handling" which defines their efforts to "save" "yesterday's people"—a phenomenon described precisely by Thomas Merton in "Events and Pseudo-Events: Letter to a Southern Churchman." The answer to the question of why mountain culture must be destroyed is to be found in the fundamental truth about the technological society: The techniques which undergird all our institutions are assimilating all of us into, as Jacques Ellul puts it, "a society of objects, run by objects." Institutions in the technological society—and this means not only those of the state and its welfare bureaus, but the do-good agencies which include churches, schools, and colleges—can respond only by and with the techniques of the impersonalized, bureaucratic means, procedures, and formulas. Technique cannot discriminate between right and wrong, justice and injustice. That is why the same technique that gives (and takes away) the health card to an ailing miner assimilates the pious mountaineer into the fivepoint grading system and the Uniform Sunday School Lesson. The meaning is clear. Institutions working in Appalachia today can work for only one end: the extinction of the Appalachian people. The extent to which these institutions have so far failed in the venture is the extent to which this people and culture have successfully resisted the formidable pressures of the institutions of contemporary technological society. Why institutions—political and private, church and business, industrial and charitable—have responded and can respond to the Appalachian the way they have tells us something very important about power and powerlessness in the technological society. �Annihilating the Hillbilly 227 For those of us who believe that the struggle is for the soul of man in the technological society, the resistance of Appalachian culture against assimilation into middle America demands earnest, indeed prayerful, attention. The struggle of the mountain man against the institutions of the technological society is the struggle to deny his right to define any man by his relationship to Middle America. The struggle—whether one believes that it comes out of resistance informed by left-wing Protestantism or opposition to colonialism and genocide—has implications for all who question not only the possibility but the quality and character of any resistance to the totalitarianism of the technological society. �This page intentionally left blank �by In an in for he in the I his has he a the old the and he a as is an for our is the In in a for the as 0/ £/.?£ us of in as [in by The of has as to of to a as it art of to , . .In an in his as a capacity, to his in the he his be it is the be to of the the de^ of in j€ ins iff oW m o» �230 Colonialism in Modern America And it was precisely this ideal state of things that I found existing in the mountain communities. So closely indeed is the practice of this particular art interwoven with the avocations of everyday life that the singers, unable to remember a song I had asked for, would often make some such remarks as "Oh, if only I were driving the cows home I could sing it at once."* Sharp's book contains hundreds of beautiful tunes and poetic texts, but there was more. He looked only for English material and so passed over the vast amount of fiddle music brought from Scotland and Ireland, the banjo learned from Negro slaves, and the powerful Regular Baptist church singing, which apparently originated in the mountains and may have come from the Cherokee. The people who made this music were, like their music, individualistic, democratic, and self-sufficient. We don't need to be romantics to see in the mountains of 1916 a free and independent people to whom this stable culture gave the strength and vitality to stay that way. Today, living in the ruins of that culture with that independence only a memory, it would be good to try to analyze what happened to it. People's culture comes from the way they live and in turn feeds back into that way of life. If you change one, the other must change with it. So as Appalachia was turned into a colony—as people stopped being independent farmers and started working for wages—the old music was cut loose from its place and quickly began to decay. Cecil Sharp's co-worker Maud Karpeles observed: It is surprising and sad to find how quickly the instinctive culture of the people will seem to disappear once they have been brought into touch with modern civilization . . .and the singing of traditional songs is relegated almost immediately to that past life which has not only been outgrown, but which has no apparent bearing on the present existence. What is not as obvious, though, is that our mountain culture was exploited in its own right, picked apart and ruined just as surely as our forests and coal seams. Old time music was �Our Own Music 231 removed from its roots and nearly destroyed. It had been freemade by many and shared by all. Now it was put in packages and sold. It is striking how this process went hand in hand with the opening of the coalfields. Coal brought cash and jobs to a region that had seen little of them before, and it also brought goods that the cash could be spent on. Why is it that the new drives out the old? Why did people move off the farms to the coal camps? Why did they begin to buy clothes rather than make them? or buy phonographs instead of fiddles? I can't answer that—but these things happen. The modern era of folk music recording began shortly after World War I when Ralph Peer of Okeh Records went to Atlanta with portable equipment. A record dealer there offered to buy 1000 copies if Peer would record the singing circus barker "Fiddling John" Carson. "The Little Old Log Cabin in the Lane" and "The Old Hen Cackled and the Rooster's Going to Crow" were cut. According to Peer, "It was so bad we didn't even put a serial number on the record, thinking that when the local dealer got his records that would be the end of it. We sent him 1000 records. That night he called New York on the phone and ordered 5000 more sent by express and 10,000 by freight. When the national sale got to 500,000 we were so ashamed we had Fiddling John come up to New York and do a re-recording of the numbers." (From folklorist Harry Smith in an introduction to a collection of early recordings)^ Soon many mountain musicians began to make records. Commercial music was not so exclusive then as now. A company might record and press 1000 records and sell them in the singer's home area. Much rare and beautiful music of varied style and good quality was recorded in this way.3 One variety in particular, the string band style, for instance, of Gid Tanner and the Skillet Lickers,4 gained quite a following; and instrumental music began to crowd out quiet unaccompanied singing. As time went on, musicians began to tailor their songs to records, and in some ways this music seemed more fitting than that transplanted from barns and living rooms. The Carter �232 Colonialism in Modern America Family from Scott County, Virginia, became the first recording "stars" in the area. Their "Wildwood Flower" is today the most widely known instrumental piece in the Southern mountains. Other stars followed: Mainer's Mountaineers, Charlie Poole, eventually Jimmie Rodgers, "the Singing Brakeman." In 1925 the Grand Ole Opry went on the air, certainly the best-loved radio show in history.5 Week after week superb entertainers like Uncle Dave Macon and Arthur Smith came into thousands of homes, entertaining families that ten years earlier might have been at barn dances or telling ghost stories around the fireplace. And aspiring musicians now had an opportunity. Ten years earlier they had looked no further than the barn dance for an audience. The lives of the listeners were changing profoundly too. As many people moved into the coal camps, country traditions like square dances and husking bees began to wither. Working in the mines left little leisure for fiddling. Musicians by the hundreds quit playing and fell out of practice. A few became professionals and worked at radio stations (still today the first step up for professional musicians). Food was bought, not made, and so was music, and gradually the record came to define where music was and what it was. For the first time young musicians imitated new styles while older ones began to feel awkward and old-fashioned. Then came the Depression with desperate poverty and brutal oppression that smothered most of the mountain music. Traditional culture—the wholeness of mountain life—was gone. The old music had no context, little meaning or social place. Traditional songs died by the thousands; record companies and promoters controlled popular taste, and hungry musicians tried desperately to please them. Mountain people's music, like their labor, was bought and sold in the market. II. By the 1920's the mountains had, for better or worse, become part of the American economic system. In 1929 the system went abruptly from better to worse, and in the mountains worse was only the beginning. FDR saw "a third of a nation �233 Our Own Music ill-fed, ill-housed, ill-clad"; in the mountains it was a third of a third of a third that was not so destitute. Social and cultural life, like economic life, went to pieces in this crisis. In some places miners, their families, and neighbors turned to militant labor organizations; and outside organizers who arrived in these communities found people singing about their situation. Topical singing is not new in the Southern mountains. Indeed, almost all mountain folk music was "topical" in that it related directly to everyday life. When economic or political forces were felt, they too were reflected in songs. An early 19th century song describes unemployment: They've got a brand new machine Prettiest thing you Ve ever seen Hand me down my peg, my peg, my peg and awl Peg a hundred shoes to my one My shoe pegging days is done Put up my peg, my peg, my peg and awP The Civil War, which deeply split the mountains, produced a large number of songs. Here is a white abolitionist song from east Kentucky that I learned from my grandmother: We 're Stolen Souls From Africa7 Freely Were sto-len mer in droves, souls from - Af - n - ca, i Like hogs and sheep, - ca. suf - fer from the heat, en trans - por - ted - dure to we're— marched_ the cold. �Colonialism in Modern America 234 Similarly when coal mining arrived, singers responded with a large body of music. One of the most widespread was the following: Dream of the Miner's Child® A min - er was leav - ing his home for his work, When he heard D J J] G scream; He went to D "Dad-dy, C I've had the side such to - day,_ of the Dad-dy, please don't lit-tie girl's bed, a dream. Oh, Dad - dy don't work A7 a-way, For I in the D dreams have so of - ten come true, go She said, Chorus _ for child_ G G G mines C his lit-tie Oh, Dad-dy, dear nev - er could live with-out you." And one of many songs to come from Claiborne County, Tennessee, in the 1890's was this one: Way back yon-der in Put them work - ing Ten-nes-see, in the mine_ they leased the con-victs a - gainst free la - bor out, stout. Free �235 Our Own Music Buddy Won't You Roll Down the Line9 la - bor re-belled while the lease was roll down dar - lin' the line, a - gainst in it, to ef - feet they made 'em bud dy won't you com-ing down the win it took some rise and roll down the line. time, But shine. Bud-dy won't you Yon-der comes my line. Bud-dy won't you come down the line, bud-dy won't you j j> i J roll down the line, Yon-der comes my dar - lin' com-ing down the line. My opinion is that just as coal mining subtly forced people off their land, commercial recordings and radio forced them away from their music. But for two generations or so, mountain musicians commented extensively on the changing society around them, leaving us with a lot of good music and a good example.10 Two songs, both composed by Kentucky miners' families in the depth of the Depression are the following: �Colonialism in Modern America 236 Which Side Are You On Come all Cm . Cm Villl dwell. you good Fm tell, j. of Of how the good Chorus VJl \j/JVII43 Which side work — are you - ers, good Cm old news to you un - ion has come in Gm on, I'll Gm here to Cm which side are you on? The Allan Song morn-ing, hear the whis - tie blow, Grab my po - ta - to can and a-way I go. Which Side Are You On was written by Florence Reese, a miner's wife in Harlan County, while her husband, an organizer for the National Miner's Union, was hiding from the gun thugs who would have killed him if they could. The Allah Song was written by my cousin Bill Maloney who worked in the Allais Brothers' mines near Hazard. Mrs. Reese's song was learned by NMU organizers who taught it to people in New York and elsewhere. The song took on a life of its own and popped up in the deep South in the 1960's as a freedom song. It is sung widely by people who have no idea it originated in Kentucky.11 My cousin's song was posted at the Allais mines (Allais would have fired the author had he known who it was), but it has not gone much beyond the family. I happened onto it at a family gathering near Jackson. �237 Our Own Music This brings up an interesting question: What was the function of topical music in this period? Were such songs sung only in living rooms? At rallies? By men at work or on strike? On marches and picket lines? The question needs to be studied some more, to say the least. My own idea is that if the miners did not sing as much as the civil rights fighters of the 60's, they still had a musical time of it. A lot of their movement was in small isolated fights in remote areas not visited by outsiders, and most of the musicians were not professionals. But I think that if research were done, a large number of mining songs would be found, many in the nature of protest. Two more examples include The Coal Black Mining Blues, which was written in 1932 by Nimrod Workman of Chattaroy, West Virginia, and was more or less unknown until Nimrod issued a record in 1972. How Can A Poor Man Stand Such Times and Live was recorded in 1931 by Blind Alfred Reed of Pipestem, West Virginia, and has become somewhat widespread through recordings by the New Lost City Ramblers. The last two stanzas were added quite recently by Hazel Dickens and Alice Foster. Coal Black Mining Blues Intro ® 3 got the I went blues, I blues to my place, I got the blues,-Lord. Lord, coal black I peeked in, slate and the wat-er got the blues, I got the blues,_Lord, Lord, min - ing blues. up to my chin, I coal black _ min got the ing blues. �238 Colonialism in Modern America How Can A Poor Man Stand Such Times And Live There once was a time when ev-ery-thing was cheap, puts a man to - sleep; f eel _ like ma -king our will, When we But now pay_ our gro»cer-y Tell me how can a pri - ces near - ly bill, we just poor, man stand such times and live? How did it happen that one song was recorded and the other not? How many more like these have been lost? It is worth stopping at this point to look at the ways songs are learned and spread around. Most of the well-known songs from the coalfield struggle of the 1930*s come from one east Kentucky family^Sarah Ogan Gunning, her sister Aunt Molly Jackson, and their brother Jim Garland. All three were active in the NMU and worked closely with outside organizers for that body. And it was through these organizers that the songs were spread to people who felt they were important. In 1937 and 1938, researchers from the Library of Congress "collected" the family's music and from then on it has been part of our heritage. So getting a song around is a risky business if the song happens to advocate union organizing or the abolition of strip mining, or some other controversial matter. In the 1930's the distribution network for such songs consisted of a few organizers and folklorists—no music publishers, no records, no radio, magazines, or newspapers. None of these things had existed in 1890 either; but then every song stood on its own, and a piece could travel if it was its nature to do so. But when radio came along and excluded industrial music, a powerful form of censorship was established.12 And it's still with us, to be broken only by already famous singers of exceptional ability like Merle Travis (Sixteen Tons) or Loretta Lynn (Coal Miner's Daughter). �Our Own Music 239 I think that situation can and should be challenged. Music is too important to be left to the businessmen. III. Most music heard in the Southern mountains today comes via radio, records, and TV from commercial musicians in Nashville. It's good music. It ought to be: The best musicians in the South have left home and gone to Music City to make it. And it really is the people's music now, widely known and loved. Alone among major forms of entertainment, country music is made by working people of the mountains and the South, the same people who listen to the music. Alone among entertainment forms, it talks directly about people's lives, often about the singer's own background. Dolly Parton must have been speaking for a lot of people when she wrote: No amount of money could buy back from me The memories I have of then No amount of money could pay me To go back and live through it again The good old days when times were But after saying this, I want to bring up some criticisms I have of the music industry, since they bear on the question of people making music. Mostly, I resent its turning music into a commodity, made in Nashville much as cars are made in Detroit. In other words, production and distribution are controlled by a relatively small group of people who try to make money from it. This has bad results: 1. One style (the "Nashville sound") is made dominant over all others, like fiddle music, old ballads, or children's game songs. People should choose their favorite style, true, and should have a choice. The extreme diversity of musical styles heard in the mountains fifty years ago was a very good thing, and I wish it hadn't been lost. 2. Only professional musicians are heard. Nashville's musical standards are so high (and its equipment so expensive) that most people feel like musical idiots next to them; so they shut up and listen. �240 Colonialism in Modern America 3. The flood of material overwhelms most institutions that provide for face-to-face music-making. Square dances are all but gone; only the churches have been able to shelter a large amount of handmade music. Records and radio are where it's at. Amateurs almost always imitate professionals; original songs are rarely heard. 4. A few (a very few) people decide what music is going to sound like. The producer, not the singer, decides whether to put trombones in a love song or when to change keys. I think some producers are tone-deaf. Only a real superstar will have artistic control over what his/her records will sound like. It depends, in most cases, on what the producer thinks will sell. So while the music talks about average people, it is many steps removed from belonging to them. 5. It perpetuates a form of control over people. There is a kind of sameness to most C & W music, especially in subject matter. It says that love, marriage, divorce, religion, and beer are important; it says by implication that strip mining, black lung, boring or dangerous work, cruddy schools and health care are not so important. There are exceptions (see below), but when it comes to politics, C & W is mostly pretty conservative: endorsing the flag, the war, and women who know their place. People's history and their past and present struggles are mostly ignored.15 Since C & W largely dominates what people hear, it helps define how they look at themselves and their lives. I think it encourages them to be placid, which I think is bad. IV. Country music was always a stepchild of the music industry; its writers and artists, often underpaid, were not in the trade association (ASCAP) which controlled most material. So when ASCAP went on strike in 1941, industry executives latched onto country music as programming. It immediately went nationwide and, to everyone's surprise, proved quite popular. A war story relates that Japanese soldiers, trying to insult Americans during battle, shouted "To hell with Roosevelt, to hell with Babe Ruth, to hell with Roy Acuff." In the boom years following 1945, commercial country music got to be truly bigtime.16 �Our Own Music 241 Homemade music continued to decay. It carries on among old singers, particularly in the Blue Ridge and in eastern West Virginia. But most often people sing material that has already been recorded and standardized (if not written) by an established musician. Some songs of Jimmie Rodgers or Roy Acuff, in fact, are so widespread they are practically "folk music." For a while, anyway, it looked as though old-time music was headed for the museum. As late as 1964, a group called Friends of Old-Time Music was arranging New York concerts for musicians unknown in their own communities. Why this decay? I wish we could figure it out. Maybe with some study, we could. Part of the answer, I think, is in a conversation I had with two old fiddlers in Pike County who haven't played in twenty years. The reason, they said, was "all this fighting"—the well-known fact that you can't have a social event in east Kentucky without twelve fights, three arrests, and considerable property damage. The mountain have always been a rough place (my grandfather died minus two fingers afid plus several bullets and uncounted scars), but it seems that what we experience now is different—so disruptive and self-destructive that a lot of social life is simply impossible. This may have something to do with our political and economic history. Frantz Fannon, writing of black communities, detailed how oppressed people can turn their violence on each other; it seems to me that the mountains have experienced this. Where our own music has survived, it has been in very private settings (living rooms) or in very structured ones (churches, bluegrass festivals). And the form that has most flourished, bluegrass, is very structured and set in a strict audience-performer pattern. In the last ten years, however, something has happened that has led large numbers of young people into old-time music. Today you can hear thirty or forty at a time playing Old Joe Clark or Flint Hill Special, 50,000 people come to the Old Time Fiddler's Convention in Union Grove, N.C., and even more go to Galax in August. Bluegrass festivals (like Ralph Stanley's annual at McClure, Va., on Memorial Day) are crowded. Magazines like Sing Out! and Bluegrass Unlimited carry music and articles to thousands of enthusiasts. County, Rounder, Folkways and other record companies offer old-time music from old recordings and present-day pickers. Guitars and banjo sales are at an all-time high as picking and singing spreads like wildfire. �242 Colonialism in Modern America Just one thing. A good many of the folks now enjoying mountain music have never even seen a cow, let alone a mountain. The "folk revival" of the 60's, plus the general frustration of life in America, has made the music of the mountain past seem extremely inviting to people (mostly young) from both the flatlands and hills who haven't seen much of it before. What does this mean? A fair number of kids have decided (not unreasonably) that the Appalachian Region is Paradise Lost; this fact has given West Virginia a fair number of communes and short-lived organic restaurants.17 The "revival" has meant some income for good musicians, including former recording artists like Clarence Ashley and Dock Boggs. And it has meant some truly wonderful music made by people ("authentic" hillbillies as well as outsiders) who have bothered to seek out old-timers and learn from them. The Fuzzy Mountain String Band, for example, started playing hoedown music in college in North Carolina, and now they make what I call some of the best music anywhere. There is a good and a bad side to all this. The kind of exploitation of "quaint" mountain people that gives us Gatlinburg can also destroy old-time music. Fiddlers' conventions aren't meant to hold 50,000 people. It brings hero-worship and "stardom" to music that wasn't designed for it. The majority (colonialist) culture has largely absorbed and nearly destroyed our subculture ("L'il Abner" and "Beverly Hillbillies"18), and even their dropouts can be a tidal wave. They have no culture of their own and don't adopt mountain culture (even if they could); therefore, they offer mountain music no context or place. So they too may be mining the mountains, taking what they want, and leaving wreckage behind; or they may be here just in time to keep the old music alive and growing. Or both. So mountain people deserve to ask: Which side are you on? How deep does (or can, or will) this revival go in the mountains? It is hard to say. But we can see that musicians face the same questions of insiders-outsiders or us-them, that organizers, politicians, and everyone else has to deal with. Like earlier adventurers I guess we will see some musicians who go one way, some another, and some who try to stay in the middle. Despite the music industry's takeover, there is one small but �243 Our Own Music important area where mountain people keep control of their own music: topical music made by people who feel the need for songs to comment on some immediate aspect of their lives. A lot of it has been written in the last ten years or so; it goes along with the many movements that have stirred the mountains recently. Much has been "hidden" by being known only to a few people near the singer. Gradually, however, an increasing number of songs are getting passed around, some even recorded. A superb collection of them is to be published soon, edited by Guy and Candie Carawan. Music like this seems to do two things: comment on social forces, struggles, and so on; and to be in some way part of the struggle. Songs that describe or comment on things are the easiest and most common. Composed and sung by individuals (though they may express the feelings of thousands), they can be extremely powerful in poetry and music. Here is Hazel Dickens' black lung song: Black Lung He's had more 1 hard I The mines He's luck was his lived a than most first hard love but life_ men ne - ver and hard could stand,. his friend. - he'll die, m Black lung's done got him, his time is nigh._ �244 Colonialism in Modern America Songs that are directly part of a struggle are not as common in the mountains as in, say, the civil rights movement. This is partly because there is not much tradition of large groups singing together except in church. Union struggles and picket lines, however, have inspked some good singing. A popular union song inspked by an old spkitual, with some new verses from the Pikeville, Kentucky, hospital strike of 1972-74 is the following: We Shall Not Be Moved fr*r We E r shall not »n r be, we shall not be moved, We C moved, Just like a shall not be, G tree that's pknt-ed by the wa - ter, we shall not be D ' I We G shall not be moved. And a song by Michael Kline that has been sung at many antistripping rallies is this one: Strip Away, Big D-9 Dozer Strip a - way D 7 home— I'm J> j- D - 9 G j. Do - zer, C a - get-tin' mad - der as you're get - tin' G bu-ry my big G home. Well, I looked up -r co-min' for to D bu- 'ry my G clos - er, Corn-in' for to C a spoil bank and what did D I see?_ �245 Our Own Music Com-in' for to bu-ry C my home— D push-in* down my The Is - land Creek Coal_ Corn-pan - y G trees,— Com-in' D^ for to b u - r y my G home. We are all so used to judging music by commercial standards that it is worth looking briefly at what this kind of music can do that Nashville doesn't. It can spread and popularize ideas and information and counter propaganda. If well grounded in people's culture (new words to an old tune, for example), it can break through the censorship of the media and travel everywhere. In the South the "freedom songs" became a part of many people's lives, an important source of strength for their hard fights. I hope we can manage to call on some of the same forces. In the past, "topical" songs contained practical instructions for resistance, as in songs that told slaves how to escape or miners to "keep your eye upon the scale." And finally is the simple fact that people singing is a very moving experience, a powerful force that needs to be turned loose again. A song that tries to do some of these things must be really well based in people's lives. The singers of the IWW made it a point to use only familiar tunes (since they couldn't make records and most folks can't read music). Some modern writers (like Hazel Dickens) are making new tunes that sound old and familiar. A song won't travel unless it says what folks want it to and in their own language. I think it should also remind people of the surroundings that they associate with music, like churches or beer joints. A song that sounds like an old gospel tune is easier to listen to than one that sounds like an art song. One more song, one that covers a lot of territory, including a practical lesson in songwriting is this one: Fountain Filled With Blood **€P There_ T*1 J is J J | a foun-tain r j' J j~?l i j n nn r*i filled with blood, The blood of our moun-tain men so brave, Men who worked to-geth-er in the black coal pits. Men who dug each oth-er's �246 Colonialism in Modern America graves. Men who dug each oth-er's graves, Oh, God, men who dug each oth - er's_ graves. Men who worked to-geth -er in the black coal pits, men who dug each oth-er's grave. Anyone interested in this kind of music should also consider a little about ways of spreading it. Long-play records can cost as little as a dollar each (at least before the energy crisis); songbooks are cheaper still. Music festivals have become established in some communities, and smaller local gatherings are happening also. Books are appearing and a magazine is being talked about. Local radio stations are occasionally open to local musicians if approached personally. Cable TV is a largely unexplored area, with local programming already being made in some areas. Who knows? If enough pressure is brought, maybe even Nashville would open up a little. The old traditional way of life in the mountains is gone. What is important now is not to try to bring back an old-time culture with old music and the old ways of doing things but to build on the old to make new ways of doing things, ways that we control. We need to preserve what old-time music is left so people can go on enjoying it. We need to have our own music which we make and control ourselves, instead of taking everything Nashville sends us. We need to encourage each other to make music, to sing, write, and play songs. We need our own ways of distributing music—including record companies, radio and TV stations that respond to all kinds of local music instead of trying to discover stars. Old-time mountain music belongs to everyone. So should new-time music. �Our Own Music 247 NOTES IA beautiful and moving picture of this sort of thing is Jean Ritchie's autobiography, Singing Family of the Cumberland* (1955). ^Anthology of American Folk Music, a six-record set issued by Folkways. It consists of an astonishing variety of traditional music originally recorded on 78 rpm records from 1925-30, with such legendary musicians as Dock Boggs, Mississippi John Hurt, Uncle Dave Macon, Blind Lemon Jefferson, the Carter Family, and dozens of "unknowns." One session with this set is worth several thousand pages of description of our musical heritage. ^Without trying to be scholarly, I can distinguish seven distinct styles of traditional mountain music, most of them now going if not gone: 1. Fiddle tunes. Hundreds of tunes came from Scotland and Ireland; hundreds more were made here. The fiddle was the first and the most widespread country instrument, its music with endless regional and personal variations. Dozens of "fiddlers' conventions" are held each year in the mountains, primarily outside the coalfield. Most of the best fiddlers, however, are old now. 2. Banjo music, which deserves an article to itself, as do banjo players like Dock Boggs and Roscoe Holcomb (who Bob Dylan says influenced him greatly). 3. Shape-note hymn singing, now almost extinct except in northern Alabama and western Kentucky. 4. Gospel music, both the quartet style and the "holiness" style of congregational singing like "I'll Fly Away." 5. Regular Baptist singing in the "lining-out" manner, a powerful, stirring music that seems to be absolutely unique to the South- �248 Colonialism in Modern America ern mountains. 6. Ballad singing, both accompanied and unaccompanied. Many ballads were preserved in the mountains long after disappearing from England and Scotland. Many more were made here. 7. "Social music"— songs and lyrics for parties, dances or whatever ("Old Joe Clark"). Not to mention stories, dances, and games, and children's songs. ^"Other string bands included such as Dr. Smith's Champion Horsehair Pullers, the Henpecked Husbands, the Moatsville String Ticklers, and the Fruit Jar Drinkers (who still play on the Grand Ole Opry). first performer on the Grand Ole Opry was Uncle Jimmy Thompson, 80, who fiddled while his niece played piano. After an hour George D. Hay (the Opry's founder) asked if Uncle Jimmy was tired. "Why shucks," he said, "a man don't get warmed up in an hour. I just won an eight-day fiddling contest down in Dallas, Texas, and here's my blue ribbon to prove it." See George D. Hay, A Story of the Grand Ole Opry (1953). "From Hobart Smith of Saltville, Virginia, who has been called "America's greatest folk instrumentalist." ^From Mrs. A. R. Graham of Cynthiana, Kentucky, who learned it as a girl in Magoffin County, Kentucky. 8 Treated at length in Archie Green's book Only A Miner (1972). 9 Also discussed in Green's book. The story of the Coal Creek Rebellion is worth at least a footnote. In the 1880's Tennessee miners tried to organize in the Knights of Labor. To block this, Tennessee allowed coal operators to lease the labor of convicts as scabs. The miners organized, and in 1891 fought a series of battles in which they burned stockades and helped the prisoners (mostly black) to freedom. Tennessee sent militia and quelled the "disturbance" but the convict labor system was soon abolished and the miners organized the mines under the UMW. Other songs from Coal Creek (now called Lake City) are on Hedy West's record Old Times and Hard Times. l^Besides Green's book, coal mining music (up to 1945) is the subject �Our Own Music 249 of two excellent books by George Korson, Coal Dust on the Fiddle (covering the bituminous industry) and Minstrels of the Mine Patch (covering the anthracite field). Both books were commissioned by the UMW. 1 *Mrs. Reece has lately been singing this song at the UMW strike of Duke Power Company's mine at Brookside in Harlan County. The miners there think it is still quite relevant. l^In the 30's record companies did issue some records of protest music. In those hard times no one ignored anything that would sell. The New Lost City Ramblers have issued on LP of recorded industrial music, called Mo dern Times. the reason so many stars sing of being poor but happy is a nostalgia for their own past. It takes a strong person to become a star and stay common— not many can. l^A country -we stern song is indeed lucky to last ten years; some old tunes and ballads have already made it past 400. I think a lot of young mountain musicians, feeling oppressed by the closed, competitive aspect of C&W, turned to the relative freedom of rock— at some cost, I suspect, of cutting away from their own roots. "Country rock," at any rate, is popular now, and Goose Creek Symphony is the favorite band of many people I know. 15 There is only one black star in Nashville, Charley Pride, though "country music" is shot through with things derived from black music. DeFord Bailey, a harmonica player who may have been the first musician ever recorded in Nashville, was the only black star of the earlier days. 16 See Bill C. Malone, Country Music USA (1968), 186-88, 206, 208- 38. A note on terminology. When record companies started producing music for rural audiences they didn't know what to call it. In 1925 Ralph Peer recorded a nameless string band from the Blue Ridge who called themselves "hillbillies." He named them the "Original Hillbillies" and the music became "hillbilly music." (Similarly, black singers were marketed on "race records.") Later, after World War II, as commercial hillbilly became popular and respectable, the industry looked for a more dignified name and settled on "country music"— a little odd, since by then it was all made in the city. The term "country and western" and the cowboy suits Porter Waggoner et al. wear onstage stem from the work of "western" singers like Tex Ritter and Gene Autry, who sang popular "cowboy" songs in the 30's and �250 Colonialism in Modern America 40's. When traditional music was discovered by city musicians of the 60's, the "hillbilly" music of the twenties received still another name and became "folk music." same feeling among their elders leads to long-lived developments and National Forest land grabs. original Beverly Hillbillies were a group of "cowboy" singers who broadcast from Hollywood from 1928-32 and were quite popular. �A Donald He tain in it has had. he he) mC a the "cultural" to he in and he has his a his of the in the his list of in he in to his of the The an is the at in his in of of fit ffe ft a on of in at for Gap, in the of to The Vir™ his as an a a of o/ t/Ji? M o o re Jr. still to as is the mounthe �252 Colonialism in Modern America Fox's national popularity (his books are readily available in paperback editions while those of James Still are out of print) and the general consensus that would agree with William Cabell Moore call for a reappraisal of his depiction of the mountain people to whom he is supposed to have been such a good friend. Undoubtedly, Fox's novels and stories have influenced the nation's view of its Appalachian minority, so we turn to his fiction to evaluate the cast of that view. Fox's first bestselling novel, The Little Shepherd of Kingdom Come, is structured on a set of contrasts that characterize his work: the Mountains vs. the Bluegrass, Melissa Turner (mountain girl) vs. Margaret Dean (bluegrass relative), Chad in the mountains vs. Chad in the bluegrass, and so on ad infinitum. Without exception, the thrust of these contrasts is denigratory in relation to mountaineers and laudatory in relation to the bluegrass aristocracy. In The Little Shepherd of Kingdom Come Fox characterizes mountain society as pyramidal in structure and divided into three classes. At the top he locates "the valley-aristocrat"—those farmers of the rich river bottoms who occasionally own slaves and are "perhaps of gentle blood" (italics mine). In the middle are the free-settlers, "usually of Scotch-Irish descent, often English, but sometimes German or sometimes even Huguenot," who dwell in "rude" log cabins along tributary creeks. At the bottom are the poor white trash, "worthless descendants of the servile and sometimes criminal class who might have traced their origin back to the slums of London"; these last exist in "wretched cabins at the head of the creek or on the washed spur of the mountain above" and function as "hand-to-mouth tenants of the valley-aristocrats." Although the typography of the region conceivably could have resulted in some such economic stratification as Fox indicates, one must demur at his essentially racial classifications. Surely there were some Scotch-Irish and Germans among those "valley-aristocrats," and perhaps now and then one could have traced his ancestry back to the London slums. In Fox's social theorizing, however, man is a product of the interaction of "blood" and environment-, hence, in order to account for the "semi-barbarous" condition of life he discovers in the mountains, Fox posits an inferiority of blood-line which is compounded by the rigors of the environment. Even those �John Fox, Jr., A Re-Appraisal 253 "valley-aristocrats" like Joel Turner or Judd Tolliver, who had perhaps the initial advantage of "gentle blood," are little more than genial barbarians, notable primarily for their physical prowess and characterized mentally and culturally as possessed of an ignorance and child-like simplicity that reduces them to the level of clowns. The less fortunate, in terms of blood-line, may be either well-meaning or villainous, but they invariably lack the mental capacity to rise above their environmental limitations. The physical destitution in which they exist mirrors a corresponding mental, spiritual, and cultural destitution. The children of such people, "thin, undersized, underfed, and with weak, dispirited eyes and yellow tousled hair" or "round-faced, round-eyed, dark, and sturdy" grow "large-waisted and round shouldered. . .from work in the fields." They sit uninterested and restless through the "blab schools" and quit, their minds untouched and unenlightened, to take their place in the generations of degeneration. Rare indeed is the mountain child who shows himself "erect, agile, spirited, intelligent." Chad, one of these rarities who eventually takes his rightful place among the bluegrass aristocracy, derives his superior qualities apparently from the twin advantages of his mother's having been "a lawful wife" and his grandfather's having worn a "wig and peruke." Melissa, the true mountain waif of unknown parentage, must perish because her mother was so uncircumspect as to get herself bedded before she was wedded. Fox's bias against mountain people is underscored when he comes to speak of the Bluegrass as it is with his curious blend of romantic mysticism and naturalistic determinism. Chad is introduced to the Bluegrass by an itinerant cattle dealer and the schoolmaster, who tell him of a "faraway, curious country" where the land was level and there were no mountains at all; where on one farm might be more sheep, cattle, and slaves than Chad had seen in all his life; where the people lived in big houses of stone and brick—what brick was Chad could not imagine—and rode along hard, white roads in shiny covered wagons, with two "niggers" on a high seat in front and one little "nigger" behind to open gates, and were proud and very high-heeled indeed; where there were towns that had more people than a whole county in the mountains, with rock roads running through �254 Colonialism in Modern America them in every direction and narrow rock paths along these roads—like rows of hearthstones—for the people to walk on—the land of the bluegrass—the "settlements of old Kaintuck." And there were churches everywhere as tall as trees and schoolhouses a-plenty; and big schools, called colleges, to which the boys went when they were through with the little schools. The contrast here, although couched in language comprehensible to a child's mind, suggests the materialistic and racist value-base on which Fox's attitudes and judgments are founded, attitudes which preclude any sympathetic understanding of the mountain culture he found in Jellico and Big Stone Gap. This bias is much more explicitly stated in a chapter of The Little Shepherd of Kingdom Come entitled "The Bluegrass.*' Fox begins the description with the epithet "God's Country!" and continues to characterize Bluegrass Kentucky as the land that seems "to have been the pet shrine of the Great Mother herself." She fashioned it with loving hands. She shut it in with a mighty barrier of mighty mountains to keep the mob out. She gave it the loving clasp of a mighty river, and spread broad, level prairies beyond that the mob might glide by or be tempted to the other side. . . . In the beginning, such was her clear purpose to the Kentuckian's eye, she filled it with flowers and grass and trees, and fish and bird and wild beast, just as she made Eden for Adam and Eve.. .And when the chosen peoplesuch, too served her purpose—the Mother went to the race that obstacle but strengthens, that thrives best under an alien effort to kill, that has ever conquered its conquerors, and that seems bent on the task of carrying the best ideas any age has ever known back to the Old World from which it sprang. The Great Mother knows!. . .And how she has followed close when this Saxon race—her youngest born—seemed likely to stray too far—gathering its sons to her arms in virgin lands that they might suckle again and keep the old blood fresh and strong. (My italics throughout) �John Fox, Jr., A Re-Appraisal 255 The aristocratic and racist elitism manifested in this passage explains easily enough Fox's lack of sympathy for the mountaineers he wrote of. The mountaineer, it is implied here, is one of that inferior breed which has succumbed to the mighty barrier Mother Nature erected "to keep the mob out"; hence, he is hardly worthy of serious consideration, for the true bearers of the living heritage are "the chosen/' whose manifest destiny it is to "plant their kind across a continent from sea to sea" and move on "through the opening eastern gates of the earth." When Fox descends from the heights of such mystic racism to describe the state of civilization in the Bluegrass, his idealization of circumstances contrasts markedly with his comments on mountain society: The land was a great series of wooded parks such as one might have found in Merry England, except that worm fence and stone wall took the place of hedge along the highways. It was a land of peace and of a plenty that was close to easy luxury—for all. Poor whites were few, the beggar was unknown, and throughout the region there was no man, woman, or child, perhaps, who did not have enough to eat and to wear and a roof to cover his head, whether it was his own roof or not. If slavery had to bethen the fetters were forged light and hung loosely. This Edenic vision reveals clearly where Fox's sympathies lie, if not his understanding. One can understand why Fox, imbued with such romantic illusions about his birthplace, consistently depicted mountain people as incapable of developing to a state of civilization. When civilization comes to the moutains, it is imposed forcibly upon the native populace, as was the case of the Big Stone Gap Guard, a group of Harvard and Yale graduates self-appointed to bring "law and order" to the rude savages in their mountain fastness; or it is achieved by the exceptionally gifted native who leaves the region for one of the national cultural centers, as June Tolliver does in The Trail of the Lonesome Pine. In either instance, an outside influence provides the catalyst which the mountaineer is unable to initiate for himself or his society. �256 Colonialism in Modern America The mountaineer's debility, in Fox's critical view, is attributable in part to inferior ancestral stock, and in part to the malign effects of the mountain environment. Fox holds firmly to the degeneration theory of mountain societal development, as is evidenced in the history of Chad Buford. The original Buford was a "fine old gentleman in a wig and peruke"; after three generations of mountain isolation, the Buford line has eventuated in Chad, a supposed "woods-colt," orphaned and at the mercy of the viciousness or generosity of whomever he meets. Although the potential inherent in his blood-line raises him head and shoulders above his peers, the disadvantages of his environment prevent the full realization of that potential. In comparison with his counterparts in the Bluegrass, his achievements are inferior indeed. However, when Chad is exposed to the cultural and material advantages of the Bluegrass, his progress is amazingly rapid, soon equalling or surpassing his counterparts in level of attainment. The same theme is more explicitly developed in The Trail of the Lonesome Pine through the characters Jack Hale and June Tolliver. Through years of exposure to the mountain environment, Hale, who comes to the mountains as the representative and harbinger of approaching civilization, gradually loses his civilized refinements and takes on many of the brutish qualities of Fox's mountain inhabitants. June, the little mountain lass who loves him, in the meantime undergoes the opposite process of development as a result of her exposure to the civilizing influence of New York society. In Fox's view, environment is the ultimate determinant of character, and the status quo of mountain society as he describes it precludes any progress toward what he recognizes as civilization, i.e., the cultured societies of New York and the Bluegrass. In spite of much that has been written to the contrary, John Fox, Jr., who achieved a degree of fame and fortune through the literary exploitation of the Appalachian mountaineer, reveals in his fiction little love for either the mountain people or the mountain milieu. His view was always that of an outsider who was examining a quaintly curious but inferior breed with whom he could scarcely sympathize, much less empathize. The potential viciousness of such a view has since become concretely demonstrable in the sacrifice of the people and the area he so befriended to the rapacious progression of �John Fox, Jr., A Re-Appraisal "Saxon" civilization. 257 �This page intentionally left blank �ON by N. and in of the the is is on at its of to of of the ion§? for at for for to the River, The are of the exist. As no an in the in the to be of: 20 of are c May of He is the of fit on fof of a to and is the on " of the He is a of ami a �260 Colonialism in Modern America old, most of them built before World War I. They are in varying stages of decline. Some of them are not much more than postoffice addresses. The old frame two-family houses are settling unevenly. Some have collapsed altogether. Others, considering their age and the haste with which they had been built, are in surprisingly good shape. As a general rule, if a house is freshly painted you can assume that a working miner lives there. The population of Buffalo Creek has fluctuated with the times, declining when the industry declined, recovering when the industry recovered. In 1970, coal had its best year since 1947, and a rosy glow of optimism suffused National Coal Association predictions for the future. Big companies opened new mines along Buffalo Creek and stepped up production in their old ones. When coal comes up out of the ground, the impurities that come with it are separated out in preparation plants^tipples, as they are more commonly called. The coal rolls away in long, black trains; the impurities stay behind, and something has to be done with them. They have a way of accumulating with staggering speed: A ton of raw coal generally contains up to 25 per cent of extraneous material, and a good-sized tipple, handling the production of several mines at once, will separate out thousands of tons of waste every day. Miners have different names for it—"gob" or "slag" or "culm"; but whatever you call it, it still has to be piled somewhere. In the crowded hollows of West Virginia, finding places to pile slag is a problem of major proportions. As a general rule, no engineer is ever called in to consult on the best and safest locations. Instead, the company superintendent simply hunts around for some vacant space convenient to his tipple, and the slag is dumped there, either by trucks climbing up a mountainside and dumping down the slope, or by an aerial tramway strung between peaks and dumping in the middle. Whatever system is used, the slag is piled up until it is higher than the dumping spot, and then a new pile is started. FACING THE GOB Since 1946 a tipple has been in operation at the head of Buffalo Creek. The plant was built by the Lorado Coal Mining Company, a mostly local outfit that sold out to the Buffalo Mining Company in 1964. Buffalo Mining, in turn, sold out in �The Pittston Mentality 261 1970 to the Pittston Company, which is headquartered in New York and is the largest independent producer of coal in the United States. All this time the tipple continued in operation. And all this time it grew. Originally designed to process coal from a single mine, it was expanded periodically as new mines were opened nearby. By 1972 Pittston was operating a total of eight mines in the Buffalo Creek vicinity—five of them underground, three of them stripping jobs. The coal from all eight was processed in the single tipple. On an average, the tipple operated six days a week, two shifts a day; it handled about 5,200 tons of raw coal daily, and shipped out about 4,200 tons of cleaned coal on the long Chesapeake and Ohio trains. That meant that every day a thousand tons of gob, more or less, had to be dumped. Three tributaries run into Buffalo Creek near the Pittston tipple. From 1947 until about 1955, the refuse was dumped along the hillside a few hundred yards upstream from the tipple, but by 1955 the available space was mostly exhausted and the tipple began dumping a little farther away, across the mouth of a small hollow where the Middle Fork tributary meets the creek. At first the gob pile grew slowly. It had to, because most of the hollow behind it was occupied by miners living in company houses. But when production at the tipple increased, the growing gob pile began to menace the houses, and the miners were forced out. The houses were abandoned (some of them were knocked down for the lumber), and the gob was dumped where they had stood. The families moved away, some of them out of West Virginia entirely, some of them only a few hundred yards to vacant houses in the small community of Saunders, which stood facing the gob pile at the intersection of Middle Fork and Buffalo Creek. SAUNDERS WAS GONE The gob pile grew, and grew, and grew more swiftly as the tipple kept expanding production. At first this grotesque black mountain was only an eyesore. Later, it became a source of air pollution and a fire hazard. Gob piles may be nothing but waste; but much of that waste is flammable, and a combination of compaction and oxidation can result in spontaneous combustion. Once a fire gets going deep within a gob pile, extinguishing it is nearly impossible. The fire smoulders, sometimes bursts �262 Colonialism in Modern America into open flame, fouls the sky with acrid smoke, and occasionally produces an explosion. The Federal Bureau of Mines has spent millions of dollars in research on the problem, but the end result is that hundreds of gob piles are smouldering in the Appalachian coalfields right now, and nothing is being done about them. The gob pile at Middle Fork began burning years ago and kept on smouldering. As the dumping continued, another problem arose. Tipples require vast quantities of water in the cleaning-separating process, but water can be a scarce commodity at times in West Virginia. Partly to provide itself with a reliable year-round supply of water, and partly to comply with new state regulations governing stream pollution, Buffalo Mining began to build a series of settling ponds in 1964. Previously the contaminated wash water had simply been sluiced directly into Buffalo Creek, despite the objections of people who liked to fish there. The ponds were created by building retaining dams in the most immediately convenient location: on top of the huge Middle Fork gob pile. By that time the pile had reached stupefying proportions: as high as a 10-story office building, 600 feet across, stretching back into the hollow more than a quarter of a mile. Sweeping down through the pile and wandering across the top, the waters of Middle Fork ran sluggishly to join the main stream of Buffalo Creek. Damming the water was a relatively easy task, using the material closest at hand: mine waste. No civil engineer in his right mind would permit the construction of a dam from such materials (as many a civil engineer would later confirm), but no engineer, it now appears, was consulted. In operation, the settling ponds not only contained runoff water from the hills but refuse-filled water piped from the tipple. The solid refuse would settle out and clear water could be piped back to the tipple. The first of the ponds impounded a relatively small volume of water, however, and it silted up within a couple of years. A second dam was built in 1967 slightly farther upstream. When the tipple was operating full blast, it required 500,000 gallons of water a day, pumping back between 400 and 500 gallons of waste-filled water every minute. Some of the water would seep out through the porous dam, but the waste settling to the bottom—500 tons every day—rapidly filled the pond, and a third dam was built in 1970. Again, no engineering was involved—just truckloads of mine waste, a bulldozer to push �The Pittston Mentality 263 them around, and prestol A dam grew across the hollow, built of nothing but junk and standing on a foundation of slime and silt and dead trees. The trees were there because nobody had bothered to cut them down. It was simpler and faster just to dump on top of them. In West Virginia, February means snow and rain. February meant it this year, as always. In Logan County, there were heavy snows and flash floods; but they were, as the state meteorologist would later point out, "nothing uncommon/' At the head of Buffalo Creek, the waters rose behind Pittston 's makeshift dam. Early on the morning of February 26, Pittston's local mine boss, Steve Dasovich, sent a bulldozer operator up the access road to the dam with instructions to cut a drainage ditch to relieve the pressure from the swollen lake. The access road winds around a mountainside with the dam out of sight much of the way. When the bulldozer operator finally came around the last bend and looked through the rain at the dam, he saw with a sudden, terrible shock that it wasn't there. The dam was gone, and 21 million cubic feet of water and an immeasurable mass of mud and rock and coal wastes were charging through the narrow valley of Buffalo Creek. From where he sat on his suddenly useless machine, the bulldozer operator could look down toward the little town of Saunders^a town consisting of nothing more than a church and some two dozen houses. Now it consisted of nothing at all. Saunders was gone, eradicated completely. Beyond Saunders, the valley curved away out of sight, but the air was filled with the terrifying sound of the flood bearing down on the 15 communities in its path. FATHER OF STRIP-MINING There are no slag heaps on Park Avenue, and no floods will ever wash through the offices of Joseph P. Routh unless the island of Manhattan sinks into the sea. Thirty-five floors up in the Pan American building, the chairman of the Pittston Company has a commanding view. When he looks down to the street below, he can see Brinks armored trucks moving the wealth of America from place to place. The trucks belong to Joe Routh. A good deal of the money does, too. �264 Colonialism in Modern America Routh is 79 now, and he has been making money longer than most men have been alive. He was already a power to be reckoned with when the Pittston Company, which then operated a dozen anthracite mines in Pennsylvania, stumbled into bankruptcy during the Depression. A friend at Manufacturers Trust suggested to Routh that he take over the company and lead it out of the wilderness. The bank sweetened the offer with a $10-million loan—essentially unsecured, since there would be no way to recoup the loss if Pittston went under—and Routh moved in. Anthracite, he concluded, was a dying industry. The future lay in the vast bituminous fields of Virginia and West Virginia. He unloaded most of Pittston's properties in Pennsylvania and began buying up tracts of coal in central Appalachia. At a time when coal prices fluctuated wildly, he had discovered that the best way to tear loose a chunk of coal in time to take advantage of favorable trends was to strip it from the mountainsides rather than go through the difficult, two-year-ormore process of engineering and constructing a deep mine. By 1950, when strip-mining was still an infant industry in Appalachia and conservationists hadn't the foggiest notion of the plague to come, one of RouthJs companies, Compass Coal, was profitably tearing the hills of Harrison County, West Virginia, to shreds. Since there were no state or federal reclamation requirements, no money had to be spent on binding up the wounds. It must have been the best of all possible worlds, unless you lived near one of Routh*s mines. He, of course, didn't. Routh kept himself busy with other conquests, picking up coal companies in Kentucky, West Virginia, and Virginia, buying up trucking companies and warehouses in New York, enlarging his oil-distributing operations, hatching long-range plans for a giant refinery on the Maine coast. Money flowed from Routh's various holdings into his Manhattan office in a never-ending stream, and Routh bought Brinks, Inc., to carry the cash in his own armored cars. AN ACT OF GOD Despite abundant evidence that he was in no danger of going soft, Routh decided in 1969 to bring in a new president. He looked around for a man to match his own toughness and �The Pittston Mentality 265 found one—a 53-year-old native of West Virginia named Nicholas T. Camicia who had already made a mark in the industry as a notable scrambler. "The coal industry is run by men who got where they are by not being nice," says one former federal official in a position to know, "and when Camicia smiles, you can hear his jaws making a special effort." Routh liked him fine. But Camicia already had a good job when Routh approached him about taking over Pittston. Routh reportedly told him to write his own ticket, possibly remembering his own reluctance to sign on until Manufacturers Trust gave him the $10 million to play with. Camicia did, in fact, write his own ticket, putting his signature to a contract that has never been publicized but makes fascinating reading in the archives of the Securities and Exchange Commission. The contract runs until 1976 and guarantees Camicia not only a minimum salary of $100,000 (increased now to $134,000), but it stipulates that a deferred salary of $25,000 will be set aside each year, compounded, and paid out to him in 120 monthly installments whenever he quits or gets fired; if he reaches retirement age before that happens, he also qualifies for a hefty pension. The contract also appears to have included some highly attractive stock options; SEC records show, for example, that Camicia picked up 7,200 shares, worth approximately $270,000, for a price of $78,000—less than a third of their market value. That wasn't all. Camicia was living comfortably in an exclusive Chicago suburb when Routh signed him up; in return for agreeing to move to New York, Camicia got Pittston to buy his house for $90,000 and furnish him, cost free, an equivalent home within commuting distance of Manhatten. He went to work for Joe Routh, reportedly satisfied with the terms of his employment. If ever there was any doubt that Routh and Camicia were a pair of industry touchdown-twins, it was dispelled early in 1970 when Pittston signed a contract with the Japanese steel industry. The Japanese wanted a long-term contract and were willing to make concessions to get a reliable supply of American coking coal. By 1970 Pittston had gained control of a third of all the available commercial metallurgical coal in the United States, and no one could offer more reliability than Routh and Camicia. They would not offer it without certain stipulations, however. The contract they signed with the Japanese called for Pittston to �266 Colonialism in Modern America deliver 140 million tons of coal over the next 10 years at a reported average of $15 per ton, which is about twice the going rate elsewhere. Pittston's directors were so happy last year that they boosted dividends twice and voted themselves a three-for-one stock split to boot. The company now has more than 50 mines working with nine more under development, and there is no end to the good times in sight. Is everybody happy? No. Federal mine inspectors in Appalachia are not pleased with Pittston's safety record; they never have been particularly pleased with it, but the past couple of years have been especially bad. Nine miners lost their lives in 1971 in Pittston mines (two of them in the newly acquired Buffalo Mining division), another 743 were seriously hurt, and the company's accident frequency rate was one of the highest in the coal industry. The record in 1970 was even worse: 18 dead. Investigators found that in a solid majority of the fatal accidents bad management practices (rather than personal carelessness) were to blame. "The company appears to be sincere in its desire for health and safety throughout its mines," one inspector wrote. "This desire/* he added drily, "is not always fulfilled." Not always. All told, some 98 men have been killed in Pittston's mines in the past decade, and a 1963 explosion in which 22 men died still ranks as one of the worst of recent disasters. Three or four thousand men have been seriously injured or maimed in the company's mines since 1962, and the U.S. Public Health Service estimates that as many as 5,000 Pittston miners may have developed pneumoconiosis during that time. The profit margin of the new Japanese contract is a reported 24 per cent, almost three times the normal profit margin in the coal industry; you can't help marveling at how much of that money will be going back to the disabled derelicts living out their lives in Appalachia after destroying themselves to help make Joe Routh a millionaire for the third or fourth time. Pittston's stockholders don't have to concern themselves with such things, because they don't hear about them. The company's handsome four-color annual reports talk about money, not about people. There are pictures of freshly painted oil storage tanks, spotless armored trucks, gleaming computer banks—and aerial pictures of the long, black coal trains winding �The Pittston Mentality 267 their way through seemingly virgin Appalachian valleys. The pictures are taken with care: On the inside back cover of the 1971 report there is a color shot of lovely hills and hollows with a sturdy complex of mine buildings prominent in the foreground. "Aerial view of the Lorado Mine of newly acquired Buffalo Mining Company," the caption reads. Beyond the mine, railroad tracks stretch away, disappearing behind a hill. If you could see beyond that hill, you would see the massive, smouldering gob pile that stood at the head of Buffalo Creek and on top of it the jerry-built dams that Pittston used with its preparation plant. But those things are not part of the picture, not part of the annual report. As far as Pittston's stockholders are concerned, they never existed—not until the morning of February 26, when suddenly the dams collapsed and the burning gob pile erupted and all hell broke loose. Helicopters were still thrashing back and forth between Buffalo Creek and the nearest hospitals when reporters began calling Pittston's New York headquarters to find out what the company had been doing to cause such a monstrous disaster. Camicia and Routh weren't available, wouldn't answer the telephones, wouldn't return calls. Finally, Mary Walton of the Charleston Gazette flushed out a Pittston lawyer who insisted on remaining anonymous but was willing to give the company's point of view. "It was an act of God," he said. DASOVICH'S YARDSTICK " 'Act of God' is a legal term," Robert Weedfall remarked when he heard about Pittston's explanation of the flood. *'There are other legal terms—terms like 'involuntary manslaughter because of stupidity' and 'criminal negligence.' " Weedfall is the West Virginia state climatologist, the man who keeps track of basic acts of God such as rain and snow. He was in a better position than anyone else to know whether there could be any possibility that Pittston's dam had collapsed from natural causes, and he was convinced that it had not—could not have—not by any stretch of the imagination. There had been heavy rainfall in Logan County during the week of February 26 and considerable flooding. But it was nothing uncommon for February, Weedfall said, and he had the statistics to prove it. When reporters called him they were impressed with his conviction. Pittston officials �268 Colonialism in Modern America had called, too, looking for ways to document their private theory of divine intervention. Weedfall wasn't much help. Nor were the technical specialists of the Department of the Interior who arrived from Washington and, in the aftermath of the disaster, poked and probed among the ruins in search of clues. The U.S. Geological Survey sent a crew, as did the Bureau of Mines; the Bureau of Reclamation summoned a former chief of its Earth Dams Section from retirement. The investigators examined the remains of the dam in microscopic detail, interviewed Pittston workers and company officials (who would not talk to reporters), and pieced together a convincing account of what had happened and why. None of the investigators showed any doubt that the dams had been badly engineered. Fred Walker, the retired Bureau of Reclamation expert, went further and refused to use the word "dam" to describe the structures. "Locally these barriers are called dams, but to me this is unacceptable nomenclature," he wrote. "These structures were created by persons completely unfamiliar with dam design, construction, and materials, and by construction methods they are completely unacceptable to engineers specializing in dam design." West Virginia law, Walker noted, "requires permits, approval of plans, and inspection during construction for impoundments more than 10 feet deep. I was unable to find that such requirements had ever been complied with/' Suggesting that similar potentially disastrous situations could be found elsewhere in the coalfields, Walker commented scathingly that "fortunately most of these barriers are built in valleys that have small watersheds above them, as apparently little if any consideration is given to the flood hazard involved." Pittston's consideration of the flood hazard at Buffalo Creek seems to have begun at 4 p.m. on Feburary 24—exactly 40 hours before the so-called dam collapsed—when Jack Kent and Steve Dasovich drove up to survey the situation. Kent was superintendent of Pittston Js stripping operations in its Buffalo Mining division; Dasovich was superintendent of the tipple. The water was rising behind the newest of the three dams. A federal mine inspector had driven past on the previous day and recalled later that the water seemed to be about 15 feet below the top; now it was within five or six feet. According to the Bureau of �The Pittston Mentality 269 Mines report, Kent and Dasovich "agreed that neither the dam nor the rising water presented danger of collapse or flooding at that time." The report makes clear that they were concerned only with the possibility of water overflowing the dam; they seem to have been untroubled by the possibility that the dam might simply give way, even though it was settling visibly in places—and even though part of it had given way almost exactly a year earlier during the rains of February, 1971. (It had been under construction then, with not much water backed up behind it, and there was little damage.) Kent stuck a measuring stick into the sludgy surface of the dam, with the top of the stick about a foot below the top of the dam. It was raining; Dasovich and Kent decided to keep an eye on things. Kent was back at the dam 24 hours later to check his measuring stick. The water was up about a foot and a half. Rain was still falling. Kent, who lives in an imposing home a few miles below the dam, decided to start checking the water level every two hours. He found that it was rising about an inch an hour. At 3:30 a.m. on February 26, peering at the stick with the aid of a flashlight, Kent saw to his alarm that the water was rising faster—two inches an hour, maybe more. An hour later the level was up three inches more and the measuring stick was almost covered. Kent telephoned Dasovich and asked him to come take a look. By the time Dasovich arrived the stick had disappeared entirely and the water was only about a foot below the top of the dam. According to the Bureau of Mines investigators, Dasovich decided to cut a ditch across the dam; he had some drainage pipe on hand and intended to use it to relieve the pressure. He called some of Jack Kent's strip-mine bulldozer operators at home and told them to go to the stripping operation—some three or four miles away—and bring their machines to the dam. Kent, meanwhile, made some calls, too: "He telephoned several families in the Lorado and Saunders area after his 4:30 a.m. examination/1 Bureau investigators reported, "and advised them of the rising water and the possibility of the dam overflowing." Three hours before the dam broke, in other words, the disaster had been foreseen by someone in a position to do something about it. A telephone call to the state police—who could have traveled the entire length of Buffalo Creek by 7 a.m. ordering a general evacuation—might have saved more than a hundred lives. But the �270 Colonialism in Modern America call was never made. And the drainage ditch was never dug, because the dam had given way before the bulldozers arrived. WALKING IN SOUP You can find Jack Kent at home—his house is on high ground and survived the flood untouched—but he doesn't like to talk to reporters. His eyes tell everything; there is no need for words. Dasovich seems to have disappeared entirely. He was in a nearby hospital after the flood, being treated for shock, and nurses said later that he was hysterical and blamed himself for the tragedy. Still later he was reported to have been admitted to a private psychiatric clinic—still later, released. The Federal investigators have not yet talked to him and some of them, knowing now what they do about the dam, see no need. "He knows what was up there," one of them said. "He'll always know what was up there." Other men knew, too. In the community of Saunders there was general concern about the safety of the dam; and on the night of February 25, most of the families who lived nearby decided, on their own, to take refuge in a schoolhouse five miles down the creek at Lorado. The decision saved their lives; the schoolhouse survived the flood, but when the families returned to Saunders to look for their homes, there was nothing to be found. No homes, not even the foundations; everything was gone, everything except an appalling sea of slowly settling, black, foul-smelling sludge. Off and on during the night, in the last few hours before the dam broke, miners went up to have a look at it. There were rumors spreading that it was going to go, but no one really seemed to know. Dasovich reportedly was telling people that things were under control. About 6:30 a.m., according to the federal reports, a miner saw ominous signs of what was coming. "The dam was moving like a bridge moves under heavy traffic," he remembered later. "Water was coming through the dam. . . not much, but it was causing the lower lake to fill up fast." By 7:30, according to another eyewitness account, "The top of the dam was moving back and forth. . . .the dam was settling down and shoving forward." Trying to walk anywhere in the vicinity of the dam was "like walking in soup—it had gotten real, real �The Pittston Mentality 271 juicy, buddy, all the way down. I got in the car and got the hell out of there." The top of the dam was lower on one side than on the other, apparently from foundation settling, and now the top was slumping still further with a momentum that could not have been stopped by an army of bulldozers. One of the several federal reports theorizes that the water level rose quickly during the night, not just because rain was falling, but because the dam had been collapsing slowly into the lake for several hours. But even while the rain continued, the tipple went on pumping its 500 gallons a minute into the sludgy lake behind the dam. 30-FOOT FLOOD Whatever happened in the night, it was morning now, and there was enough light to see what was happening. Apparently no one saw the actual moment when the dam finally gave way. It seems to have happened very fast—the dam settling until water was running across the top, the water cutting a cleft into the dam, more water hurrying through, and then complete and total collapse, and millions of gallons of water and hundreds of thousands of tons of sludge streaming across the top of the slag pile at the beginning of catastrophe. The water cascaded into the burning section of the slag heap and erupted in a volcanic explosion. Men were coming off shift at the tipple and saw what was happening; they saw a mushroom cloud burst into the air from the explosion, saw mud and rock thrown 300 feet into the sky, saw the windshields of their pickup trucks covered with steaming mud. They raced back up the road and tried to use the telephone at the tipple to send out a warning, but the line was already dead. The tipple was safe—it was upstream, up another fork of the creek, out of the path of the destruction—but the men were cut off from the main stream of Buffalo Creek and there was no way they could help anyone. They could only watch as the water and sludge crested over the top of the exploding gob pile and burst into the valley, "boiling up like dry flour when you pour water on it." The flood traveled at first at a speed of at least 30 miles an hour—in a solid wall 20 or 30 feet high. People who saw it �272 Colonialism in Modern America coming as they headed up the Buffalo Creek road barely had time to throw their cars into reverse, turn around wherever there was room, and head back downstream, leaning on their horns, flashing their lights, trying to warn other people who had heard the explosions but still did not know what was happening. There was very little time to do anything. It takes a few seconds to collect your wits when you see a wall of water bearing down on you, especially when you live in a valley where there are only a few exits—hollows running at right angles to the main valley. For most of the people who died, it was like being in the barrel of a gun and seeing the bullet coming. There was nowhere to go. That so many people did escape is something of a miracle. Nearly 5,000 people lived in the path of the flood. Probably a thousand were caught up in it, battered, left shaken, and sometimes badly hurt, but alive. From the wreckage of 16 communities, the bodies of 118 people have been found. There are others still missing; the final toll may be close to 150. THE ONLY LIFE THEY KNEW What happens after a disaster of such magnitude? There are inquiries, of course, and inquiries are under way in West Virginia. But in Appalachian affairs, the official response tends to have a common theme. After the Farmington mine disaster killed 78 miners, it was an Interior Department assistant secretary who said brightly: "We don't know why these things happen, but they do." After the 1970 mine explosion that killed 38 men in Kentucky, it was a newly installed director of the Bureau of Mines who said: "We can almost expect one of these every year." While the search for bodies was still continuing in Logan County, West Virginia's Governor Arch Moore was already defending the Pittston Company: The sludge-built dam had served a "logical and constructive" use by filtering mine wastes that would otherwise have gone unfiltered into Buffalo Creek. It didn't seem to matter much how the thing was built. The state legislature chose not to investigate, instead leaving to the governor the selection of an official commission which would be told to report back by the end of summer. "It's easy to say that the dam shouldn't have been there," Moore said at one point. "But it had been there for 25 years." He was technically wrong, of course, but the inference seemed to be that if a hazard simply �The Pittston Mentality 273 exists long enough, it has a right to be left alone. And by the same token, the Governor made it painfully clear that he would ask the same treatment for the problems of West Virginia. The real tragedy, he said, a tragedy greater even than what had befallen the people of Buffalo Creek, was the unflattering coverage of West Virginia in the national press. In fact there had been precious little of that. The flood had been on page one for two or three days, but it was eclipsed by the President's tour through China (from Shanghai, where he learned of the flood, Nixon sent an expression of regret, concluding from a distance of many thousands of miles that it was a terrible "natural disaster" and promising speedy federal aid); and within a week it would be forgotten, dismissed as one of those things. Time, for example, observed that the people of Buffalo Creek would have been well advised to live elsewhere, but they had stayed on in the shadow of the smouldering gob pile presumably because "that was the only life they knew." PASSING THE BUCK TO GOD The Interior Department, meanwhile, explained through Assistant Secretary Hollis Dole that there was, in its opinion, no federal responsibility in the matter, despite the fact that regulations within the 1969 Federal Coal Mine Health and Safety Act specifically cover the construction and use of gob piles and retaining dams. There were no indications that the government would move to take action against Pittston unless it was prodded by an outraged Congress; on Capital Hill there was no outraged Congress to be found. There would be room for doubt, in any event, about the kind of action that the Department of the Interior would take even if it were forced to do something. The department is reluctant to think of itself as a regulatory agency, or as a federal cop, and among all of the subordinate agencies within the department, the Bureau of Mines is a standout example of one that has refused to grasp the idea of representing the public interest. The problem might not be serious if a system of countervailing power were in operation—if, for example, the people of Buffalo Creek could have counted on the United Mine Workers to represent them against the overwhelming resources and �274 Colonialism in Modern America indifference of the Pittston Company. There had been scattered efforts along Buffalo Creek to protest the slag heaps and the sludge dams—petitions had been circulated, attention had been demanded. But the effort never went anywhere, and it never went anywhere partly because no powerful organization, like the union, chose to push it. The union hasn't pushed much of anything in some time except perhaps the fringe benefits available to its ranking officers. The result is that on one side of the equation there is a powerful industry deeply dedicated to its own interests; on the other side there is, most of the time, nothing at all. And in the middle, where there should be an evenhanded government agency, there is instead the Bureau of Mines, an organization so encrusted with age and bureaucracy that it will not even support its own inspectors when they try to do their jobs. They had, for example, been trying to do their jobs at Pittston's mines, trying to cut down the number of men killed in needless accidents. Over the past year they had slapped thousands of violation notices on the company. The idea is that the notices will cost money; get fined often enough and hard enough, the theory goes, and you will become safety-conscious in the extreme. It hasn't worked that way. Thanks to a highly complex assessment system set up in Washington by a former lobbyist who is now in charge of the Bureau's fines-collection operation, Pittston has been able to defer, seemingly indefinitely, any payment for its sins. Specifically, over the past year inspectors had fined Pittston a total of $1,303,315 for safety violations. As of April 1, the company had appealed every one of the notices it had received and had paid a grand total of $275 to the government. Meanwhile, on Buffalo Creek, the investigations continue, the reports are compiled, the survivors try to plan a future; the mines, only briefly disrupted by the raging flood, are back at work, and the long trains roll. One month after the disaster, Pittston set up an office to process claims—without, however, accepting liability. The company's official view is still that God did it—and if, by any chance, God should pass the buck back down: "We believe that the investigations of the tragedy have not progressed to the point where it is possible to assess responsibility." It's possible that such a point will never be reached. Who was responsible, for example, for deciding to spend $90,000 �The Pittston Mentality 275 to buy Nicholas Camicia's house, but not to spend the $50,000 that it might have cost—according to one of the federal reports— to build a safe dam at the head of Buffalo Creek? There are sticky questions like that rising in the aftermath of the disaster, questions that will be hard to answer. "There is never peace in West Virginia because there is never justice," said Mother Jones, the fiery hell-raiser of West Virginia's early labor wars. On Buffalo Creek these days there is a strange kind of quiet, a peacefulness of sorts, but it is not the kind that comes with justice. This article was published by The Washington Monthly, May 1972. Reprinted by permission. �This page intentionally left blank �OF By A For 1116-B Charleston, E. Virginia . .. to his as a as as an he to His of to his his in as of the he of a Inc., of the lie his he but he of Trans- in of of to in He as a as by fit of n»ii • *y a in lt i lt i . �278 Colonialism in Modern America Island Creek Coal Co., Director of Civic Affairs for Monsanto, Director of West Virginia Life Insurance Company, director of Huntington Federal Savings and Loan Associates, and President of Cecil H. Underwood Associates, in which venture he was joined by David Francis, president of Princess Coal Company. By contrast, William Marland forgot whom the governor commonly serves. During his term he made the error of recommending a severance tax on coal; he finished life as an alcoholic cab driver in Chicago. . . . CASE STUDY: THE BUILDING OF STATE ROUTE 99 Route 99 cuts a swath through the tops of the beautiful high mountains which mark the southern edge of the Coal River Watershed. The road is only 10.016 miles in length and runs from a junction with State Route 85 in Boone County, slightly north of Kopperston (an Eastern Gas and Fuel Company town in Wyoming Co.), and east to Bolt in Raleigh County. At some unspecified future date there is supposed to be an extension of the road which will turn Route 99 into a major east-west artery connecting Logan and Beckley. The road is made of six inches of asphalt poured over 12 inches of crushed rock—extremely sturdy construction, even for a mountain road. Both firms which built the road obtain more of their money from strip mining than they do from construction. They gouged a tremendous cut for the road with explosives and heavy equipment. This left towering high walls, often on both sides, of bleak rock. Driving over the road, one is not surprised that it cost over $5,200,000 to build initially. However, it is surprising to find that there is almost no traffic on the road, since the State Department of Highways insists that the first criterion used in the building of a road is whether the road will pay for itself in terms of the gas tax taken in by vehicles using the road. A quick check of the state road map shows no sizable town on or around the road and almost no one who will be served by the road as a through route. Why then was this particular road built? The highway department and other officials have offered various reasons. Former Governor Smith suggested that the entire area was going to be a scenic recreation area, but both sides of the road are lined with some of the most devastated countryside imaginable, scarred by �Coal Government ofAppalachia 279 the stark slashes of the 40 strip mines in the area. The central office of the Department of Highways offered a different and far more plausible explanation. Although unsure who it was that made the decision, one high ranking official did point out that the road has * "opened that area up." Acknowledging that almost no one lived in an area to use the road as a through highway connecting any urban centers, he nonetheless allowed as how it was important to open areas up to people to live in and industries to develop. Just which people and which industries the area has been opened up for becomes obvious when the history of the road and the surrounding area is examined. Kopperston is a model company town built near the mouths of many large underground mines by the Koppers Company; it is now operated by Eastern Gas and Fuel Associates, one of the giants of the coal industry. Building such towns is expensive, however, and no such plans were made in connection with the development of the Harris mine, another giant underground operation which opened near the current junction of Route 99 and Route 85 about the same time the road was built. Eastern's new mine employs over three hundred miners, a quarter of whom live in the eastern part of Boone County and Raleigh County. Before Route 99 was built, the only way for these miners to get to work was to drive far north of their homes to Seth and then across or far south along Route 1 through Glenfork and Oceana, then north again. The more than eighty miners who lived east of Bolt live on a road pattern designed for access to Beckley, the seat of Raleigh County. Near Beckley, Eastern was in the process of closing down several worked-out deep mines. In order to keep its miners, it had to find some way to get them to the new mining site. Route 99 provides a perfect connection for people in eastern Boone County and the Beckley region to get to the Harris Mine and back. It serves almost nothing else, or nothing else which existed before it opened that part of Boone County up. Now it serves more than 40 strip mines which are in operation along its length and at one end of the road. At the same time the plans were finalized for building the road, Eastern Coal and Appalachian Power Company jointly indicated an interest in building, with Federal assistance, a rural New Town at what is now the eastern end of Route 99 near �280 Colonialism in Modern America Bolt. As work on the plans for the new city at Fairdale advanced, it became clear that the type town Eastern had in mind was not the type that would obtain federal approval. Initial inquiries were discouraging enough to prevent formal application from ever being made, and the idea of the city was put silently to rest. The major problem was Eastern's nervousness whenever mention was made of attracting other industries into the town. Eastern wanted the town to be housing for its workers. Eastern had been seeking a company town which would not cost Eastern anything, one for which the state and the federal governments would pay. Officials then serving in the highway department were delighted when they first heard that a new city was under consideration for Fairdale. Their joy stemmed from the fact that the plan to build that city (of which they had known nothing when Route 99 was laid out) would serve as an excellent justification for a previously unjustifiable project. They were no doubt even more disappointed than Eastern when the plans never advanced beyond the talking stage. Since the owners of the land over which Route 99 was built are large land companies which hold the land until it can be profitably mined, it is not surprising that they were quite willing to grant the state permission to enter their land and construct the road—even before the price of the land was negotiated and the land bought. As of late 1970, the land (upon which the road lay) had still not been purchased, and the case was slated for adjudication. Their willingness to allow the state on the land becomes understandable when maps of the area are examined. State road maps of the region before the route was completed show no mines along Route 99. The area, now stripped so completely, was almost inaccessible before it could be reached by 99. The highway department personnel who reported on the use of the road always mentioned the semi-trailers carrying explosives and equipment to the strip mines' cutting face in addition to the miners going to and from those sites and the large underground sites further to the west. Most of the land being stripped and most of road right-of-way were owned initially by Eastern Gas and Fuel Associates. It is now owned by Pennva, a giant land-holding subsidiary of another giant coal producer, Pittston Corp. �Coal Government ofAppalachia 281 Another major beneficiary of Route 99 was stripper and road builder Leo Vecillio of Beckley. Vecillio and Grogan, Inc. is the construction firm which built most of Route 99. Ranger Fuel (Leo Vecillio, President) operated 21 strip mines along the road and also 20 mines in Pond Fork now made accessible to them by Route 99. Ranger Fuel marketed its coal through Eastern Gas and Fuel Associates. In 1970, Ranger was also sold to the Pittston Corporation. Nor have expenditures stopped after 1966-1967, when the road was cut and graded through the mountains. In 1970, another contract was awarded to Black Rock Contracting, Inc. of Charleston to pave the road, which theretofore had not received a permanent blacktopping. That added an additional 1.4 million dollars to the figure of 5 million previously spent. The original 5,000,000 dollars used to build this impressive stretch of two-lane road came from a bond issue passed initially to be used on the federal interstate system. If the money had been used for that purpose, it would have been matched by $45,000,000 in federal dollars and could have built over 30 miles of four-lane interstate. The use of the funds on a project which could not qualify for any federal matching money (the Appalachian Regional Commission's money at the time would not go to roads serving only mines) was not illegal. The legislature had provided that the money could also be used for the public roads of the state (a provision intended for any excess of funds after spending on interstates), but it was at least improvident to spend it on a solely state-financed road which in reality cost the state not 5 but 50 million dollars in lost road-building ability. Shortly after the road was contracted for, the federal government, stung by the cost of its military adventures in Southeast Asia, ordered a freeze on interstate building. This freeze was based on the amount of money which the states had previously spent on the program. Thus the Route 99 fiasco continued to hurt the state over the next few years. A delegate from Wyoming County bemoaning the costly construction of Route 99 for special interests pointed out that the policy still continues. In his county one road was being built from Pineville to a new Bethlehem Steel Mine five miles away. �282 Colonialism in Modern America Another road from Pineville to Baileysville was being widened to better serve the Keppler mines. "It's certainly sad that the only way we can get any roads in southern West Virginia is when it benefits the coal operators," the delegate observed. "The people can cry for roads, but the only time they ever seem to be built is when the coal companies need them." ("Roads for Coal Firms Only Pattern Ripped by McGraw" Sunday Gazette-Mail, 28 June 1970.) �THE IN TVA by INTRODUCTION On in his he he 18, 1933, and an in D. the pen Act. of the TVA this act of a and in by in the of of the to the by the In his of of a he TVA the the bill he be a the his the of the as the of be a of TVA to be It to be in the is a he to the a of /or �284 Colonialism in Modern America less federal agencies. It was, the president said, to be a near contradiction as a federal agency: "a return to the spirit and vision of the pioneer/' based in the region it was to serve, concerned with the complexities of national development, but also an agency that "touches and gives life to all forms of human concern." It was, in short, a mere first step in a national experiment where—if it succeeded—"we can march on, step by step, in the like development of other great national territorial units within our borders." Even though it was favored several times by the Supreme Court, and beat government-inspired conspiracies like DixonYates of the early 50's, even though it successfully defeated one of the toughest onslaughts ever organized by private power trusts, and even though it made a remarkable record of achievement imitated world-wide, the TV A idea never sprouted successfully in any other area of the country. A. The Early Record of TVA Few people who have had a course in modern American history need a recitation of the good deeds by the agency in the early days. It tamed the nation's fifth largest river, turning the once flood-prone 650 mile giant into the world's most controlled river. It planted eroded land and invented fertilizers and gave them away. It turned poor farmers into skilled workers, employing at the height of World War II 40,000 people, most of them trained by the agency. Unique even today among federal agencies, it allowed its employees to join unions. When the companies defeated the United Mine Workers* first large organizing drive in the southern coalfields in Fentress County, Tennessee, and then blacklisted the miners, the agency hired more than 200 en masse in 1934. It sold its power only to cooperatives organized and controlled by the people. It did other things, and, importantly, it won the confidence of the people. When the private power companies built "spite lines" into TVA territory, the farmers chopped down the poles. In 20 years the agency built 20 dams. In 1953 the total dam system had cost $24.5 million and averted potential flood damage estimated at more than $51 million. In 1952 alone the navigation system had saved barge shippers probably $10 million, �The Federal Government in Appalachia*. TVA 285 at an expense of $3.5 million. Since 1933 it had reforested 212,000 acres of land and produced 295 million seedlings in its nursery. Over the same period 68,000 farmers had allowed their farms to be TVA test demonstration areas to educate them and their neighbors about new farming techniques. Per capita income had risen from 44% of the national average in 1929 to 60% in 1952. Manufacturing employment opportunities had increased 20% faster in the valley than in the nation. As impressive as the statistics are, they fail to convey the sheer magnitude of the project in a seven state area of 201 counties, the size of New England. The concrete, rock, and earth laid in the path of the river and its tributaries were 12 times the bulk of the Great Pyramids. The volume of water behind its dams would cover the entire state of Illinois to a depth of eight inches. But more important, and surprising, an agency that had a vague mandate to "sell the surplus power not used in its operations" had by its twentieth year become the nation's largest utility, selling power at the lowest prices to a people who in 1933 had almost no knowledge of the electric age. By 1953 the agency's customers—one in 28 farms in the valley had power in 1933—were consuming twice as much power as their national counterparts. TVA's wonders were not accomplished without sacrifices, however, and there were many less than admirable aspects to the agency even in the early days. To build its dams the agency forced the removal of 125,480 people. It has bought or condemned two million acres of land, creating in the place of occasional flooding a giant permanent flood. In the early days, board member Harcourt Morgan, a former president of the University of Tennessee, turned the agency's farm program into little more than mimicry of the policies of the land grant colleges and the extension services. The agency made its peace with the Farm Bureau, even though that organization had advocated that instead of a TVA, the government should sell its $90 million investment in the Wilson Dam at Muscle Shoals to Henry Ford for $5 million. Ignoring its reputed commitment to civil rights, the agency built separate facilities at its dam sites for blacks and whites. (Even today, among the top 37 staffers who meet regularly with the board, only one is a black and one a woman. In the memory of re- �286 Colonialism in Modern America porters who have attended the meetings since they were forced open in 1975 in response to press pressure, the black has never spoken at a meeting and the woman has spoken up only once, when the agency was moving to abolish the home economics division of which she is a part.) But despite the scars, most people agreed with Henry Steele Commager in 1950 that the agency was "the greatest peacetime achievement of twentieth century America." B. The Turning Point From almost the first meeting of the three board members in 1933, the agency was torn over its direction. Arthur Morgan's "human engineering/' his seeming willingness to compromise with Wendell Willkie (then head of the southern power trusts), and his undocumented charges of "evasion, intrigue, and sharp strategy" against Lilienthal and H. A. Morgan, led to his dismissal by Roosevelt in 1938. With Morgan gone, Lilienthal, who believed the agency would live or die by the power program, was victor. His successor as chairman, Gordon Clapp, launched the agency in 1949-53 into building seven coal fired plants—the largest in the world—to meet the power demands on the system. Had it not been for the cold war and the Atomic Energy Commission, which by 1955 was consuming a full half of TVA's output at its Oak Ridge and Paducah uranium enrichment plants, the agency would have had the largest surplus capacity of any utility in the world. To stave off the Eisenhower administration's Dixon-Yates conspiracy and other efforts to reduce its effectiveness, the agency began saluting its contribution to defense above all its other efforts. In that climate, a new generation of leadership—far more cautious, technically oriented, and politically conservative—moved in to make policy at TVA. This new generation saw cheap power as the means to trump all opposition. By the middle 1950's TVA had set a pattern for its future coal purchases, concentrating them in western Kentucky where low grade, high sulfur coal fields were being developed by independent coal firms. Armed with long term contract offers, technical equipment at its plants that would allow the burning of low quality coal, and no hesitancy in purchasing non-union �The Federal Government in Appalachia: TVA 287 coal, TVA's coal buyers, with direction from then General Manager Aubrey J. Wagner and Board Chairman Herbert D. Vogel, set out to guarantee that fuel prices would remain low. Operating against a slumped coal market and a rapidly declining United Mine Workers (UMW) union, the TVA revolutionized the steam coal market. As the nation's largest buyer and with skillful use and re-use of competitive bidding to lower the price of coal proffered to the agency, TVA helped to bankrupt operators in the southern Tennessee, east Kentucky, and other central Appalachian coal fields. Union-organized deep mines, especially those with strong locals that deprived operators of sweetheart contracts from the increasingly corrupt UMW, found themselves unable to remain in business. Not so Appalachian and western Kentucky strip mines. Small strip mine companies like Kentucky Oak Mining of Hazard, Kentucky, found TVA a willing accomplice in granting long term contracts and providing technical assistance in machinery design and mining procedures. In the early 1960's when the "Roving Pickets" movement was shutting down the eastern Kentucky coal fields and violence was causing concern even at the White House, few coal miners realized that the reason for the sweetheart contracts, the withdrawal of the UMW hospital cards, and the starvation economy was in part the steam coal policies that TVA was pursuing quietly in Knoxville. With Kentucky Oak Mining bringing strip mining, a process little practiced until then, to eastern Kentucky on a vast scale, no deep mine could possibly compete with its prices, which were frequently as low as $3 a ton. Meanwhile, in western Kentucky and eastern Tennessee, TVA was building mine mouth steam plants on or near strip mines and signing long term contracts for millions of tons of coal. The prices for the western Kentucky coal, albeit of lower quality, were far below what it cost Appalachian producers to mine coal. With the long term contracts, which amounted to loan guarantees at most financial institutions, the western Kentucky producers opened mines in thick seams, mined with shovels that dwarfed anything ever seen before on the American landscape, and sealed the doom of the independent Appalachian deep mine companies. In the name of cheap fuel, the agency was laying the groundwork for the horrors that now haunt it and its region. �288 Colonialism in Modern America C. A Bitter Harvest When President Kennedy called together his advisers in the early days of his administration to determine how to deal with the disturbing reports that were coming from Appalachia, especially eastern Kentucky, he found them ill-prepared to come up with solutions or, in fact, able to comprehend that what was happening was related in more than a small way to policies being made by a government agency in Knoxville. At one point he sent an aide from his office with an order to find 100 doctors before winter to go to eastern Kentucky; the aide found none. As the administration made other decisions related to the mountains, it ignored the role that TVA had played in the havoc and could play in the solution. In 1961, Kennedy named Aubrey Wagner to the TVA board and appointed him chairman in 1962; in 1963, he named Wagner to the President's Appalachian Regional Commission that was to study how to solve poverty in the mountains. There is no evidence that Wagner or anyone else was ever questioned about, or did themselves question, TVA's role in creating the coal market slump that had brought on the unemployment and the union busting in the mountain coalfields. The UMW leadership, having failed even under Lewis's leadership to get TVA to change its policies, had already turned to Cyrus Eaton to get him to buy up TVA suppliers with union money. By the early 1960's the union was as interested as the Chamber of Commerce in trying to discredit media reports of poverty in eastern Kentucky. TVA's bitter harvest would come home in other ways. By 1974 TVA was buying 37 million tons of coal a year to fuel its 12 steam plants which were producing 80% of its power. A full 72% of the coal was coming from Kentucky, one-half of it strip mined. Disturbingly also, for an agency that once saw itself as "democracy on the march," a full 83% of the coal was now being supplied by a dozen firms, all of them owned by oil or metal conglomerates. In that year, the giants turned on their friendly benefactor. Prices more than doubled. Suddenly TVA's cheap power was no longer so cheap. Giant TVA suppliers like Island Creek, chaired by the once friendly Senator Albert Gore and owned by Occidental Petroleum, demanded a $3 a ton profit guarantee, with a 50-50 split of profit over $6 a ton. TVA signed. Mapco (Mid-America Pipeline Co.), owner of Webster County Coal Corp., raised its price from $8.50 per ton to over $30. TVA �The Federal Government in Appalachia: TV A 289 signed. Mr. Wagner condemned the price increases and damned publicly the increasing energy concentration. This was taken seriously in some quarters, but knowledgeable observers saw a clear connection between past agency policy and the prices. The Mountain Eagle, of Whitesburg, Kentucky, revealed that two coal companies owned in part by Ashland Oil had defaulted on a $25 million TVA loan guarantee made in secret by the TVA board in 1970. In rapid fire fashion, other puzzling coal deals by TVA came to light: (1) it had selected Peabody Coal Co., the world's largest, to open a new deep mine on TVA property in western Kentucky and had agreed to equip the mine and pay Peabody a guaranteed fee per ton, despite the fact that in 1971 Peabody had the worst deep mine safety record in the industry; (2) in 1974 it had signed contracts worth $58 million with a company it was alleging in federal court had defrauded it on past contracts; (3) it was accepting truck loads of rock, mud, and slate disguised as coal at its Kingston Steam Plant, taking action to stop only after repeated exposures of the practice in the media; (4) it had made a secret bid of $1 billion to purchase Peabody. These actions were only a part of a disturbing pattern that began to emerge publicly in the early 1970s. In a June 17, 1974, speech, Wagner told the National Coal Association that portions of the Mine Health and Safety Act "should be eliminated" in the interest of production. But TVA's coal purchasing practices were bothering in other ways too. Because of its policy of buying low heat (approximately 11,000 BTUs per pound as opposed to national utility average of over 12,000 BTUs.) and high sulfur coal, a combination TVA claimed was cheap, the agency was in trouble with the nation's air cleanup program. The Environmental Protection Agency told the agency either to find low sulfur supplies (at least lower than the 4.5% sulfur coal it buys from some suppliers) or install �290 Colonialism in Modern America scrubbers. TVA refused to do either. Wagner called scrubbers "a billion dollar pig in a poke," and launched TVA on a program of building tall stacks at its steam plants to disperse, rather than clean up, its sulfur dioxide emissions. EPA officials, mindful that TVA emits 14% of all utility sulfur dioxide nationally and 52% of the poison in eight states of the South, refused in 1974 to compromise further its stand on constant controls. Aware that failure to clean up TVA would mean a license for private utilities also to defy the law, EPA took its stand in federal courts, where in 1976 it got final word from the Supreme Court that TVA's compliance program violated the clean air laws. The end result of TVA's reliance on its traditional suppliers and low quality coal is that it now finds itself unable to buy enough low sulfur coal to comply with the law. In an October 1976 bid opening, the agency received no significant bid from old suppliers for low sulfur coal and got few worthy offers from other suppliers. Chairman Wagner now claims the reason is that suppliers are holding coal off the market for higher prices. State Representative Lewis McManus, the former speaker of the West Virginia House of Representatives, and a critic of TVA for failing to buy low sulfur coal in his state, says the reason is that the agency will not negotiate with that state's small producers. TVA general manager Lynn Seeber rejoins that the agency has to buy by competitive bidding. McManus points out that the TVA board declared an "emergency" in 1973-74 and re-negotiated most of its long term contracts at higher prices with the conglomerate suppliers. Alone of utilities, it is now negotiating on an "emergency basis" for low sulfur coal. TVA's new trump is nuclear power. It has more nuclear capacity planned than any utility in the country. In March 1975 its Brown's Ferry plant was knocked out for over a year by a worker using a candle to check for air leaks in a cable room. In December 1976 a fire caused by an electric heater destroyed the building that would have been used for start-up operation in 1978 of the Sequoyah nuclear plant. Mr. Wagner says nuclear power is safer than highway driving, cheaper than coal, and that the agency has no intention of backing away from its present nuclear emphasis unless coal power becomes cheaper. And while it pursues the nuclear commitment, the agency is now testing low sulfur coal from Montana as a possible source of supply for its Shawnee steam plant; it is doing so despite the fact that the �The Federal Government in Appalachia: TV A 291 coal is non-union, low BTU, and higher priced than quality low sulfur deep mine coal being purchased by private utilities in Appalachia. D. Economic Status in the TV A Region The Tennessee Valley watershed covers 40,910 square miles of land in seven states and 125 counties. About half the counties overlap with ARC territory in Tennessee, Alabama, North Carolina, Virginia, Georgia, Kentucky, and Mississippi. The TVA power service territory covers the same states but includes 170 counties, making the total counties covered by TVA 201, with a population over 6.7 million. The combined TVA territory covers 80,000 square miles. When TVA was founded in 1933, personal income in these 201 counties was 45% of the national average, or about $168 per capita. In 1974, the figure was $4,262, or 78% of the national level of $5,448. That compares with the southeastern U.S. level (excluding Florida) of 84% of the U.S. level, or $4,602.! In 1933, 62% of the region's jobs were in agriculture; in 1973, 6%. Manufacturing jobs in 1933 accounted for 12% of the work force; in 1973, 33%. Total manufacturing jobs in the valley increased 73% from 1960 to 1973, or 18% faster than the national average. Much of the industrial growth occurred in resource development areas related to TVA's activities, but the direct correlation is not possible to measure. While federal appropriations to TVA have averaged $65 million a year since TVA was founded, the Valley's receipt of federal expenditure ($10,822 per person) is still far below the national average ($16,759 per person) over the period of 19341970; and only one-tenth or less of the Valley's receipts of federal monies were for TVA. The TVA power program is financed from current revenues and from a bond ceiling set by Congress at $15 billion, approximately 3% of the national debt. Since the self-financing reforms of 1959, TVA has paid back to the Treasury all but about one-fourth of the total federal investment in the power system. TVA's only demand on the U.S. Treasury is the approxi- �292 Colonialism in Modern America mately $135 million a year current budget which supports nonpower projects like the National Fertilizer Development Center at Muscle Shoals, Alabama (the Center holds patents on threefourths of the world's fertilizer formulas), a tributary area development program, flood control, and industrial development. The TVA region lags far behind the nation in earnings per worker when compared with the national average on an industrygroup basis. In the region 36% of the workers earn less than $8,000 per year; nationally 16% do. The number of TVA region workers earning between $10-$12,000 per year is 29%, compared with a national percentage of 44. Part of the explanation is that the region has a larger share than the nation of lowwage paying industries. For example, 27% of the valley workers are employed in apparel and textile industries compared with 3% nationally. A 1974 TVA economic outlook report concluded: "The new manufacturing job holders in the TVA region have not yet become the average consumers or owners of wealth of either the Southeast or the nation." One area in which the TVA region clearly outstrips the nation is in the growth of energy-intensive industry. Industries in the first quartile of electric energy use per employee grew at a rate of 4% in the period 1959-64 in the region compared with a decline of 0.3% in the nation. From 1964-74, the same industries grew at a rate of 4% in the region compared with a 0.8% rise in the nation. The growth is unquestionably tied to the fact that TVA rates are at an average 40% below the national average. In the growth of wood-using industries over the past decade the TVA region leads both the nation and the Southeast, the nation by nearly 3 to 1. TVA estimates that 44,000 jobs have been created in manufacturing plants located at major terminal points on the Tennessee River. The agency itself currently employs over 25,000 people, most of them in construction trades. E. Conclusion TVA brought many benefits to its 201 counties. Its cheap power brought havoc to some of those counties and hell to other �The Federal Government in Appalachia: TV A 293 parts of Appalachia. While pursuing this policy the agency has raised the incomes in the TV A region to around 75% of the national average, about the same figure as for all of Appalachia. The agency now is its own chief argument against spreading TV As across the land, and its reform is a necessary first step in making sense of national energy problems and economic problems of the Appalachian South. NOTE figures used in this section were supplied by the TVA Department of Information, Regional Research Department, and the Power Division. �This page intentionally left blank �OF by a a is, the for of the for of of the be to It no be to of the in the a at the fo) to the for for of by but the of the ' Tie the if can for the as as is the in the of or its air can by of has the of has 24, the pp. an Hf Jwi In �296 Colonialism in Modern America ingredient has been missing, good intentions have often failed to produce effective regional action. In many places, certainly in Appalachia, regional mechanisms have tried to operate in a vacuum of citizen awareness and support. The questions raised by the spread of regionalism are as important for the local populations involved as they are for the ultimate success of regionalism itself. Who determines where and how a regional body shall have authority? What is the role for citizens in such determinations? To whom are regional board members accountable, and how are they chosen? How are the agency's criteria and funding priorities set? To give such questions anything less than full attention is in itself poor planning. Appalachia has long been a programmer's guinea pig, the testing ground for a wide array of federal and state efforts. It is significant, therefore, that alarms are ringing in Appalachia, where a small but apparently growing number of people perceive regionalism as a threat to their ability to control local affairs of daily importance. They say that power over such basics as schools and garbage disposal has passed from their own hands into the murky authority of something called a regional agency or district. Appalachia became a testing ground for regionalism in the early 1960's when conditions there had become economically so critical that President Kennedy realized something had to be done about a situation which local and state governments appeared unwilling or unable to correct. The result was a commission charged with producing effective ideas and designing a mechanism by which to implement them. The Appalachian Regional Commission (ARC) was formally and fiscally delivered by President Johnson in 1965. From the beginning ARC billed itself as a "unique federalstate partnership," relying upon gubernatorial support and strategy. Also from the beginning, residents of the area predicted long-range ineffectiveness for the new creature, because it chose to ignore what many felt to be the keys to any lasting economic and social independence for Appalachia: local control and use of the region's vast natural resources, the rape of which had been responsible for much of the area's plight in the first place. The governors and such key Congressional figures as Sen. �Hidden Traps of Regionalism 297 Jennings Randolph wanted no part of that kind of activity, accordingly, the ARC has specialized in the political safety^ of bricks and mortar. At the same time, no broader example of regionalism has been operating in the country these past eight years. Appalachian regionalism has been on both the multi-state and substate level. As for the former, policy and spending decisions are supposed to be based on regional criteria. That is, the governors of the thirteen Appalachian states supposedly view needs on a multi-state, regional level first and consider their own immediate economic or political needs second. The theory is fine, but it hasn't worked out. "All you have is thirteen guys, some of whom see their governors maybe twice a year, sitting around the table trying to bring home their own slab of bacon," says one former high ARC official who feels the experiment is lost. At the substate level, ARC has leaned heavily on its "coordinated investment strategy" of concentrating investments in those areas showing "the greatest potential for future growth," as opposed to the Economic Development Administration's criterion of greatest need. Programs are to be assessed on the prospect that expenditures of money and effort in a given area will spread the results beyond the immediate application. This has meant lumping towns and counties into "growth centers." And growth areas have been translated into political action by creation of the "local development district" (LDD). These bodies are formed so that each will contain at least one "growth center." Often that is their only unifying factor, with some notable cases of bad grouping (foothills with mountain counties, coal with non-coal, high population with low). In any case, it is through the LDDs that ARC follows its coordinated investment strategy. Some planners see that strategy, and the LDDs which go with it, as a national model. But as a model it has received scant scrutiny. For one thing, while some ARC officials sincerely believe that the investment strategy has worked to alleviate Appalachian poverty, statistics from that part of the region which prompted the Appalachian Act in the first place—the mountainous central area—belie any claims of marked improvement. And many observers of the eight-year operation say that investments have �298 Colonialism in Modern America not been placed in areas of real potential growth but in those of real potential votes for the governor and Congressmen who announce each ARC grant. Recent moves by ARC's new executive director to reassert the role of the states in all ARC operations will, some disgruntled ARC staffers feel, further stifle whatever creativity and innovation there may have been by making the motive for funding political advantage rather than real need. Critics make the same basic assessment of the LDD approach. It is through the LDDs that most nonhighway ARC dollars flow; it is from the LDDs that ARC professes to hear the voice of the local people. There's the rub. People in the mountains have become sharply attuned of late to possible threats to their way of life, and many see the LDDs as a major curb to their influence on governmental decisions at the local level. They object to the LDDs as an intermediate layer of government standing between them and the control levels for state and federal moneys. They know who sits on LDD boards—and who doesn't. The contradiction is blatant: ARC views the LDD as the indicator of local will because it includes all the major elected officials in a development district; but some local citizens call the LDD an impediment to local will precisely because of that makeup. They contend that it's hard enough to deal with their own "courthouse gang"; merge six or eight or ten of them together in a single LDD and "you simply just don't have a chance," as one LDD observer put it recently. If this, then, is to become a national model, some basic problems need to be solved. Who represents whom and how and according to what guidelines? No one has thought much about such questions, it having been assumed that, since the need for multi-jurisdictional cooperation was critical, getting something started came first. Therefore the tough questions have yet to be answered. How much constituted authority should the new regional mechanisms be given? And from what source should such power proceed? What matters will best be dealt with regionally, and what is more wisely left in local hands? In short, are these new bodies in any way more or less accountable to the wills of the resident population than the original governments whose function they are complementing or in some cases* replacing outright? �Hidde n Traps of R egio nalism 299 In parts of Appalachia the matter has moved past theory. In western North Carolina, for example, a community observer sees the LDDs as little more than power-structure collectives, with vested interests parading as "elected officials" and "civic group representatives." They equate progress with profit, he says, and the effect of it well may be far afield from what wellintentioned backers of regionalization have in mind: "If the planners keep going, the effect will be to practically disinherit the small farmer who might have moved here generations ago to live out his time or escape service in the Civil War or whatever. And that citizen will be the last person to sit on the development district board." The composition of board members tends to support the fear that LDDs in Appalachia are, at best, staffed from the top down. Even where representatives of the poor or of minority groups do sit on the board, they are generally so outnumbered that they fall silent. Besides, matters handled by LDD boards are often more within the scope of the banker than of the dirt farmer or auto worker. It is thus no surprise that the long-range planning or other actions of such boards often reflect a bias toward a corporate, "free enterprise" model of developmenteven where such a model is sadly inadequate or worse. That's the most basic concern. Even though the majority on a board may be elected officials, they were not elected to serve on that board by that board's jurisdictional area as a whole. A new kind of political chemistry begins to operate when officials elected from different areas come together to make collective decisions for which they cannot be held individually accountable. People in Hill County did not elect their fiscal court judge to vote on matters involving eight other counties; and they surely did not authorize those nine other county officers to vote on affairs which affect Hill County. Perhaps even worse, regional board decisions have often become legislation by the lowest common denominator of what everyone can agree upon. Because of the establishment-affiliated membership of most regional agencies, the criteria thus become what is politically and economically palatable to all vested interests involved. Proponents of regionalism argue that such has often been the case with local government, and they are right. A key difference remains: At the local level, aroused citizens had �300 Colonialism in Modern America the ultimate level of the ballot box; on the regional level they don't. Aside from basic questions of accountability, the lack of direct citizen involvement is not in the interests of regionalism itself. A regional board can make unnecessary mistakes simply because no one was there to spot an obvious blunder in the early stages. Citizens do show up at city council or fiscal court meetings when an important matter is at hand. But regional bodies are remote and little understood, so the interest isn't generated. Decisions of potentially major effect may thus be developed in a vacuum—a situation that is bad for the regional agency charged with problem solving, and far worse for the citizens living with the problem. Once again, the premise that some regional cooperation can establish or improve needed facilities was and is sound. It is shortsighted to talk about a one-county garbage landfill when a larger and better one could be built to serve several counties at far less cost to the individual units. But it has proved to be equally shortsighted and wasteful to attempt any such regional effort without the real participation and consent of the several constituencies involved. Indeed, results can be downright disastrous. In one eastern Kentucky LDD, the board unanimously and enthusiastically backed a plan for a regional sanitary landfill. The state had ordered the closing of all open burning dumps, so something had to be done. But bureaucratic bungling and shortsightedness in assessing local situations resulted in only one landfill being opened to serve all eight counties, and that one isolated, expensive to use, and known to turn into a quagmire entrapping even the most hardy of mountain pickups. When the failure became obvious, local residents wanted to know whom to get mad at. And they heard their county judge— himself the chairman of the landfill board at the time—saying it wasn't his jurisdiction; it was the problem of the regional garbage authority. And who was that? That was established under the auspices of the development district. The what? The development district. Well, could the judge get something done? Folks are just dumping their garbage into the creeks because there's no other place to put it. Sure, the judge promised, I'll raise the �Hidden Traps of Regionalism 301 problem at the next district meeting; we're all concerned about the problem, but we have to work it out together. The garbage mess, as it became known, proved to be the tip of the iceberg of anger. The same development district had endorsed land-use studies for each of its counties. In one of them, residents rebelled at the suggestion in the plan that they move out of their precious hollows and off their hillsides to areas where such "blessings" as sewer and water could be provided. They made it clear that they liked their hollows, had no desire to move away from them unless it was their choice, and in short wanted no part of any regional land-use plan. Mass-meeting pressure forced the county fiscal court not only to drop the land-use plan but to abolish the county planning commission for good measure. Nonetheless, the LDD itself soon came out with its own district wide land-use plan. People again expressed concern, but this time they really didn't know where to focus it. Planners argue that no one unit of government is forced to accept a regionally drafted plan or program. That may be true in theory, but federal and state trends deny it in fact. There is, for example, something called the A-95 procedure of the federal Office of Management and Budget. The stated purpose of the A-95 Memorandum is to foster multi-jurisdictional cooperation in order to assure maximum benefits from an array of federal programs included under A-95's coverage. A-95, says OMB, simply seeks to encourage consistency based on solid planning. Under A-95, each state which so chooses establishes "clearing houses" to review and comment upon all applications for assistance from federal agencies included under A-95. LDDs, for example, have become the A-95 bodies in most Appalachian states. The application goes to the clearing house, which then invites parties it feels appropriate to comment upon the application, and within thirty days the clearing house itself comments. Only then is the application, with comment, passed to the federal agency. Technically, that agency can ignore an unfavorable A-95 review, though under a new revision of A-95 it must now tell the clearing house why it chose to do so. Under the same revision, A-95 still remains noncompulsory; that is, states don't have to adopt the procedure. In fact, however, the increasing trend is to �302 Colonialism in Modern America require the kind of regional review called for in A-95 whether or not it has been formally adopted. A-95 decisions are supposed to be based on grounds of consistency and soundness of planning. But again, good intentions can be offset by realities. Many of the same questions heard in Appalachia about LDDs are being raised there and elsewhere about the A-95 bodies of review. Just who sits on the A-95 board, and who should? If the clearing house doesn't possess the overall plan upon which it is supposed to peg its decisions, on what is the review based? Vested interests of the board members? Personalities or politics of the applicants? If there is a plan, who developed it, and with whose active advice and concurrence? Were all segments of the population included in the planning effort? The questions comprise the list of what makes political units responsive to needs. A-95 raises other basic questions of civil rights. For example, a city with 600,000 people has the same voting power on that A-95 board as a suburban member with 20,000. Aside from one-man, one-vote, the same problems of board composition that arise with LDDs apply here. They are perhaps even more critical with A-95 boards, since both civil rights review and environmental impact determination are left to the auspices of the A-95 body in key areas. Jim Draper, formerly of the Georgia Council on Human Relations, has argued with OMB that A-95 boards "have neither staff nor philosophic inclination" to give minority or low-income people a fair shake. "Moreover," he said, "in many cases there is no representation of these interests on A-95 bodies' boards of directors. Thus, inclusion of such considerations [as civil rights or environment] as criteria for review becomes utterly meaningless—the painting over of rotting wood." Is this, then, a hopeless quagmire, with the potential value and real need for regionalism clouded by equally real inadequacies of accountability and responsiveness? ARC, for example, might well have become a viable and creative institution if it had followed the advice of many of its initial Appalachian backers and dealt with the real problems of basic economic inequity in Appalachia. Instead, it chose to go with the governors, with the entrenched political systems of thirteen states. Some good has resulted, such as ARC health programs, but had the key seg- �Hidden Traps of Regionalism 303 ments of the Appalachian population been sought out and included both at the federal-state and the substate levels, a more lasting and accountable mechanism might have made more than a dent in the problems. ARCs survival might then rest on real accomplishment rather than political muscle. It is certainly not too late to learn lessons from the experience of ARC, its LDDs and such other manifestations of regionalism as A-95. And the need to learn is pressing, since regional plans are likely to spread in ways and to places which will directly affect many more people. Maybe it is necessary to separate regionalism at the urban level from efforts in rural areas where, particularly in the South, the word is that regional government is the government in a growing number of places. Maybe the geographical closeness and heavy populations of urban areas make regional efforts there more viable. Or maybe rural areas with their much more limited financing and resources are the places for real regional concentration. It's going on, in any case, in both parts of America. Some obvious steps could be taken to insure at leas; the possibility of accountability. For a start, districts should be developed according to common realities, according to economic and social factors which might produce a certain jurisdictional cohesiveness. To combine units sheerly on the basis of geography (the north fork of the river) or politics (that's a Congressional district there) is shortsighted if the real goal is to use common facilities for the common solution of common problems. Representatives to a development district should be elected on a one-man, one-vote basis specifically to that post by the people of each constituent unit. At present, elected officials are automatically placed on the boards on the assumption that they represent the will of the people. If special elections were held to fill slots in the regional creation, not only would the special abilities needed by said office be brought out but public attention to and interest in the process might be developed. Such concern does not now exist, except in the negative sense when a district has overstepped its bounds. If regional cooperation is to become a reality, it must begin with the most basic kind of involvement for the population^and that is the vote. Other specific steps can be taken to assure that these new �304 Colonialism in Modern America bodies of government bear at least a resemblance to our traditional concept of democratic institutions. These include hearings and public notification of review matters; A-95 does not require such notice. Out-reach offices staffed by local residents to serve as centers for complaints or suggestions is another obvious step. Without such action, and others like it, any future efforts to broaden the power and scope of multi-jurisdictional authorities will obscure even further the role of the American citizen in the affairs of his government. Hearings may be held this year on a bill by Sen. Joseph Montoya (D., N.M) uto establish a national development program through public works in investment" (S.232). In introducing it last year, Senator Montoya noted that "the inspiration for the approach taken in this bill" is the ARC. He added that the bill "builds on one of the most successful features of the Appalachian program, the strengthening of state and local governments and making them an integral part of the decision-making process on public works investments." The bill would do that by fostering the establishment of "area development districts" nationwide. Public works investments would be made only in those areas which have demonstrated a regional outlook based on sound planning in seeking the money. Significantly, a main witness at last year's Montoya bill hearings (the bill died then for lack of action) was ARC States' Regional Representative, John Whisman. Whisman's credentials as an ardent backer of national regional development go back well over a decade. Concepts developed by him to deal with eastern Kentucky's late 1950s tragedies—multi-county efforts, relying on local elected officials to reflect the people's will— eventually translated into ARC and, Whisman has said "hopefully will go national as well." The Montoya bill may well be the vehicle. Testifying last year, Whisman acknowledged that ARC has perhaps not accomplished what it was supposed to do—provide economic opportunity for Appalachians. Indeed, he said, the problems may well have gotten worse in the 1970's. So what should we do? "To meet these new characteristics of our problems, we need to establish new institutional arrangements in society." He added: "The purpose of the regional development approach" is not primarily "to solve the problems of economic �Hidden Traps of Regionalism 305 lag or unemployment or poverty. Rather, the basic purpose is to solve problems of all kinds, mobilizing our know-how and our funds at all levels of government in a partnership that can forge new and effective solutions." If that is the purpose, what Whisman is effectively talking about is a basic reconfiguration of government. In acknowledging that problems of poverty remain rampant in ARC's Appalachia, he contends that what we really need are new "institutional arrangements/' which, of course, is what ARC was supposed to be in the first place. That reconfiguration is now coming upon us, and we simply have not thought through carefully enough its ramifications upon all strata of society, particularly upon the low-income groups and minorities who themselves are already saying they see it all as a new threat. They may be right. The burden of proof is on the backers of regionalism to prove them wrong. ��RETHINKING THE MODEL ��307 V: A the but A be a to the of an can be a of In a by He points as a of a or ery?" In all the is a and in an of of the In the the the to the of of life of or of us are He the to to the to the if the of of re™ �lf^.:^« f^'.x �A A N, has as a the the to in as the for do of the in the is the is a is is P on the in- be an be a the It of u the as in to has of to be the At the to is the the the in his up to his air to dards. no ii» is aff 24, at �310 Colonialism in Modern America The Japanese have been after the coal, some million and a half tons a year, enough to load 30,000 50-ton railroad cars, or 80 such cars per day. In school we learned that long ago when there were colonies, they shipped raw materials to their mother country and in return provided a market for the mother country's manufactured goods, an arrangement that worked mostly to the advantage of the mother country. The mother country's superior technology and resultant lower costs soon destroyed the colony's traditional native industries. So we ship coal to Japan and in return buy her finished products: steel, cameras, radios, tape recorders, machinery, ships, cars, and motorcycles—a classic colonial relationship. Of course, we can produce some of those finished products ourselves, but they are not competitive in quality or cost. The developing relationship between the U.S. and Japan, I'm postulating (perhaps prematurely), is much like the old relationship between India and Britain, with the Japanese playing their role with far more subtlety than the British. The British ran India with a system of indirect rule, whereby native political institutions were brought into the British structure and under its control. Natives were used to keep other natives in line, and the natives themselves paid for their own policing. In Africa and Asia, the British were successful at this, and in a number of cases were able to keep control after the nominal independence of the countries involved. This is what is often called neo-colonialism. It should also be pointed out that generally in India, Britain did not loot the country directly, but let the wealthy natives keep their wealth and prestige, and did not directly interfere with the country's social structure. Japan's dominance of the United States began at the end of World War II. She got the U.S. to finance the rebuilding of her industrial plant, and, perhaps more importantly, she got the U.S. to forbid her to rearm. This amounted to an agreement by the U.S. to assume the role of defending Japanese interests. Not only do the natives pay for and provide the manpower for their �Appalachia; A Colony Within A Colony? 311 own policing, they also provide both the funds and the manpower to police the mother country's developing neo-empire. We have a mutual security treaty with Japan. We provide the security and they provide the mutual. Jacques Ellul in The Technological Society is of great help in understanding why Japan has been able to neo-colonize the U.S. Technique is more than tools and machinery to Ellul. It encompasses everything which is done for the sake of greater efficiency. Since there is only one best or most efficient way of doing something, technique is totalitarian. Since maximum efficiency is the goal, an aristocracy of technicians arises to determine the one best way. "Planning in modern society," Ellul says, "is the technical method."1 The Japanese have developed an integration of government and the corporate economy, through joint planning and coordination, which most nearly approaches ElluPs model of an advanced technological society (either corporate or socialist): (a) take a firm hold on the economy, (b) manage it on the basis of exact mathematical methods, (c) integrate it into a Promethean society which excludes all chance, (d) centralize it in the frameworks of nation and state (the corporate economy today has no chance of success except as a state system), (e) cause it to assume an aspect of formal democracy to the total exclusion of real democracy, and (f) exploit all possible techniques for controlling men. Insofar as American leaders (corporate and government) realize the gap between Japanese technique and their own, they will move to centralize control and institute planning to a far greater degree than we have yet experienced. Again, all planning is totalitarian. To be carried out, a plan requires at least the threat of coercion. If a person or family is allowed freedom of decision, there is no plan. There are still some significant obstacles in the U.S. to technical progress. The governmental system of checks and balances between Congress, the President, and the courts is inefficient. So is the partial freedom of state and local government from federal control. Corrupt politicians are inefficient, as are a �312 Colonialism in Modern America free press, anti-trust laws, and the ability of citizens to sue government and corporations to block "progress." Thus a small, efficient, tightly controlled, formally democratic island country can effectively exploit a larger, looser, less efficient, more really democratic, continental country. It's the British in India all over again, on a more sophisticated level. Appalachia as a colony within a colony stands in relation to the "advanced," urban areas of the U.S. as the country as a whole stands to Japan. Government and business in the region are less efficient. Non-economic considerations like family and friendship often get in the way here. Short-term profit has yet to give way to efficiency as the basic goal of the economy (or even life), reflecting a rudimentary stage of technology. Some human activities remain valued which are not economic (reducible to a money value), and man, in this "backward" area, remains something more than producing, consuming, economic man. Most strategies for change in Appalachia have been technological strategies, designed in one way or another to "develop" or "modernize" the region. All involve planning by experts. Opposition to these plans, be they for resort development, clear-cutting, dam or road building, for education, health, welfare, or economic development, is seen by the planners as irrational meddling. The plan is rational, be it the plan of the government agency or the plan of radical intellectuals. The complete identity, rather than the resemblance, between corporatism and planning ought to be noted. Corporatism is adapted to a traditional, cultivated, bourgeois mentality; planning to an innovating, proletarian, pseudoscientific mentality. But the attitude of the two is fundamentally the same. And, speaking objectively, the result, insofar as the real structure of human society is concerned, will be identical.^ People are to be manipulated into supporting the plan. Councils, boards, legislatures and the Congress ideally should function as a democratic veneer, which is necessary to give people the illusion that they have some control. �Appalachia: A Colony Within A Colony? 313 True technique will know how to maintain the illusion of liberty, choice, and individuality; but these will have been carefully calculated so that they will be integrated into the mathematical reality merely as appearances. "Development," however, may no longer be possible in Appalachia. The standard of living of middle-class America is now beginning to decline. This is due in part to the new colonial relationship with Japan (i.e., inflation resulting from our having to pay for having fought Japan's war in Vietnam, intense pressures on raw materials markets leading to higher prices, etc.). More fundamental is the fact that the industrial nations of the world are beginning to realize that the natural resources of the world are limited. Donella and Dennis Meadows in The Limits to Growth describe a dynamic model of the world, considering population, industrial output per capita, food per capita, natural resources, and pollution as basic factors. The model is programmed into a computer using historical data from 1900 to 1970 and then projected until the year 2100, assuming "no major change in the physical, economic, or social relationships that have historically governed the development of the world system."5 The result is what the Meadows call overshoot and collapse: Resources are used up; food production rises until all the land is worn out; industrial output rises rapidly and then declines because of starvation. By 2050 industrial output per capita and food per capita are both less than half of what they were in 1900. After numerous other model runs simulating all of the popular remedies to the pollution-population-energy-etc. crisis, the Meadows conclude that the only way to prevent the disaster of overshoot and collapse is to immediately stabilize the world by stabilizing population, setting capital investment equal to capital depreciation, introducing extensive recycling of resources and improved pollution control devices, and increasing the lifetime of all forms of capital. This equilibrium state is sustainable far into the future with an average which is half the present average U.S. income.6 It is thus impossible, considering population growth, arable land, and the finite limits of the earth's resources, to extend the levels of consumption of energy and material goods of the �314 Colonialism in Modern America American suburban middle class to the "poorer" sections of this country, let alone to the majority of the world's people who live in "under-developed" countries. The suburban middle classes are precisely those who have been most reduced to producingconsuming, economic men, valuing themselves through money and not likely to give it up. The Meadows maintain that only through long-term planning can the equilibrium model be attained and disastrous collapse avoided. The sooner this planning begins (and the mandatory implementation of it), the less overtly authoritarian it can be. Since the model shows overshoot before the collapse, it is too late to do anything once the crisis is widely perceived. That is, you don't realize that the river is badly polluted until the fish are dead. Then it's too late to do much about those fish. As long as major decisions in the world are made by those whose primary concern is that their industrial enterprises and national economies shall continue to grow, nothing will be done to move toward equilibrium. To return again to Ellul: "Anything and everything which technique is able to produce is produced and accepted by consumers"7; and "everything which is technique is necessarily used as soon as it is available, without distinction of good and evil."8 Most books about Appalachia tell us that the white settlers of the region were drawn largely from the prisons of England and Scotland and were rough bitter victims of the enclosure movement that was destroying medieval society in Britain. Some were debtors, some thieves, and some may have been Luddites. Trampled on at home and then again in the coastal plains of America, these outcasts went west to the mountains and stayed there to escape civilized society. They wanted no part of the civilized free market, wage labor, law, or class system. They valued most their freedom and independence. They were more than economic men and did not have to prove themselves through wealth. But they survived. There are only two economic systems, according to Ellul. The first exploits technique (efficiency, the one best way, economic man, etc.), while the second "ascribes the chief place to nature."9 This second orientation resembles what some middle-class writers about Appalachia (with technologized �Appalachia: A Colony Within A Colony? 315 minds) have called fatalism. This understanding of the limits of man and the nature of the world, whether religious or not, is more in touch with the reality of the world as reflected in the Meadows' model than is "non-fatalistic" technological understanding which presumes that man can and should control nature. Since the Industrial Revolution, westernized man has had to choose between freedom and wealth. Most have not understood the choice and have thought both were possible. Many have not perceived their loss of freedom. The first settlers knew from bitter experience and chose a real independence. There are many families in the mountains today who remember the old ways of surviving and are relatively free of technological values. They are people for whom economic activity is still a means and ihe end of life. A strategy for survival in the Appalachia region in the face of the interrelated energyfood-population-pollution crisis would seek to support these families and help them protect themselves from "development." The consequence of all "development" programs is to diminish the independence (hence the ability to survive) of the mountain family. All, no matter how well meaning and whether in health, education, economic development, or whatever, leave the family more dependent on outside institutions and more at the mercy of experts. Many of the social programs of the '60's (welfare rights, Head Start, medicare, etc.) had the unintended effect of luring people into an increasingly manipulative, totalitarian system and robbing them of their dignity and values. "No matter how liberal the state, it is obliged by the mere fact of technical advance to extend its powers in every way."10 Appalachia is a colony of technological society, first American and now also Japanese. Within the next 50-70 years, technological society will become increasingly totalitarian and manipulative. It quite possibly will collapse. Self-sufficient families and communities, knowing that nature (God) is greater than man, can survive and retain their independence. Suburbanites, thinking that man can conquer nature (God), being expert in one or two fields and unknowing and dependent in most areas of life, unable to buy gasoline, electricity or food with their money, may perish in great numbers. �316 Colonialism in Modern America Colonialism is an attack upon the land, the culture, and the soul of a people. The three are tightly bound. Losses in one affect the others. Families and communities can resist (passively or actively) or give in (gradually or quickly), disintegrating into a collection of individual consumers of mass-produced identities. Seeing Appalachia as a colony is much more than seeing who controls the profits from the coal mined in the region. It is rather seeing a process of robbing people of their family, community, land, independence, and soul^robbery by people who mean well, and who know that they do it for your own good. �Appalachia: A Colony Within A Colony? 317 NOTES 1 Jacques Ellul, The Technological Society (New York, 1964), p. 184. 2 Ibid.t p. 186. 3 Ibid. 4 Ibid.,p. 139. 5 Ibid., p. 124. 6 Ibid.t p. 165. 7 Ibid., p. 93. s lbid., p. 99. 9 Ibid.,p. 186. w lbid., p. 235. �This page intentionally left blank �A OF AN OR by S. a to In the of the the In of of can be In policy to the was of and the of an as as the for the In In the the and of and the of as an to be My as a of the of by Is in the of is to the a an in the I to J S, is 011 the of « of the of He the �320 Colonialism in Modern America sible grounds for a synthesis, and argue for the alternative formulation suggested above. The Subculture of Poverty Model The subculture of poverty model identifies the internal deficiencies of the lower-class subculture as the cause of the problem. Oscar Lewis is the social scientist most closely identified with this model, and the most widely read exposition of the model applied to Appalachia is JackWeller's Yesterday's People, which borrows an analytic framework from Herbert Cans.1 The subculture of poverty model suggests remedial programs of education, social casework, and clinical psychology. Studies of Appalachian culture in these terms include works by psychiatrist David Looff, social worker Norman Polansky, and sociologist Richard Ball.2 The work on Appalachia in the subculture of poverty tradition has a very limited validity at best because of three problems that the authors fail to confront: deficient research methodology, a blurring of community and social class diversity in the region, and a lack of historical perspective and specification. The methodological approach in the works of Weller, Looff, and Polansky, for example, imports sociological or psychiatric categories and focuses on the pathological. They overgeneralize from problem families to the culture of one or more social classes. They fail to distinguish between the traditional Southern Appalachian subculture and a contemporary subculture of poverty. The limitations of these scientific, clinical classification systems are particularly evident in comparison to the work of such writers as Robert Coles, John Fetterman, Tony Dunbar, and Kathy Kahn, whose humanistic method uses their subjects' own words to characterize Appalachian life-worlds.^ Their descriptions of individuals and families manage to capture the strengths as well as the shortcomings of mountaineers and the diversity of personality types within some common subcultural themes. These accounts of the contradictions in the lives and outlooks of mountain people bear out Helen Lewis' suggestion that many Appalachians are in fact bi-cultural; they take part in the traditional subculture in family and neighborhood life, and in the mainstream culture through employment, formal education, media entertainment, and contact with public agencies. �Internal Colony or Internal Periphery? 321 The subculture of poverty model in general has been subjected to devastating criticism.4 In the Appalachian case, sociologist Dwight Billings has shown the model to be of little value in explaining the lack of economic development in the mountain section of North Carolina and the contrasting industrialization of the piedmont, for example. Ironically, it was just when the distinctiveness of the Southern Appalachian traditional subculture was fading that the subculture of poverty model was popularized and applied to the region.5 For all the controversy generated in the debate over the subculture of poverty, this model had less policy impact on Appalachia than one might expect. The model did help to rationalize such national programs as Project Head Start, the Elementary and Secondary Education Act, and the great expansion of social services that took place in the 1960's. But the subculture of poverty model was not a major influence on the state and federal planners who devised the Appalachian Regional Development Act of 1965. The Regional Development Model Although the literature on development includes disciplines from social psychology to social ecology, the most influential stream derives from neoclassical economics as amended by central place theory.6 The resulting regional development model is concerned with providing economic and social overhead capital, training people for skills for new industrial and service jobs, facilitating migration, and promoting the establishment or relocation of privately-owned industries through a growth center strategy. A modernizing elite is seen as the agent of the developmental process. The major attempt to apply the model within the United States is the work of the Appalachian Regional Commission (ARC) and its associated programs. Niles Hansen is probably the best-known academic proponent of this approach.7 The Appalachian regional development advocates have an academic base in the Departments of Sociology, Economics and Agricultural Economics at West Virginia University, the University of Kentucky, and the University of Tennessee, and such related applied research institutes as the Appalachian Center at WVU, the Center for Developmental Change at UK, and the Appalachian Resources Project at UT. More significantly, this model has a political base in the multi-county Local Develop- �322 Colonialism in Modern America ment Districts established under the ARC program. The LDDs serve primarily as a mechanism for arriving at consensus among regional elites. Through the dual federal-state structure of the ARC, the interests of regional and national elites are reconciled. With its emphasis on mainstream economic theory and the technical aspects of development, the regional development model lays claim to being a scientific, value-free, and non-controversial approach. As such, it is an effective means of providing additional resources to the region without affecting the existing structure of resource control. Actions taken by regional and national planners are defended as technical decisions, rather than political choices among alternative courses of development. The most important decisions are the "non-decisions": the questions that are never raised and the subjects that never make the public agenda.8 Examples include public ownership of the region's natural resources and worker or community-owned and controlled industry.^ The Internal Colonialism Model The issues of power and privilege in Appalachia are never faced squarely by the subculture of poverty and regional development advocates. In reaction to this obvious shortcoming, radical academics and activists looked for a model that emphasized inequality and exploitation. They hit upon the internal colonialism model for reasons that had more to do with the focus of the New Left in the late 1960's—imperialism abroad and oppression of racial minorities at home—than the appropriateness of the model to the Appalachian situation. As the Appalachian radicals apply the internal colonialism model, it has been used to examine the process by which dominant outside industrial interests established control and continue to prevent autonomous development of the subordinate internal colony. The model suggests the need for an anti-colonial movement and a radical restructuring of society with a redistribution of resources to the poor and powerless. Dependency and Neocolonialism The internal colonialism model has emerged from a back- �Internal Colony or Internal Periphery? 323 ground of the history and theories of colonialism and imperialism and is most directly related to the theories of neocolonialism and dependency that have been developed in the post-World War II period. Dependency theory has been developed primarily by radical economists and sociologists concerned with Latin America, while the theories of neocolonialism and imperialism have been more concerned with Asia and Africa, or the Third World as a whole.10 A vital contribution of the dependency model is the notion of the "Infrastructure of dependency," the structures internal to the dependent country including industrial organization, patterns of urbanization, and social classes. In the exposition by Suzanne Bodenheimer, two examples of the infrastructure of dependency are the patterns of dependent industrialization and the formation of clientele social classes. Characteristics of dependent industrialization include foreign domination of the most dynamic sectors of industry, increasing competitive advantage for foreign monopolistic enterprises over local firms, and the introduction of advanced, capital-intensive technology without regard to resulting unemployment. Clientele classes have a "dual position as partners of metropolitan interests, yet dominant elites within their own societies." They may include not only the industrial bourgeoisie but also the state bureaucracy and other sectors of the middle class when their positions are tied to foreign interests. The infrastructure of dependency is thus "the functional equivalent of a formal colonial apparatus," but insofar as it is internalized and institutionalized "much more difficult to overcome."11 Internal Colonialism The success of the anticolonial movements in the Third World following World War II has undoubtedly contributed to the popularity of referring to a variety of exploitative situations within both developing and advanced industrial countries as internal or domestic colonialism. Through conceptual confusion or carelessness, internal colonialism has been used to designate situations of stratification by class, race, ethnicity, or geography, alone or in various combinations. It is also used to describe absentee industrial ownership, although this is a characteristic feature of uneven and polarized capitalist development.12 In- �324 Colonialism in Modern America eluded among such internal colonies have been the U.S. South, northern New England, the northern Great Lakes region, the Southwest, the "Celtic periphery" of England, southern Italy, and so on. 1 ^ One explanation may be that the vocabulary of colonization is more comfortable than that of class conflict, and regional or ethnic chauvinism is more acceptable than talk of socialism. Internal colonialism is a useful concept if defined in a rigorous sense rather than used as an all-inclusive catchword. Two precise definitions with varying degrees of restrictiveness are advanced by Pablo Gonzalez-Casanova and Pierre van den Berghe. Gonzalez-Casanova seeks to distinguish internal colonialism from a class structure with a geographic or racial aspect: Internal colonialism corresponds to a structure of social relations based on domination and exploitation among culturally heterogeneous, distinct groups. . . .It is the result of an encounter between two races, cultures, or civilizations, whose genesis and evolution occurred without any mutual contact up to one specific moment. . . . The colonial structure and internal colonialism are distinguished from the class structure since colonialism is not only a relation of exploitation of the workers by the owners of raw materials or of production and their collaborators, but also a relation of domination and exploitation of a total population (with its distinct classes, proprietors, workers) by another population which also has distinct classes (proprietors and workers).^ In short, the Gonzllez-Casanova definition requires a dual class structure: two class systems, one dominant and the other subordinate, each of which may be differentiated to a greater or lesser degree. This appears to be a useful minimal definition of internal colonialism, although it is broad enough to include a variety of dominant-subordinate group relationships. The most restrictive definition of internal colonialism is developed by van den Berghe in a recent work. His view, in part a reaction to the overly broad use of the term, is worth quoting at length: In my opinion, the concept of internal colonialism, when �Internal Colony or Internal Periphery? 325 so diluted, loses all of its use for purposes of social science analysis. I shall therefore propose to treat internal colonialism as an ideal type with the following characteristics: 1) Rule of one ethnic group (or coalition of such groups) over other such groups living within the continuous boundaries of a single state. 2) Territorial separation of the subordinate ethnic groups into "homelands," "native reserves," and the like, with land tenure rights distinct from those applicable to members of the dominant group. 3) Presence of an internal government within a government especially created to rule the subject peoples, with a special legal status ascribed to the subordinate groups. . . 4) Relations of economic inequality in which subject peoples are relegated to positions of dependency and inferiority in the division of labor and the relations of production. Such a definition of internal colonialism excludes mere regional differences in economic development, mere class differences in the system of production, and, a fortiori, differences based on age, sex, slave status, caste, sexual behavior (e.g., homosexuality), physical handicaps, and countless others. The usefulness of the concept to understand the situation of a group is a function of that group's approximation to the characteristics of the ideal type. For instance, in the United States, internal colonialism describes the position of Amerindians quite well, of Chicanos somewhat, of blacks poorly, of Appalachian whites hardly at all, and of women, old people, homosexuals and convicts only by the most fanciful stretch of the academic imagination. This is not to say that some of the groups excluded from my definition of internal colonialism may not be as badly or worse off than the denizens of the internal colonies. Their position is fundamentally different, however, and, hence, the internal colonial model is a poor one to understand their predicament. Internal colonialism is but one of many ways of getting the short end of the stick.-^ Gonzalez-Casanova's criterion of a dual class structure appears to include points one and four of van den Berghe's ideal type. �326 Colonialism in Modern America The latter would also require territorial separation and a special governing unit for full correspondence to the internal colonialism model. I find it most useful to adopt a definition between Gonzalez-Casanova and van den Berghe, thus requiring economic exploitation, a dual class structure based on ethnic differences, within one or more distinct geographic regions. In other words, I would place internal colonialism as a special case within the theory of dependent capitalist development. Internal Colonialism Applied to Appalachia I can find no use of the colonialism analogy to the Appalachians prior to the early 1960's. During the unionization battles of the 1930's, the Left press emphasized themes of exploitation and class conflict along classic Marxian lines in their articles about the Appalachian coalfields.16 Only after the internal colonial model had been applied to blacks did writers on Appalachia begin to speak in terms of colonialism. In his best selling 1962 study Night Comes to the Cumberlands, Harry Caudill makes only a passing reference to colonialism; by 1965 he begins to use the internal colonial designation.17 The theme was quickly picked up by activists and radical intellectuals in the Central Appalachian area, particularly the group associated with the Peoples' Appalachian Research Collective and its journal, Peoples' Appalachia. Helen Lewis and her associates have attempted a detailed application to Appalachia of Blauner's model of the process of internal colonization of black Americans. I find the application of Blauner's model of internal colonialism, broad as it is, to Appalachia to be strained at some key points. The parallel to "forced, involuntary entry" by the colonizers is nowhere near as strong as the case of enslaved blacks from Africa or the conquered Native American tribes or the Mexican people of the Southwest. In the elaborated version of his argument, Blauner distinguishes between "colonized and immigrant minorities" and suggests that the circumstances of entry of white European ethnic immigrant groups is different in character from that of blacks and possibly other people of color in the United States. The situation of Appalachian people is clearly a third variant if they are to be treated as a minority at all; the mountaineers were an early settler group established for �Internal Colony or Internal Periphery? 327 sixty to a hundred years before the expansion of industrial capitalism into the region. Blacks and immigrant ethnic groups have played an important role in the development of the Southern Appalachian coal industry, particularly in West Virginia, but the focus of the Appalachian internal colonialism theorists has not been on such groups.18 The deception and fraud used in Appalachia by the vanguard of land, timber, and mineral agents do not appear to differ in kind from those techniques used generally by capitalists and their agents throughout the country in the period of industrial expansion. On the question of "administration by representatives of the dominant power/' the application of Blauner's internal colonialism model to Appalachia suffers from his emphasis on "police colonialism/' the direct application of force by members of the dominant group. Blauner has not put enough emphasis on the neocolonial mechanism of an indigenous stratum of officials ruling in the interests of the dominant group. Helen Lewis suggests that the study of such local elite groups in the mountains is of great importance,1^ but this conclusion and suggestions of what mechanisms to look for flow more readily from the more general dependency model than from the narrower internal colonialism model. The parallel to "racism as a principle of social domination" really breaks down in the Appalachian case. There may be prejudice against "hillbillies," but it is essentially based on bias against the lower classes, not all the people of the region.20 There is no parallel to the dual class structures required by Gonzales-Casanova's definition of internal colonialism. Mountaineers are able to "pass" into mainstream America both through migration and, for some, through integration into the business elite in the mountains. 21 White Appalachians generally have a potential for social mobility not matched by racial minorities. The traditional Appalachian subculture may be becoming a museum piece, but this is a situation far from white Appalachians as a group being accorded the near-caste position of some racial minorities in the United States. Applying an additional characteristic of internal colonialism from van den Berghe's definition, I can find no evidence of "an internal government within a government especially created to rule the subject peoples." The Appalachian Regional Commis- �328 Colonialism in Modern America sion is not a functional counterpart of the Bureau of Indian Affairs. The people of Appalachia have no distinct legal status distinguishing them from other residents of the United States, as Native Americans do in some instances. Appalachia appears to provide a very poor fit to any strict definition of internal colonialism. Cultural Hegemony and Capitalist Domination Much of the attraction of the internal colonialism model, including its application to Appalachia, derives from its powerful analysis of the destruction of indigenous culture in the process of establishing and maintaining domination over the colonized group. Religion and education can play a major role in the destruction of traditional culture. The missionary movement in Appalachia can be seen as aiding, often inadvertently, the process of domination, as Lewis, Kobak and Johnson have described. James Branscome and Mike Clark have brought this analysis up to date by examining the effect of schooling on Appalachian culture in the current period. These arguments hit the mark, but is cultural domination a distinctive feature of internal colonialism rather than class exploitation? A common and understandable misconception, derived in part from the stress on economic determinism in vulgar Marxist analysis, is that culture plays an insignificant part in the structure of class domination under capitalism. The colonial model is seen as distinctive by Blauner for its emphasis on this ignored area: ". . .the colonial attack on culture is more than a matter of economic factors such as labor recruitment and special exploitation. The colonial situation differs from the class situation of capitalism precisely in the importance of culture as an instrument of domination."22 Orthodox Marxism has been particularly weak in its analysis of culture, and Blauner misses the importance of ideological hegemony in the establishment and maintenance of capitalist domination. For the beginnings of an adequate theory of the role of culture in capitalist societies we must turn to the Western Marxist tradition and such writers as Georg Lukacs, Antonio Gramsci, and the Frankfurt School theorists. The concept of cultural hegemony derives from Gramsci and emphasizes the obtaining of consent rather than the �Internal Colony or Internal Periphery? 329 use of force in the perpetuation of class structures. Gwynn Williams provides a useful summary of Gramsci's notion of hegemony: "an order in which a certain way of life and thought is dominant, in which one concept of reality is diffused throughout society in all its institutional and private manifestations, informing with its spirit all taste, morality, customs, religious and political principles, and all social relations, particularly in their intellectual and moral connotation."2^ xhe destruction of indigenous culture may be more conspicuous in the colonial situation, but a comparable process works to erode all ethnic and working-class cultures in advanced capitalist countries, a process which has perhaps advanced furthest in the United States.24 A few radical economists have attempted to avoid the problems of the colonialism analogy by returning to a traditional Marxian analysis of Appalachia in the context of capitalist exploitation and have suggested the fruitfulness of a longitudinal study of the removal of surplus value from the region over time. But this focus on economic relationships loses the valuable emphasis of the internal colonialism model on the role of cultural domination and the contribution of the dependency formulation on the * Infrastructures of dependency." Perhaps the best formulation of a research project from the perspective of radical economics has been made by Richard Simon, who reviews the historical development of the West Virginia economy in the context of dependency theory, suggesting relationships with the social and political structures of that state and with the introduction of federal government programs in the 1960's.25 It is time to synthesize the best of the models so far put forward and develop a more accurate and comprehensive theory of poverty and underdevelopment in Central Appalachia. Appalachia within an Advanced Capitalist Society It is tempting to characterize the subculture of poverty, regional development, and internal colonialism models as, respectively, conservative, liberal, and radical models of barriers to social change. While this would contain a substantial amount of truth, the description would be misleading in one respect. From a perspective that I will develop briefly here, the three models are not, strictly speaking, mutually exclusive alternatives. �330 Colonialism in Modern America Interpreted in terms of a framework developed by Jurgen Habermas, they represent different dimensions of social existence. A Framework for Synthesis For Habermas, there are three fundamental conditions or media through which social systems are maintained: interaction, work, and power or domination. All human societies use these means to resolve the problems of preserving life and culture. Corresponding to each of these media are the human "interests" in mutual understanding, technical control, and "emancipation from seemingly 'natural' constraint."2^ A solution to the problems of Appalachian poverty and underdevelopment would have to be concerned with each of the three modes of culture, technique, and domination. Habermas' distinction provides a basis for viewing cultural adaptation, technical development, and redistribution of power as potentially complementary aspects of social development. Our models, therefore, are not merely three selected from a long list of possible models of poverty and underdevelopment. They represent fundamental dimensions of social life and may well be exhaustive of the possible alternatives if stated in a sufficiently general form (which none of the three current models are). The subculture of poverty model can thus be seen as only one part of a broader framework of explanations rooted in the tradition of cultural idealism. Affirmative cultural approaches toward Southern Appalachia, exemplified by William G. Frost and John C. and Olive D. Campbell, are the obverse side of the coin from the pejorative tradition. Although they come to opposite conclusions about the virtue of the traditional mountain subculture, they are contending on the same turf. The regional development model, from this synthetic perspective, is seen as resting within the contemporary technocratic image and ideology of science. As John Friedmann points out, the regionalism movement of the 1930's, as personified by Howard Odum and others, was rooted in cultural idealism. The new regionalism of the 1960's, embodied in the ARC, discarded this grounding in favor of the technical reason of neoclassical economic theory.27 The internal colonialism model is, similarly, one component of a broad range of theories that contribute to a critique of power and domination. �Internal Colony or Internal Periphery? 331 This synthetic view helps explain why writers widely considered to be champions of a certain model of Appalachian underdevelopment also draw on other models. Caudill, for example, is best known for his description of the Cumberland Plateau as an example of colonialism, but in Night Comes to the Cumberland^ he also paints a pejorative picture of the subculture of the eastern Kentucky poor. In one essay Caudill appears to embrace many aspects of the developmental model, while in his most recent work he has re-emphasized a genetic explanation. From the other side, Weller is best known for his subculture of poverty characterization in Yesterday's People, yet he has recently described Appalachia as "America's mineral colony."28 Such examples can be viewed as cases of inconsistency, confusion, or conversion. They can also be seen, at least in part, as attempts to grapple with the complexity of analyzing the problem of Appalachian development. To suggest that a dialectic of mutual interaction takes place among the modes of culture, technique, and power is, of course, not to argue that each of our three models of Appalachian underdevelopment is to be taken with equal seriousness. I have suggested that the history of the Appalachian region is best understood in the context of industrial capitalist development. The internal colonialism model raises important questions about wealth, power, and domination without offering a satisfactory characterization of the situation of Central Appalachia. My synthesis of the three models leads to the conclusion that Appalachian poverty and underdevelopment need to be placed within a broader critique of domination. From this perspective, Central Appalachia must be analyzed in the context of advanced capitalism in the United States. In some instances (analyzing the role of the Japanese steel industry in providing capital for opening new coal mines in the region, for example), we may have to expand our horizon to the framework of the world capitalist system. In a recent work Habermas formulates a model of advanced capitalism, which he characterizes by two features: the "process of economic concentration"—the growth of national and multinational corporations—and the "supplementation and partial replacement of the market mechanism by state intervention."2^ Habermas goes on to analyze advanced capitalist societies in terms of their economic, administrative (state), and legitimation �332 Colonialism in Modern America systems and the resulting class structures. Applying a similar analysis will contribute to a deeper understanding of the position of Central Appalachia. The Economy There is growing agreement among economists critical of neoclassical theory that a three-sector model is necessary to characterize the advanced capitalist economy in the United States. John Kenneth Galbraith delineates the market system, the planning system, and the state. As a rough demarcation, Galbraith's planning system consists of the largest "one thousand manufacturing, merchandising, transportation, power and financial corporations producing approximately half of all the goods and services not provided by the state/' Making up the market system are the remaining twelve million firms which produce the other half of the non-state output of goods and services.30 The market system includes farmers, small retail and service establishments, construction and small manufacturing firms, and the arts. Whereas the workings of the market system bear some resemblance to the model of competition embodied in classical economics, the planning system is oligopolistic and its stability depends on the intervention of the state. James O'Connor has developed a similar model with a much deeper analysis of governmental activity. O'Connor also divides private capital into two sectors: a competitive sector (roughly parallel to Galbraith's market system) and a monopoly sector (somewhat smaller than Galbraith's planning system). O'Connor's state sector includes two categories: "production of goods and services organized by the state itself and production organized by industries under contract with the state."31 Approximately one-third of the labor force in the United States is employed in each of these three sectors. The monopoly and state-contract sectors tend to be capital-intensive industries, while the competitive and state service sectors tend to be labor intensive. As a consequence, wages tend to be high in the monopoly and state sectors and low in the competitive sector. Unions tend to be strong in the monopoly and state sectors and weak in the competitive sector. Both product and labor markets tend to be unstable and irregular in the competitive sector, a circumstance which has fostered the development of segmented labor mar- �Internal Colony or Internal Periphery? 333 kets.32 State sector expenditures, in O'Connor's model, are divided into two categories, social capital and social expenses, with social capital being of two kinds, social investment and social consumption. This distinction between social investment and social consumption roughly parallels Niles Hansen's distinction between economic and social overhead capital. Social investment, in O'Connor's terms, "consists of projects and services that increase the productivity of a given amount of labor-power and, other factors being equal, increase the rate of profit." Examples include government-subsidized roads, railroads, and industrial parks. Social consumption "consists of projects and services that lower the reproduction costs of labor and, other factors being equal, increase the rate of profit." Social consumption expenditures fall into two categories: goods and services consumed collectively and social insurance. Examples of the first include school, recreation and medical facilities, and the second, Social Security, workman's compensation, unemployment insurance, and health insurance. Most of the programs developed through the Appalachian Regional Commission are thus in the areas of social investment and the first, or collective, category of social consumption. Finally, social expenditures "consist of projects and services which are required to maintain social harmony—to fulfill the state's legitimization' function. They are not even indirectly productive." O'Connor includes welfare and military programs in this category.3 3 This model of the advanced capitalist economy in the United States has some obvious implications for an analysis of the Central Appalachian region, particularly in regard to the coal industry. The coal industry is unusual, though not unique, in having both substantial monopolistic and competitive sectors. Manufacturing and mining industries are generally concentrated in the monopolistic sector, while the competitive sector is primarily composed of small factories and services. The coal industry thus offers an opportunity for a comparative study of these two sectors within a single industry. Topics for investigation include relative rates between the two sectors of capital investment, wage levels, productivity, technological innovation, unionization, and influence on the legislative, administrative, and judicial institutions of the state that affect the coal industry. Contrasting business ideologies between the two sectors need to �3 34 Colonialism in Modern America be explored. Since Central Appalachia contains the largest concentration of firms in the competitive sector of the coal industry, it is a particularly appropriate location for a study of the two sectors. The Role of the State The institutions that compose the state, to take Ralph Miliband's definition, are the executive, the legislative, the administrative (civil service bureaucracy), the military and police, the judiciary, and the subcentral governmental units. This system is part of a broader political system, which includes political parties, pressure groups, and a variety of other institutions not defined as political, such as corporations, churches, and mass media. A crucial question is the relationship between the state (and state elite) and the dominant economic class. Miliband recalls that "it is obviously true that the capitalist class, as a class, does not actually 'govern.' One must go back to isolated instances of the early history of capitalism, such as the commercial patriciates of cities like Venice and Lubeck, to discover direct and sovereign rule by businessmen."34 Contemporary analysts of the role of the state in advanced capitalism, including Miliband, O'Connor, and Nicos Poulantzas, 35 emphasize the relative autonomy of the state system. From their viewpoint, the familiar statement of Karl Marx and Frederick Engels that "the modern State is but a committee for managing the common affairs of the whole bourgeoisie" has been vulgarized. As Miliband comments, "The notion of common affairs assumes the existence of particular ones; and the notion of the whole bourgeoisie implies the existence of separate elements which make up that whole. This being the case, there is an obvious need for an institution of the kind they refer to, namely the state; and the state cannot meet this need without enjoying a certain degree of autonomy."^ But the summary statement of Marx and Engels is still too abbreviated; the state reflects not simply the common interests of the whole bourgeoisie but a compromise between those interests and the interests of subordinate classes. The balance of the compromise depends in part on the level and extent of political struggle by the subordinate classes. �Internal Colony or Internal Periphery? 335 In a recent work that draws on Miliband, Poulantazas, and O'Connor, Ian Gough develops the role of state expenditures as concessions to working class struggles. The expansion of social services and social insurance since the Depression of the 1930's has meant that an increasing amount of the compensation of the labor force has come in the form of social wages. Indeed, "the strength of working-class pressure/* he writes, "can roughly be gauged by the comprehensiveness and the level of the social benefits." Although such programs are tailored and modified to accommodate the interests of the dominant class, Gough notes: It is essential to distinguish their concrete historical origins from the ongoing function they play within that particular social formation. Social policies originally the product of class struggle will, in the absence of further struggle, he absorbed and adapted to benefit the interests of the dominant classes. On the other hand, whatever their particular function for capital at any time, the fact that social services are also an integral part of the real wage level of the working class means that they are fought for in much the same way as money wages, in economic and political class struggle.^ In a similar fashion, the class distribution of the burden of taxation also affects the real wages of the working class. This recognition of the importance of social services, income transfer programs, and tax policy helps us understand and situate such social movements in the Central Appalachian region as the Black Lung Associations and their fights for workmen's compensation, clinical treatment programs, expanded benefits from the UMWA Health and Retirement Funds, and the severance tax on coal. It also illuminates the role of the federal bureaucracy and judicial system in the reform of the UMWA and its Health and Retirement Funds, the struggle for mine safety and health, and the expansion of a variety of benefits from social security to food stamps to community mental health services. The Legitimation System Habermas argues that formal democratic institutions which �336 Colonialism in Modern America allow universal adult voting in elections may obtain sufficient "diffuse mass loyalty" in the absence of substantive participation in public policy formulation if two conditions are present: "civic privatism" and an ideology that justifies elite rule. Civic privatism involves a withdrawal from the public realm into "career, leisure, and consumption." Both the "theory of democratic elitism" favored by mainstream American political science and the mystique of technical expertise promoted by theorists of public administration serve to legitimate the absence of public participation in political decision making.^ 8 Among the working class in Central Appalachia, legitimation of the political system appears to be weak at the level of specific institutions yet remains strong at a diffuse level ("patriotism"). Cynicism about public officials abounds, with ample justification. The retreat to privatism is possibly facilitated by the extended family systems, which may provide sources for satisfaction even in the absence of substantial material comforts. Yet agencies of government frequently seek legitimation through a rhetoric of democratic participation. For example, TVA's claims of "grass roots democracy" disguised a policy of conceding the farm and related rural development programs to the local agricultural elites in exchange for a free hand for federal planners in public electrical power generation.^ 9 xhe ARC uses the Local Development Districts as the "local building blocks" of a program of federal-state cooperation. In Central Appalachia, such claims have seldom received an affirmative embrace from the working class, but they have met with acquiescence more often than active opposition. The Class Structure A common rhetorical excess is the description of the class structure of Central Appalachia as polarized into the wealthy and the poor. For Harry Caudill, there are "two Appalachias. . .side by side and yet strangers to each other. One, the Appalachia of Power and Wealth,. . .headquartered in New York and Philadelphia, is allied to mighty banks and insurance companies. . . .The second Appalachia is a land devastated. . . .Its people are the old, the young who are planning to leave and the legions of crippled and sick."40 The reality, of course, is far more complicated. The question is not merely one of polemical �Internal Colony or Internal Periphery? 3 37 license. Any strategy for social change must make a thorough assessment of the potential interest in change of the various class groupings in the region. It is generally agreed that advanced capitalism has led to a proliferation of class and occupational groupings between the classic proletariat (the industrial working class) and the bourgeoisie of monopoly capital. The expansion of service industries with its accompanied increase in grey-collar and white-collar employment has been one aspect of this increase. The development of what Galbraith calls the "educational and scientific estate" is another. Despite the increased level of average per capita income, the distribution of shares of income and wealth has changed little in the past forty years. The "myth of the middle class" has been dispelled by careful analysis of confusing census occupational categories, and the continuing existence of a "working-class majority" has been established.41 In Central Appalachia, the expansion of state expenditures has helped create sizable intermediate class groupings of public workers (in education, local government, and public services) and workers in industries heavily subsidized by public funds (health services particularly). Unionization efforts have been made recently among municipal and hospital workers. These elements of the "new working-class" have taken their places alongside such long-established groups as coal miners, workers in small factories, small farmers, country merchants, county-seat retailers, bankers, professionals, independent coal operators, and managers for the nationally-based coal companies in the monopolistic sector, in addition to household workers, the welfare poor, and others outside the standard labor force. The class structure is obviously complex, and its changes need to be analyzed over time, particularly in relation to changes in the coal industry and the growth of state expenditures. Radicals must learn to paint portraits of the region in which a variety of working people can recognize themselves. The Internal Periphery In a market economy, certain regions within a country will experience economic rise or decline in response to such circumstances as demographic changes, technological advances, and the �338 Colonialism in Modern America depletion of resources. On this the theorists of regional growth, urban hierarchies, and uneven capitalist development are agreed. As the core-periphery distinction is presently used by several schools of economic thought, it seems reasonable to me to apply the term peripheral to such regions within advanced capitalist countries as Appalachia which share many of the characteristics of underdevelopment, poverty, and dependency found in the peripheral countries of the Third World. Certainly the term is a more appropriate analogy than internal colony, which, as I have illustrated, should be restricted to a special case. Immanuel Wallerstein has recently begun developing a more rigorous theory of the relationship of core and peripheral countries in the capitalist world economy and has elaborated an important intermediate case, that of the semi-peripheral countries (a distinction that corresponds in part to the levels of development within the Third World countries).42 In Wallerstein's view, the semi-peripheral countries perform two important functions for the capitalist world system, one political and one political and economic. The political function is to avoid a sharp polarization into rich and poor countries that would foster an alliance among the poor nations. The intermedite sector develops a third set of interests based on its aim of making it into the core. The political-economic function of the semi-periphery is to provide an outlet for capital investment from core countries in low-wage industrial production. The analogy between peripheral countries in the world system and peripheral regions within core countries obviously should not be pushed too far. As John Friedman points out, there are important differences between regions and countries, and between poor countries and poor regions in rich countries.4 ^ The most important difference is that countries have a relatively greater degree of closure in their boundaries. Through the use of tariff barriers, control over investments, and other means, countries can achieve a relative degree of insulation from the world economy. Constitutional and political limitations on the restraint of commerce prevent any state within the United States (much less multi-state regions without separate political authority) from following similar policies of restricting trade, investment, or population movements. These qualifications noted, Wallerstein*s three-tiered system �Internal Colony or Internal Periphery? 339 may find an analogue within advanced capitalist countries. Regionalization and regionalism, the economic and ideological manifestations of peripheral status, may well join the racial, ethnic, and sexual aspects of the division of labor as functional barriers to class polarization of conflict over inequality.44 The possibility of attaining semi-peripheral status may preclude a strong alliance of one region with another worse off. We see evidence of this in the successful move of the Northern and Southern Appalachian regions to standard semi-peripheral status within the United States while Central Appalachia remains behind. Given the general "fiscal crisis of the state," the federal government seems reluctant to commit resources to the elimination of regional inequality—the elevation to semi-peripheral status of all internal peripheral regions. The executive branch has resisted attempts of the Congress to expand the Title V regional commissions in the manner of the ARC. Peripheral regions remain functional for the system of advanced capitalism in the United States much in the way that poverty in general has positive functions. 45 Conclusion Analogies are valuable in social analysis insofar as they summarize and illuminate certain features of the subject under investigation. In this sense the analogy between the situation of Central Appalachia and that of colonized countries has been stimulating and fruitful. It has focused attention on the acquisition of the raw materials of the region by outside corporate interests and on the exploitation of the local work force and community at large resulting from the removal of the region's natural resources for the benefit of absentee owners. But analogies, while providing insights into some aspects of reality, can obscure or distort others. A loose analogy is no substitute, in the long run, for a precise theory that can lead to more detailed investigations. In this sense the internal colonialism model applied to Central Appalachia needs to be superceded by a model of peripheral regions within an advanced capitalist society. The question is more than academic. At issue are the goals and strategy of a movement for social change. Writers using the internal colonialism model have been ambiguous about what solution is appropriate for Appalachian problems. Taking the �340 Colonialism in Modern America term "colony" in its strongest sense, that of a suppressed nation, would prescribe an Appalachian nationalism aiming at secession and an independent nation-state. No one has proposed such a solution, although a weaker version—a state of Appalachia—has been mentioned.46 Nor have many seriously suggested that the region would be better off if all the coal companies were owned by the local elite of "hillbilly millionaires"—a sort of bourgeois decolonization—instead of the national and international energy corporations, although an exclusive focus on absentee ownership might lead to that conclusion. If the heart of the problem is defined as private ownership of the coal industry, then the possibility of public ownership, perhaps even limited to a regional basis, is suggested.47 If the problem is defined as capitalist relations of production generally, then the alternative—some form of socialism—takes on a dimension that goes far beyond the nationalization or Appalachianization of the coal industry alone. It is this challenge of defining socialist goals and strategies that is presented by the model of peripheral regions within an advanced capitalist society. �Internal Colony or Internal Periphery? 341 NOTES ^Oscar Lewis, The Children of Sanchez (New York: Random House, 1961), pp. xxiv-xxvii; Jack E. Weller, Yesterday's People: Life in Contemporary Appalachia (Lexington: Univ. of Kentucky Press, 1965); and Herbert J. Cans, The Urban Villagers: Group and Class in the Life of ItalianAmericans (New York: Free Press, 1962). H. Looff, Appalachians Children: The Challenge of Mental Health (Lexington: Univ. Press of Kentucky, 1971); Norman A. Polansky, Robert D. Borgman, and Christine DeSaix, Roots of Futility (San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 1972); Richard A. Ball, "New Premises for Planning in Appalachia," Journal of Sociology and Social Welfare, 2 (Fall 1974), 92101. ^See Robert Coles, Migrants, Sharecroppers, Mountaineers, especially Chs. 5, 6, 9 and 12, and The South Goes North, Ch. 6 (Boston: Little, Brown, 1972); John Fetterman, Stinking Creek (New York: Dutton, 1967); Tony Dunbar, Our Land Too (New York: Random House, 1969), Part II; Kathy Kahn, Hillbilly Women (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1972). A good contrast of the two approaches is Mike Maloney and Ben Huelsman, "Humanism, Scientism, and Southern Mountaineers," People's Appalachia, 2 (July 1972), 24-27. The methodological basis of the humanistic approach is sketched in John R. Staude, "The Theoretical Foundations of Humanistic Sociology," in Humanistic Society: Today's Challenge to Sociology, ed. John F. Glass and John R. Staude (Pacific Palisades, CA: Goodyear, 1972), pp. 262-270. ^"In addition to Charles Valentine's Culture and Poverty, see Jack L. Roach and Orville R. Gursslin, "An Evaluation of the Concept 'Culture of Poverty,' " Social Forces, 45 (March 1967), 383-392; the comments on Valentine in Current Anthropology, 10 (April-June 1969), 181-201; and the essays in The Culture of Poverty. A Critique, ed. Eleanor Burke Leacock (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1971). ^Dwight Billings, "Culture and Poverty in Appalachia: A Theoretical �342 Colonialism in Modern America Discussion and Empirical Analysis," Social Forces, 53 (December 1974), 315-323; and Thomas R. Ford, "The Passing of Provincialism," Ch. 2 in The Southern Appalachian Region: A Survey, ed. Ford (Lexington: Univ. of Kentucky Press, 1962), pp. 9-34. *>On regional development theory, see Harvey S. Perloff et al, Regions, Resources, and Economic Growth (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press, I960); E. A. J. Johnson, The Organization of Space in Developing Countries (Cambridge: Harvard Univ. Press, 1970); and Harry W. Richardson, Regional Growth Theory (New York: Halstead, 1973). An Appalachian application is Mary Jean Bowman and W. Warren Haynes, Resources and People in East Kentucky (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press, 1963). See also H. Dudley Plunkett and Mary Jean Bowman, Elites and Change in the Kentucky Mountains (Lexington: Univ. Press of Kentucky, 1 973). 7 On the ARC, see Donald Rothblatt, Regional Planning; The Appalachian Experience (Lexington, MA: Heath, 1971); and Monroe Newman, The Political Economy of Appalachia (Lexington, MA: Heath, 1972). Niles M. Hansen's works include Rural Poverty and the Urban Crisis (Bloomington: Indiana Univ. Press, 1970); Intermediate-Size Cities as Growth Centers (New York: Praeger, 1971); an edited volume, Growth Centers in Regional Economic Development (New York: Free Press, 1972); and Location Preferences, Migration and Regional Growth (New York: Praeger, 1973). idea of "nondecisions" is developed in Peter Bachrach and Morton S. Baratz, Power and Poverty: Theory and Practice (New York: Oxford Univ. Press, 1970), Ch. 3, pp. 39-51. See also Matthew Crenson, The Politics of Air Pollution: A Study of Non-Decisionmaking in the Cities (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press, 1971); and Roger W. Cobb and Charles D. Elder, Participation in American Politics: The Dynamics of Agenda Building (Boston: Allyn and Bacon, 1972). ^For an example of an alternative approach see John G. Gurley, Capitalist and Maoist Economic Development," in America's Asia: Dissenting Essays on Asian-American Relations (New York: Vintage, 1971), pp. 324-356. Some proposals for a socialist regional development strategy for Appalachia are outlined by Richard Simon and Roger Lesser, "A Working Community Commonwealth," Peoples' Appalachia, 3 (Spring 1973), 9-15. On the community development corporation and its potential for Appalachia, see Brady J. Deaton, "CDCs: A Development Alternative for Rural America," Growth and Change, 6 (January 1975), 31-37. �Internal Colony or Internal Periphery? 343 l^See the articles in Readings in U.S. Imperialism, ed. K. T. Farm and Donald C. Hodges (Boston.- Porter Sargent, 1971); in Dependence and Under development, ed. James D. Cockcroft, et al. (New York: Doubleday Anchor, 1972); in Structures of Dependency, ed. Frank Bonilla and Robert Girling (Palo Alto: Stanford Univ. Institute for Political Studies, 1973); and in the special issue on dependency theory of Latin American Perspectives, 1 (Spring 1974). A good review essay is the editors' introduction to Latin America: The Struggle with Dependency and Beyond, ed. Ronald H. Chilcote and Joel C. Edelstein (New York: Schenkman, 1974), pp. 1-87. l^Susanne Bodenheimer [Jonas], "Dependency and Imperialism: The Roots of Latin American Underdevelopment," in Readings in U.S. Imperialism, ed. Fann and Hodges, pp. 62-64. -^Thorstein Veblen, Absentee Ownership and Business Enterprise in Recent Times (1923; Boston: Beacon, 1967). *^See, for example, Joe Persky, "The South: A Colony at Home," Southern Exposure, 1 (Summer/Fall 1973), 14-22; Andre Gorz, "Colonialism at Home and Abroad," and Lee Webb, "Colonialism and Underdevelopment in Vermont," both in Liberation, 16 (November 1971), 22-29 and 2933 respectively; Geoffrey Faux, "Colonial New England," The New Republic (28 November 1972), pp. 16-19; Dale L. Johnson, "On Oppressed Classes," in Dependence and Underdevelopment, ed. Cockcroft, et al., p. 277; and Michael Hechter, Internal Colonialism: The Celtic Fringe in British National Development, 1536-1966 (Berkeley: Univ. of California Press, 1975). Gonzalez-Casanova, "Internal Colonialism and National Development," in Studies in Comparative International Development, 1 (1965), 27-37; rpt. in Latin American Radicalism, ed. Irving Louis Horowitz, et al, (New York: Random House, 1969), quote from pp. 130-132. * ^Pierre van den Berghe, "Education, Class and Ethnicity in Southern Peru: Revolutionary Colonialism," in Education and Colonialism-. Comparative Perspectives, ed. Philip G. Altbach and Gail P. Kelly (New York: McKay, forthcoming). Van den Berghe traces the origin of the term internal colonialism to a pamphlet by Leo Marquard, South Africa's Colonial Policy (Johannesburg: Institute of Race Relations, 1957). , for example, three excellent collections of articles in pamphlet form: The West Virginia Miners Union, 1931: As Reported at the Time in "Labor Age"; Harlan and Bell, Kentucky, 1931-2, The National Miners �344 Colonialism in Modern America Union: As Reported at the Time in the "Labor Defender"; and War in the Coal Fields, The Northern Fields, 1931: As Reported at the Time in the "Labor Defender" and "Labor v4^"(Huntington, WV: Appalachian Movement Press, 1972). l, Night Comes to the Cumberlands (Boston: Little, Brown, 1963), p. 325; "Misdeal in Appalachia," The Atlantic Monthly (June 1965), p. 44; see also his "Appalachia: The Dismal Land," Dissent, 14 (NovemberDecember 1967), 718-719. Kenneth R. Bailey, "A Judicious Mixture: Negroes and Immigrants in the West Virginia Mines, 1880-1917," West Virginia History, 34 (January 1973), 141-161; and Paul Nyden, Black Coal Miners in the United States (New York: American Institute for Marxist Studies, 1974). her review of Plunkett and Bowman, Elites and Change, in Social Forces, 53 (September 1974), 139-140. 2^A classic example of such bias is Albert N. Votaw, "The Hillbillies Invade Chicago," Harper's Magazine (February 1958), pp. 64-67. An excellent study of the hillbilly stereotype is Clyde B. McCoy, "Stereotypes of Appalachians in Urban Areas: Myths, Facts, and Questions," a paper presented at the Conference on Appalachians in Urban Areas," sponsored by the Academy for Contemporary Problems, Columbus, Ohio, 28 March 1974. ^Success through migration is class biased, however; see Harry K. Schwarzweller, et al., Mountain Families in Transition (Univ. Park: Pennsylvania Univ. Press, 1971), Chs. 6-9, pp. 121-205. Blauner, Racial Oppression in America (New York: Harper & Row, 1972), p. 67; a revised version of his article "Internal Colonialism and Ghetto Revolt" appears as Ch. 2. For an application of the model to the Chicano population, see Joan Moore, "Colonialism: The Case of the Mexican-American," Social Problems, 17 (Spring 1970), 463-472. Another valuable discussion is Jeffrey Prager, "White Racial Privilege and Social Change: An Examination of Theories of Racism," Berkeley Journal of Sociology, 17 (1972-73), 117-150. For a critical view of the model, see Donald J. Harris, "The Black Ghetto as Colony: A Theoretical Critique and Alternative Formulation," The Review of Black Political Economy, 2 (1972), 3-33. An interesting change of viewpoint is evident in Robert Allen, who in Black Awakening in Capitalist America (New York: Doubleday, 1969) made extensive use of the internal colony model; see his review �Internal Colony or Internal Periphery? 345 "Racism and the Black Nation Thesis," Socialist Revolution, No. 27 (January-March 1976), pp. 145-150. Another view that emphasizes class over colony is Gilbert G. Gonzalez, "A Critique of the Internal Colony Model," Latin American Perspectives, 1 (Spring 1974), 154-161. Williams, "The Concept of 'Egemonia' in the Thought of Antonio Gramsci: Some Notes on Interpretation," Journal of the History of Ideas, 20 (October-December 1960), 587. For some of Gramsci's writings, see The Modern Prince and Other Writings, trans, and ed. Louis Marks (New York: International Publishers, 1957); or Selections from the Prison Notebooks, ed. and trans. Quinton Hoare and Geoffrey Nowell Smith (New York: International Publishers, 1971). LukacY classic is History and Class Consciousness, trans. Rodney Livingstone (1921; Boston: MIT Press, 1972). On the Frankfurt School, see Martin Jay, The Dialectical Imagination: A History of the Frankfurt School and the Institute of Social Research, 1923-1950 (Boston: Little, Brown, 1973); and his "Some Recent Developments in Critical Theory," Berkeley Journal of Sociology, 18 (197374)? 27-44. 2^On the role of the schools in maintaining capitalist hegemony, see Joel H. Spring, Education and the Rise of the Corporate State (Boston: Beacon, 1972); Martin Carnoy, Education as Cultural Imperialism (New York: McKay, 1974), especially Chs. 5-8, pp. 233-370 on the United States (although I would speak of education as cultural hegemony rather than internal colonialism, as Carnoy does); and Samuel Bowles and Herbert Gintis, Schooling in Capitalist America: Educational Reform and the Contradictions of Economic Life (New York: Basic Books, 1976). On the derogation of working-class culture, see Richard Sennett and Jonathan Cobb, The Hidden Injuries of Class (New York: Random House, 1972). Keith Dix, "The West Virginia Economy: Notes fora Radical Base Study," Peoples' Appalachia, 1 (April-May 1970), 3-7; Emil Malizia, "Economic Imperialism: An Interpretation of Appalachian Underdevelopment," Appalachian Journal, 1 (Spring 1973), 130-137; Richard Simon, "The Development of Underdevelopment in West Virginia," an outline of a dissertation in progress dated 12 April 1973, also distributed as "Land History: Development of Underdevelopment in West Virginia," a Peoples Development Working Paper of the Regional Economic Development Commission of the Council of the Southern Mountains, Summer 1973. 2 %ee particularly his Frankfurt inaugural address of June 1965, published as "Knowledge and Human Interests: A General Perspective," in the appendix to Jurgen Habermas, Knowledge and Human Interests, trans. �346 Colonialism in Modern America Jeremy J. Shapiro (Boston: Beacon Press, 1971), pp. 301-317, quoted phrase from p. 311; and the brief explication of Habermas in the epilogue to Joachim Israel, Alienation: From Marx to Modern Sociology (1968; Boston: Allyn and Bacon, 1971), pp. 343-347. See also his essay "Technology and Science as 'Ideology,' " in Toward a Rational Society (Boston: Beacon, 1970), pp. 81-122; and Trent Shroyer, "Toward a Critical Theory for Advanced Industrial Society," in Recent Sociology No. 2: Patterns of Communicative Behavior, ed. Hans Peter Dreitzel (New York: Macmillan, 1970), pp. 210-234. Friedmann, "Poor Regions and Poor Nations: Perspectives on the Problem of Appalachia," Southern Economic Journal, 32 (April 1966), 465-467. "Jaded Old Land of Bright New Promise," in Mountain Life & Work, 46 (March 1970), 5-8, rpt. in Appalachia in the Sixties, ed. David S. Walls and John B. Stephenson (Lexington: Univ. Press of Kentucky, 1972), pp. 240-246. His genetic and subculture of poverty arguments are apparent in Night Comes to the Cumberlands, pp. 1-31 and 273301, but are strongly emphasized in his latest work, A Darkness at Dawn: Appalachian Kentucky and the Future (Lexington: Univ. Press of Kentucky, 1976). Jack Weller, "Appalachia: America's Mineral Colony," in Vantage Point, No. 2 (1973), a now discontinued tabloid issued by the Commission on Religion in Appalachia in Knoxville. ^"Habermas, Legitimation Crisis, trans, Thomas McCarthy (1973; Boston: Beacon, 1975), pp. 33-41; quote from p. 33. ^Galbraith, Economics and the Public Purpose (1973; New York: Signet, 1975), pp. 42-43; quote from p. 42. O'Connor, The Fiscal Crisis of the State (New York: St. Martin's, 1973), especially Ch. 1, "An Anatomy of American State Capitalism," pp. 13-39; quote from p. 17. Labor Market Segmentation, ed. Richard C. Edwards, et al. (Lexington, MA: Heath, 1975). ^O'Connor, Fiscal Crisis of the State, pp. 6-7, and Chs. 4-6, pp. 97169. Miliband, The State in Capitalist Society; The Analysis of the Western System of Power (London: Quartet, 1973), Ch. 3, "The State �Internal Colony or Internal Periphery? 347 System and the State Elite," pp. 46-62; quote from p. 61. * *]sjicos Poulantzas, Political Power and Social Classes, trans. Timothy O'Hagan (1968; London: New Left Books, 1973). Poulantzas draws heavily on the neo-orthodox structural Marxism of Louis Althusser. For the dispute between Poulantzas and Miliband, see Miliband, "Poulantzas and the Capitalist State," New Left Review, No. 82 (November-December 1973), pp. 83-92; and Poulantzas, "The Capitalist State: A Reply to Miliband and Laclau," New Left Review, No. 95 (January-February 1976), pp. 63-83. See also Poulantzas, Classes in Contemporary Capitalism (London: New Left Books, 1975). ^Miliband, "Poulantzas and the Capitalist State," p. 85n; the statement by Marx and Engels is from The Manifesto of the Communist Party, Part I. 3^Ian Gough, "State Expenditure in Advanced Capitalism," New Left Review, No. 92 (July-August 1975), pp. 53-92, quotes from pp. 75, 76. ^"Habermas, Legitimation Crisis, pp. 36-37; and his "The Scientization of Politics and Public Opinion," in Toward a Rational Society, pp. 6280. See also Peter Bachrach, The Theory of Democratic Elitism: A Critique (Boston: Little, Brown, 1967). 3 ^Philip Selznick, TV A and the Grass Roots: A Study in the Sociology of Formal Organization (1949; New York: Harper Torch books, 1966). 40 Caudill, "O, Appalachia!" Intellectual Digest (April 1973); rpt. in Voices from the Hills, ed. Robert J. Higgs and Ambrose N. Manning (New York: Ungar, 1975), pp. 524-525. See a similar collapsing of a complex stratification system to a dichotomy in Roman B. Aquizap and Ernest A. Vargas, "Technology, Power, and Socialization in Appalachia," Social Casework, 51 (March 1970), 131-139. 41 See Richard Parker, The Myth of the Middle Class: Notes on Affluence and Equality (1972; New York: Harper Colophon, 1974), for a division into poor, lower middle, upper middle and rich classes; Parker waffles and helps perpetuate the myth he attacks by not terming his "lower middle class" the working class. A more thorough analysis is done by Andrew Levison, The Working Class Majority (1974; New York: Penguin, 1975). A good collection of articles is The Worker in "Post-Industrial" Capitalism: Liberal and Radical Responses, ed. Bertram Silverman and �348 Colonialism in Modern America Murray Yanowitch (New York: Free Press, 1974). For a thoughtful exploration from an orthodox Marxist perspective, see Judah Hill, Class Analysis: United States in the 1970s (Emeryville, CA: privately printed, 1975). An excellent analysis is presented in Erik Olin Wright, "Class Boundaries in Advanced Capitalist Societies," New Left Review, No. 98 (JulyAugust 1976), pp. 3-41; also available as reprint 219 from the Institute for Research on Poverty, University of Wisconsin at Madison. ^"^Immanuel Wallerstein, "Dependence in an Interdependent World: The Limited Possibilities of Transformation within the Capitalist World Economy, "African Studies Review, 17 (April 1974), 1-26. ^Friedmann, "Poor Regions and Poor Nations," pp. 467-470. "For a view of race, ethnicity and other such status-groups as "blurred collective representations of classes" in the world system, see Wallerstein, "Social Conflict in Post-Independence Black Africa: The Concepts of Race and Status-Group Reconsidered," in Racial Tensions and National Identity, ed. Ernest Q. Campbell (Nashville: Vanderbilt Univ. Press, 1972), pp. 207-226; see also his "Class-Formation in the Capitalist World-Economy," Politics and Society, 6 (1975), 367-375; and "The Rise and Future Demise of the World Capitalist System: Concepts for Comparative Analysis," Comparative Studies in Society and History, 16 (September 1974), 387-415. ^Herbert j. Cans, "The Positive Functions of Poverty," The American Journal of Sociology, 78 (September 1972), 275-289. On the Title V Commissions, see Ch. 5 in Martha Derthick, Between State and Nation: Regional Organizations of the United States (Washington, D.C.: Brookings Institution, 1974), pp. 108-133. first proposal for something resembling a special legislature for the Southern Appalachians is made by George S. Mitchell, "Let's Unite the Pie!" Mountain Life & Work, 27 (Spring 1951), 19-20; he suggests an "annual representative meeting and a permanent staff. . . .Such a representative body ought to be. . .an annual assembly of all the mountain members of the state legislatures. Possibly the Members of Congress from the Mountains might be a sort of Upper House." D wight Macdonald proposes a state of Appalachia in "The Constitution of the United States Needs to be Fixed," Esquire, 70 (October 1968), 246; but it would be formed by lumping together the present states of West Virginia, Kentucky and Tennessee as part of an overall consolidation of states for the purpose of obtaining larger administrative jurisdictions. The proposal has no relation to a policy �Internal Colony or Internal Periphery? 349 of overcoming the exploitation of the mountain region. Nor does the reorganization scheme of geographer G. Etzel Pearcy, which would form a state of Appalachia more appropriately from sections of southern West Virginia, southwestern Virginia, eastern Kentucky, and southeastern Ohio; see the article by Lee Harris from The Los Angeles Times rpt. as "A Plan to Reshape, Rename and Reduce U.S. States to 38," The Courier-Journal & Times (Louisville), 2 September 1973, p. E5. 47 Gordon K. Ebersole brought the idea of the Public Utility Districts from the Northwest to the Appalachians; see his "Appalachia: Potential. . . With a View," Mountain Life & Work, 42 (Winter 1966), 10-12. Harry Caudill picked up the idea and gave it wide publicity; see his "A New Plan for a Southern Mountain Authority," Appalachian Review, 1 (Summer 1966), 6-11. Ebersole and Caudill were key leaders in the Congress for Appalachian Development. An issue of The Appalachian South, 2 (Spring and Summer 1967) is largely devoted to articles on CAD. On the history of CAD, see David Whisnant, "The Congress for Appalachian Development," Peoples' Appalachia, 3 (Spring 1973), 16-22. �This page intentionally left blank �OF by s. in field A to an of in the the est A of an by In of in" the for its by tell of the to is, c< You tell us to get /or tils at on a the the to on a Such is the local on the a of by the the by the ask it." "NO is on the of the will do �352 Colonialism in Modern America These three examples, all current, can be matched by other vignettes from people all over Appalachia. They are representative of the process of social change that has been in evidence in the mountains since the mass cutting of timber began almost a century ago. They are part of a process which has cost much of the region its ability to provide a decent life for its people and which has been documented by previous selections in this volume. The fact that by 1930 Appalachia had become an area where many people could not lead a life comparable in economic terms with the middle class American norm has resulted in social scientists and others seeking causes and models of causes for the "poverty" of the region. These models have been presented and criticized in the previous article by David Walls. In brief, a "deficiency model" blamed the mountaineers and their allegedly homespun "yesterday's people" culture for the announced "problems" of the region. Repeated incidents like the ones reported above and consequent outrage, together with a genuine love and respect for the people around us, led to the development of the colonial model as a dialectical response to the deficiency model. This model places the blame not on the people but on the external profit seekers who removed the region's vast wealth to Pittsburgh, New York, and Philadelphia, leaving an impoverished region behind them. Walls also mentions the "development model," used especially by government agencies (and attendant state university research centers) who are in the development business and who find the region to be a good target for their efforts. I would extend this model beyond the government to include other groups and people who have an agenda to act out and find the mountains a good arena for the performance. William Goodell Frost, president of Berea College at the turn of the century, found the mountaineers to be underdeveloped in education and thus set out to develop them in this area. His example was followed by the establishment of scores of "settlement schools" throughout the region. Presbyterians, Methodists, and other denominations found the mountaineers suffering from an underdeveloped faith and thus labelled the region fertile ground for their missionary movement.1 Walls points out the strengths and limitations of each model �Extending the Internal Periphery Model: The Impact of Culture and Consequent Strategy 353 and then combines them into his synthesis, which is a model of the region as an "internal periphery of an advanced capitalist system." The internal periphery model draws on the works of Galbraith, James O'Connor, and Jurgens Habermas to describe the region as essentially a resources preserve, complete with "native" leadership that serves the needs of the advanced industrial, resources, and recreation-hungry society that surrounds it. It is a helpful model in that it accounts for the external manipulations and the steady removal of wealth from the region as well as the internal quiescence and cooperation of a "dependency infrastructure" that facilitates the process. Thus it takes into account a wide range of cultural and socio-political phenomena. Yet, the internal periphery model, as I now understand it, does not do what Walls would like it to do: help us arrive at "the goals and strategy of a movement for social change." I would extend the internal periphery model by emphasizing that it posits, at least implicitly, the existence of two cultures: that of the "exploited" area and that of the "advanced capitalist" system that surrounds it. By culture I mean what Sir Edward Tylor defined as "that complex whole which includes knowledge, belief, art, morals, law, custom and other capabilities and habits acquired by man as a member of society," and their world view or Weltanschauung.2 As Walls, Helen Lewis, Roger Lesser, Stephen Fisher, and others have pointed out, there is a great deal of literature on the culture of Appalachia, whether defined as a "culture of poverty" or as the "folk culture" of "Yesterday's People." But what about the culture of the other side: the "advanced capitalist region"? This has not been discussed, quite probably because it is part of what Alfred Schutz calls the "world-taken-forgranted" of the academics—even those outraged by the rape of the Appalachian region. We too have been socialized by the institutions of the advanced capitalist system. We accept the value system of a rationalist, achievement-oriented, "scientific" culture and are well conditioned members of the social system that inflicts so much pain and disorder in both internal and external peripheral regions. Culturally, we turn out to be the very people we've been warning each other about. We have been �3 54 Colonialism in Modern America blind to our own folkways and thus have been unable to define them and assess their impact on social change. Thus, we, and the rest of the world along with us, are inheritors of a change in cultural orientation so well described by Max Weber many years ago that it ought to be quoted at length here: Until about the middle of the past century the life of a putter-out was, at least in many of the branches of the Continental textile industry, what we should to-day consider very comfortable. We may imagine its routing somewhat as follows: The peasants came with their cloth, often (in the case of linen) principally or entirely made from raw material which the peasant himself had produced, to the town in which the putter-out lived, and after a careful, often official appraisal of the quality, received the customary price for it. The putter-out's customers, for markets any appreciable distance away, were middlemen, who also came to him, generally not yet following samples, but seeking traditional qualities, and bought from his warehouse, or, long before delivery, placed orders which were probably in turn passed on to the peasants. Personal canvassing of customers took place, if at all, only at long intervals. Otherwise correspondence sufficed, though the sending of samples slowly gained ground. The number of business hours was very moderate, perhaps five to six a day, sometimes considerably less; in the rush season, where there was one, more. Earnings were moderate; enough to lead a respectable life and in good times to put away a little. On the whole, relations among competitors were relatively good, with a large degree of agreement on the fundamentals of business. A long daily visit to the tavern, with often plenty to drink, and a congenial circle of friends, made life comfortable and leisurely. The form of organization was in every respect capitalistic; the entrepreneur's activity was of a purely business character; the use of capital, turned over in the business, was indispensable; and finally, the objective aspect of the economic process, the book-keeping, was rational. But it was traditionalistic business, if one considers the spirit �Extending the Internal Periphery Model: The Impact of Culture and Consequent Strategy which animated the entrepreneur: the traditional manner of life, the traditional rate of profit, the traditional amount of work, the traditional manner of regulating the relationships with labour, and the essentially traditional circle of customers and the manner of attracting new ones. All these dominated the conduct of the business, were at the basis, one may say, of the ethos of this group of business men. Now at some time this leisureliness was suddenly destroyed, and often entirely without any essential change in the form of organization, such as the transition to a unified factory, to mechanical weaving, etc. What happened was, on the contrary, often no more than this: some young man from one of the putting-out families went out into the country, carefully chose weavers for his employ, greatly increased the rigour of his supervision of their work, and thus turned them from peasants into labourers. On the other hand, he would begin to change his marketing methods by so far as possible going directly to the final consumer, would take the details into his own hands, would personally solicit customers, visiting them every year, and above all would adapt the quality of the product directly to their needs and wishes. At the same time he began to introduce the principle of low prices and large turnover. There was repeated what everywhere and always is the result of such a process of rationalization: those who would not follow suit had to go out of business. The idyllic state collapsed under the pressure of a bitter competitive struggle, respectable fortunes were made, and not lent out at interest, but always reinvested in the business. The old leisurely and comfortable attitude toward life gave way to a hard frugality in which some participated and came to the top, because they did not wish to consume but to earn, while others who wished to keep on with the old ways were forced to curtail their consumption. And, what is most important in this connection, it was not generally in such cases a stream of new money invested in the industry which brought about this revolution—in several cases known to me the whole revolu- 355 �356 Colonialism in Modern America tionary process was set in motion with a few thousands of capital borrowed from relations—but the new spirit, the spirit of modern capitalism, had set to work.-* Weber elsewhere documented the rise of the "spirit of capitalism" in the rationally oriented bureaucracy in which the human element was bent to the needs of the stated directions and goals of the agency.4 Other social theorists have noted other aspects of this process: Tonnies saw the move from Gemeinschaft to Gesellschaft (from intimate, small community to impersonal, complex society) accompanied by a shift in the ways people viewed and treated each other. The shift is from Wesenwille, which can be described as a spontaneous, emotional and committed base for interpersonal relations in which a humanistic communal will encompasses rational thought, to Kurwille, where rational thought and calculation regulate social dialogue according to the use-value each party perceives in the other.5 Durkheim noted the disintegration of "moral" community and the consequent anomie, social disorder, and increase in suicide rates.^ Mid-century sociology had showed the individual outcome of this trend in Mills' "Cheerful Robots," Reisman's "Other Directed Man" and Marcuse's One Dimensional Man: With the technical progress as its instrument, unfreedom— in the sense of Man's subjection to his productive apparatus—is perpetuated and intensified in the form of many liberties and comforts. The novel feature is the overwhelming rationality in this irrational enterprise, and the depth of the preconditions which shapes the instinctual drives and the aspirations of the individuals and obscures the difference between false and true consciousness. For, in reality, neither the utilization of administrative rather than physical controls (hunger, personal dependence, force), nor the change in the character of heavy work . . .compensate for the fact that the decisions over life and death, over personal and national security at places over which individuals have no control. The slaves of industrial civilization are sublimated slaves, but they are slaves, for slavery is determined by. . .the pure form of servitude: to exist as an instrument, as a thing. ^ The reality of the historical rationalist trend in what is now �Extending the Internal Periphery Model: The Impact of Culture and Consequent Strategy 3 57 the culture of advanced capitalism is attested to by the rampant efforts to escape it or to discover human essence within it through movements such as youth culture, TM, EST, the Moonies, and Eslin. Fritz Pappenheim and Philip Slater join Mills, Marcuse, Fromm, and Reisman in the assertion that in the advanced capitalist system, human beings are held captive as employees of large impersonal bureaucratic organizations that thunder about the countryside in pursuit of what Karl Mannheim has termed their own "functionally rational" goals:8 The U.S. Forest Service exists to enlarge and maintain a complex forest system. The U.S. Park Service exists to create and maintain recreation facilities. AMAX exists to extract coal in what its executives feel is the most efficient manner possible with existing technology. What could be more "American" or more in line with a technology-intoxicated Protestant Ethic? What could be more devastating to the Appalachian Region? But it is also devastating the managerial technocrats in charge of the devastation, who define themselves in terms of their bureaucratic place and assigned position and mission within a bureaucratic hierarchy. Douglas Heath's longitudinal studies of "highly successful" American males indicate an inverse relationship between high intelligence scores (on the culture-bound tests of the rationalist, advanced capitalist culture), and the ability to be outgoing, supportive, and "mature" in personal interactions. Wives of some of these men called them "robots." One interviewee said "I've been married to him ten years now and still don't know what he really feels."9 One of the products of Western industrial culture has been the complex organization which in turn creates its own values, quasi-community, and its own kind of man. Recent essays by Richard Couto, John Gaventa, and Stephen Fisher, et a/.,10 draw upon the work of Peter Berger and Thomas Luckmann to suggest that the inability of Appalachians to make their interests and �358 Colonialism in Modern America needs known in the larger policy arena is in some measure due to the fact that their social reality is determined by the defining institutions and mechanisms of the larger, dominating, advanced capitalist society.11 According to this argument, the media, educational systems, and government agencies define the Appalachians to themselves and to others as LiP Abners and Snuffy Smiths—people incapable of responding to the complex issues of the "modern" world. In being socialized to accept this definition of reality, Appalachians' ability to respond to issues and struggle for their interests is limited; they become quiescent even when they "seemingly have every reason to rebel."12 But Appalachian history is full of rebellions and rebels: of men and women who demand, in Camus' terms, that their existence be recognized. From mine wars to roving pickets, Mother Jones to Widow Combs, Black Lung and Brown Lung movements, Appalachians have fought domination to a degree which has required the dominating culture to foster the sort of violent stereotype of the mountaineer depicted in the film Deliverance. So the people whose reality is defined by the mechanisms of the dominant culture may well not be the residents of the "internal periphery" but of the dominant culture itself—people who, rather than defining and experiencing themselves as people, see and struggle to be "planners," "sound businessmen," "GS13s" or other reifications of human endeavor which abnegate a sense of common humanity. This is the process that creates monsters. Adolph Eichmann was an expert only in rail transport and Robert McNamara was a systems specialist. They were both organization men and good examples of Modern Man in the twentieth century: They killed people with tact, efficiency, and, most astoundingly, with some measure of well meaning. Part of the problem Appalachia faces then lies not in its own culture but in the Weltanschauung that accompanies the advanced industrial social system of large complex organizations in both the public and private spheres. As perhaps is true of the everyday view of the world in most predominantly rural parts of the world, the way Appalachians construct and live in the world around them makes them vulnerable to the outside predator. My own field observation in a coal �Extending the Internal Periphery Model: The Impact of Culture and Consequent Strategy 3 59 fringe area in West Virginia and an agricultural area in Western North Carolina has found people busy and relatively content in lifestyles they find to be meaningful. The focus of their everyday life rests upon a network of people and problems physically and socially close to them. Lengthy daily discussions with one farmer in Madison County, North Carolina, over a period of five weeks revealed continual concern with family matters and his tobacco crop. He knew that a neighboring farm had been sold to Florida real estate speculators and subdivided and already sold to people mostly from New Jersey. He was not aware that in the past ten years 25 percent of the land in the county had been purchased by out-of-state people for second homes and that the Federal government held another 23 percent. He knew "land has gone high as a cat's back" but did not give any indication that he saw the implications of this increase on the future of farming or out-migration patterns in the area. This man's world view and orientation (whether it be a function of class or regional location or a combination of these variables) made him as insensitive to the implications of real estate speculation as VISTA volunteers were to the social structure and strengths of the communities they came to "help." Supporters of the colonial model have tended to shy away from discussion of any possible limitations of mountain culture because advocates of the deficiency approach have made such devastating use of "culture of poverty" models in their efforts to "blame the victim."13 But it is fair to say, I think, that although the ways of life in rural Appalachia are rich and meaningful, they have been no match for the rationalist's, efficiencyoriented culture of advanced capitalism that has come into their territory. This sort of cross-cultural clash has not been limited to Appalachia; it has been a global phenomena recorded in the ruins of Mayan libraries and observatories, the beylik lands of Algeria, and the temples of Indo-China. Rationalism with its attendant social structure has levelled, bleached, and bled out a rich variety of human ways of being that have stood in its path. Mike Clark, in trying to explain this phenomenon to students in Ohio last summer, turned to a speech by Chief Seattle, a leader of the Sequamish Indians, given in 1954 to mark the transfer of ancestral lands to the Federal government: �360 Colonialism in Modern America "How can you buy or sell the sky, the warmth of the land? The idea is strange to us. . . We know that the white man does not understand our ways. One portion of the land is the same to him as the next, for he is a stranger who comes in the night and takes from the land whatever he needs. The earth is not his brother, but his enemy, and when he has conquered it he moves on. He leaves his father's graves behind; he does not care. He kidnaps the earth from his children. He treats his mother, the earth, and his brother, the sky, as things to he bought, plundered, sold like sheep or bright beads. [Emphasis mine.] He will devour the earth and leave behind only a desert. I do not know. Our ways are different from your ways. The sight of your cities pains the eyes of the red man. But perhaps it is because the red man is a savage and does not understand. . . ."^ "Some savage/' commented Clark. But if Chief Seattle could have compared notes with Marcuse, he might have better understood that when social institutions reduce men to commodities, men live only in the world of commodities—of things to be bought, sold, and used like sheep or beads or farmland. They have been deprived of the very qualities which would have enabled them to hear and understand the chief's concerns and world. In summary, the internal periphery synthesis can be extended to incorporate the concept of two cultural traditions in conflict, with the historical record indicating that the social systems of complex organizations and attendant Weltanschauung ultimately prevail It is our profound wish that it will not continue to do so, that some sense of humanistic balance and purpose can be introduced into the process of social change that inundates us. Walls concludes his paper with the assertion that the internal periphery of advanced capitalism model leads us to "socialist goals and strategies" for a presumably humanistic "movement for social change." But in adding the dimension of cultural orientation to his model, the posited struggle appears not to be �Extending the Internal Periphery Model: The Impact of Culture and Consequent Strategy 361 between the "isms" as much as between community and increasingly centralizing, mass bureaucratic definitions of reality, control of life, and planning. The wide range of application of socialist concepts—from Sweden to Stalin, China, Cuba, Algeria, and Tanzania to Cambodia—indicate that socialism can come down on either side of this dichotomy. Of course with capitalism there is no question; centralization historically has proved to be one of its major dynamics. But the history of socialism requires us to be more specific; the diversity of its historical record indicates we cannot accept it on the basis of its stated humanist objectives alone. The addition of the cultural orientation perspective to the internal periphery model requires us to begin to articulate some goals in terms of quality of life and the strategies for achieving those goals. At the same time, we can attempt to block or substantially modify proposals for the development authored by the impersonal bureaucratic structures of the advanced capitalist system that would continue the process of degradation and disintegration of Appalachian life and culture, the process that reifies human beings and human relations into things or commodities. There is a growing history of successful opposition to development schemes of both public and private agencies. In the late sixties, for example, the Upper French Broad Defense Association rallied the citizens of Western North Carolina to block a TVA project which would have flooded 11,225 acres and dislocated 600 families. In another case, articulate opposition in public hearings in Tennessee resulted in the blockage of an AMAX Coal Company plan to strip mine 10,000 acres on the Cumberland Plateau.15 These victories were won by people who changed formerly legitimizing "public hearing" rituals into real forums where some collective evaluation of proposed projects and their social costs and benefits could take place. (There have also been defeats. I am reminded of a young surveyor who literally was run out of Randolph County, West Virginia, for speaking out in a public hearing in opposition to the construction of a coal washing facility on the Cheat River.) But the point is that we have the basis of a strategy here—to force participation in policy making �362 Colonialism in Modern America into what previously have been legitimizing rituals or democratic pretense for private, elitist, and closed planning systems. Secondly, we have to see "officialdom" as people who are judged and judge themselves in terms of the functional goals of the bureaucratic structures for which they work. Their sense of self worth, their income levels, status and life chances are in good measure tied to whether their agencies get that land, build that dam, or strip that coal. We thus cannot appeal to their "better natures," because to do so implies that they commit a sort of sociological suicide and resign from their perceived organizational communities. They are in good measure beyond reach; they are Heath's robots in action. At best we can try to redefine their interests for them; more likely we will have to oppose them. Third, we should get on with the difficult process of defining the kind of life that is meaningful in the most profound sense of the term. (There is enough of the anthropologist in me to feel that we're dabbling here in a matter that extends well beyond our mental capabilities. Men like Levi-Strauss, Paul Radin and Stanley Diamond who delve into such things begin to sound like "primitive" shamans after a while—somewhat akin to Chief Seattle). But minimally and from a frankly humanistic and decentralist perspective, we can say that people should have a right to create and see the products of their creation, that they should not be separated from one another by overspecialization of task or great differentiation in wealth or status and that they should have community, a place of belonging and membership, where in collective association they can determine their future. Elements for such a Utopian vision can be found still in some "traditional" rural mountain communities, as George Hicks discovered in his study of Celo, N.C.16 Celo stands almost at the foot of Mt. Mitchell where today one finds NO PARK PLEASE bumper stickers thick as galax. �Extending the Internal Periphery Model: The Impact of Culture and Consequent Strategy 363 NOTES ^David Walls, "On the Naming of Appalachia," a paper submitted to the Appalachian Symposium honoring Gratis D. Williams, April, 1976. ^Edward Tylor, Primitive Culture (New York: 1958), I, 1. Harper and Row, ^Max Weber, The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1958), pp. 66-68. 4 H. H. Gerth and C. W. Mills, From Max Weber: Essays in Sociology (New York: Oxford University Press, 1946), pp. 196-240. ^Ferdinand Tonnies, Fundamental Concepts of Sociology (Gemeinschaft und Gesellschaft), trans. Charles P. Loomis, American Sociology Series, Kimball Young, ed. (New York: American Book Company, 1940), pp. 194-195. An excellent discussion of these concepts can be found in Fritz Pappenheim, The Alienation of Modern Man (New York: Modern Reader Paperbacks, 1959), pp. 69-77. ^Emile Durkheim, Suicide (New York: The Free Press, 1951), note especially pp. 256-259. ^C. W. Mills, The Sociological Imagination (New York, Oxford University Press, 1959), p. 171. David Reisman, Nathan Glazer, and Reuel Denny, The Lonely Crowd (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1950). Herbert Marcuse, One Dimensional Man (Boston: Beacon Press, 1968), pp. 32-33. "Karl Mannheim, Man and Society in an Age of Reconstruction (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1948). "From correspondence and conversations with Douglas Heath. His findings have recently been published in D. H. Heath, Maturity and Competence: A Transcultural View (New York: Gardner Press, 1977), pp. 177- �364 Colonialism in Modern America 178. Gaventa and Richard Couto, "Appalachia and the Third Face of Power," a paper presented at the 1976 annual meeting of the American Political Science Association, Chicago, Illinois, September, 1976. Jim Foster and Steve Robinson and Steve Fisher, "Class Consciousness and Destructive Power: A Strategy for Change in Appalachia," a paper presented at the 1977 annual meeting of the APSA, Washington, D.C., September, 1977. L. Berger and Luckmann, The Social Construction of Reality (New York: Anchor Books, 1967). * ^Robinson, Foster and Fisher, p. 1. *^See William Ryan, Blaming the Victim (New York: Vintage Books, 1972). 14 "Mike Clark, "How Can You Buy or Sell The Sky," as reprinted in The Mountain Eagle, Whitesburg, Kentucky, June 23, 1977. 15 Dave Whisnant, "The TVA Story: How Green is Your Valley." Elements. Also, see "Fact Sheet: AMAX in Tennessee, 1976," a mimeographed pamphlet jointly produced by Save Our Cumberland Mountains (SOCM) and Concerned Citizens of Piney, Spencer, Tennessee. ^George L. Hicks, Appalachian Valley (New York: Holt, Rinehart & Winston, 1976). ���in of the for and to to by the of of for Is a the are to of the In to the of ed., I. 1970. for on as et al., D. K. T. and C. a as a on 1972. iw 17. 5. 1971. for I, 0/ De™ 1974, A on C. 77:? e York, �366 Colonialism in Modern America Some of the classic works on neo-colonialism which remain important statements on the nature of colonialism and its effects on those who are colonized are suggested below. These have been very influential in the development of the research included in this reader. Frantz Fanon, Dying Colonialism, New York, Grove Press, 1967. Frantz Fanon, The Wretched of the Earth, New York, Monthly Review Press, 1967. Harry Magdoff, The Age of Imperialism, New York, Monthly Review Press, 1969. Dominique O. Mannoni, Prospero and Calabani, The Psychology of Colonization, New York, Praeger, 1956. Albert Memmi, Colonizer and the Colonized, Grossman, 1965. Kwame Nkrumah, Neo-Colonialism: Imperialism, London: Nelson, 1965. The Last Stages of Pierre Jalee, The Pillage of the Third World, New York, Monthly Review Press, 1968. Vladimir Lenin L, Imperialism: The Highest Stage of Capitalism, International Publishing Company, 1965. Those interested in more reading on the Appalachian case are referred to the notes and bibliographies included with each of the articles in the reader. In addition to the application to Appalachia, the colonialism model has been applied to other regions on sub-groups in the United States. Some of these are: Joe Persky, "The South: A Colony at Home," Southern Exposure, I, Summer/Fall, 1973, 14-22. Andre Gorz, "Colonialism at Home and Abroad/1 and Lee Webb, "Colonialism and Underdevelopment in Vermont," �Suggestions for Further Reading and Research 367 both in Liberation, 16, November, 1971, 22-29 and 29-33 respectively. Geoffrey Faux, "Colonial New England," The New Republic, 28, November, 1972, 16-19. Robert Blauner, * "Internal Colonialism and Ghetto Revolt/' Social Problems, 16, Spring, 1969. A similar application to a sub-region of Great Britain is Michael Hechter, Internal Colonialism: The Celtic Fringe in British National Development, 1936-1966, Berkeley, University of California Press, 1975. More recent analyses and reinterpretations of historical materials have relied heavily on the neo-colonial perspective. Important examples of these are: Eugene D. Genovese, Roll Jordan Roll: Slaves Made, New York, Pantheon, 1974. The World the Edwards Galeano, Open Veins of Latin America, Five Centuries of the Pillage of a Continent, Monthly Review Press, 1973. Basil Davidson, Africa in History, Macmillan, 1974. William Appleman Williams, The Roots of the Modern American Empire, Random House, 1969. Further research and continued rethinking of the model are important to provide tools for analysis of the process which affects and changes our lives. Without a clear analysis of the dynamics of the social changes which are reshaping and, in many cases, destroying peoples and cultures throughout the world, we are helpless to direct or actually participate in these changes. ��369 O th e r B o o k s Pit hed a n r D is t nh u te d b y ". . a? right good people^" by by David Artisans/Appalachia/US A y Arts and Crafts of the Cherokee, by L. Leftwich B b y C h a rl o t te T. hy of So u th ern A la ch ia, Speech, by M. Dougherty, by ttducator, J. by Down to Earth—People of Murray /• /f i71 ;;g Virgin ia s Mi Fo rc'sf s, b y K a r i n W u e r t z -S c h ae f e r s /Mo M w to i«, b y H ck Laurel Leaves, an of the by by Am berg o/ fl?e Ground, (LP by the by of the Great Smokies by Carolina Club Carolina Club 'Round the Mountains, by Sy mp o si M m o n Tro n f f to I? it a t R rcb a nd Ma me n t Pro �in Ta II Ta le s fro m Tea ch ing M S m o k y, by C. I -1 o ta in C h Ma n: To wa rds a Po u H da of Un de rs ta n by N. "That D-—d Brownlow/' a Saucy Malicious Description of William Brownlow, Knoxville Editor Stalwart Unionist, Wb o R o se fr o m a Co rife de m t e Ja il t o B e co me O n e o f t h e A1 o sf Pa m o M s Pe rs o n in t h e Na t io n, De n o u n c e i f I) y h is I: ie s a s Vic to us Harsh, Praised by his Friends as Compassionate Gentle, Revived by Steve Humphrey, a 20tb Century NewspaperFormer Associate f: if it or of the K no x mile journal, Deof the Whig. of Forestry in America, by Carl Alvvin Schcnck The by The Good Life Almanac, The Smokies Guide, by Th e S o u th ern A la c h ia n lie The in Fact Fiction, by Gratis D. by Dr. J. The To wa rd 1984: Th e Fu tu re of A Conference Proceedings Trains, Trestles & Tunnels: the la c h ia, Southern Railroads of the Southern Appalachians, by by Vo ices fro m the / , by R o J, Its a. n d Am b Its N. M to 1380, by Blackmun the Civil War, by Drs. Ina W. and John J, Noppen CATALOG ��ABOUT THE AUTHORS Often referred to as the leader of inspiration in Appalachian studies, HELEN MATTHEWS LEWIS linked scholarship with activism and encouraged deeper analysis of the region. Lewis shaped the field of Appalachian studies by emphasizing community participation and challenging traditional perceptions of the region and its people. She has served as the director of the Berea College Appalachian Center, Appalshop's Appalachian History Film Project; and the Highlander Research and Education Center. She is co-author of Mountain Sisters: From Convent to Community in Appalachia. She has retired to Abingdon, Virginia. DONALD ASKINS, an Alabama native, taught at Clinch Valley College in Wise, Virginia, before becoming the first Executive Director for the Appalachian Coalition, whose main focus was the elimination of strip mining. He is responsible for taking the aerial photographs of the mining operations in this collection in 1977 through 1979 as documentation of the effects of strip mining. Later, he pursued a criminal law and was elected Commonwealth attorney in 1991 until 2000. He retired to Clintwood, Virginia in 2000. He passed away at his home in Clintwood on March 30, 2015. LINDA JOHNSON was the co-coordinator of the Grace House Learning/ Training Center in St. Paul, Virginia. She passed away in 2002. �� Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Appalachian Consortium Press Publications Description An account of the resource This collection contains digitized monographs and collections from the Appalachian Consortium Press. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Appalachian Consortium Press Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Appalachian Consortium Press Date Issued Date of formal issuance (e.g., publication) of the resource. June 1, 2017 Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource <a title="Digital Scholarship and Initiatives" href="http://library.appstate.edu/services/digital-scholarship-and-initiatives" target="_blank">Digital Scholarship and Initiatives</a> Publication Digital Publisher Digital Republication Appalachian State University Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Colonialism in Modern America: The Appalachian Case Description An account of the resource <em>Colonialism in Modern America</em><span>&nbsp;is a series of essays exploring the economic and social problems of the region within the context of colonialism. It is a relatively simple task to document the social ills and the environmental ravage that beset the people and land of Appalachia. However, it is far more difficult and problematic to uncover the causes of these tragic conditions.</span><br /><br /><a href="https://drive.google.com/open?id=1CYRVyt8r0G3pKKBsO57lff_fyaCHuviq" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Download EPub<br /><br /></a><a title="UNC Press Link" href="https://www.uncpress.org/book/9781469642048/colonialism-in-modern-america" target="_blank" rel="noopener">UNC Press Print on Demand</a> Subject The topic of the resource Appalachian Region--Economic conditions Appalachian Region--Social conditions Colonies--Case studies Social systems Abstract A summary of the resource. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Lewis, Helen Johnson, Linda Askins, Donald Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Appalachian Consortium Press Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1978 Language A language of the resource English Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDF Essays E-books Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/deed" target="_blank" rel="noopener">https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/deed</a> Spatial Coverage Spatial characteristics of the resource. https://www.geonames.org/12212302/appalachia.html Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived <a title="UA 76 Appalachian Consortium records" href="https://appstate-speccoll.lyrasistechnology.org/repositories/2/resources/9" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener"> UA 76 Appalachian Consortium records </a> Is Part Of A related resource in which the described resource is physically or logically included. <a title="Appalachian Consortium Press Publications" href="https://omeka.library.appstate.edu/collections/show/82" target="_blank" rel="noopener"> Appalachian Consortium Press Publications</a> Temporal Coverage Temporal characteristics of the resource. 1970s Appalachia colonialism economic economics history social Social Systems https://omeka-test.library.appstate.edu/files/original/9eca48e0e4cfcdf7691dc0e897253d23.pdf ba0b050e83647554e015f8dd39dbc959 PDF Text Text �TOO FEW TOMORROWS �&J!fJ!fJ&JO&J©OV ff&J[fi) @®{ff)~®fl(lffMfJiJiJ fJJ!J'@~~ @J@@[fi)@" f}(j@fl(jifu ©&lfl@00{ff)@ Pdfl)@@fl) �TOO FEW TOMORROWS Urban Appalachians In the 1980's ~@JOa@@l IPJ'if ffJ!JiJOOOO!fJ ell" @/PJ@fl{f[liJ000@fl l§f0000&J{f[liJ l§f" ffJ!JiJOOOO!PJ®fl <@ �The Appalachian Consortium was a non-profit educational organization composed of institutions and agencies located in Southern Appalachia. From 1973 to 2004, its members published pioneering works in Appalachian studies documenting the history and cultural heritage of the region. The Appalachian Consortium Press was the first publisher devoted solely to the region and many of the works it published remain seminal in the field to this day. With funding from the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation and the National Endowment for the Humanities through the Humanities Open Book Program, Appalachian State University has published new paperback and open access digital editions of works from the Appalachian Consortium Press. www.collections.library.appstate.edu/appconsortiumbooks This work is licensed under a Creative Commons BY-NC-ND license. To view a copy of the license, visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses. Original copyright © 1987 by the Appalachian Consortium Press. ISBN (pbk.: alk. Paper): 978-1-4696-3705-1 ISBN (ebook): 978-1-4696-3707-5 Distributed by the University of North Carolina Press www.uncpress.org �THE APPALACHIAN CONSORTIUM The Appalachian Consortium is a non-profit educational organization comprised of institutions and agencies located in the Southern Highlands. Our members are volunteers who plan and execute projects which serve 156 mountain counties in seven states. Among our goals are: Preserving the cultural heritage of Southern Appalachia Protecting the mountain environment Improving the educational opportunities for area students and teachers Conducting scientific, social and economic research Promoting a positive image of Appalachia Encouraging regional cooperation THE MEMBER INSTITUTIONS OF THE APPALACHIAN CONSORTIUM ARE: Appalachian State University Blue Ridge Parkway East Tennessee State University Great Smoky Mountains Natural History Association John C. Campbell Folk School Lees-McRae College Mars Hill College Mountain Regional Library North Carolina Division of Archives and History Southern Highlands Handicraft Guild U.S. Forest Service Warren Wilson College Western Carolina University Western North Carolina Historical Society �This page intentionally left blank �TABLE OF CONTENTS PREFACE, Maureen R. Sullivan PART 1: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO ETHNIC GROUP 1 1. TOO FEW TOMORROWS, Thomas E. Wagner 3 2. A DECADE IN REVIEW: The Development of the Ethnic Model in Urban Appalachian Studies, Michael E. Maloney 13 APPALACHIANS IN MIDWESTERN CITIES: Regionalism as a Basis of Ethnic Group Formation, William W. Philliber and Phillip J. Obermiller 19 URBAN APPALACHIANS & CANADIAN MARITIME MIGRANTS: Comparative Study of Emergent Ethnicity, Martin N. Marger and Phillip J. Obermiller 23 5. LABELING URBAN APPALACHIANS, Phillip J. Obermiller 35 6. THE ETHNIC ENTREPRENEUR IN THE URBAN APPALACHIAN COMMUNITY, Sharlotte K. Neely 43 PART II: CONTINUING DEVELOPMENT AMONG APPALACHIAN MIGRANTS 49 7. MOVING ON: Recent Patterns of Appalachian Migration, Phillip J. Obermiller and Robert W. Oldendick 51 8. THE CHANGING COMPOSITION OF APPALACHIAN MIGRANTS, William W. Philliber 63 PART Ill: FROM REGIONALISM TO URBAN LIFE 67 TWO STUDIES OF APPALACHIAN CIVIC INVOLVEMENT, Phillip J. Obermiller and Robert W. Oldendick 69 3. 4. 9. 10. THE IMPACT OF THE URBAN MILIEU ON THE APPALACHIAN FAMILYTYPE,James K. Crissman. 81 11. EFFECTS OF SCHOOLS & SCHOOLING UPON APPALACHIAN CHILDREN IN CINCINNATI, Michael E. Maloney and Kathryn M. Borman. 89 12. APPALACHIAN YOUTH IN CULTURAL TRANSITION, Clyde B. McCoy and H. Virginia McCoy 99 13. BLACK APPALACHIAN MIGRANTS: The Issue of Dual Minority Status, William W. Philliber and Phillip J. Obermiller Ill CONCLUSION: The Future for Appalachians in Urban Areas, William W. Philliber 117 BIBLIOGRAPHY 123 CONTRIBUTORS 139 INDEX 141 �This page intentionally left blank �PREFACE Between 1940 and 1970 an estimated three million people left their home places in Appalachia in search of jobs. Many migrated to industrial centers in the Midwest and settled in cities like Cincinnati, Chicago, and Detroit Although they were, in a way, "just looking for a home"-a better life for themselves and their families-many did not find the promised land they sought. The fate of perhaps a third of the migrants was to become long-term dwellers in the underclass. But even for those who made it into secure blue-collar employment, the dream was not without pain. Both research and personal experience point to a socially different group of people who are struggling with questions of identity, rootlessness, and cultural negation. Research done in Northern Kentucky indicates that a sizeable number of urban Appalachians there do not regard the area as home even if they were born or long settled in Northern Kentucky communities. For them, home is a family place in the hills of Eastern Kentucky. Brenda Ann Nix, an Appalachian woman living in Northern Kentucky, writes poignantly about the experiences of her family: Marnau and Papau lived around Corbin and Pathfork, Kentucky. We never called ourselves Appalachians. Still we have things in common. I remember intense religious services. One of my uncles was a Holiness preacher who could touch snakes when he was in the Spirit. .. Mamau and Papau moved to Detroit but home remained Corbin and Pathfork. Mamau was leery of foreigners. Detroit was a strange city... You know my mom hates being called a hillbilly. She thinks it's a put down. I've known people who liked the country accent. Others looked at it as a sign of ignorance. And me-I'm still trying to understand me and my family ... Papau worked in the coal mines. Mamau just kept trusting her Bible and all the while their children felt the strain. i �As the third generation of mountain people, I feel sometimes ashamed of my background-sometimes I'm proud. Appalachians ... I've never known a tougher people. Her words address the dichotomy of being an "urban Appalachian" with its combination of pride and pain, with the constant question, "What does it mean to be who I am?" This book addresses some of the contemporary questions facing urban Appalachians. It is, I believe, the third part of a trilogy which began with The Invisible Minority: Urban Appalachians, a book which focused on migration and documented the early experiences of Appalachian migrants. Next came Appalachian Migrants in Urban America: Cultural Conflict or Ethnic Group Formation? which compared first- and second-generation Appalachians with other groups in the city. This volume continues the tradition of documenting Appalachian migration and settlement patterns by presenting current information on urban Appalachian social movements and leadership, on new trends in migration, and on social problems faced by urban Appalachians. The past decade has seen three issues dominate the study of Appalachians who have migrated to urban areas outside of the region. One of the most important of these is the context in which Appalachian migrants and their descendents are to be viewed. The most developed analogy indicates that in many ways Appalachians can best be understood as an ethnic group. Yet challenges remain suggesting that they can be better understood in the larger context of class relationships while some maintain that there is simply nothing to understand. Part I of this volume presents those developments which have led to the increasing belief that Appalachian migrants and their descendents have become an ethnic group in the urban areas where they moved. Continuing a long tradition in the study of Appalachians, the second issue documents the magnitude and characteristics of Appalachians moving from the region. This issue has become more critical in recent years as interest has focused on migration into the area to the neglect of those leaving. However, as Part II of this volume illustrates, people continue to move out of Appalachia into the urban areas of the Midwest. Part III presents findings from a lesser-developed side of research on urban Appalachians-their participation in the urban milieu. These papers document participation in politics, family, and education as well as analyzing what it is to be young and Black as an Appalachian outside of the region. 11 �PART ONE From Social Problem To Ethnic Group The past decade has witnessed a change in the framework used to study and understand people who migrated from Appalachia to urban centers in the Midwest Prior to the mid-seventies these migrants were usually seen as a social problem. Journalists and social scientists competed to see who could describe the most poignant examples of maladjustment. While the documentation of social problems was successful, serious observers began to question whether the identification of these people as Appalachians added anything to understanding their experiences. Their problems might develop because they were rural to urban migrants, because they were migrants from the South to the North, because they were of lower socioeconomic status, or just because they were migrants. It was not enough to document that people from Appalachia had problems; it was necessary to demonstrate that those problems could not be explained from other existing frameworks. In the mid-seventies people of Appalachian descent living outside the region began to be viewed as an ethnic group. The shift from social problem to ethnic group was brought about by both academic and political forces. Ethnicity was a major topic among social scientists. Models of ethnic pluralism had arisen in contrast to the assimilation model which had dominated the field for a number of years. Appalachians were included among those groups for whom an ethnic analogy was made. Politically it was useful to treat Appalachians as an ethnic group. Those groups who were recognized as such were eligible for private and public funds as well as legislative protection from discrimination. The chapters contained in this section describe the work of political organizers and social scientists in applying the ethnic analogy to people of Appalachian descent living outside the region. The Urban Appalachian Council, under the leadership of Michael Maloney, provided the political organization from which the ethnic analogy emerged. Under its auspices a group of researchers, merely asked to study Appalachians, began to make an ethnic analogy. This work went in two related directions. The first step was to determine to what extent Appalachians were an ethnic group. The second step was to try and understand the causes for such an ethnic group formation. These papers describe both the process and the results of that work. PART I: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO ETHNIC GROUP (1 �This page intentionally left blank �TOO FEW TOMORROWS According to demographers the movement of rural people to urban industrial centers continued nearly unabated for thirty years following World War II. Tradiitional port-of-entry neighborhoods in urban areas, which in years past received migrants of urban ethnic origin, were receiving centers for white rural to urban migrants. In numerous midwestern industrial centers, the greatest influx of rural to urban migrants were from the Southern Appalachian region. Estimates are that as many as seven million people permanently migrated out of the Southern Appalachian region during the 1940's, 1950's, and 1960's. Called "the great migration," this movement may be one of the most significant migrations of this century (Brown and Hillery, 1962). During the 1940's a booming war-stimulated economy attracted Appalachian migrants to Detroit, Chicago, Cincinnati, and other manufacturing cities where plenty of jobs were available for unskilled labor. The region's net population loss due to migration during the forties was 705,894 persons (Brown and Hillery, 1962:58). During the fifties, automation and the switch to natural gas as a primary fuel brought mass unemployment to the eastern Kentucky and West Virginia coal fields and 1,569,000 left the region looking for work elsewhere. During the 1960's, the push/pull of regional unemployment and the promise of work served to keep the migration stream flowing, even though at a slower rate. Between 1960 and 1970, 592,000 people migrated out of the mountains (Brown, 1971). This migration of Appalachians to midwestern cities is nearly as great as Irish and Italian immigration in the late 1800's, and is much larger than the recent migration of Asians to this country. It was a mass movement of people that has gone largely unnoticed, perhaps, in part, because the migrants were white rural people moving from one part of the United States to another. With little variation, the reasons for migrating were nearly always the same: the desire to improve one's economic status, and the knowledge of a relative PART/: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO EJHNIC GROUP (3 �living in an urban location (Hyland, 1972; Hanneling, 1969). Throughout the stories told to Gitlin and Hollander by Chicago's uptown residents, there is the consistent theme of moving north then south and then north again, depending upon economic conditions and family circumstances: "They go to Ohio, go up here to Chicago, or to Michigan or to somewhere around there because there is no work whatsoever-any real good paying jobs-in Harlan" (Gitlin and Hollander, 1970:263). Often migration in one direction or the other occurs immediately following a change in family status, a death, separation, divorce, or marriage (Gitlin and Hollander; 1970, Harmeling, 1969). Personnel officers in many northern manufacturing companies followed the common practice of filling vacancies by asking workers from the mountains to notify some of their relatives (Cincinnati Human Relations Committee, 1956). Schwarzweller, Brown, and Manglam (1971) verify the recruiting efficiency of such kinfolk messages. In some plants in Cincinnati, the number of Kentucky-born workers was reported to be as high as 50-70% of the work staff. The migratory streams were generally regional in nature, with individuals from certain areas or counties tending to move to the same northern destination. Migrants from eastern Kentucky counties came to southwestern Ohio, while those from West Virginia "headed out" for northeastern Ohio. Thus, Cincinnati, Hamilton, and Dayton, Ohio are commonly known as "Kentucky cities," while Columbus, Cleveland, and Akron are known as "West Virginia cities" (Brown, 1971). The Cincinnati metropolitan area, including the counties in north central Kentucky and southeastern Indiana, was one of tl:le primary receiving centers for Appalachian migrants from eastern Kentucky and adjacent West Virginia counties. It is estimated that over 100,000 migrants moved to the Cincinnati area during the thirty years of the "great migration." When one adds the children born to these migrants, the first and second generation Cincinnati area urban Appalachian population is estimated at over 213,000 people (Obermiller and Oldendick, 1984). In Cincinnati and other midwestern urban areas, Appalachian migrants did not find the same ethnic "melting pot" found by earlier immigrant groups. There was no migrant infrastructure, with its economic opportunities and support services of so much benefit to earlier immigrant groups, to improve the quality of urban life for Appalachians moving to the city. The plight of urban areas after World War II was one of shrinking revenues, continued urban sprawl, "white flight," and strained social services. The large influx of rural to urban migrants created additional pressures and problems for urban social welfare, educational, health, and justice systems. As a result, urban Appalachians, as they came to be called, were largely ignored and misunderstood by city residents and service agencies. In some instances, the neglect was made worse by prejudicial actions toward the "hillbillies," "ridge runners," and "briar hoppers." In Cincinnati, the response to this neglect was the formation of a coalition of individuals from diverse backgrounds and with an uncommon commitment to bring about improvements in the quality of life of the city's urban Appalachians. The primary objective of this paper is to trace the development of the Appalachian avocacy organizations which emerged within the migrant community. Although ad hoc groups came together in some other midwestern cities to work on behalf of migrant Appalachians, it is the Urban Appa-lachian Council of 4) PART I: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO ETHNIC GROUP �Cincinnati, its forerunners and affiliate groups, that is synonymous with the "urban Appalachian movement." One can only be impressed by the gains and accomplishments of this organization on behalf of urban Appalachians particularly, in the Cincinnati metropolitan area. The history of the urban Appalachian movement in Cincinnati goes back to the early 1950's. A fairly large group of individuals and agencies including the Mayor's Friendly Relations Committee-the predecessor of the Cincinnati Human Relations Commission-Berea College and the Council of Southern Mountains developed an interest in the problems caused by mountain-to-urban migration. Virginia Coffey, former Director of the Cincinnati Human Relations Commission described the early days as follows: The Cincinnati Urban Appalachian Council is a reality today because of the foresight, interest, and determination of a few individuals. Back in 1948-49 Marshall Brogdon, then Executive Director of the Mayor's Friendly Relations Committee and I, the Assistant Director, were the city's lone human relations professionals. In carrying out our job to ensure justice, racial and religious freedom and equality for all citizens of Cincinnati, it soon became apparent that adjustment problems facing Black migrants from the rural South were similarly common to Appalachian migrants from the hills of Virginia, Kentucky, and Tennessee. While making this city aware of discrimination and unequal treatment to its Black minority, we also felt compelled to call attention to the plight of urban Appalachian migrants. (Mountain Life and Work, 1976:19) Marshall Bragdon, in addition to his duties as Director of the Mayor's Friendly Relations Commission, served on the Executive Committee of the Council of Southern Mountains, located in Berea, KY, where he developed a lasting friendship with Perley Ayer, the charismatic leader of the Council. Bragdon's intense interest in the migration of Appalachian people brought early solid linkages between the mountains and the city. Virginia Coffey, Assistant Director under Bragdon and later Director, organized many local efforts to aid migrants, and began to build a constituency of concern among a wide range of the city's citizens. The Mayor's Friendly Relations Committee's commitment went well beyond expressing verbal concern. They sponsored several workshops, the first in April, 1954, where the keynote speaker was Roscoe Giffin, a professor from Berea College. The workshop was based on several assumptions: 1. The heavy migmtion from the hills will continue; 2. The newcomers' urban adjustment is vital to the city; 3. Too many make a poor adjustment: agencies and institutions don't know how to help the migrants; 4. Active intercultural study of this problem would yield facts, insights, and techniques of pmctical value; and 5. De-stereotyping the city man's and urban agencies' views of, and attitudes towards hillfolks is a vital first step in affecting PART 1: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO ETHNIC GROUP (5 �migrants' view and behavior (Cincinnati Human Relations Commission, 1956). It is interesting to note that these objectives are similar to the objectives of the Appalachian Committee, established in 1972 by Frank Foster, Louise Spiegel, Stuart Faber, Mike Maloney, and others with the support of the Cincinnati Human Relations Commission. There was a great deal of activity in Cincinnati following the 1954 workshop. An Episcopalian "ministry to mountaineers" began in 1955 and the Emanuel Community Center developed services to "hill families" funded by a grant from the Appalachian Fund. The Emanuel Community Center program resulted from the efforts of Ray Drukker, the Executive Director of the Appalachian Fund, Inc. Drukker began efforts to develop a Cincinnati program after he read a series of articles about the problems encountered by Appalachian migrants in the Cincinnati Enquirer. In 1959, a team of eleven Cincinnatians representing the public schools, social services, police, and churches participated with teams from seven other cities in a three-week workshop at Berea College sponsored by the Council of Southern Mountains and led by Perley Ayer. Each team member was required to develop materials and educational programs for city agencies and services in support of Appalachian migrants in greater Cincinnati. These activities seemed promising, and by 1960 Marshall Bragdon was able to write, "The future looks fruitful. Yes, much has happened since 1954" (Cincinnati Human Relations Commission, 1956:2). During the 1960's, a small cadre of committed individuals continued to work diligently on behalf of Appalachians in Cincinnati. Among this group was Stuart Faber, a trustee of the Appalachian Fund, and President of the Council of Southern Mountains; Louise Spiegel, a volunteer at the Mayor's Friendly Relations Committee, who helped coordinate many conferences and to consolidate membership of the early organizations; Frank Foster, a former college president who had retired to Cincinnati; and Ernie Mynatt, an outreach social worker at Emanuel Community Center. Under the leadership of Stuart Faber, the Appalachian Fund provided a grant to the Emanuel Community Center to hire a social worker to work in the Overthe-Rhine area as a "detached" social worker providing services to Appalachians. After limited success by two different workers, the Center hired Ernie Mynatt. The Council of the Southern Mountains formally commissioned Mynatt's work by presenting him a "certificate" signed by Perley Ayer. In 1964, the Cincinnati Archdiocese provided funding for the establishment of the Main Street Bible Center directed by Father John Porter and Sister Shirley Gallahan. Shortly thereafter, Mike Maloney, a young migrant mountaineer, started working at the HUB Social Services Center, a multi-service social welfare agency in the Over-the-Rhine. The primary energy for the Bible Center effort came from dozens of young volunteers, mostly Roman Catholic seminarians and nuns or former nuns and seminarians. The Bible Center and Old St. Mary's Catholic Church in Over-the-Rhine became the base of operations for this small army of volunteers who did door-to-door home visiting and conducted recreation activities and Bible classes for children 6) PART I: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO ETHNIC GROUP �and teens. Some of the volunteers lived in tenement apartments in the manner of a previous generation of settlement house workers. With this corps of inner-city volunteers and the support of the Archdiocese and Virginia Coffey, who during this period was Director of Memorial Community Center, Ernie Mynatt was able to begin support services directly aimed at the Appalachian migrants and displaced Blacks from Cincinnati's West End urban renewal areas. Many of the Bible Center volunteers became community organizers, social workers, and teachers in the inner city and continued to work on behalf of Appalachian migrants in these roles. "The Hub" (not an acronym originally) was opened in 1966 as a branch of Memorial Community Center. It was a storefront social service agency staffed by professional as well as indigenous workers including migrants from eastern Kentucky. In 1968, HUB Services was funded as one of fourteen Pilot Cities Centers, the predecessor program to Model Cities. It was not long before a coalition formed between Mynatt, Maloney, and others working out of the Emanuel Center, HUB Services, and Main Street Bible Center. This loose coalition made its first attempt at organization in 1969 when Maloney and Mynatt formed the United Appalachians of Cincinnati (UAC). The organization was organized to "promote the self-awareness and self-activity of the Appalachian people in Cincinnati, to encourage our urban institutions, respond to the needs and interest of Appalachians, and to show the community-at-large the power and beauty of our culture" (Maloney, unpublished). Membership in the United Appalachians of Cincinnati was accomplished by joining the Council of the Southern Mountains. By-laws were drawn up and about fifty individuals were listed as members of the organization. The group disbanded when Mike Maloney left Cincinnati to attend graduate school in North Carolina. However, Frank Foster, Louise Spiegel, and Stuart Faber kept the coalition together by calling periodic meetings of an "Appalachian Committee," an organization open to anyone who was willing to attend the meetings. The movement was at a crucial but formative stage and a number of individuals who would later provide important voluntary support for the Urban Appalachian Council were recruited into the movement. In 1970 Ernie Mynatt received a grant from the Appalachian Fund and opened the Appalachian Identity Center. Its importance was that it was the first support and advocacy program anywhere in the midwest run by urban Appalachians themselves. Ernie Mynatt directed the Center while continuing his work as a detached social worker on the streets in Over-the-Rhine. The youth attending the Appalachian Identity Center formed the Sons ~nd Daughters of Appalachia, an organization to raise consciousness and provide service to urban Appalachians living in Over-the-Rhine. The "Appalachian Committee" led by Frank Foster continued to meet, and in the Fall of 1972 became a subcommittee of the Cincinnati Human Relations Commission. At the same time, Louise Spiegel formed an Appalachian research committee, also under the sponsorship of the Cincinnati Human Relations Commission. Mike Maloney, having completed his studies, returned to Cincinnati and was hired by the Cincinnati Human Relations Commission with support from the PART I: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO EFHNIC GROUP (7 �Appalachian Fund to staff the Appalachian Committee of the Cincinnati Human Relations Commission. In December, 1972 the Appalachian Committee opened an outreach office on Vine Street just at the southern edge of the Over-the-Rhine neighborhood. Katie Brown became the first volunteer worker for the committee. Serving as secretary several days a week, she was instrumental in developing the Appalachian Committee's library and in forming a Miner's Benefit Program. Seemingly unrelated, but of equal importance, was the city's first Appalachian Festival, sponsored in 1972 by the Junior League of Cincinnati under the leadership of Diane Williams. The Appalachian Festival grew to become a major Appalachian cultural activity. Funds generated by the Festival have supported many activities on behalf of urban Appalachians. In the spring of 1973 the Heritage Room was founded by the Appalachian Committee at Washington Park School and in the summer the first urban Appalachian women's organization, the Appalachian Women's Organization was formed. Through the efforts of Mike Maloney, the City of Cincinnati agreed to include Appalachians in its Affirmative Action policy statement. This was an important accomplishment since it was the first official recognition of Appalachians as a legitimate minority population. By early 1974, the Appalachian Committee had grown in size and influence to the point where it could stand as an independent organization. In February, the Committee assumed the charter of the Appalachian Identity Center, expanded its Board membership, and became the Urban Appalachian Council (UAC). The new organization continued to carry out the programs developed by the Appalachian Committee and the Identity Center. Initial financial support came from the Cincinnati Human Relations Commission, the Appalachian Fund, the Greater Cincinnati Foundation, and the Community Commitment Foundation. The objectives of the Urban Appalachian Council were to: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. establish a program of research to document the needs and problems of Appalachians in Cincinnati and the gaps in services and other resources; formalize a structure for helping urban professional workers to become more sensitive to the needs of Appalachians; use documented evidence and other resources to urge policymaking officials and administrators to make changes in their programs in order to better serve Appalachians and others; improve the urban migrants' self-image and to attack stereotypes by establishing programs to help Appalachians establish their culture; promote efforts to organize Appalachian neighborhoods; establish a resource center which would make both cultural and social planning information on mountain migrants accessible; and establish programs at local universities that would make university resources and greater community resources available to Appalachians and other people on campus (Urban Appalachian Council, 1979). The mid-1970's must be considered a period of great success and accomplishment 8) PART 1: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO ETHNIC GROUP �for the urban Appalachian movement. UAC Executive Director Mike Maloney published the Social Areas of Cincinnati Report in 1974, which had significant influence on the planning done by human service agencies in Cincinnati (Maloney 1974). A new Appalachian Heritage Room designed to serve the community was established across the street from Washington Park School. Under the sponsorship of the Battelle Institute, the first national research conference on urban Appalachians was held in Columbus, Ohio. In 1975, the Appalachian Community Development Association was formed to assume "community control" of the Appalachian Festival. In July, 1975, the first of three summer institutes on urban Appalachians co-sponsored by the University of Cincinnati and UAC was funded by the Ohio Board of Regents. Also in the summer of 1975, Larry Reddin was hired as the first UAC worker to work in the Camp Washington and Northside neighborhoods. The following year, Mountain Life and Work (1976) devoted a special issue to urban Appalachians by highlighting the work of UAC. By 1976, the Urban Appalachian Council had become a full-fledged service and advocacy agency for Appalachians in Cincinnati. The Cincinnati Human Relations Commission had ceased providing financial support for the Director's salary, and UAC developed a purchase of services agreement with the Cincinnati Community Chest. The Council also started to diversify its efforts by extending its focus to several neighborhoods in addition to Over-the-Rhine. Although the attempts at community organizing outside of the Over-the-Rhine area were a natural step in the progress of the UAC, the efforts caused clouds on the horizon that foretold the storm that was coming. Expansion of the urban Appalachian movement caused two issues to arise. One was related to an original goal of the United Appalachians of Cincinnati, "to promote the self-awareness and self-identity" of Appalachians in Cincinnati. This identity model was central to the history and philosophy of the urban Appalachian movement. Many people involved in the work in the 1960's had been trained by Ernie Mynatt. Many of the early activities were supported or not supported, based on whether they were consistent with Mynatt's philosophy and methods. Several people believed the identity model, which was the basis for the Appalachian Identity Center, would not work in other communities. A second critical issue was how to involve new people, particularly non-Appalachians, in the movement. How could the newcomers share the early vision and appreciate the history of the urban Appalachian movement? How could the movement open itself to new concerns and maintain its original core of beliefs and philosophies? The community organizing projects continued to expand as programs were developed and implemented in the communities of South Fairmont and Norwood. In late 1976 and early 1977, the Council received substantial new funds and staff members through an LEAA Grant for Youth Service Training, CETA, and VISTA Programs. Further, UAC and the urban Appalachian movement in Cincinnati were growing in fame and reputation. Executive Director Mike Maloney carried the urban Appalachian concerns to the national level by testifying before a Federal Task Force. This was the first federal recognition of the urban Appalachian movement. Visits to Washington would become a regular activity for the Executive Director and staff of UAC as federal agencies and the Executive branch began to show interest in and PART I: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO ETHNIC GROUP (9 �support of the urban Appalachian movement. The overall strength and influence of the organization was demonstrated by the lay role UAC played in the formation of the Inner City Neighborhood Coalition. The Coalition was successful in overturning the City of Cincinnati's "triage" policy which would have withheld support and services to "dying" inner city neighborhoods. Despite the important accomplishments of the past several years and the promise of even greater achievement on behalf of urban Appalachians, the period from 1977 to 1982 was marked by internal organizational turmoil and strife. The growing rift between the community organizing and identity model proponents was compounded by the phenomenal growth of the staff and the involvement of a number of new individuals attracted to the movement. A second split involved the middle class professional Appalachians who wished to support the UAC and grassroots community residents. This "class" struggle was further exacerbated by an ideological difference between "those on the left and those on the right politically." The differences in philosophy, political views, and the organizational growing pains prompted the Executive Director to hire a consultant to bring harmony, a sense of direction and common commitment back to the movement. Even so, 1977 ended with the South Fairmont and Norwood Neighborhood organizations moving to become autonomous urban Appalachian organizations. The consultant's efforts resulted in the development and adoption of a new Long Range Plan for UAC. In adopting the new plan, the UAC Board announced that the original objectives of the Appalachian Committee had been achieved and that new directions were called for to benefit Appalachian migrants throughout the Midwest (Urban Appalachian Council, 1979). The turmoil did not subside and 1978 came to be known as the "year of the conflict." Disputes over ideology and organizational philosophy resulted in the resignation of several key staff and board members over the next two years. Some of these individuals had been a part of the movement since the old coalition preceding the formation of the Urban Appalachian Council. Several continued their work on behalf of urban Appalachians by supporting the Appalachian Festival and serving on the Appalachian Community Development Association Board of Trustees. Others left to take up new endeavors. Even with the turmoil, UAC continued to sponsor programs and extend successful efforts on behalf of Appalachian migrants. A Career Education Program was funded by CETA, a Drug Education Program was implemented, and the Urban Appalachian movement achieved recognition as a viable social movement supported by a number of agencies and organizations at the federal, state and local levels. In 1981, two major books on urban Appalachians, both the outgrowth of UAC research efforts, were published. (Philliber and McCoy, 1981; Philliber, 1981). By 1982, however, the internal dissention and fluctuating patterns of the funding brought the organization to near collapse. The CETA and VISTA grants had been reduced and the Community Chest was threatening to discontinue its support. Mike Maloney resigned as Executive Director, along with several board members. The individual hired to replace Maloney did not complete a probationary period and was replaced by Maureen Sullivan, a former president of the UCA Board. Shortly after Sullivan's appointment, the board decided to end all CET NJTP A funding. At the same time, although unrelated to the problems, the Identity Center was closed. The 1983 to 1985 period is one characterized as a return to "original values." 10) PART!: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO EfHNIC GROUP �Under Sullivan, the board and staff were reorganized and attempts were made to reestablish several programs. Ties were developed with community schools in urban Appalachian communities and a Client Advocate program begun. The reorganized UAC had regained credibility in the community and the Community Chest and City Council moved to reinstate funding. The Urban Appalachian Council serves today as the centerpiece of an organizational network that includes several "storefront" educational centers, neighborhoodbased social service centers, and two inner-city identity centers. In cooperation with the Urban Office of the Appalachian People's Service Organization and a community organizing agency called Working in Neighborhoods, the Urban Appalachian Council sponsors the Appalachian Issues Network, a coalition of five low-income Appalachian neighborhoods. Through its Frank Foster Library on Appalachian Migrants and its staff and volunteer resources, UAC sponsors or supports a broad variety of cultural activities, such as neighborhood festivals and workshops for teachers, church leaders, and all types of professional workers. UAC maintains ties with other rural and urban Appalachian organizations through its relationship with such organizations as the Appalachian Development Projects Assembly of the Commission on Religion in Appalachia, the Council of the Southern Mountains, and the Appalachian Alliance. Perhaps the greatest success of the urban Appalachian identity movement spearheaded by UAC is illustrated by this volume. UAC Research Committee members or former members have participated in the Appalachian Studies Conference and in conferences in the various disciplines, such as regional and national conferences of sociologists and anthropologists. UAC's research and cultural activities have made Cincinnati a major center of the larger Appalachian movement. Its success in empowering of the poor through community organization and in developing a positive Appalachian identity has, to a certain extent, been replicated in other Ohio cities such as Dayton, Hamilton, Columbus, and Cleveland. Dayton, Ohio is the second most important center of Appalachian cultural and political activity. Our Common Heritage (OCH) was founded in Dayton as The Kentucky Mountain Club. Our Common Heritage, like UAC, has sponsored citywide cultural events, has been effective in advocacy, and has multiplied its efforts through spinoff organizations and influence on other agencies. Partially through the efforts of OCH, Dayton has also become a major center of Appalachian culture. Much of that cultural activi~y is promoted by OCH "spinoffs," the 1500-member OhioKentucky-Indiana Bluegrass Association and City Folk, a multi-ethnic arts organization. The Hamilton (Ohio) Appalachian People's Service Organization (HAPSO) owns its own building and operates a program of community organization, advocacy, cultural affirmation, and service, primarily in the North End. HAPSO received national press covemge for its successful efforts to force cleanup of the Chem-Dyne industrial site, a major hazardous waste site in the middle of the city. Like UAC and OCH, HAPSO also sponsors cultuml programs such as arts and crafts festivals. In Columbus, Ohio, the Central Ohio Appalachian Council flourished briefly around 1976 and 1977. It failed through the inability of initial leadership, primarily professional, to agree on goals and methods, and its demise was a severe setback to PART 1: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO ETHNIC GROUP (11 �UAC's effort to promote a statewide network. While it functioned, this organization illustrated the importance of having an organization in the state capitol. The initiative for legislative action to form an Ohio State Appalachian Commission came from the Central Ohio group. From about 1970 to 1972, Appalachians in Cleveland were organized by the Appalachian Action Council, which helped establish the first urban Appalachian library. It folded when its leaders withdrew because they felt that United Way and university-based professionals had taken over the organization. When one reviews the thirty-year history of the urban Appalachian movement, one cannot but be impressed. Appalachians in Cincinnati, with the help of many allies, successfully organized an urban social movement which has become a positive force in the life of the Greater Cincinnati community. The movement has a significant record of accomplishment and there has been a true gain in the quality of life for many Appalachian migrants living in Cincinnati and other urban areas. But at the same time there is a nagging sense of work undone, and that there are too few tomorrows left in which to do it. There is a need to renew efforts and restore to the movement the commitment of the individuals who worked so diligently in the 1950's, 1960's and 1970's. In many urban neighborhoods, Appalachian migrants continue to be displaced persons. Their children, having lost faith in themselves and respect for their heritage, are seeking a life in the streets. Honesty, independence, pride, and a sense of place, the essence of Appalachian heritage, are being lost to the hard, grabwhat-you-can, values of the city. By the turn of the century, another generation of urban Appalachians will have grown up in the streets resenting their heritage and the city that destroyed it. Perhaps their ability to survive in the urban community will be greater than their parents', but they will have paid a high price. They will have lost their heritage; a loss that affects all of society. 12) PART 1: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO EfHNIC GROUP �A DECADE IN REVIEW The Development of the Ethnic Model in Urban Appalachian Studies The purpose of this paper is to review the principal developments in research relating to urban Appalachians since 1974, when the first national conference on urban Appalachians was held in Columbus, Ohio. In the spring of 1974 a national conference on urban Appalachians was sponsored by the Academy for Contemporary Problems in Columbus, Ohio. The primary purpose of that conference was to bring together and focus the existing body of information on urban Appalachians. Grace Leybourne and Roscoe Giffin had done early research in Cincinnati, and James Brown of the University of Kentucky had collected facts and developed a theory concerning "the Great Migration." In 1971, Brown and his associates had published the landmark Mountain Families in Transition. Clyde McCoy, Gary Fowler, Larry Morgan, Brady Deaton, Kurt Anschell, and other students and colleagues of Brown's published research regarding Appalachian migration and adjustment. In a project commissioned by the Office of Economic Opportunity, Abt Associates had published its findings on the causes of rural-to-urban migration among the poor. Robert Coles had written vivid descriptions of Appalachian migrants in The South Goes North. Griffm and Hollander had published Uptown: Poor Whites in Chicago. Mountain Life and Work and People's Appalachia had published special issues on urban Appalachians. From the Appalachian Committee office and the Cincinnati Human Relations Commission came The Social Areas of Cincinnati, which introduced the neighborhood and census tract as units of analysis to students of urban Appalachians. Thomas Wagner's dissertation study focused on the plight of Appalachians in the public schools. Staff members of the Urban Appalachian Council and faculty members from the University of Cincinnati and Northern Kentucky University began a series of working papers, which focused on school and neighborhood issues or analyzed special census-bureau data on 1965-1970 migrants to the Cincinnati metropolitan area. PART 1: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO EfHNIC GROUP ( 13 �Much of this work (and some not mentioned here) is summarized in The Invisible Mirwrity, which grew out of the Columbus conference. In the concluding chapter of The Invisible Mirwrity, this author summarized the state of knowledge in 1974 and the need for further research as follows: The conclusion is that we still do not know all that we need to know. Most of our data in these studies are based on surveys of recent migrants. The peak period of Appalachian migration was the 1940's and the early 1950's. We still lack a comprehensive survey that includes the people who migrated before 1955 and their descendants. I am convinced that when such data become available, they will show that a large percentage of first- and second-generation Appalachians still live in central-city lowstatus areas and that, in some cases, the status of the second generation will be lower than that of the first generation. Another important characteristic of the needed studies should be that they compare Appalachians to other groups. A base of information is being developed for instance, showing that the status of Cincinnati's white Appalachian population is comparable to that of the black population. (Maloney, 1981:171) Another challenge to future research was posed in Phillip Obermiller's article in The Invisible Mirwrity: We must begin to look at Appalachian success patterns and social competence, and not just the social disorganization that is present within some segments of the Appalachian community. . .We should begin therefore to examine those instances in which the system has been exploited by Appalachians, and look for patterns of success which can be reinforced by policy and planning decisions. Research. . . should take into consideration the concept of neighborhood ... Information is urgently needed on the present situation of the Appalachian family. (Obermiller, 1981:18) In their article "Stereotypes of Appalachian Migrants," McCoy and Watkins, (1981) issue a similar call to rid ourselves of "an unbalanced and distorted image," which emphasizes the evils of the city and projects a view of all Appalachian migrants as "maladjusted and malcontented." They suggest that research be directed toward replacing these "mythical" images with facts and role models that permit the development of a positive Appalachian identity. We can summarize the concern of the contributors to The Invisible Mirwrity in this way: that exclusive focus on the social problems of urban Appalachians would lead to blaming the victim and to policies and plans that ignore the self-help capacity of family, church, and neighborhood, and to continued projection onto Appalachians and others of a negative image lacking in positive role models. In the opposite direction, some contributors were concerned that continued reliance on census data on recent migrants would paint such a rosy picture that the realities of poverty and related social conditions would be ignored. 14) PARI 1: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO ETHNIC GROUP �The Development of Urban Appalachian Research: 1975-1984 Urban Appalachian research responded, at least in part, to the challenges issued in The Invisible Minority. Multigenerational research has been conducted in Cincinnati, though not in other cities. Researchers and practitioners have been ·more careful to emphasize the achievements of the majority of Appalachians, who are employed and have a relatively stable family and community life. Research on the family, neighborhood, church, and other social institutions has made steady progress though few ethnographies have been produced. Research and popular writing oriented toward positive Appalachian identity and role models is very limited. An annotated bibliography of research on urban Appalachians distributed by the Urban Appalachian Council enables us to make some generalizations about the scope and extent of research during the past decade. Of a total of 172 entries in the UAC bibliography, 77 have publication dates later than March 1974. These include two hardbound books and several articles in hardbound anthologies, several softbound books, nine Ph.D. dissertations, one Congressional report, several special issues of magazines, and a broad array of working papers, research bulletins, and other types of publication. Although more publications still focus on Cincinnati than on any other city, the geographic range is gradually broadening. Studies now exist that focus on Northern Kentucky, Clermont County, Hamilton, Dayton, Columbus, Akron, Cleveland, Toledo, Chicago, Lexington, and Baltimore. The topics covered include various aspects of migration (6), culture (6), education (8), family (3), neighborhood (3), women (4), policy (4), health (3), religion (3), stereotypes (3), ethnicity (8), poverty (3), housing (1), the elderly (1), youth (1), black Appalachians (2), and demographic studies (9). These classifications are somewhat misleading; more than six publications focused on culture, for example, but some are not counted because they have some other primary classification. Even so, these statistics indicate some general trends. Demographic studies, ethnicity, education, migration, and culture received more attention than housing, youth, and the elderly. Women's studies are emerging, and return migration is still a relatively undeveloped field of study. The First Multigenerational Study In 1975 the Cincinnati Area Project completed the first multigenerational survey research on urban Appalachians. In the succeeding nine years, the Urban Appalachian Council has made substantial use of the results of this study in its advocacy work. Since 1981, the full study has been available in a hardbound book, Appalachian Migrants in Urban America, by William Philliber. Philliber's study provided answers to a broad array of questions, and in doing so it compared first- with second-generation Appalachians and white Appalachians with blacks, white natives, and migrants from other areas. The results addressed those who were concerned about the perpetuation of the poverty stereotype as well as those who were concerned that the realities of poverty, socioeconomic status, and individual and community health were underplayed. PART 1: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO El'HNIC GROUP ( 15 �The true picture was mixed. As this author had predicted, the Philliber study showed a substantial rate of downward mobility among second-generation Appalachians. The study also concluded that social participation tended to be limited to labor unions, that most Appalachians in Hamilton County were employed in semiskilled or unskilled jobs, and that Appalachians lagged behind white native Cincinnatians in educational and occupational attainments. Philliber concluded that Appalachians have low levels of attainment in education, occupation, and income not because their cultural values and family structure are unadaptable to the urban environment, but because they belong to families of lower socioeconomic status, come from rural areas, and value traditionalism, all of which result in fewer years of educational attainment. Fewer years of education combined with lower (SES) family origins and rural backgrounds, in turn result in lower occupational attainment plus the fact that wives are less likely to participate in the labor force result in lower family income. (Philliber, 1981:87) Philliber challenges the poverty stereotype and the victim-blaming approach with his conclusion that Appalachians are heavily suburbanized and that their values are not radically different from other groups. His research has effectively countered the belief that all Appalachians are clustered in inner-city "ports of entry" and are trapped in a cultural system that causes failure. In opposition to the welfare-malingerer stereotype, he found that only 20 percent of the sample were currently on welfare and that 55 percent had never received welfare. In the area of physical and mental health Philliber found that Appalachians suffer more from family difficulties and personal stress than other white groups. He also found that Appalachians, unlike blacks, have a tendency to blame themselves rather than society for their problems. Appalachians as an Urban Ethnic Group In answer to the question, "Are Appalachians in Cincinnati an ethnic group?," Philliber concluded that Appalachians are an ethnic group in Cincinnati; they meet seven of eight major criteria for being considered an ethnic group, and lack only a unique culture. He proposes a theory that attributes to the way they have been stereotyped and denied opportunnity for advancement. Phillip Obermiller's contribution to the question of urban Appalachians as an ethnic group began with an article in Appalachian Journal (5:1, Autumn, 1977). He reviewed various definitions of ethnicity and various authors' views of Appalachian ethnicity. Obermiller concluded that there is a case, though inconclusive, for considering urban Appalachians an ethnic group. His subsequent research has tended to emphasize class over ethnicity. One of the studies reviewed in Obermiller's 1977 article was conducted by Tommie Miller (1976) among Appalachians and non-Appalachians in Norwood, Ohio. Like Philliber's 1975 study, the Miller study included first- and second-generation Appalachians. Miller concluded that others' identification of Appalachians as an ethnic group was stronger than Appalachian self-identification. Obermiller asked whether 16) PART 1: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO EfHNIC GROUP �standard sociological techniques were adequate to address the question, and both Miller and Philliber stressed the need for further study. Obermiller called for the use of both value-expressive and psychological indicators in such research (Obermiller, 1981:1718). Martin Marger (1981) offers an implicit explanation of why the question of Appalachian ethnicity has received more attention in urban than in rural Appalachian studies. "... Ethnic group formation in the United States and other modem societies is a uniquely urban phenomenon (emphasis ours), particularly as a result of voluntary migration." Marger's central concept is that ethnicity is an "emergent" phenomenon. It can take various forms, can be created deliberately under certain ecological and political conditions, and can be weak or strong. Ethnicity, he believes, can be strong in some members of the group and weak in others. There is no clearcut path to ethnicity but the changing political and ecological forces best explain Appalachian ethnicity and will provide the sources of its political evolution. If Marger is correct, we should not conclude summarily that urban Appalachians are ethnic or not ethnic; rather, we should ask whether they are in the process of becoming an ethnic group and, if so, in what individuals or subgroups this movement is most advanced. For urban Appalachian scholars, the question of ethnicity amounts to this: What conceptual framework do we use in studying urban Appalachians: ethnicity, race, or class? The concept of "poor whites" implies both race and class, while the concept of "working class" could imply an approach across racial and ethnic lines. The concept of "Appalachian" ethnicity has been used for a combination of pragmatic and philosophical reasons too complex to discuss here, and the concept of "minority group" has also been used by Appalachian advocates. Unfortunately, the idea of minority-group status is often confused by the question of ethnicity. The developments in research described in this paper have taken place, for the most part, without major government or foundation support. The scholars, practitioners, and community volunteers who have conducted efforts with and for urban Appalachians are to be commended for their hard work and creativity during the past decade. They have shown how scholarship and social practice can be linked in efforts to document the needs of a minority group and to develop programs to meet some of those needs. PART 1: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO EfHNIC GROUP ( 17 �This page intentionally left blank �APPALACHIANS IN MIDWESTERN CITIES: Regionalism as a Basis of Ethnic Group Formation The purpose of this paper is to analyze the experiences of Appalachian Evidence from a migrants from the perspective of political economy theory. number of studies conducted over the past few years will be brought together to demonstrate the ability of this approach to recognize the emergence of Appalachians as an ethnic group in Midwestern cities. Political economy theories see ethnic groups forming as a reaction to discrimination from more powerful groups. When the supply of the labor force exceeds the supply of available jobs, competition for those jobs is inevitable. The more the supply of labor exceeds the supply of jobs, the greater that competition will be. In order to reduce the competition to their own advantage, more powerful groups seek to establish discrimination against less powerful groups. Discrimination ensures that members of the dominant group will be first in the choice to fill available jobs. Members of groups discriminated against fill less desirable jobs or become unemployed when the supply of jobs is exhausted. A collection of people who are labeled by others as members of a common group and discriminated against because of that identification begin to identify with one another and to develop patterns of interrelationships and behaviors which are the distinguishing marks of ethnic groups (Bonacich, 1972; Hechter, 1974; Philliber, 1981). Between 1950 and 1970 a net shift of more than three million people left the Appalachian region, most moving to cities in the Midwest (McCoy and Brown, 1981). During this period large numbers of southern blacks migrated to those same cities. But the industrial base in the region receiving large numbers of migrants had already begun to decline. The native population faced increased competition with one another because of the declining growth in jobs and further pressure from Appalachians and Southern blacks entering the Midwest in search of jobs. The situation was conducive to discrimination against Appalachians whose reaction would result in the development of a new dhnic group. PART 1: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO ETHNIC GROUP (19 �Among the early attempts to document discrimination against Appalachian migrants was McCoy and Watkins' (1981) collection of ethnic jokes told about Appalachians in Midwestern cities. Ethnic jokes imply some negative feature about members of a group, i.e. they are seen as lazy, ignorant, shiftless, uncultured, or what have you. Jokes function to spread stereotypes and to reinforce them by emphasizing negative images about the group in question. McCoy and Watkins were able to demonstrate that Appalachians are frequently the target of ethnic jokes which are well known and often repeated among the native population in the receiving cities. Politicians and celebrities alike feel free to engage in such humor to obtain a favorable reaction from native audiences. It would appear that the number of ethnic jokes is limited since the jokes told about Appalachians are told about other ethnic groups as well. Members of dominant groups merely change the butt of the joke to whichever group they are in competition with. The humor of the dominant groups where Appalachians migrated thus establishes and supports images about the unsuitability or inherent inferiority of Appalachians. Obermiller (1982) documents the extent and nature of labeling of Appalachian migrants. He finds that the strongest negative images of Appalachians are held by middle class persons of Appalachian origin and by working class whites who are not from Appalachia. The strong negative images of Appalachians held by higher class persons of Appalachian origin suggest that many Appalachians who obtain higher status pass into the mainstream and reject an Appalachian identity. To be identified as an Appalachian could make them vulnerable to discrimination threatening the loss of their middle class status. They may maintain some interest in Appalachian artifacts by doing such things as attending festivals or collecting quilts, but they take care to separate themselves from the type of people about whom ethnic jokes are told. Working class whites who are not from Appalachia are in most direct competition with Appalachian migrants for jobs and income, and therefore stand to benefit most from discrimination against Appalachians. For that reason, they also express strong anti-Appalachian sentiment. That discrimination results against Appalachians in Midwestern cities is documented in Philliber's (1981) study of the socioeconomic attainment process of Appalachians in Cincinnati. Appalachians who had college educations and came from middle class homes did as well in the competition for jobs and income as did others. However, Appalachians without those resources did less well than either natives to the area or migrants from other places. Discrimination against Appalachians in the working class was fairly intense. College education is a scarce resource in an industrialized society; those who obtain it are often able to convert it into jobs and income irrespective of their place of origin. Those without college educations (which includes almost all Appalachians livirig in the Midwest) must compete for those jobs which remain. Philliber's data indicate that the best of those jobs go to white natives or to non-Appalachian migrants with Appalachians hired next. Whatever jobs remain are then available to blacks. When the key indicators of educational attainment, occupational status, and income are combined to form a socioeconomic index for residents in the Cincinnati area, the situation of highly stereotyped cultural and racial minorities becomes clear. Important differences exist between non-Appalachian whites, Appa20) PART 1: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO ETHNIC GROUP �lachians, and blacks in both the high status and the low status categories. Appalachians are almost twice as likely and blacks are over three times as likely to be of low socioeconomic status than are non-Appalachian whites. Conversely, close to half of the non-Appalachian whites are of high socioeconomic status while the same is true of less than a third of the Appalachians and only a fifth of the blacks. It is clear that in terms of schooling, work, and earnings blacks are much worse off than the other two groups. Appalachians are faring better than blacks but worse than their non-Appalachian white counterparts. Other residents of the area are significantly better off than either blacks or Appalachians (Community Chest and Council of the Cincinnati Area, 1983). Philliber goes on to demonstrate the development of patterns of association among Appalachians which isolate them further from the mainstream. They were found to live in predominantly Appalachian neighborhoods, to disproportionately choose other Appalachians as marital partners, and to associate with one another in predominantly Appalachian organizations such as fundamentalist Protestant churches. When given a choice, they did not frequently associate with people of other heritages. Finally, research findings suggest that people who moved from Appalachia identify with one another and recognize themselves as an ethnic group. Miller's (1976) study of Appalachian identification in Norwood, Ohio, found that over a third of those with Appalachian backgrounds believed that Appalachians were an ethnic group and almost as many identified themselves as members of that group. While Philliber (1983) and Obermiller (1982) found lower levels of in-group identification, Appalachian identification is found to be stronger among Appalachian migrants who are not middle class, supporting the economic basis of the emergence of Appalachian ethnicity. Theories based on cultural conflict have most often been used to explain the experiences of Appalachian migrants as well as the experiences of other minority groups. However, Philliber's study demonstrates the failure of cultural conflict explanations. In brief, his findings show that (1) cultural behaviors and values supposedly characteristic of Appalachians are not more common among Appalachians than among other groups, and (2) people who have those values and behaviors do not do less well than others in the competition for jobs and income. Appalachians were not more family oriented, more independent, more fearful of institutions, or more fatalistic. They were slightly more traditionalistic, but none of these variables were found to affect occupational or income attainment. The findings are most consistent with a political economy approach to understanding ethnic group formation. Midwestern cities have been areas where competition for jobs and income is severe. Appalachians have been stereotyped in those cities as unsuitable in comparison to native whites or white migrants from other places. The stereotypes are particularly virulent among those people who benefit most directly from discrimination against Appalachians. That such discrimination exists is demonstrated in the attainment of jobs and income: among people without college educations and middle class origins, Appalachians do not acquire jobs and income equal to other whites. Neither cultural differences nor migrant status account for this difference. The most plausible explanation is that Appalachians are excluded in order to reduce the competition for native whites. PART 1: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO ETHNIC GROUP (21 �The reaction of working class Appalachians to this discrimination is resulting in the formation of Appalachians as an urban ethnic group. They have already established patterns of interaction which bring them together with one another and isolate them from non-Appalachians. In-group identification has developed to a level which is comparable with what is found among other ethnic groups. They are brought together not so much by common cultural bonds as by common subjection to discrimination. 22) PART I: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO EJHNIC GROUP �URBAN APPALACHIANS AND CANADIAN MARITIME MIGRANTS: Comparative Study of Emergent Ethnicity* Studies of North American ethnic groups have generally concentrated on the conditions and processes which contribute to either their endurance or decline over several immigrant generations. By contrast, little focus has been placed on their structural emergence and development. Our purpose in this paper is to investigate the processes of ethnic group formation, or what we will refer to as ethnicization, as they apply to two internal migrant groups, Appalachians in the United States and Maritimers in Canada. These two groups display key social similarities despite their distinct societal contexts and may be seen as appropriate comparative cases to shed light on the social conditions which give rise to, or impede, the development of ethnicity. In looking at the processes of ethnicization two assumptions are made. First, ethnicity is not a constant or uniform social experience either for individuals or for groups. Rather, it is a variant, processual, and emergent phenomenon and will therefore reveal itself in different forms and with varying degrees of intensity in different social settings. Several ingredients of ethnicity are fundamental, however, though variable from case to case. In- and out-group perceptions of a common origin and culture, and an institutional structure or community based on that perceived commonality, are the major components of ethnic groups as they have traditionally evolved in industrial societies. Not only is each component a variable, evident in a variety of combinations and degrees, but each may develop naturally through sociohistorical circumstances, or may be created in basically artificial form for political or economic purposes. . Second, ethnic group formation in North America is primarily an urban phenomenon, particularly among groups which emerge as a result of voluntary migration, either internal or external.l It is in the heterogeneity of the city that ethnic identity and community emerge, the products of confrontation and competition amongst a variety of groups for the society's rewards - jobs, housing, education, PART 1: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO ETHNIC GROUP (23 �etc. Here the interaction of collectivities and individuals of varied ongms and behavioral modes leads to the development of ascriptive and voluntary identities, which in tum create in-group cohesiveness and out-group ethnic categorization. It is thus to the urban environment that we must look to investigate the processes by which ethnic groups are established and subsequently mature. We have chosen to focus on two contemporary internal migrant groups since, within their respective societies, they are cases which seem to most closely reflect the formative stages of ethnicization. Models of Ethnicization While the processes of ethnic group formation have been largely neglected in the literature, several theoretical approaches to these processes are implicit in most analyses of North American groups. The most traditional model of ethnicization assumes that migrants come to the host society with particular cultural characteristics which, as an adaptive response, are gradually modified by, and fused with, traits of the society's dominant group. Particularly in the urban environment, a hybrid (i.e., ethnic) culture evolves which becomes the attrac"tive bond around which an institutional structure is molded and sustained, and which thereby fulfills the psychological and social needs of migrants (Francis, 1976; Gordon, 1964; Handlin, 1951). The chief focus of ethnicity in this view is the collectivity's distinctive culture. A second model emphasizes the synthesis of host and immigrant group perceptions as the basis of ethnic group formation (Barth, 1969; Sarna, 1978; Shibutani and Kwan, 1965). In this view, the host or dominant group prescribes an ethnic identity to immigrants who respond with the development of an ethnic cohesiveness, partially as a protective device and partially as a means of establishing an identity within a pluralistic environment. Ethnicity is, in this view, not a particular array of culture traits, but a form of social organization, the boundaries of which are flexible in various social contexts. Perceived cultural features may disappear with little or no damage to the continuation of ethnicity (Barth, 1969; Patterson, 1975). More simply, so long as people define themselves and/or are defined by others in ethnic terms, they constitute an ethnic group. To understand the emergence of ethnicity, it is necessary to look primarily at how group identities are formed and the manner in which persons manipulate and deal with those identities. A third approach to ethnicization stresses the ecology of the urban environment which sets the foundation for the development of ethnic community and identity. The basic assumption is that ethnic groups are products of structural conditions which are linked to ecological processes (Hershberg, 1979; Taylor, 1979; Yancey et al., 1976). Rather than islands to which migrants gravitate on the basis of a common cultural heritage or the constraints of ascription and self-awareness, ethnic groups crystallize in response to fluid urban conditions such as changing industrial bases, housing, and transportation patterns. These conditions subsequently produce varying degrees of group cohesion by creating common life styles, work relationships and voluntary associations. Such cohesion in tum leads to ethnic community and identity. Ethnic collectives, in this view, are not cultural or ascriptive constraints, but emergent units, subject to different developmental patterns in a variety of ecological circumstances. 24) PART 1: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO ETHNIC GROUP �Finally, ethnicization, particularly in contemporary societies, has been viewed as the product of the organizational efforts of collectivities to secure a greater share of the society's rewards. Most simply, ethnic groups are political interest or solidary groups, comprised of individuals who share common economic and social concerns; and who therefore, cohere in response to competition from other groups (Bell, 1975; Cohen, 1969; Glazer and Moynihan, 1970; 1975; Lyman and Douglass, 1973). Cultural symbols, in this view, are important only as demarcating mechanisms among competing groups. None of these models is by itself sufficiently inclusive to constitute a complete explanation of ethnic group formation; rather, they are partial and complementary approaches, highlighting particular variables that must be viewed in different combinations. Despite their inter-dependence, however each model emphasizes a set of factors which may prove more vital in the developmental stages of ethnicization for particular groups which exhibit varying degrees of cultural and identificational clarity. Moreover, one or the other of them has been favored by social scientists. The latter three models have been generally preferred in recent years while the cultural model has been de-emphasized. In the remainder of this paper we will outline the social characteristics and experiences of Appalachian migrants in the United States and migrants from the Atlantic provinces in Canada, using these models as a framework in which to analyze the extent and nature of ethnic development among them. We will conclude with a discussion of some of the theoretical and empirical questions which are prompted by our comparison of the two groups and the extent to which these models are supported by our analysis. Migrant Appalachians and Maritimers The value of comparative social analysis lies in the opport.tmity to move beyond individual case studies and to hypothesize on the basis of recurrent and parallel patterns within divergent social settings. The comparative approach is of even greater utility when groups in different societies, displaying generally similar social characteristics, may be placed side by side. Migrants from the Southern Appalachian region to cities of the American Midwest and from the Atlantic provinces of Canada to cities of Ontario provide such a comparative case. Much of our description will focus specifically on migrants in the receiving communities of Cincinnati and Toronto, but patterns evident in these cities are assumed to be generally prevalent in comparable cities of the two regions. Let us briefly delineate the common characteristics and social settings of these two groups. The process of ethnic group formation necessarily begins with a migratory movement from one society or, in the case of internal migrants, from one region to another. The push-and-pull factors of migration and the regions of origin of these two groups are closely analogous. The Atlantic, or Maritime provinces of Canada -Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, Prince Edward Island, and Newfoundland - traditionally have been economically backward and depressed by comparison with other provinces.2 The region is typified by rural non-farm communities, a large proportion tied to the fishing industry. In addition to fishing, extractive industries, particularly mining and lumbering, characterize the economies of three of the four provinces. Net outPART I: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO EfHNIC GROUP (25 �migration has been characteristic of the region since the late nineteenth century, prompted traditionally by the decline of small farming and the mechanization of extractive and fishing industries. For example, employment in the coal mines of Nova Scotia declined from 13,500 in 1940 to 10,000 in 1955, and to 7500 in 1959 (Dasgupta, 1975). Farming, though ordinarily of the subsistence type, has also declined, thereby channeling more people into out-migration streams. Migration streams in Canada flow primarily westward. The Atlantic provinces send their out-migrants principally to Ontario, by-passing the adjacent province of Quebec (George, 1970; Stone, 1969). In the post-World War II era, Ontario has been the industrial heartland of Canada, thus offering the most job opportunities for relatively low-skilled workers. Though net out-migration from the Atlantic provinces has been evident throughout the twentieth century (McDonald, 1968; Levitt, 1960; Stone, 1969), it reached its peak in the early 1960's. This movement coincides with markedly high unemployment rates in the region during these years. The Southern Appalachian region includes the mountainous portions of Alabama, Georgia, Tennessee, North Carolina, Kentucky, Virginia, and all of West Virginia. Extractive industries, specifically coal mining, have been the region's chief economic base, although some textile manufacturing, timbering and farming can also be found. The forces impelling out-migration from the Southern Appalachian region of the U.S. are similar to those affecting migration from the Atlantic provinces of Canada. Push factors include the residual effects of the Great Depression and World War II. Between 1940 and 1970, the Southern Appalachian region lost over three million persons through net out-migration; half of this loss occurred during the period between 1950 and 1960 (McCoy and Brown, 1981). Of the top fifteen receiving cities for Appalachian migrants between 1955 and 1960, six were major midwestern metropolises such as Cincinnati. In short, out-migration from Appalachia and the Atlantic provinces has followed the customary pattern of most migratory movements: a surplus population in an economically depressed area seeks ecomonic betterment through migration to a society or region which promises improved conditions. In addition to the similarity of migration and region of origin, both groups display strikingly similar characteristics of age, race, religion, language, and social class. Both migrant populations are relatively young (Levitt, 1960; Brown and Hillery, 1962), heavily Protestant (Steeves, 1964; Brewer, 1962), white and English-speaking.3 As to social class, the majority of both Appalachians and Maritimers are working class, specifically unskilled or semi-skilled blue-collar workers. Educationally, both migrant groups are below the national and state (for Maritimers, provincial) averages (Steeves, 1964, Wagner 1973). The general class profile of the Appalachian migrant to Cincinnati and the Maritime migrant to Toronto is an under-educated, unskilled blue-collar worker. Once they enter the urban environment, Appalachian and Maritime migrants may be further subdivided into two class elements. One comprises those individuals who make a rapid adjustment to the city, fmd steady employment, establish residence in a working-class suburban community and are quietly absorbed into the dominant 26) PART 1: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO ETHNIC GROUP �group. The other subset is comprised of those who do not fmd stable work, remain in low-income, transitional neighborhoods and eventually come to the attention of welfare, police, and other community agencies, and, ultimately, the community at large. It is the latter element of the migrant that becomes the referent of negative group stereotypes and out-group recognition in general. Emergent Ethnicity Within the Two Groups THE CULTURAL MODEL Both Maritimers in Toronto and Appalachians in Cincinnati bring elements of a common regional culture to the city, but elements which in toto do not sharply set them off from other groups. The parameters of Appalachian culture have been widely discussed (Billings, 1974; Erickson, 1976; Fischer, 1983; Ford, 1962; Philliber, 1981), but many of its outstanding features are characteristic of a wide spectrum of American social groups, and are commonly attributed to working and lower-class groups in genera1.4 Similarly, Maritimers lack culture traits sufficiently different to set them apart from the dominant Anglo-Saxon group in Toronto. Their lack of cultural distinctness has impeded the development of ethnic community for both groups. Breton (1964) posits that when an ethnic group displays great differences from the host community, institutional self-sufficiency is likely to develop within the group. Ethnic communities may range from those which are institutionally complete, wherein individuals need make no use of the host society's institutions, to those which are almost entirely institutionally incomplete, wherein the network of interpersonal relations is almost totally within the context of the host society. Both urban Appalachians and Maritimers presently seem very close to the latter extreme. Almost all needs of social life are met primarily within and through institutions of the host or dominant group. For both groups, then, the cultural factor appears to be a weak component in the emergence of ethnicity. THE ETHNIC BOUNDARY MODEL At present, there is lacking any solid data base through which the extent of ethnic self-perception among Maritimers in Toronto might be deduced. We may reasonably conclude, however, that, given their relatively weak institutional structure and lack of political mobilization, such group awareness remains slightS Among urban Appalachians, ethnic identity has been little studied, but a few preliminary investigations indicate a relatively weak ethnic self-perception (Miller, 1976; Obermiller, 1982; Philliber, 1981; Traina, 1980). Organizations in the city with an explicit Appalachian self-consciousness are small and relatively few in number, given the size of the Appalachian population in the metropolitan area. The development and maintenance of ethnic boundaries, however, are not simply dependent on individual choice but also, and perhaps more fundamentally, on out-group perception and categorization. The extent of out-group identification of Maritimers in Toronto is largely unmeasured, but there is at least some evidence to confirm the application of negative stereotypes. This is particularly the case for Newfoundlanders, though migrants from the Atlantic provinces are frequently viewed in the aggregate. This largely negative "Newfle" stereotype is prevalent among Canadians generally (Anderson and Frideres, 1981). Indeed, "Newfie" jokes, suggesting the innate lack of intelligence of Newfoundlanders, PART 1: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO EfHNIC GROUP (27 �constitute a common fonn of Canadian ethnic humor. Out-group recognition of Appalachians in Cincinnati is primarily of two types. Positive aspects of Appalachian life are presented on a city-wide basis by acceptance of Appalachian culture. However, negative stereotypes of Appalachians abound in the media, popular and scholarly literature, in various marketing devices, and in the common lore of the city (McCoy and Watkins, 1981). While the emblematic term "Appalachian" is not widely used or accepted, stigmatic epithets such as "hillbilly," "briar-hopper," and "ridgerunner" are frequently used to label anyone speaking with a southern accent. THE ECOLOGICAL MODEL While the cultural and ethnic boundary models of ethnicization seem to yield only fractional manifestations of emergent ethnicity among either urban Appalachians or Maritimers, urban ecological patterns provide more substantial evidence of ethnic group fonnation, particularly for Appalachians. While Atlantic migrants in Toronto and other Ontario cities collectively occupy mainly lower-level blue collar positions, they are not concentrated exclusively, or even generally, in any particular industry. Their position in the occupational hierarchy is shared with members of first-generation European, Asian, and West Indian immigrant groups in the city. As well, the relatively diversified industrial base of Toronto makes for a dispersal of blue-collar workers in many industries. Urban Appalachians in Cincinnati and other cities of the lower Midwest, by contrast, are more clearly concentrated in particular industries requiring large semiand unskilled labor forces, such as automobile production. These have traditionally served as prime occupational areas for migrant Appalachians since large-scale inmigration began in the 1940's. Moreover, in Cincinnati, the chief rivals for such jobs are not first-, or even, second-, generation immigrants, but blacks, who represent another internal migrant group, one even less skilled and traditionally subject to more customary and institutionalized discrimination (Philliber and Obermiller 1982). Patterns of residential clustering are also clear for Appalachians in Cincinnati, and moderately evident for Maritimers in Toronto. Residential clustering among Appalachians well into the second migrant generation in Cincinnati and other Midwestern cities has been well documented (Davies and Fowler, 1972; Fowler and Davies, 1972; Henderson, 1966; Hyland, 1970; Killian, 1970; McKee and Obenniller, 1978; Peterson et al., 1977; Schwarzweller et al, 1971). Their concentration in lowskilled occupations has created Appalachian working-class enclaves in Cincinnati and its surrounding area where large manufacturing industries are located. Appalachian patterns of residence in the city are thus the product not simply of social congruity but of urban ecology (Philliber, 1981). In this, Appalachians have followed patterns not unlike those of earlier immigrant groups in American cities (Hershberg, 1979; Ward, 1971). In Toronto, city-wide surveys, census data and other municipal records do not include items concerning province of origin. As a result, patterns of residence for migrant Maritimers are undocumented. Moreover, since they are English-speaking, Maritimers are not identifiable by mother tongue as are other Toronto ethnic groups. In addition, the fact that upwardly mobile maritimers are quickly and silently absorbed into the dominant group makes it difficult to ascertain the residential patterns of this grouping. Nonetheless, certain areas of metropolitan Toronto are recognized for their sizable element of Maritimers. Basically, two types of residential areas are evident. 28) PART 1: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO ErHNIC GROUP �One comprises the central city transitional zones which serve as port-of-entry for most, but which are relatively quickly abandoned by those who acquire steady employment Some do remain, however, but share these areas with the lower-class segment of other urban groups. The other type is the working-class suburb which contains the bulk of Toronto's heavier manufacturing enterprises. THE POLITICAL MODEL Although the potential for political ethnicity seems to be in place for both urban Appalachians and Maritimers, in neither case has this potential been tapped to any significant degree. In the case of urban Appalachians, an incipient ethnic movement arose as part of the urban welfare and civil rights activism of the 1960's (Maloney, 1979), but it did not display the growth of other ethnic advocacy movements which evolved during that period. A few groups at the community level have continued to pursue issues relevant to the status and recognition of Appalachians in the urban area (Maloney, 1979; Neely, 1979), but their impact has not been of major proportions. Most importantly, urban Appalachians have not yet developed into a clear-cut political force, able to exert significant influence in local elections. Moreover, political leaders have not made strong efforts to court this group, despite its sizable electoral potential in Cincinnati and several other cities of the region. At best, urban Appalachians have acquired a minimal degree of recognition as a distinct constituency by government agencies and private support groups. Maritimers in Toronto have displayed an even less obvious political presence. No appeals to this group on the part of political leaders have been made, and even welfare and educational institutions have not seen fit to create programs aimed exclusively at Maritimers. Rather, social services and programs have been rendered under the umbrella of general community services. Combined with their lack of cultural distinctness, the relatively dispersed residential pattern of the Atlantic migrants in Toronto restrains political leaders from dealing with them as a separate client group. In a sense, Maritimers have been lost in the extremely variegated ethnic mosaic of post-World War II Toronto. During this period, the city has served as one of the major points of destination for European immigrants, and much of the metropolitan area's substantial growth is attributable to foreign immigration. As a result, Toronto politicians, educators and social service agencies have been preoccupied in the past twenty years with European and, to a lesser extent, Asian and West Indian immigrant groups. These are the groups in Toronto which have displayed clear patterns of residential clustering. This has not been the case in Cincinnati where large European ethnic communities have ceased to typify the general populace. The relatively substantial black community (one-third of the city's populace), however, has served in a somewhat similar manner to camouflage Appalachians from political leaders and social service agencies. Just as policy makers and opinion leaders in Toronto have focused their attention on more visible groups, those in Cincinnati have focused on the black community. Discussion Our description of Appalachian migrants in Cincinnati and Atlantic migrants in Toronto indicates that the emergence of ethnicity for either group is not firm or even entirely visible. Indeed, it might be argued that it is premature to speak PART I: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO EJHNIC GROUP (29 �in ethnic terms of groupings that lack readily distinguishable culture or physical traits, that have a minimal sense of corporate self-awareness, that have developed only the most primitive of institutional structures and that have not yet engaged seriously in collective political action. We would argue, however, that the process of ethnicization has begun for both groups to the extent that 1) each has become ·distinguishable on the basis of perceived group differences which have given rise to the development of out-group stereotyping, and 2) both have displayed ecological characteristics somewhat similar to those of older, solidly established urban ethnic groups that should naturally engender further group cohesiveness and an awareness of commonality of fate. In short, certain key factors are in place for these two groups which appear critical in the ethnicization process. At the same time, however, the prognosis for the furtherance of ethnic group development among both urban Appalachians and Maritimers suggests a movement limited in scope and degree. We would assert that this is attributable primarily to these groups lack of visibility-either cultural or phenotypical-which in tum induces mobilization and the pursuit of group interests along class, rather than ethnic, lines. The potentialities for a more complete ethnicity for either of these groups cannot lie in the engendering of group awareness based on culture, as has been the case most commonly for urban immigrant groups. Nor can the discrimination arising from physical distinction lead to a more advanced level of institutional completeness, as has been the experience of blacks and other racially-defmed groups in the United States (Taylor, 1979). Given their lack of strong cultural or physical features, more advanced ethnicization for Appalachians and Maritimers lies in one or more of the following paths: 1) the strengthening of out-group recognition through the deliberate promotion and amplification of those group features already prominent; 2) the stabilization of ecological patterns; or 3) the formation of these groupings into political interest groups, or what Gamson (1968:36) calls solidary groups, that is, collections of individuals "who think in terms of the effect of political decisions on the aggregate and feel that they are in some way personally affected by what happens to the aggregate." All of these possible courses, however, are strongly influenced by the factor of absence of visibility. As a result, class interests, community and identity tend to supersede ethnic interests, community and identity. Out-group identification, we have concluded, is well established for urban Appalachians and somewhat less so for Maritime migrants. But upward class mobility for individual members of these groups spells the demise of out-group recognition, and hence the diminishment of in-group awareness and community based on ethnic features. Since their major culture traits are already those of the dominant group, and they are not physically distinct, cultural and structural assimilation are rendered meaningless for these groups. For them, assimilation is more accurately a class, rather than an ethnic, phenomenon. Upward class mobility is a movement "up and out" instead of "up within," as is the case for the first two generations of culturally defined groups, or for an indefinite number of generations of racially-defined groups. Likewise, given their relative lack of dissimilarity to the dominant group, ecological patterns for these groups are more critically a function of class differences, 30) PART 1: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO ETHNIC GROUP �not ethnic consolidation. While cultural and physical dissimilarities may explain a great part of the residential segregation of other urban groups (see Darroch and Marston, 1971), as well as their concentration in particular occupational areas, for the most part they cannot account for the residential and occupational patterns of urban Appalachians or Maritimers. Political development for these groups is also very much a function of class rather than ethnic interests. This is based on both external as well as internal perceptions of political interest. Since the majority of both groups remain well ensconced in the lower echelons of the working class, efforts at political mobilization must be directed primarily to this subset of the larger group. Lacking cultural or physical distinctness, these groups' ethnic interests are apt to be dismissed by external political leaders and bureaucracies who place them into more inclusive class categories (e.g., "working class" or "urban poor"). Failure to gain recognition as an ethnic unit by political elites and agencies further detracts from the creation of collective group awareness. Internally, ethnic political mobilization requires a kind of artificially created ethnicity, based on the perception of political benefits to be derived from such a group membership. Because of weak group visibility, class interests easily displace potential ethnic interests. For both class segments of these groups - those who are regularly employed and those who are chronically under or unemployed - there is little compulsion to organize politically or to perceive community issues along ethnic lines; for them, political benefits are dispensed through comprehensive class interest groups such as labor unions or social welfare organizations. For both urban Appalachians and Maritimers an ethnically-based political movement is not likely to be attractive since its purposes cannot speak to either their economic needs or their problems of self-definition.6 Patterson's (1975) principle of "optimization of interest" seems appropriate to both groups. He maintains that individuals will be most intensely involved with that allegiance which is in their own best social and economic interests. Thus, where ethnicity yields a payoff, it will be stressed over class, though where the two are in conflict, class will always take precedence. In short, class interests determine the strength of ethnicity. In the case of both urban Appalachians and Maritimers, there is insufficient incentive to identify and to mobilize along ethnic rather than class lines; political action thus turns on class, not ethnic, cleavages. The two cases we have analyzed suggest that a group's cultural and/or physical visibility is vital to the development of ethnicity; where either is lacking, ethnicity can emerge only to a limited level. Given a group's marginal perceptibility in the host society, it cannot be expected to move far beyond what Yinger (1976) has called "stereotyped" ethnicity. In such cases, there is some degree of social definition of the group in ethnic terms, but other aspects of ethnicity are essentially lacking. Class definitions of group members - both self and other - pre-empt ethnic definitions. At best, such groupings may be viewed as ethnic categories rather than ethnic collectiveness or groups (Cohen, 1969; McKay and Lewins, 1978; Williams, 1979). It may be hypothesized, then, that in cases where groups lack salient cultural or physical distinctness from the dominant group, class factors supersede ethnic factors in political mobilization, ecological patterns and, to a lesser extent, group identification. Our analysis also suggests that ethnic group boundaries are not totally flexible. PART 1: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO ETHNIC GROUP (31 �Structuralists have argued that ethnicity is a reactive phenomenon in which group boundaries emerge in response to institutional discrimination or to negative stereotyping by out-groups. Our study suggests that factors of cultural commonality and/or physical visibility are nonetheless vital to such boundary establishment. Conceptualizations of the ethnic group which depend essentially on self- and otheridentification or on the establishment of favorable ecological or political conditions are inadequate without the antecedent of a perceived common culture or physical distinction upon which some conception and consciousness of a distinction upon which those identifications and conditions are based. The experience of Appalachians and Maritimers in the urban environment supports van der Berghe's (1978:xvii) assertion that "there can be no ethnicity (or race) without some conception and consciousness of a distinction between 'them' and 'us'. But these subjective perceptions do not develop at random; they crystallize around clusters of objective characteristics that become badges of inclusion or exclusion." Although ethnic boundaries are flexible and may be essentially artificial creations of socialpsychological, ecological, or political circumstances, they are nonetheless necessarily founded on a cultural and/or physical basis. There must be a perceived commonality on the part of both in-group and out-group to engender ethnic identity and community. Such a feeling of oneness ordinarily derives from the perception of a unique cultural heritage or common phenotypic traits. NOTES * Reprinted from lnternatiorud Jourrud of Comparative Sociology, 24:229-43. 1. Relatively isolated rural ethnic groups in the U.S., notably Scandinavians, as well as self-contained groups such as the Amish, are what Francis (1976) calls "primary ethnic groups." In these groups, the basic social needs of members are satisfied almost totally without direct participation in the host society. The very opposite conditions obtain for urban immigrant groups. 2. The original Maritime provinces are Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, Edward Island. Newfoundland did not enter the Canadian confederation Since then, the four eastern provinces have generally been referred Atlantic or Maritime provinces. Our references to Atlantic migrants or are synonymous. 3. There are segments of Brunswick, where they constitute about 30 percent of the population, are French-speaking groups of any numerical significance. Because they settle mainly in Quebec rather than Ontario, Francophone migrants will not enter into our analysis. Indians, Inuit, and, in Nova Scotia, blacks, make up insignificant numbers in the region, and do not represent more than a handful of the migrant populace. 4. Although much has been written about Appalachian culture, no consensus exists as to what characteristics properly belong to the culture, or even whether such a culture exists at all. 32) PART I: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO ETHNIC GROUP and Prince until 1949. to as the Maritimers �5. A moderate corporate consciousness can be found among Newfoundlanders, due to the more distinct culture traits this subgroup displays. Some have maintained, rather exaggeratedly, that Newfoundlanders are as distinct as Italians, Greeks, or any of the European groups of the city (see for example Horwood, 1979). Though this may be an overdrawn perception, there are unquestionably certain identifying features of Newfoundlanders which serve to more sharply set them off from other groups in Toronto, as well as from other Atlantic migrants. But the intensity of both in- and out-group identification cannot be said to resemble that of other more culturally and/or physically distinct groups in the city. 6. Other impediments to political mobilization, whether encouraged internally or externally, are the proximity of the region of origin for both groups and their relatively frequent physical mobility. The two are not unrelated. Given the proximity of the regions of origin, native community ties are maintained that do not fully permit a sense of permanence among group members in the urban environment. Unlike previous immigrant groups, which essentially removed themselves from their native societies and severed their roots, urban Appalachians and Maritimers engage in a constant back-and-forth movement between old and new social settings. A psychological commitment to the new community-even after lengthy residence-is thus not complete, and inhibits political involvement. Political mobilization is made difficult as well by the physical mobility during the migration experience exhibited by members of both groups, particularly those who do not find steady employment. In the case of Maritimers, many are perpetual drifters who move on to other Ontario cities if they do not find suitable work in Toronto, or return to their original communities. Moreover, those who do not experience a stable employment outcome of their move to Toronto (i.e., those who remain in the transitional neighborhoods and who are clients of welfare and police authorities) are the least likely to respond to efforts at political mobilization. PART I: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO ETHNIC GROUP (33 �This page intentionally left blank �LABELING URBAN APPALACHIANS The boundary model of ethnic group formation has been used but never subjected to empirical investigation among Appalachian migrants (McCoy and Watkins, 1981). This model, which deals with· in-group and out-group perceptions of group identity, suggests that stereotypes are among the most common markers for delineating social boundaries and therefore establishing social identities. This paper will explore the role of stereotypes in the formation of social boundaries among urban Appalachians, as well as among blacks, Appalachians, and other white residents of a large metropolitan area. The stereotyping of rural Appalachians is a consistent phenomenon which has been documented extensively (Billings, 1974; Fisher, 1983; Ergood, 1983; Shapiro, 1978). From an urban perspective, however, little consensus is found concerning Appalachian stereotypes. Maloney and Huelsman (1972), in a review of the behavioralscience literature on Appalachian migrants, remark on the prevalence of popular stereotypes in what presents itself as scholarly writing. On the other hand, McCoy and Watkins (1981) propose that scholarship be used to debunk popular stereotypes of urban Appalachians. Some commentators interpret stereotypes of Appalachian migrants negatively as "barriers to assimilation" (Branscome, 1976:72), while others see them as positive sources of in-group cohesion and consciousness (Billings and Walls, 1980). Lewis Killian, in writing about white southerners in Chicago, makes several important points regarding stereotypes of Appalachian migrants. He notes that "hillbilly" is an ephithet used to designate "a mountaineer, a white southerner whose caricature is to be seen in the Snuffy Smith of the comic strip" (Killian, 1970:13). Killian also points out that the "traits considered typical of white southerners were similar to those found in the stereotypes of many other minority groups" (Killian, 1970: 107). These traits include racism, violence, clannishness, low standards of hygiene, laziness, and a general apathy towards education. The function of such PAKI' 1: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO EfHN/C GROUP (35 �stereotyping, according to Killian, is to justify discrimination against "hillbillies" in in urban public facilities, housing, and employment. The Study In general, experimental studies of the stereotyping of groups such as Appalachian migrants follow one of two methods. Either a laboratory situation is established, in which subjects are exposed to various stimuli such as pictures while researchers note their reactions, or subjects are asked to formulate or select traitdescriptive adjectives or phrases that reflect their attitude toward the object group. Katz and Braly (1933) conducted an experiment of the latter type at Princeton in 1933 which, with some modification, has been used successfully in contemporary largescale survey research on stereotypes (Ehrlich and Rinehart, 1965; Guichard and Connolly, 1977; Kutner, 1973). This study has modified Katz and Braly's method in several ways. It limits the number of labels being tested to fourteen, and divides them evenly between positive and negative stereotypes) The stereotypes are not presented as single adjectives, but are phrased as statements, and a range of possible responses is offered.2 The data used in this paper were gathered in 1980 as a part of the Greater Cincinnati Survey, a RDD telephone survey. The survey involved 1,111 adult residents of Hamilton County, of whom 237 were identified as either first- or secondgeneration Appalachians. First-generation Appalachians were defined as anyone born in one of the 396 counties in the Appalachian region; second-generation Appalachians were defined as having at least one parent born in that area.3 Although the survey acquired information on black Appalachians, only the data on white Appalachians were tabulated. 4 Findings It is essential to compare the basic social characteristics of the three groups as a preliminary step toward understanding their attitudes. Appalachians in greater Cincinnati have the same general age profile and sex distribution as blacks and nonAppalachian whites, and all three groups on the average have lived in the area approximately the same number of years. Distinct differences appear, however, when the three groups are compared for educational attainment, occupational status, and income. Disproportionately few Appalachians (36%) and blacks (31%) have had any college experience in comparison to the non-Appalachian white population (48%). In addition, these three groups are quite distinct in occupational status. Blacks are represented disproportionately in the operative and labor/service job categories, but are underrepresented in the professional and managerial occupations in comparison to both Appalachians and non-Appalachian whites. Appalachian whites differ from their nonAppalachian counterparts primarily in the high percentage of operatives among Appalachians (19% vs. 7%) and in the relatively low percentage of Appalachians in the sales/clerical job categories (38% vs. 26%). The distribution of family income for Appalachians and for other whites in Hamilton County is quite similar, but a much higher percentage of blacks is found in the lowincome range; 46% of black families have annual incomes of less than $15,000. 36) PART 1: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO EfHNIC GROUP �In overall socioeconomic status, white Appalachians are distinct from both nonAppalachians and blacks.5 White non-Appalachians are generally in the higherstatus group, while a higher percentage of blacks is found in the low socioeconomic category. Appalachian whites fall between these two groups in their overall socioeconomic status. This brief demographic profile of the three groups provides a context for studying the images they have of urban Appalachians. Table 5:1 presents the fourteen positive and negative stereotypes of Appalachians that were included in the study. The labels are rank ordered by the percentage of each of the three groups in agreement with the stereotypes Each of the three groups is more positive than negative in its typification of Appalachian migrants, although, as might be expected, Appalachian whites accept more positive labels than do non-Appalachian whites or blacks. The positive labels "familistic," "religious," and "loyal" rank high among all three groups, while "apathetic," "alcoholic," and "violent" have least acceptance among Appalachian and non-Appalachian whites. Approximately three out of five people in each group agreed that Appalachians seemed to speak with a distinct accent. "Racist" was the next most widely accepted negative label. Spearman's measure, however, which was used to compare the rank ordering among the three groups shows no great diversity among the rankings. TABLE 5:1 RANK ORDERING BY PERCENT OF AGREEMENT FOR ALL LABELS OF WHITE APPALACHIANS CATEGORIZED BY CULTURE GROUP AND APPALACHIAN GENERATION Rank Order NonAppalachian Blacks % NonAppalachian Whites First Generation Appalachian % Appalachian Whites % Second Generation Appalachian Wh~es % Wh~es % 1. Familistlc 69.2 Familistic 79.2 Famlllstic 84.0 Religious 85.3 Loyal 86.0 2. Religious 64.8 Loyal 762 Loyal 83.9 Familistic 82.0 Familistic 85.2 3. Loyal 62.4 Religious 67.9 Religious 82.0 Loyal 82.0 Independent 81.5 4. Independent 57.4 •Accent 62.8 Independent 74.1 •Accent 67.3 Religious 77.9 5. •Accent 57.1 Independent 62.7 •Accent 71.3 Independent 67.0 •Accent 74.7 6. Honest 48.1 Honest 582 Honest 67.6 Honest 64.6 Honest 69.2 7. Patriotic 48.0 Patriotic 54.4 Resourceful 64.3 Patriotic 64.6 Resourceful 68.7 8. Resouroelul 47.3 Resourceful 53.6 Patriotic 62.3 Resourceful 58.5 •Racist 62.7 9. •Racist 43.7 •Racist 472 •Racist 57.1 .Racist 52.6 Patriotic 58.1 10. •Apathetic 32.5 ·uneducated 47.0 ·uneducated 47.6 •uneducated 43.0 •uneducated 53.9 11. ·uneducated 27.5 ·untidy 39.7 ·untidy 36.4 •untidy 33.3 •untidy 40.3 12. •Alcoholic 26.2 •Apathetic 292 ·Apathetic 27.4 ·Apathetic 26.8 •Apathetic 29.1 13. •untidy 25.9 •Alcoholic 20.3 •Alcoholic 20.1 •Alcoholic 23.4 •Alcoholic 16.8 14. ·violent 22.7 "Violent 16.8 ·violent 16.8 ·violent 18.0 ·violent 13.8 •Indicates Negative Label Important differences do exist in the amount of agreement shown for any given PART I: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO EJHNIC GROUP (37 �label. Appalachian whites have high levels of acceptance of positive labels, while nonAppalachian whites and blacks accept the same labels to a distinctly lesser degree. Appalachian and non-Appalachian whites coincide in their relative rates of agreement on only one positive label: "familistic." The black group differs significantly from the Appalachian group in relative rates of agreement on every positive label; in fact, fewer than half the black respondents agree that Appalachian whites are either "honest," "patriotic," or "resourceful." All three groups coincide in their relatively low levels of acceptance of four negative labels: "violent," "alcoholic," "apathetic," and "untidy." For the negative labels "uneducated" and "accent," however, Appalachians are much harsher in their view of themselves than are the blacks. In addition, Appalachian whites appear significantly more racist in their own eyes than in the eyes of either nonAppalachian whites or blacks. TABLE 5:2 PERCENTAGE OF RESPONDENTS AGREEING WITH POSITIVE AND NEGATIVE LABELS OF WHITE APPALACHIANS CATEGORIZED BY CULTURE GROUP AND GENERATION First Generation Appalachian Whites Second Generation Appalachian Whites 82.0 85.3 82.0 58.5 64.6 67.0* 64.6 18.0 23.4 26.8 33.3 43.0 67.3 52.6 86.0 77.9 85.2 68.7 58.1 81.5 69.2 13.8 16.8 29.1 40.3 53.9 74.7 62.7 Label NonAppalachian Whites Appalachian Whites NonAppalachian Blacks Loyal Religious Familistic Resourceful Patriotic Independent Honest Violent Alcoholic Apathetic Untidy Uneducated Accent Racist 76.2* 67.9* 79.2 53.6* 54.4* 62.7* 58.2* 16.8 20.3 29.2 39.7 47.0 62.8 47.2* 83.9 82.0 84.0 64.3 62.3 74.1 67.6 16.7 20.1 27.4 36.4 47.6 71.3 57.1 62.4* 64.8* 69.2* 47.3* 48.0* 57.4* 48.1* 22.7 26.2 32.5 25.9 27.5* 57.1* 43.7* •p <0.05 The calculation of stereotyping scores allows for a comparison of group attitudes while controlling for selected demographic variables.6 Table 5:3 gives the stereotyping scores for each group in the study. The raw scores indicate that, as might be expected, non-Appalachian blacks have fairly strong negative images of Appalachians, and white Appalachians have a rather strong positive attitude toward themselves; less predictably, non-Appalachian whites were found to have moderately positive images of Appalachians. Conversely, increasing socioeconomic status among non-Appalachian whites shows a marked tendency toward positive images of Appalachians while relatively little difference appears among non-Appalachian blacks of varying socioeconomic status. 38) PART I: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO ETHNIC GROUP �TABLE 5:3: STEREOTYPING SCORES FOR THREE CULTURE GROUPS AND TWO GENERATIONS OF WHITE APPALACHIANS Negative Labels Agreed With Culture Group/ Generation Positive Labels Agreed With B!i!llQOd 8ll!i![ag!i! Number Score CULTURE GROUP Non-Appalachian Blacks 0 .0 3 .43 -.43 Appalachian Whites 7 1.0 4 .57 .43 Non-Appalachian Whites 3 .43 2 .29 .14 GENERATION First Generation Appalachian Whites 2 .29 2 .29 .0 Second Generation Appalachian Whites 5 4 .57 .14 .71 B!i!llQOd 8ll!i!rag!i! Number Score Stereotype Score Discussion The research indicates an overall preference for positive rather than negative stereotypes of Appalachian migrants. Of the three groups in the study, Appalachians showed the strongest preference for positive labels; to a lesser degree, the same can be said of non-Appalachian whites. Non-Appalachian blacks were the least accepting of positive statements about Appalachians. Acceptance of negative labels was less prevalent in all three groups but strongest among Appalachians. Race appears to be a major factor in interpreting these results; non-Appalachian blacks are significantly less positive and only slightly less negative about Appalachians than are the two white groups. Because of the limited nature of this study, it is not possible to determine whether this response is related to Appalachians in particular or to Appalachians as members of the dominant white majority in the county. Among the fourteen labels presented, the label "accent" was the most problematic. Although presented as a negative label, "accent" ranks fifth in PART I: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO EfHNIC GROUP (39 �percentage of agreement among the positive labels and well above the negative labels. Moreover, it correlated highly with two strong, positive labels, "familistic" and "loyal." It seems reasonable to conclude that speaking with an accent may be perceived as a positive characteristic of Appalachians. If "accent" is removed from the list of negative labels, the two most widely accepted labels of white Appalachians are "racist" and "uneducated." Although the strongest agreement with these labels is found among Appalachians, it should be noted that more than one-fifth of the sample expressed doubts or disagreement with the most popular positive stereotype of Appalachians. Likewise, almost one-fifth of those surveyed expressed agreement with the least popular negative stereotype. From these figures it is obvious that there exists a substantial body of negative opinion regarding Appalachians. The strongest negative labeling of white Appalachians emanates from a cohort within the Appalachian group itself. Socioeconomic stratification among the Appalachian residents of the county appears to account for an important proportion of the negative stereotypes attributed to this group. Appalachian whites with high educational attainment, white-collar occupations, and relatively high incomes are the strongest negative stereotypers of Appalachians. This pattern of intragroup stereotyping is also found among other urban minorities (Frazier, 1957; Kilson, 1983). Assuming that they are not derogating themselves, it is reasonable to conclude that high-status Appalachians are directing these negative images toward lower-status members of their own group. This negative labeling may be attributed less to the competitive advantage gained in winning or keeping social rewards than to an effort to seek social and psychological advantage by placing distance between themselves and the less successful members of the same group. On the other hand, non-Appalachian whites of low and medium social status appear to hold negative images of Appalachians for ecological reasons: they may in fact be competing with Appalachians for employment, housing, and social services. Stereotypes of urban Appalachians form a complex network of social status boundaries which divide along lines of race and socioeconomic status. The positive images Appalachians have of themselves are not shared by urban blacks. Negative images of Appalachians divide higher-status Appalachians from those of lower status, and separate Appalachians from working- and middle-class whites. The isolation and separation of Appalachian people living in the mountains has been largely overcome; the isolation and separation of urban Appalachians through stereotyping is still a reality. 40) PART I: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO EJHNIC GROUP �NOTES 1. The positive labels are: loyal, religious, familistic, independent, honest, patriiotic, and resourceful. The negative labels are: accent, racist, apathetic, uneducated, alcoholic, untidy, and violent. These labels appear frequently in the literature on Appalachians, and are mentioned specifically as stereotypes in fifteen works cited by Obermiller (1982:72). Moreover, twelve of the fourteen labels overlap with those used by Katz and Braly (1933). 2. The statements are as follows in the order they were presented and the label they represent: "Appalachians seem to stand up for their friends" (loyal); "Appalachians seem to have a high regard for the Bible" (religious); "Appalachians often seem to be involved in violent crimes" (violent); "Appalachians seem to have serious drinking problems" (alcoholic); "Appalachians seem to have a strong concern for their families" (familistic); "Appalachians seem to get the most out of the resources they have" (resourceful); "Appalachians seem to be unconcerned with getting ahead in life" (apathetic); "Appalachians do not seem to be very neat about their personal property" (untidy); "Appalachians seem to be pretty self-reliant in most situations" (independent); "Appalachians do not seem to to put a very high value on getting an education" (uneducated); "Appalachians seem to be truthful in their dealings with others" (honest); "Appalachians seem to speak with a distinct accent" (accent); "White Appalachians seem to be unwilling to live in racially integrated neighborhoods" (racist). Response categories were "strongly agree," "agree," "disagree," "strongly disagree," "don't know," and "no answer." 3. The Appalachian Regional Commission's definition of Appalachia includes 397 counties. The Greater Cincinnati Survey, however, deleted data on Appalachian migrants from Clermont County, Ohio because it is directly adjacent to Hamilton County, Ohio. Clermont County was excluded so that residents of eastern suburbs of Cincinnati who have moved into the city would not be included in the data set on migrants. 4. The decision to delete black Appalachians from this study was based on their small number (3.2% of the county's population). 5. The socioeconomic status index was created by first collapsing income, education, and occupation into the following categories: INCOME EDUCATION $0-14,999 Less than high school 2 $15,000-24,999 High school diploma 3 $25,000 and over Some college or more Value 1 OCCUPATION Bluecollar ------------Whitecollar PART I: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO ETHNIC GROUP (41 �These three variables were then summed, resulting in an index with scores ranging from 3 to 9. Respondents with a score of 3 or 4 were classified as low SES, those with scores of 5, 6, or 7 were categorized as medium SES, and individuals with scores of 8 or 9 were categorized as high on the SES index. 6. The score is derived according to the following formula: Stereotyping Score = (Sp/Np)-(Sn/Nn) where Sp is the number of positive stereotypes agreed to by a group which have a higher percentage of agreement for all groups to be compared; Np is the number of positive stereotypes; Sn is the number of negative stereotypes agreed to by a group which have a higher percentage for each stereotype than the average percentage of agreement for all groups to be compared; and Nn is the number of negative stereotypes. The stereotyping score thus derived ranges from +1 to -1, where +1 represents above-average agreement on all positive stereotypes and -1 represents above-average agreement on all negative stereotypes. 42) PART 1: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO ETHNIC GROUP �THE ETHNIC ENTREPRENEUR IN THE URBAN APPALACHIAN COMMUNITY Estimates vary on how many urban Appalachians live in the tri-state region centering on Cincinnati, but perhaps one of the most impressive estimates is that possibly one-third of the school children in Cincinnati are Appalachian. The problem, of course, lies in defining an Appalachian. Appalachians are largely, but not exclusively, white, English-speaking, Protestant, and native-born, "just like average Americans." An academic debate has been conducted for some time about whether Appalachian subcultural differences really exist, and there are numerous publications describing the unique structure of the Appalachian family and other distinctive traits. On the other side of the argument, most recently, is historian Henry Shapiro's (1978) book, Appalachia On Our Mind, which suggests that the Appalachian region and people are a creation of intellectuals and have no basis in cultural reality. In anthropology, Fredrick Barth (1969) offers a solution to the above extremes which for our purposes here may come closest to reality. In Ethnic Groups and Boundaries, Barth (1969: 13) suggests that the "critical feature" in defining the parameters of an ethnic group are "self-ascription and ascription by others," a phenomenon which certainly exists among Cincinnati's Appalachians. As Barth (1969:13-14) explains: A categorical ascription is an ethnic ascription when it classifies a person in terms of his basic, most general identity, presumptively determined by his origin and background. To the extent that actors use ethnic identities to categorize themselves and others for purposes of interaction, they form ethnic groups in this organizational sense. As Barth (1969:15) goes on to elaborate, "the critical focus . . .becomes the ethnic boundary that defines the group, not the cultural stuff that it encloses." PART 1: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO ETHNIC GROUP (43 �Cultural signals mark the boundaries and some signals are more representative of substantial cultural differences than others. Signals based on differences in language or religion may be more significant than those based on different craft items or music. Despite the surface evidence that Appalachians are "just like other Americans," numerous cultural signals mark off the boundaries of their ethnic identity. Appalachians certainly are English-speakers, but most speak a dialect of English which results in their ascription as Appalachians every time they open their mouths to talk. Often the ascription is the negative equivalent of Appalachian, such as "hillbilly" or "ridge-runner" or the like. Appalachians are certainly predominantly white, but in the inner cities, where significant black populations exist, whites, particularly poor ones, do stand out. Since Appalachians who become better off economically can and do often leave Appalachian neighborhoods and blend into the larger white middle class, the stereotype persists that all Appalachians are poor whites. In a city like Cincinnati, to be Protestant is not to be in the majority. Most Cincinnatians are Catholic, often middle class people of either German or Irish origin. So here being Catholic is associated with economic well-being, political power, and being a "native" of the city while to be Protestant and Appalachian is to be poor, powerless, an outsider. A most important ethnic signal for Appalachians is that of the homeland, the region back in the mountains where one still has family ties and returns for ceremonies, holidays, and vacations. Edward Spicer (1971) refers to the homeland symbol as one of the most significant signals for an ethnic group and cites its importance for peoples as diverse as American Indians and Zionist Jews. Other signals also exist in the form of bluegrass music, mountain crafts, downhome food, an annual Appalachian Festival, and a generalized notion of distinct Appalachian values which range from a strong sense of family obligations to an idea of independence which defies all authority. It would seem that the role of an Appalachian entrepreneur is to maximize the value in ascribing ethnically as an Appalachian and to create an innovative political program based on the ideal of ethnic pluralism. Harald Eidheim (1968) has done an excellent job of analyzing the role of the ethnic innovator in the Lappish Movement in Norway, and his work and Barth's (1966) offer insights into this situation. Barth and Eidheim have focused on the limits of the role of the individual, such as the ethnic entrepreneur, in change in an attempt to find a middle ground of analysis that falls somewhere between cultural determinism and the great man theory. Barth (1966) tends to focus on the decisions individuals make. He assumes that individuals, operating under varying constraints and incentives, play roles which allow them to make the most rational choices possible in their own best interest. As individuals engage in new social transactions allowed by these roles, relative values are revealed through real dilemmas of imminent choice. The most basic role of the ethnic entrepreneur is to create new, more satisfying roles for the members of the ethnic group to act out. Barth (1966:17) suggests that the relevant characteristics of the ethnic entrepreneur are that he manages the undertaking, he is an innovator, and he tries to maximize the value in ethnic identification. The entrepreneur is involved in 44) PART 1: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO EfHNIC GROUP �multiple transactions and initiates new actlVlbes, such as creating political and economic bridges between the ethnic group and the dominant power structure (Barth 1966:18). A successful ethnic entrepreneur can change the basic values and ethnic identity of an entire population. Much as in the case of Lapps in Norway, Appalachians are viewed and often view themselves as backward, inferior, and maladaptive. In such a situation, the ethnic entrepreneur often offers a "package deal" which combines the promise of a positive ethnic image with the prospect of economic and political gains. In effect, the ethnic entrepreneur creates a new role where none existed before, a role wherein ethnic identity actually aids in attempts to be successful and adaptive rather than in the past when such identity insured only failure. The Urban Appalachian Council seems to represent one successful outcome of the larger Appalachian movement in this country, and, in my analysis, part of the reason for that organization's success is to be found in its former director, Michael Maloney, and an ethnic entrepreneur. Maloney's basic contribution lay in his leadership ability which resulted in adequate funding and staff for the organization. It is probably no accident that the twoyear existence of United Appalachians of Cincinnati ended when Maloney left the city in 1970 or that remnants of that organization splintered into two new groups with different kinds of members. Maloney has always seemed to enact the role of unifier and reconciler. One of the key problems of any social movement is the threat of factionalism. Up to a point, Maloney was able to avoid the two most obvious types of factionalism, that of "real Appalachians," usually first-generation migrants with strong ties to the mountains, versus the "not-so-real Appalachians," as well as the factionalism threatening between Appalachian people from Appalachian communities versus non-Appalachian professionals working in both research and applied roles in those communities. The first type of factionalism, reasoned Maloney, could only surface if there were no adequate definition of who was Appalachian. So the organization defined an Appalachian operationally in three ways, as anyone who was born in the region or whose ancestors were, as anyone who shares the Appalachian folk culture, or as anyone who is intensely involved with Appalachians at the neighborhood level. The last category made the definition quite broad and could hypothetically include people not of Appalachian origin but to whom the Appalachian folk culture had diffused. It was not until 1978 that this view of an Appalachian was challenged and unsuccessfully so. Maloney himself easily falls into a "real Appalachian" ascription: born in a log cabin in eastern Kentucky, the son of a coal miner and steel worker, a migrant to Cincinnati as a young adult. His own total legitimacy as an Appalachian has probably helped Maloney in successfully expanding the definition and role of an Appalachian, since doing so is not viewed as self-serving. The second type of factionalism, that of insiders ~. outside professionals, was taken care of in a different way. The Appalachian movement generally probably has its origin in organizations of non-Appalachian professionals who worked in Appalachian communities. Those people still wanted input in an Appalachian organization, and when Maloney had left the city in 1970, they had largely split off into a separate organization, the Appalachian Committee, as distinct from Appalachians like Ernie Mynatt who worked with groups like the PART 1: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO ETHNIC GROUP (45 �Appalachian Identity Center. When the Urban Appalachian Council was formed in 1974, the problem of outsiders was met in a straightforward way via the idea of advocacy which deliberately constructed a role for such people, which allowed them input, but also limited their roles in favor of Appalachians. Advocacy was defined as people who are "not a grass roots group and cannot speak for Appalachians, rather [these] members are to use their knowledge and other resources in such a way that the needs and problems of mountain migrants are documented and solutions are effected." The group also espoused the goal of promoting "efforts to organize Appalachians and to establish an organization whose sole aim is to organize in Appalachian neighborhoods." Like the other type of factionalism, this kind seems to have been avoided until 1978 when the issue was unsuccessfully challenged. Perhaps even a third type of factionalism was avoided when Maloney consciously built in two different political ideologies into the organization in order to make room for different kinds of people. Maloney has characterized the two as "standard liberal opportunity theory" and "more radical social movement theory." Both ideologies have managed to survive, and the organization has members and staff from every political party, as well as the apolitical. In short, Maloney meets Barth's criteria as manager of the whole operation by providing the leadership which has consistently secured funding and staff to do work on behalf of Appalachians. He meets Barth's criteria as an innovator by building bridges between the Appalachian community and the political power structure. He maintains recognition for Appalachians as an ethnic group, and that recognition manifests itself in the local media who consistently use the term Appalachian in referring to certain neighborhoods or organizations. Finally, he has maximized the value in Appalachian identity by developing a broad definition of Appalachian and convincing both Appalachians themselves and non-Appalachians of the positive contribution of the Appalachian lifestyle. Maloney's success in Cincinnati seems all the more significant when contrasted with the failure or limited success of Appalachian organizations in other cities. The organization in Cleveland, for example, ultimately ran aground on a problem solved in Cincinnati, that of what is an Appalachian and what to do with the non-Appalachians residing in Appalachian neighborhoods. In Columbus, Ohio the insider/outsider question, as well as the problem of what an Appalachian is, doomed the group. In Chicago, and Detroit as well, there was the problem of the existence among poor whites of at least as many southerners generally as Appalachians specifically. Efforts to organize Chicago people under the negative "poor whites" label have had only sporadic success. In Dayton, Ohio there is an Appalachian organization, but being organized largely by people with a middle class orientation, it has remained largely cultural and fraternal and has not sought the funding to develop economic programs in poor Appalachian neighborhoods as Cincinnati has. Other cities with Appalachian populations have no viable Appalachian organization such as Pittsburgh, Baltimore, Washington, DC, and Atlanta. In some towns where no Appalachian or other ethnic organizations have been founded, other groups have moved in to fill the void. The most notorious is probably the Ku Klux Klan, experiencing a national revival, which pits poor 46) PART/: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO EfHN/C GROUP �whites, whether Appalachian or otherwise, against other ethnic groups in an attempt to improve economic and political conditions. An organization like the Urban Appalachian Council addresses the legitimate grievances of its constituents, instead, to the power structure in familiar ethnic terms. The success of the Urban Appalachian Council in organizing Appalachians ethnically for political and economic improvement is to a great degree the result of the efforts of an ethnic entrepreneur. His insights into ethnic movements have allowed the organization to avoid the factionalism and problems unsuccessfully dealt with by other groups and have laid the groundwork for a positive image of Appalachian people. The by-products of his efforts have resulted in reduced racial and ethnic tension and the improvement of people's lives. PART 1: FROM SOCIAL PROBLEM TO ETHNIC GROUP (47 �This page intentionally left blank �PART TWO Continuing Development Among Appalachian Migrants Having established the problems prevalent among Appalachian migrants, it was necessary to know the number of people living outside the region. Clyde McCoy and James Brown (1981) first did this important work and documented their findings in The Invisible Minority. For a twenty-five year period commencing with the end of World War II, large numbers of Appalachians left the region. Few people moved there. However, the seventies saw a reverse pattern of migration and the eighty census revealed that Appalachia had become a receiving area for migrants from other places. While debates continue over whether Appalachia gains more people than it loses, the two papers in this section look at those people who are leaving the region. The paper by Obermiller and Oldendick provides documentation of the extent of recent outmigration and the destinations of these people. The paper by Philliber is concerned with the characteristics of these people. The changing destinations and composition of these migrants have important implications. PART II: CONf/NUING DEVEWPMENT AMONG APPALACHIAN MIGRANTS (49 �This page intentionally left blank �MOVING ON Recent Patterns of Appalachian Migration Although migration studies make an important and useful contribution to our understanding of the Appalachian experience, patterns of recent Appalachian migration have been neglected. No effort has been made to compare current Appalachian migration patterns with previously collected data on earlier Appalachian migration patterns, nor have recent Appalachian migration flows been compared with national migration trends. In this paper we will attempt to update the study of Appalachian migration. We will begin by examining the principal studies of Appalachian migration, and will describe the data set used in the current study. Next we will present an overview of Appalachian migration for the period 1980-81, including a brief analysis of migration flows at the state level. This discussion will be followed by a description of current migration streams to selected urban areas, along with the changes in migration to these areas that occurred between the late 1960's and the early 1980's. We will summarize these findings with a survey of recent patterns of net Appalachian migration by national regions, census divisions, states, and selected urban areas. In conclusion, we will discuss these findings both in light of the changes and continuity in Appalachian migration patterns over time and in terms of the relationship between these patterns and national migration trends. Previous Studies The field of regional studies has identified two basic economic options that affect migration: the distribution of economic opportunities to regional populations primarily through the creation of jobs, which inhibits migration, or the distribution of regional populations to external areas of economic opportunity, which encourages migration (Cumberland, 1973). Carter Goodrich and his associates (1936) recommended the latter option as a result of a study they made in the mid- PART II: CONTINUING DEVELOPMENT AMONG APPALACHIAN MIGRANTS (51 �1930's, which included eighty-four coal-producing counties in the Cumberland Plateau. The study advocated that the number of farmers and miners in this area be reduced through the outmigration of more than a quarter of the area's population. Brown and Hillery (1962) documented the fact that many persons did, in fact, leave the Southern Appalachian region during the twenty-year period between 1940 and 1960. Although a great deal of movement took place within the region, southern Appalachia also experienced a net loss of over thirteen percent of its population between 1940 and 1950, and a net loss of nineteen percent between 1950 and 1960 (Brown and Hillery, 1962:59). In his review of the 1970 census data, James S. Brown (1972) notes that between 1960 and 1970, outmigration from southern Appalachia continued at a considerably lower rate resulting in a net loss by migration of five percent for the decade (Brown, 1972:138). During the 1960's the metropolitan areas within southern Appalachia increased by nearly eight percent, principally through inmigration, since natural increase had declined significantly during this period, with the exception of those in Georgia, the nonmetropolitan counties in each of the ten states with Appalachian areas experienced an overall loss due to net migration (Brown, 1972:135-138). Paralleling national trends in rural-to-urban migration, the majority of Appalachian migrants moved to large, industrialized metropolitan areas. Clyde B. McCoy and James S. Brown (1981) have documented in some detail the migration stream systems from southern Appalachia into major metropolitan areas of the country. Their study identifies the thirty top-ranking metropolitan destinations for southern Appalachian migrants, as well as the particular migration stream systems between West Virginia and Kentucky and the ten metropolitan focal areas for these systems (McCoy and Brown, 1981). Although the rate of outmigration decreased over the thirtyyear period ending in 1970, McCoy and Brown find a great deal of consistency in the direction and proportions of Appalachian migration to the metropolitan focal areas they have identified. The major finding of the Appalachian Regional Commission's Report to Congress on Migration (1979) is the turnaround in net Appalachian migration. An analysis of the Social Security Administration's continuous work history sample for 1965, 1970, and 1975 indicates that Appalachian migration changed from a net loss to the region in the period 1955-1970 to a net gain in the period 1970-75. The pattern of outmigration also changed: while Northern states remained the destination of the greatest number of Appalachil.in migrants, states in the South showed the largest gain in the percentage of Appalachian migrants received (Appalachian Regional Commission, 1979b: Tables 11-3 and 11-4). The report concludes that most outmigrants enjoy greater incomes than they experienced while in Appalachia, and quickly gain income parity with workers in the areas where they settle (Appalachian Regional Commission, 1979b:15). The Current Study The data for this study were compiled by the Bureau of the Census for the Internal Revenue Service (IRS) from the Individual Master File, which includes a record of every individual income tax return form 1040 and 1040A for 1980 and 1981. The Area-to-Area Migration Flow Data were developed by matching the social security 52) PART ll:CONflNUlNG DEVELOPMENT AMONG APPALACHIAN MIGRANTS �numbers (SSNs) on returns filed in each year. When identical social security numbers were found, the counties of residence on each return were compared to see whether they matched. A match in county of residence was counted as an instance of a nonmigrant; when the counties did not match, the taxpayer was considered an outmigrant from the county of residence in the base year, and an inmigrant to the county of residence in the subsequent year. The final step in the process was to tally the exemptions on all subsequent year forms which had identical SSNs with the base year, and to categorize them as either nonrnigrant, inmigrant, or outmigrant.1 The figures derived from the IRS Area-to-Area Migration Flow Data have several limitations which should be noted so that the data presented here may be evaluated properly. Individuals who fail to file tax returns, those who are not required to file returns, and those who inflate the number of exemptions on their returns all detract from the representativeness of the data. In addition, the IRS has applied rules to make it manageable and to protect the anonymity of individual taxpayers.2 These characteristics of the data set make it impossible to calculate the exact volumes of migration or to describe the social characteristics of the migrants. The definition of the Appalachian region and the definitions of metropolitan, urban, and rural counties within the Appalachian region employed in this study follow those used by the Appalachian Regional Commission (Appalachian Regional Commission, 1979a).3 The "urban areas" referred to throughout the study are actually the counties in which the cities named are located; these areas are not necessarily congruent with the commonly used designations of urban places, urbanized areas, or metropolitan statistical areas (Weller and Bouvier, 1981). In addition, the data present migration flows for one year only; estimates for more extensive periods cannot be extrapolated accurately from this small base. The Findings In the twelve months covered by this study, slightly more individuals left the Appalachian region than entered it. Table 7: 1 shows that the leading sources of outmigrants were the metropolitan counties in Appalachia. These counties, which had 49% of the region's 1980 population, accounted for 55% of the outmigrants. The urban counties had 25% of the population and 24% of the outmigrants; the rural counties, which had 26% of the population, contributed 21% of the outmigrants. Similar percentage distributions were found among metropolitan (54%), urban (23%), and rural (23%) Appalachian counties for the flow of migrants into the region. Internal migration flows within Appalachia indicate that rural counties are the most frequent destinations for those who leave rural counties; of all rural-county outmigrants, 44% moved to other rural counties, 32% to urban counties, and 24% to metropolitan counties. Similarly, metropolitan counties are the most popular destination for those who leave metropolitan counties. Of all metropolitan county outmigrants, 67% moved to other metropolitan counties, 20% to urban counties, and 13% to rural counties. Residents of urban counties, however, tend to move to either rural or metropolitan counties, with a preference for the latter. In the period 1980-81, 40% of all urban county outmigrants moved to metropolitan counties, 34% to rural counties, and only 26% to other urban counties. PART II: CONfiNUING DEVELOPMENf AMONG APPALACHIAN MIGRANTS (53 �TABLE 7:1 1980-81 APPALACHIAN MIGRATION BY COUN1Y1YPE1 Destination Metropolitan Origin Metropolitan Urban Rural Out of Region 119,418 34,699 22,157 281,845 1980-81 Net Migration Urban 35,147 22,262 30,452 119,830 Out of Region Rural 22,831 29,475 41,365 119,671 289,752 127,870 114,123 -10,399 1 For county typology see Appalachian Regional Commission, 1979. Source: IRS Area-to-Area Migration Flow Data. Tables 7:2a and b show the non-Appalachian states with the most significant migration flows during the period under study. When inmigrant flows are compared with outmigrant flows, it becomes apparent that reciprocal flows exist between Appalachia and California, Florida, Illinois, New Jersey, and Texas. The flows from Indiana and Michigan to Appalachia are substantially oneway streams; few migrants move to these states from the region. The flows from Appalachia to Arizona and Massachusetts are also substantially one-way, but in the opposite direction: few migrants from these states move to Appalachia. TABLE 7:2a MIGRATION FLOWS TO AND FROM THE APPALACHIAN REGION Migrants to Appalachia State 54) State (N) (N) 5,135 2,135 2,122 1,946 1,836 1,724 1,266 Migrants from Appalachia Florida Illinois New Jersey California Michigan Texas Indiana 10,734 10,465 4,849 2,207 1,141 525 431 Florida Texas California Arizona Illinois Massachusetts New Jersey PART ll:CONIINUING DEVELOPMENT AMONG APPALACHIAN MIGRANTS �The non-Appalachian states that show the most significant net gains in migrants from the region are Texas, Florida, California, and Arizona, in that order. Those showing the most significant net losses are Michigan, New Jersey, Indiana, and Illinois. Table 7:3 presents a more precise view of recent Appalachian migration. The table includes those non-Appalachian counties that had a net gain or loss of 200 or more migrants from the Appalachian region in 1980-81. Since the counties are invariably metropolitan, the name of the chief city in each county is used to designate the "urban area." TABLE 7:2b NET APPALACHIAN MIGRATION FOR SELECTED STATES, 1980-81.1 t::!§lt Gain~ 8,741 5,599 2,903 1,795 1'::1§11 Los~!i!~ -995 -1,266 -1,691 -1,784 ~ Texas Florida California Arizona ~ Illinois Indiana New Jersey Michigan 1 Tables 7:2a and 2b do not include states with Appalachian counties. Source: IRS Area-to-Area Migration Flow Data. Houston and its environs had the largest net gain in migrants from Appalachia of any non-Appalachian urban area in the United States: it had over twice as many migrants as the second and third-ranked urban areas, Nashville and Tampa/St. Petersburg, and well above three times as many as Phoenix, Dallas, and Los Angeles, which ranked fourth, fifth, and sixth respectively. Atlanta was the chief among those urban areas that sent more migrants to the Appalachian region than they gained, and had by far the highest combined Appalachian in- and outrnigration. These facts must be interpreted with caution, however, since the county in which the city of Atlanta is located, Fulton County, shares common boundaries with five Appalachian counties. Similar conditions exist for the counties in which Cincinnati, Lexington, Roanoke, and Montgomery are located. Although these areas are likely to have high rates of exchange with neighboring counties, a situation that fulfills the technical definition of migration, their position in the ranking becomes somewhat ambiguous when compared with urban areas much more distant from Appalachia. PART /1: CONf/NU/NG DEVELOPMENf AMONG APPALACHIAN MIGRANTS (55 �TABLE 7:3 SELECTED URBAN AREAS RANKED BY NET APPALACHIAN MIGRATION, 1980-81.1 Net Migration From Appalachia Houston Nashville Tampa/St. Petersburg Phoenix Dallas Los Angeles Lexington W. Palm Beach Columbus Jacksonville Anaheim Charlotte Ft. Lauderdale Mobile Jackson San Diego Washington Roanoke 6,570 3,140 2,992 1,635 1,537 1,482 940 838 691 623 593 576 492 401 345 320 221 207 7,883 5,314 3,684 2,047 1,658 2,851 2,745 1,126 4,365 948 643 2,033 2,163 1,162 554 767 331 860 1,313 2,174 692 412 121 1,369 1,805 288 3,674 325 50 1,457 1,671 761 209 447 110 653 Louisville Indianapolis Dayton Cleveland New York Chicago Miami Detroit Cincinnati Atlanta -243 -258 -463 -630 -632 -1,024 -1,046 -1,420 -1,933 -5,670 300 -0395 1,616 813 1'112 644 52 4,366 9,995 543 258 858 2,246 1,445 2,136 1,690 1,472 6,299 15,665 Urban Area To Appalachia 1Table excludes urban areas in the Appalachian region. Source: IRS Area-to-Area Migration Flow Data. Table 7:4 presents a comparison of the thirty top-ranked metropolitan destinations for Appalachian migrants for the periods 1965-70 and 1980-81. Nine of the destinations found in the earlier ranking-Washington, Detroit, Baltimore, Columbia, Dayton, Norfolk, Richmond, New York, and Louisville-have been replaced in the more recent rankings by Houston, Lexington, Montgomery, Ft. Lauderdale, Phoenix, Dallas, Mobile, West Palm Beach, and Jacksonville. The positions of Atlanta, Birmingham, Chattanooga, Knoxville, and Philadelphia have remained fairly constant in each order, while Chicago and Cleveland ranked significantly lower in 1981 than in the previous 56) PART ll:CONTINUING DEVELOPMENT AMONG APPALACHIAN MIGRANTS �year. Pittsburgh, the Winston-Salem/High Point/Greensboro area, Charleston, and Greenville have all moved to substantially higher positions in the 1981 ranking. TABLE 7:4 TOP-RANKING METROPOLITAN DESTINATIONS FOR MIGRANTS FROM SOUTHERN APPALACHIA, 1965-70,1 AND FOR MIGRANTS FROM THE APPALACHIAN REGION, 1980-812 Rank 1965-70 1980-81 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 Atlanta Washington Detroit Birmingham* Knoxville* Chicago Chattanooga* Cleveland Los Angeles Nashville Huntington* Huntsville Baltimore 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 Columbus Tuscaloosa* Cincinnati Greenville Charlotte Charleston* Columbia Tampa Dayton Norfolk Richmond New York Louisville Roanoke Winston-Salem/ High Point/Greensboro Pittsburgh* Philadelphia Pittsburgh* Atlanta Birmingham* Houston Knoxville* Chattanooga* Nashville Greenville Cincinnati Columbus Tampa/St. Pete. Charleston* Winston-Salem/ High Point/Greensboro Huntsville* Huntington* Los Angeles Lexington Montgomery Ft. Lauderdale Phoenix Charlotte Tuscaloosa* Dallas Cleveland Mobile W. Palm Beach Chicago Jacksonville 29 30 Philadelphia Roanoke *Located in the Appalachian region. 1 Source: McCoy and Brown, 1981. 2 Source: IRS Area-toArea Migration Flow Data. PART ll: CONFINUING DEVELOPMENT AMONG APPALACHIAN MIGRANTS (57 �As elsewhere, we advise caution in examining this table because two different geographic definitions were used in constructing the rankings. In the later ranking, the definition of Appalachia includes counties in the states of New York, Pennsylvania, and Ohio, while the earlier definition excludes counties in these areas. This difference, for example, could be the principal reason behind the radical change in the ranking of the Pittsburgh area between one period and the other. TABLE 7:5 NET APPALACHIAN MIGRATION TO SELECTED URBAN AREAS BY CENSUS REGIONS AND DIVISIONS, 1980-81 Census Region Census Division Urban Area Net Migration Division Totals South 9,420 -2,174 South Atlantic Tampa/St. Pete., FL West Palm Beach, FL Jacksonville, FL Charlotte, NC Ft. Lauderdale, FL Washington, DC Roanoke, VA Columbia, SC Greensboro, NC *Huntington, WV Ba~imore, MD *Charleston, WV Miami, FL *Greenville, SC Atlanta, GA 2,992 838 623 576 492 221 207 63 36 19 -37 -434 -1,046 -1,054 -5,670 E. South Central Nashville, TN Lexington, KY Mobile, AL Jackson, Ml *Huntsville, AL *Knoxville, TN *Tuscaloosa, AL Montgomery, AL Louisville, KY *Chattanooga, TN *Birmingham, AL W. South Central Houston, TX Dallas, TX 3,487 3,140 940 402 345 267 256 168 -101 -243 -503 -1,183 8,107 6,570 1,537 (Table Continued on Next Page) 58) Region Totals PART l/:CONTINUING DEVELOPMENT AMONG APPALACHIAN MIGRANTS �(Table 7:5 Continued) Census Region Census Division Urban Area Net Migration Division Totals West Region Totals 4,030 West Pacific West Mountain 2,395 Los Angeles, CA Anaheim,CA San Diego, CA Phoenix,AZ 1,482 593 320 1,635 Northeast -2,421 Middle Atlantic -2,421 New York, NY *Pittsburgh, PA -632 -1,789 North Central E. North Central -5,037 -5,037 Columbus, OH Indianapolis, IN Dayton,OH Cleveland, OH Chicago,IL Detroit, Ml Cincinnati, OH 691 -258 -463 -630 -1,024 -1,420 -1,933 • Indicates urban area in Appalachian region. Source: IRS Area-to-Area Migration Flow Data. When net migration figures for selected urban areas are categorized by census regions and regional divisions (Table 7:5), a clear pattern emerges. For 1980-81 the urban areas in the Northeast and North Central regions show losses in Appalachian migration-2,421 and 5,037 respectively-while Western states show a net gain of 4,030. Urban areas in the South have a regional net gain of 9,420 migrants from Appalachia. At the divisional level, new losses occur in urban areas located in the South Atlantic states, despite substantial net gains in Florida, in East North Central states (5,037), and in the Middle Atlantic states (2,421). Net gains are recorded for urban areas located in the states of the East South Central (3,487), West South Central (8,107), West Pacific (2,395), and West Mountain (1,635) divisions. Discussion Although the evidence is incomplete, the much remarked-upon "migration runaround" of the 1970's, which saw the first net gain in migration to Appalachia in five decades, may have come to an end in the early 1980's (Picard, 198la, 1981b). This finding would correspond to a national trend detected in the early 1980's, in which the flow of migrants to rural America decreased notably from that of the mid-1970's PART II: CONTINUING DEVELOPMENT AMONG APPALACHIAN MIGRANTS (59 �(Agresta, 1985; Population Reference Bureau, 1982). Within Appalachia, however, the migrants' preference for rural counties over urban counties continued from the 1970's into the 1980's, but the flow of internal migrants away from metropolitan counties appears to have ended (Picard, 1981b). The most frequent destinations for internal migrants in this study were metropolitan counties, while the least frequent were the formerly popular urban counties. Appalachian migrants also reflect national preferences in their choices of which states to enter and which states to leave. The 1980 census data document a preference for destinations in Texas, Florida, California, and Arizona and a disinclination to stay in Illinois, Indiana, New Jersey, and Michigan (Robey and Russell, 1983). The national migration flows to states in the South and West and away from the North and East are paralleled by the Appalachian migration patterns presented in this study (Rogerson and Plane, 1985). In their choice of urban destinations, migrants from Appalachia go where jobs are available, but probably encounter intense competition from other migrants upon arrival. Eight of the top-ranked urban destinations of Appalachian migrants are among the twelve urban areas projected to have the greatest population growth between 1980 and 2000: Houston, San Diego, Dallas, Los Angeles, Phoenix, Anaheim, Ft. Lauderdale, and Tampa/St. Petersburg (Holdrich, 1984). Similarly, six of the topranked urban destinations of Appalachian migrants are among the twelve urban areas projected to have the greatest gain in employment between 1980 and 2000: Houston, Los Angeles, Anaheim, Dallas, San Diego, and Phoenix (Holdrich, 1984). Although recent Appalachian migration patterns parallel national patterns of migration, they diverge significantly from historic patterns Appalachian migration. Brown and McCoy (1981) found high correlations among the ranking for the metropolitan destinations of Appalachian migrants in the 1950's, 1960's, and 1970's. Despite some inconsistency in the way the data were gathered for the 196570 study and the 1980-81 study, a substantial change in the pattern of migrant destinations in the 1980's was noted. The change is clear and consistent throughout the county, state, and regional levels of analysis. The focus of Appalachian migration has shifted from the cities and states of the Northeast and Midwest, and has now turned toward the cities and states of the South, Southwest, and West. Conclusion Three major conclusions can be reached on the basis of this study. First, it appears that patterns of outmigration from Appalachia changed substantially between the 1960's and 1970's and the early 1980's. The urban areas that serve as the focal points for current Appalachian migration flows are now more likely to be found in the Southern and Western states than in those of the Midwest or Northeast. Second, it appears that patterns of migration within Appalachia have changed between 1970 and 1980. Migrants within the region are moving to metropolitan counties at higher rates in the 1980's than in the previous decade. Third, outmigrants from the Appalachian region move in a fashion quite similar to other internal migrants in the United States. Current Appalachian migration streams flow toward the same general receiving areas as do the larger national migration streams. In their patterns of "moving on," recent Appalachian migrants are less similar 60) PART l/:CONflNUING DEVELOPMENT AMONG APPALACHIAN MIGRANTS �to earlier migrants from Appalachia than to their contemporaries in other parts of the country. NOTES * The authors gratefully acknowledge the financial support of the Urban Appalachian Council, Cincinnati, Ohio, in obtaining the data set used in this study. The suggestions of the UAC Research and Education Committee during the data analysis stage of the study have been quiet helpful and are very much appreciated. 1. Only the returns in which the SSN in 1980 matched the SSN in 1981 were included. Reasons for nonmatches include errors in entering or reading the SSN, individuals marrying and having the second SSN on a joint return, deaths, failure to file, and falling outside the guidelines for filing. 2. When the number of returns indicating movement from one county to another were ten or less, they were aggregated into the appropriate larger category: "same state" or one of the four census regions. The present study makes no allocation of the exemptions in these categories. In addition, if county-to-county migration did not account for at least 0.5% of the migrants to the county of destination on the inmigration data set or at least 0.5% of the migrants from the county of origin on the outmigration data set, this information was not presented by county but included in a larger geographical category. This resulted in roughly one-third to two-fifths of the data being reported on a higher geographical level than the county-to-county level. Consequently, the figures presented in this study for county-to-county migration are quite conservative. Finally, since different aggregation rules may be in effect for inmigration and for outmigration data, the results produced from the two data sets are not necessarily symmetrical. An example may help to illustrate the discrepancies this may cause. In the inmigration data, where Elk County, PA, is the county of destination, the records show that 21 returns were filed by people who migrated from Allegheny County (Pittsburgh), PA. The outmigration data, in which Allegheny County is the county of origin, have no separate record for these 21 returns that indicate relocation in Elk County, but have them aggregated with other "same state" movers. These returns represent four percent of the returns for migrants into Elk County, and accordingly they are listed individually in the inmigration data; however, they account for less than 0.5% of the returns for migrants from Allegheny County, and therefore are aggregated in the "same state" category in the outmigration data. This aggregation procedure causes underestimates of the county-to-county migration into counties with large population and underestimates of the county-to-county migration out of these counties. With this in mind, we have used the outmigration data set when counties with large population were the place of destination, and the inmigration data set when these counties were the place of origin. 3. Consensus is lacking on a geographic defmition of the region. In 1984 William PART ll: CONI/NU/NG DEVELOPMENT AMONG APPALACHIAN MIGRANTS (61 �G. Frost defined "the Mountain Region of the South" as conslStmg of 194 counties (Walls, 1977); John C. Campbell (1921) included 254 counties in the "Southern Highlands"; the U.S. Department of Agriculture (1935) variously designated 205 or 236 counties as the "Southern Appalachians"; Brown and Hillery (1962) define "Southern Appalachia" as 190 counties; McCoy and Brown (1981) employ four different definitions of the region, one of which includes 303 counties; Philliber (1981) includes 396 counties in his study of Appalachian migrants and the Appalachian Regional Commission (1979a) defines the region as 397 counties. This study adopts the most inclusive definition in order to obtain the greatest range of comparability with similar research. 62) PART //:CONTINUING DEVEWPMENf AMONG APPALACHIAN MIGRANTS �THE CHANGING COMPOSITION OF APPALACHIAN MIGRANTS The period from the end of World War II through the sixties has been described as the Great Migration out of Appalachia. During the period an estimated seven million Appalachians left, most to settle in cities surrounding the region (McCoy and Brown, 1981). A high percentage of the migrants came from low income families who brought little education with them (Philliber, 1981). They settled in neighborhoods where other Appalachians lived (Fowler, 1981; Philliber, 1981) finding work in lower blue-collar jobs (Schwarzweller, 1981). The concentration of high numbers of people sharing a common geographic origin and similar low socioeconomic status living in the same neighborhoods created the critical mass necessary for the formation of an ethnic group. The reaction of the host communities to their presence provided the catalyst which resulted in Appalachian ethnic groups emerging in Midwestern cities (Philliber, 1981). For the past several years a number of changes have been occurring among Appalachians living outside of the region. Taken together, these changes created reason to believe that Appalachian ethnic groups outside of the region are a temporary phenomena soon to disappear. The purpose of this paper is to examine those changes and look at their implications. The first major change which has occurred in the pattern of Appalachian migration is that the number of people moving from Appalachia to Midwestern cities has declined. A look at the Midwestern cities included in Table 7:3 of the previous chapter shows very few migrants moving to these cities. Louisville, Indianapolis, Dayton, and Detroit all show fewer than five hundred migrants and no Midwestern city has as many as five thousand. While people may choose to debate whether net migration is to or from Appalachia, it appears that the Great Migration is over. Not only has the Great Migration ended, it is unlikely to begin again. The population base from which migrants are drawn has declined. Fewer children are living in the region to migrate as they reach their late teens and early twenties PART ll: CONTINUING DEVEWPMENf AMONG APPALACHIAN MIGRANTS (63 �(Appalachia, 1983). The closing of coal mines and the migration from worn out fanns has already taken place. Diversified manufacturing, trade, and service industries are likely to provide a more stable economic base for the region in the future. The factors which produced the Great Migration in the third quarter of this century are not present as the century ends. The second major change in the pattern of migration out of Appalachia is a shift toward migrants who are economically better off than their predecessors. Watkins and Trevino (1982) studied women who migrated from Appalachia to Cincinnati between 1965 and 1970. They found these migrants to be disproportionately employed as professional. Again in Cincinnati, Philliber (1981) surveyed the general population in 1975 and Obermiller (1982) in 1980. If the two studies are compared, the latter study indicates that first generation white Appalachian migrants are better educated (28% compared to 15% have some college) and have better occupations (24% compared to 18% are employed as professionals or managers) than they did earlier. Although only the Watkins-Trevino study shows Appalachians doing as well as nonAppalachians, the suggestion is there that recent Appalachian migrants are economically better off than was true in earlier years. The third major change occurring among Appalachians living outside of the region is their generation of migration. The Great Migration brought people to the Midwest in their late teens and early twenties. Many of them bore children who were second-generation Appalachians. Many of those people are now adults and have their own families-third-generation Appalachians. Both Philliber (1981) and Obermiller (1982) found as many second-generation Appalachians as they found firstgeneration migrants. In the conference on Appalachians held in Cincinnati in 1984, service providers in neighborhoods where Appalachians had settled described their populations as predominantly second- and third-generation Appalachians. The history of white ethnic groups in America suggests that by the third generation ethnic ties weaken as people move into the mainstream of a community (Blau and Duncan, 1967; Goering, 1971). There are several reasons to believe this will be true of Appalachians living in Midwestern cities. A number of Appalachians remained in ports-of-entry for only a short time before they secured sufficient education to also hold middle class positions (Philliber, 1981; Obermiller, 1982). Studies cited above indicate that large numbers of current migrants are already middle class. Ethnicity is less of a factor in the lives of middle class people (Massey, 1981). For people of some economic means, socio-economic ties become stronger than ethnic ties. Middle income people have room below them. Ethnic differentiation is likely to be stronger among lower income people who have fewer human capital resources to protect them and may rely upon ethnic discrimination for security. Middle income people, less vulnerable to discrimination, lessen their ethnic ties. Many Appalachians will not move into the middle class. Dropouts from school and unemployment remain high among children born to migrants. These second- and third-generation Appalachians will remain in decaying inner-city neighborhoods, but they are unlikely to consider themselves Appalachians or be considered so by others. First, there will be little about these people to identify them as Appalachians. The distinctive accents of their parents will be replaced by speech patterns of Midwestern city dwellers. They will have learned the ways of 64) PART 1/: CONF!NUING DEVEWPMENf AMONG APPALACHIAN MIGRANTS �city people and know little of the ways people live in Appalachia. In the land of their ancestors they will be known as "city slickers" and "Yankees." Unlike the Appalachians who migrated, these people are stuck in the city. Early migrants were able to return to the mountains when employment ran out in the city. These people have no place to call home in Appalachia. Their families live outside the region. They remain poor, but they do not remain Appalachian. New migrants from Appalachia will not replace former generations in Appalachian neighborhoods. Because they are economically better off, they will live in middle income neighborhoods. Their identification with Appalachians will be limited to collecting quilts and listening to mountain music. The economic problems suffered by previous generations and their offspring will not be their problem. The emergence of Appalachians as an ethnic group in Midwestern cities has been an important dynamic of the third quarter of the twentieth century. However, the changes which have occurred in the last quarter will probably result in an end to Appalachian ethnicity as it existed. PAKf II: CONflNUING DEVELOPMENT AMONG APPALACHIAN MIGRANTS (65 �This page intentionally left blank �PART THREE From Regionalism To Urban Life People of Appalachian heritage have now been a part of midwestern cities for a number of years. During that time they have affected and have been affected by that environment. Previous work documented the experiences of early migrants. This section analyzes more recent experiences. Many of the people studied in these papers were born outside of the region to parents who themselves were migrants. Others are recent migrants who moved after the period of the Great Migration. Focus is placed upon their relationship to urban forms of government, family, and education. PART ll/: FROM REGIONAliSM TO URBAN UFE ( 67 �This page intentionally left blank �TWO STUDIES OF APPALACHIAN CIVIC INVOLVEMENT I. POLITICAL ACTIVITY AMONG APPALACHIAN MIGRANTS The importance of ethnicity in the formation of a political culture among white immigrant groups has received a good deal of attention since the "ethnic renaissance" of the late 1960's and 1970's (Glazer and Moynihan, 1975). More recently, discussions and documentation of ethnic group formation among white Appalachian migrants to metropolitan areas outside the Appalachian region have begun to appear in the literature (Philliber, 1981). Marger and Obermiller (1983) have put forth a theory of emergent ethnicity among Appalachian migrants based on a combination of four models of ethnic group formation. The first model posits the development of a culturally based community within the group in question; the second model requires the development of an ethnic identity among group members and recognition of the group by outsiders; the third depends on the development of clear ecological patterns (e.g., neighborhood or occupational clustering) which contribute to in-group solidarity; the fourth represents political mobilization of group members in response to competition from other ethnic groups. Data relating to the first three models have been collected and analyzed. Philliber (1981) found little evidence that Appalachian migrants possess unique cultural traits. Obermiller (1982) pointed to definite patterns in the stereotyping of urban Appalachians by Appalachians as well as non-Appalachians. Other investigators (Fowler, 1981; Schwarzweller, 1981) have documented the presence of predominantly Appalachian neighborhoods in urban areas and the occupational clustering of Appalachian workers. The purpose of this article is to examine Appalachian political behavior in Hamilton County, Ohio, specifically to determine the degree to which a PART Ill: FROM REGIONAliSM TO URBAN UFE ( 69 �distinct set of political activities characterizes the county's white Appalachian population. I Although a variety of historical and contemporary studies have focused on politics in the Appalachian region (Gaventa, 1980; Ryan, 1975), few have dealt with the political activities of out-migrants from Appalachia. Early studies (Giffm, 1962; Schwarzweller, Brown and Mangalam, 1971) of the political differences between Appalachian migrants and urban natives show little difference between these two groups, while later investigations (Philliber, 1981) demonstrate strong differences between them, but provide little evidence as to the reason for such distinctions. The present study ftrst examines the factors of political involvement and affiliation in order to test which of these conflicting interpretations is more accurate, and then determines the salience of ethnicity in the political behavior of Appalachian migrants. Analysis The data employed in this study were collected as part of the Fall, 1980 Greater Cincinnati Study.2 In this survey interviews were conducted with 753 white nonAppalachians, 237 white Appalachians, and 127 black non-Appalachians. Thirty-six black Applachians have been excluded from the sample because of their small number and because of a reluctance to confuse race with ethnicity in the present study (cf. Philliber and Obermiller, 1982). Respondents were coded as Appalachian if they were born in Appalachia or if at least one of their parents was born in Appalachia.3 Before discussing how Appalachians differ from or resemble other urban groups political activity, it is necessary to compare their position vis-a-vis these groups in terms of basic social characteristics. Appalachians in greater Cincinnati have the same general age proftle and sex distribution as other whites and blacks. All three groups have lived in the area approximately the same number of years, on the average. Distinct differences appear, however, when the three groups are compared for educational attainment, occupational status, and income. Disproportionately few Appalachians (36%) and blacks (31%) have had any college experience when compared with the non-Appalachian white population (48%). These three groups are also quite distinct in occupational status. Blacks are found disproportionately in the operative and labor/service job categories, and are underrepresented in the professional and managerial occupations when compared with both Appalachians and non-Appalachian whites. Appalachian whites differ from their non-Appalachian counterparts primarily in the high percentage of operatives in this group (19% vs. 7%) and the relatively low percentage having jobs in the sales/clerical job categories (38% vs. 26%. The distribution of family income for Appalachians and other whites in Hamilton County is quite similar, but a much higher percentage of blacks is found in the low-income range, with 46% of black families having incomes of less than $15,000. In overall socioeconomic status, white Appalachians are distinct from both nonAppalachians and blacks.4 White non-Appalachians are generally in the higher-status group, while a higher percentage of blacks is found in the low socioeconomic category. Appalachian whites fall between these two groups in overall socioeconomic status. These data show some similarities among the three groups in demographic characteristics, but greater distinctions appear in social status. Is this variation among 70) PART Ill: FROM REGIONALISM TO URBAN UFE �the groups also evident in their political activity? Prior research (Hill and Luttbeg, 1980; Milbrath and Goel, 1977) has shown that social-position factors such as education, occupation, and income have a significant effect on an individual's political behavior. To determine how Appalachian origin contributes to such activity, we examined two aspects of political activity, involvement and affiliation. Involvement was measured by questions on the respondents' general interest in politics, their interest in political campaigns, whether or not they voted, and whether they knew the names of their U.S. senators. The two questions which probed affiliation were related to party identification and liberal-conservative self-placement.S Although the figures in Table 9: 1 show variation across groups, they do not present a uniform picture concerning the involvement of each of the three groups. In general interest in politics, for example, white Appalachians and blacks are quite similar, while non-Appalachian whites are more likely to say they follow politics some of the time and are less likely to follow them "only now and then." A similar distribution occurs on the campaign interest question. Again, white Appalachians and blacks are very much alike, while white non-Appalachians are more inclined to follow politics "somewhat" and less likely to say "not much." On the question of voting, however, a lower percentage of Appalachians claims to have voted than either of the non-Appalachian groups. Regarding the question of knowing their senators' names, blacks are distinct; a much higher percentage in this group are unable to name either senator than in either of the other two groups. Turning to the question of political afftliation, the data demonstrate differences among the three groups in regard to political identification. The figures for partisanship show blacks to be much more Democratic and much less Republican than Appalachian and other whites. On the question of self-identified political philosophy, white non-Appalachians are less likely to be liberal than either Appalachians or blacks, while a smaller percentage of blacks considers themselves conservative. Although the variation among groups on these questions is not totally consistent, a general pattern emerges to show that white Appalachians are similar to blacks in terms of their political involvement, and that these two groups are distinct from white non-Appalachians. This description, however, leaves unanswered the question of how much Appalachian origin, as opposed to other social characteristics, contributes to these differences. To examine this question, political activity measures for involvement and affiliation were used as dependent variables in a series of multiple regressions which included income, education, race, age, sex, and Appalachian origin as independent variables.6 In this way the effects of Appalachian origin can be specified separately from the effects of other social characteristics. The data presented in Table 9:2 demonstrate clearly the importance of demographic factors over Appalachian origin in explaining these political variables. Education and age are the best predictors of political involvement; sex and income also contribute to the explanation of variance on this scale. Race is the best predictor of party identification, while income and age also contribute to this model. For political philosophy, age is the most important predictor variable; race and income somewhat less important. Appalachian origin contributes little to the explanation of any of these variables, and does not make a statistically significant difference for any of the dependent variables explained. While Appalachians may differ from non-Appalachian whites and blacks in various aspects of their political activity, Appalachian origin PART Ill: FROM REGIONALISM TO URBAN UFE ( 71 �TABLE 9:1 RESPONSES OF WHITE NON-APPALACHIANS, WHITE APPALACHIANS, AND BLACK NON-APPALACHAINS IN HAMILTON COUNTY, OHIO TO QUESTIONS REGARDING THEIR POLITICAL INTEREST, PARTICIPATION, KNOWLEDGE, AND AFFILIATION White nonAppalachians White Appalachians Black nonAppalachians Political interest?a Most of the time Some of the time Only now and then 34% 37% 28% 39% 27% 33% 36% 26% 38% N 723 225 127 Campaign interest?a,b Very much Somewhat Not much 39% 45% 16% 41% 33% 26% 45% 31% 24% N 721 225 127 73% 27% 61% 39% 69% 31% 723 227 125 35% 29% 36% 31% 27% 43% 17% 25% 58% N 726 225 127 Party identificationa,c Democrat Independent Republican 23% 46% 32% 21% 42% 37% 56% 36% 8% 701 225 127 18% 44% 38% 25% 35% 39% 32% 41% 27% 681 208 108 Voted in last election?a,b Yes No Able to name senators?a,c Both One Neither N Political philosophya Liberal Moderate Conservative N alndicates statistically significant differences at the .01 level between white nonAppalachians, white Appalachians, and black non-Appalachians using a chi-square test. blndicates statistically significant differences at the .01 level between white nonAppalachians and white Appalachians using a chi-square test. clndicates statistically significant differences at the .01 level Appalachians and black non-Appalachians using a chi-square test. 72) PART Ill: FROM REGIONALISM TO URBAN UFE between white �contributes little to the explanation of these differences when other social factors are controlled in a multivariate model. TABLE 9:2 BETA WEIGHTS FOR REGRESSIONS ON POLITICAL INVOLVEMENT AND AFFILIATION Involvement Political Involvement Affiliation Party Identification Political Philosophy Education Age Sex Income Race Appalachian origin -.38* -.32* .13* -.11* .02 .01 -.02* .09* -.03 .13* .26* -.03 -.02 .24* .03 .09* .11* .04 Multiple R .50 .32 .28 *Statistically significant at the .01 level. II. APPALACHIAN PARTICIPATION IN URBAN NEIGHBORHOOD GOVERNANCE At present the city of Cincinnati recognizes 48 "statistical neighborhoods," which identify the approximate neighborhood location of census tracts and are used primarily for data collection and analysis (City Planning Commission, 1980). From another perspective, there are 47 neighborhoods with at least one "semi-official" community council operating in each. In some neighborhoods more than one council exists because of political rivalries, because they are subdivided into block clubs, or because of specialinterest groups within the same neighborhood (Bordwell, 1983a). In mid-1983 there was a total of 78 neighborhood-based councils or groups and two citywide coalitions of neighborhood groups (Bordwell, 1983a, 1983b). The Data In the spring of 1981 the Behavioral Sciences Laboratory of the University of Cincinnati conducted the Citizens Services Survey/1981,7 a random-digit-dialing telephone survey of 4,275 adults living in Cincinnati. The survey identified 1,185 black respondents, 325 first-generation white Appalachians, and 2,492 other whites. The research design recognized the importance of distinguishing among these three groups because of their high-density concentrations in particular Cincinnati neighborhoods (Maloney, 1974), and because they display distinct socioeconomic and ethnic characteristics (Philliber, 1981). PART Ill: FROM REGIONAliSM TO URBAN UFE ( 73 �Two limitations inherent in this data set should be taken into consideration when reviewing the results of the study. First, the data understate the number of Appalachians by at least half by including black Appalachians in the black group and by including second-generation white Appalachians among "other whites." Second, the data were collected primarily for descriptive rather than explanatory purposes; thus the secondary analysis of such data is quite limited in its explanatory power. Even with these constraints, however, the data set is the most current and complete source of information on Appalachian participation in urban neighborhood governance. The Results In 1978 the Institute of Governmental Research reported that "while 71% (of Cincinnatians surveyed) know of the existence of community councils in their neighborhoods, only 12.4% report that they belong to the council" (Institute of Governmental Research, 1978:3). Five years later slightly less than 55% of Cincinnatians surveyed knew of such councils operating in their neighborhoods, and only 14% indicated that they were members of a neighborhood council. More blacks (62%) than Appalachians (44%) or other whites (53%) knew of a local neighborhood association or community council, but among those who knew of such organizations only 24% of the Appalachians and other whites and 27% of the blacks said that they belonged in some way to a neighborhood council. TABLE 9:3 AGE AND SEX OF MEMBERS OF THREE CINCINNATI GROUPS WHO KNOW ABOUT AND BELONG TO NEIGHBORHOOD COUNCILS AGE KNOW % (N) BELONG % (N) BLACK 18-29 years 30-64 years 65 and older 61 (271) 69 (378) 53 (82) 13 (35) 35 (130) 40 (33) APPALACHIAN 18-29 years 30-64years 65 and older 44 (30) 43 (81) 45 (31) 10 (3) 31 (25) 21 (6) OTHER WHITE 18-29 years 30-64years 65 and older 44 (463) 62 (684) 47 (174) 11 (48) 30 (204) 31 (53) SEX KNOW BELONG BLACK Males Females 63 (270) 62 (467) 24 (65) 29 (134) APPALACHIAN Males Females 42 (52) 45 (90) 28 (15) 22 (20) OTHER WHITE Males Females 55 (591) 51 (721) 22 (128) 26 (183) 74) PART lll: FROM REGIONALISM TO URBAN LIFE �As Table 9:3 indicates, age makes little difference in whether Appalachians know about neighborhood councils, but among blacks and other whites, those between the ages of 30 and 64 are more likely to know about the councils. For each of the three groups, being over thirty years old increases the likelihood of belonging to a neighborhood council. In all three groups the sex of the respondents seem to have little bearing on knowledge of local councils. Sex also makes little difference in membership patterns, although Appalachian men are slightly more likely to be members than Appalachian women, in contrast to the prevalence of female council members in the other two groups. When the figures are studied from the viewpoint of key social characteristics such as education, occupation, and income, a consistent pattern emerges. As the level of education rises for members of each group, so does the possibility that they will be aware of their community council. Having more than twelve years of education is the largest positive influence on the membership patterns of each of the three groups. Among the Appalachians in particular, an increase in educational attainment accompanies a major increase in both awareness and membership. White-collar workers in each of the three groups are more likely than blue-collar workers to know about neighborhood councils and are more likely to belong to them. The effect of higher occupation status upon know ledge is greater for Appalachians then for blacks and whites; among Appalachians white-collar workers have significantly greater knowledge of local councils than do blue-collar workers. The effect of occupational status on membership patterns, however, is more pronounced for blacks and for other whites; it is almost negligible for Appalachians. Home ownership has a modest positive effect on neighborhood-council awareness among members of all three groups, and a somewhat more substantial effect on the likelihood that they will actually be members of a council. Overall, neighborhood satisfaction has a positive correlation with knowledge of neighborhood councils for Appalachians, but a slightly negative correlation for blacks and other whites. For each of the three groups and particularly among Appalachians, those who are satisfied with their neighborhoods are more likely to belong to a neighborhood council. Conclusions It seems, therefore, that Appalachian ethnicity has very little direct influence on the political activity of the county's Appalachian population. On the other hand, socioeconomic factors such as education, age, sex, race, and income help account for the observed differences in political involvement and affiliation found among the county residents sampled. Taken in themselves, these factors would appear to lend more credence to a social class explanation of the political differences observed than to an explanation based on ethnicity. This is certainly the case of Appalachian knowledge of and participation in neighborhood councils. As socioeconomic status rises, a clear pattern of increasing knowledge and membership emerges for all three groups. Education and income have the strongest effect on awareness of neighborhood councils, while income has a substantial influence on council membership. In addition, homeowners who are also voters are consistently more likely to know about their neighborhood councils and to PART Ill: FROM REGIONAliSM TO URBAN UFE ( 75 �TABLE 9:4 EDUCATIONAL ATTAINMENT, OCCUPATIONAL STATUS, INCOME, AND SOCIOECONOMIC STATUS (SES) FOR MEMBERS OF THREE CINCINNATI GROUPS WHO KNOW ABOUT AND BELONG TO NEIGHBORHOOD COUNCILS KNOW % (N) BELONG % ( N) Less than 12 yrs. 12 years More than 12 yrs. 27 (32) 46 (49) 63 (61) 9 (3) 21 (1 0) 35 (21) Less than 12 yrs. 12 years More than 12 yrs. 39 (189) 49 (382) 61 (741) 18 (33) 18 (66) 29 (211) BLACK White Collar Blue Collar 67 (264) 61 (410) 35 (94) 24 (96) White Collar Blue Collar 59 (81) 34 (52) 26 (21) 22 (11) White Collar Blue Collar 59 (882) 46 (355) 27 (239) 17 (60) BLACK Less than $15,000 $15,000-$30,000 More than $30,000 61 (318) 71 (195) 76 (73) 24 (75) 28 (54) 53 (38) APPALACHIAN Less than $15,000 $15,000-$30,000 More than $30,000 36 (47) 60 (54) 57 (22) 16 (8) 17 (9) 60 (13) OTHER WHITES Less than $15,000 $15,000-$30,000 More than $30,000 43 (341) 55 (421) 70 (291) 16 (53) 22 (91) 32 (93) BLACK High Medium Low 74 (108) 70 (237) 59 (199) 46 (50) 26 (64) 24 (47) APPALACHIAN High Medium Low 69 (36) 50 (58) 33 (25) 46 (16) 14 (8) 12 (3) OTHER WHITES 76) 29 (63) 19 (50) 34 (87) OTHER WHITES SES 55 (217) 61 (266) 72 (253) APPALACHIAN INCOME Less than 12 yrs. 12 years More than 12 yrs. OTHER WHITES OCCUPATION BLACK APPALACHIAN EDUCATION High Medium Low 69 (420) 50 (463) 41 (125) 32 (133) 18 (83) 14 (17) PART Ill: FROM REGIONAliSM TO URBAN UFE �belong to them than renters who do not vote. Except for Appalachians, people who are dissatisfied with their neighborhoods are likely to be less aware of local councils and almost totally uninvolved in them. The larger the income, the greater the possibility that members of all three groups will know about and be members of neighborhood councils. Among nonAppalachian whites, increasing income makes it most likely that they will know about their local councils; by contrast, Appalachian council membership increases most substantially as income rises. One method of summarizing the combined effects of educational attainment, occupational status, and income is to combine them in such a way as to indicate the relationship of socioeconomic status (SES) within each group to awareness of neighborhood councils and membership in the councils.S Overall, the higher the level of socioeconomic well-being, the greater the probability of knowing about and belonging to a neighborhood council. In fact, rising socioeconomic status appears to TABLE 9:5 POLITICAL PARTICIPATION, HOME OWNERSHIP, AND NEIGHBORHOOD SATISFACTION OF MEMBERS OF THREE CINCINNATI GROUPS WHO KNOW ABOUT AND BELONG TO NEIGHBORHOOD COUNCILS KNOW Voters Nonvoters 69 (408) 56 (328) 40 (161) 12 (38) Voters Nonvoters 59 (88) 31 (54) 31 (27) 13 (7) Voters Nonvoters 65 (860) 39 (451) 30 (252) 13 (59) BLACK Owners Rent 69 (296) 59 (440) 40 (116) 19 (83) APPALACHIAN Owners Rent 45 (80) 44 (62) 33 (26) 13 (8) OTHER WHITES NEIGHBORHOOD SATISFACTION BLACK OTHER WHITES HOME OWNERSHIP % (N) APPALACHIAN POLITICAL PARTICIPATION BELONG % ( N) Owners Rent 65 (838) 41 (461) 30 (252) 12 (56) BLACK Satisfied Dissatisfied 62 (575) 64 (129) 28 (158) 22 (29) APPALACHIAN Satisfied Dissatisfied 47 (130) 26 (1 0) 27 (34) 0 (0) OTHER WHITES Satisfied Dissatisfied 53 (1147) 54 (128) 24 (276) 21 (26) PART ll/: FROM REGIONAUSM TO URBAN UFE ( 77 �have the greatest effect among Appalachians: high-SES Appalachians are more than twice as likely to know about community councils and almost four times as likely to belong to a community council than their low-SES counterparts. Apart from basic social characteristics, we can expect other factors to affect community council awareness and membership. Political participation, home ownership, and overall neighborhood satisfaction can be related to the knowledge of neighborhood councils and the motivation to join them. Respondents who indicated that they voted in the last Cincinnati city council election were more likely to know about their neighborhood councils and to belong to them than those who did not vote. The effect of political participation on neighborhood council membership patterns is most evident among blacks, who were over three times more likely to belong to a council if they were voters than if they were nonvoters. Cincinnati's black residents are consistently more likely to know about and to join neighborhood-based organizations than are Appalachians or other whites. The relatively high levels of black awareness and participation in Cincinnati's neighborhood-based organizations resemble national patterns of black participation in voluntary organizations (Antunes and Gaitz, 1975; Cohen and Kapsis, 1978; Williams, et al., 1973, 1977). On the other hand, awareness and membership are lowest among the Appalachians surveyed; within the Appalachian group those with less income, less schooling, and lower occupational status are least likely to know of or be members of neighborhood councils. Other issues in this area remain to be explored, such as the effect of community organizers on Appalachian membership in local councils and different patterns of community-council participation in heavily Appalachian neighborhoods. Nonetheless, these basic insights can be derived from this consideration of the social factors influencing neighborhood council awareness and participation among Appalachians. First, because urban Appalachians are consistently more aware of their local councils than they are willing to join them, the councils may benefit from reevaluating the wisdom of depending on public announcements (e.g., newspaper coverage, circulars, posters) to bring in Appalachian members. Second, because those groups with greater ethnic self-awareness, such as blacks, are proportionately more involved in local councils, less self-conscious groups, such as Appalachians may need more intensive recruitment to ensure adequate representation in neighborhood council membership. Third, to the extent that among Appalachians those under thirty years of age, women, and individuals of lower socioeconomic status are less well represented in local council membership, extra effort is necessary either to recruit them to council membership or to identify and act on the issues which most concern them. NOTES 1. Hamilton County and its largest urban center, the city of Cincinnati, have long been major destinations for Appalachian migrants (McCoy and Brown, 1981). In 1980 there were over 213,000 first- and second-generation Appalachians in the county, constituting just under one-fourth of its population (Obermiller, 1982). 2. The Greater Cincinnati Survey is a cost-shared semiannual telephone survey of 78) PART Ill: FROM REGIONALISM TO URBAN UFE �residents 18 years of age and older in Hamilton County. Random-digit dialing procedures are used for selecting the sample. The response rate for this survey, including partially completed interviews, was 78.3%. 3. At the suggestion of one of the reviewers, the analysis was performed with only first-generation respondents coded as Appalachian. As would be expected, firstgeneration Appalachians were older and less educated than second-generation respondents, but these distinctions did not alter the relationships between Appalachian origin and other demographic characteristics, or the relationships with the political variables examined. This fmding is consistent with the work of Philliber (1981) and Obermiller (1982), who have shown that generation makes little difference in the attitudes and behavior of Appalachians. Given the greater statistical power which a definition using both Appalachian generations provides, we chose this operationalization. 4. The socioeconomic status index was created by first collapsing income, education, and occupation into the following categories: Value 1 2 3 Income Education Occupation $0-$14,999 $15,000-$24,999 $25,000 and over Less than high school High school diploma Some college or more Blue-collar White-collar These three variables were then summed, resulting in an index with scores ranging from 3 to 9. Respondents with a score of 3 or 4 were classified as low SES, those with scores of 5, 6, or 7 were considered medium SES, and individuals with scores of 8 or 9 were categorized as high on the SES index. 5. These questions used the same wording as those in the National Election Studies conducted by the Center of Political Studies at the University of Michigan for the variable indicating interest in politics, voting behavior, party identification, and political philosophy. Political knowledge was measured by asking respondents the following question: "Now we know that a lot of people don't always follow politics, but do you happen to know the names of the two United States senators from Ohio?" 6. The variables which 7. Thanks 8. Socioeconomic status was determined by considering level of income (less than have been examined here represent two dimensions of political activity: involvement and affiliation. For this regression analysis, the involvement variables-interest in politics, campaign interest, vote, and knowlede of senators' names-were combined linearly into an index which was used as one of the dependent variables. Scores on this index ranged from 4 to 12. Separate regressions were run, with party identification and political philosophy as the dependent variables. The seven-point party identification and political philosophy measures were used as dependent variables. to Dean Watkins of the Office of Research, Evaluation, and Budget, City of Cincinnati, for making the Citizen Services Survey 1981 data available for this study. PAKI Ill: FROM REGIONAUSM TO URBAN UFE ( 79 �$15,000; $15,000-$30,000; more than $30,000), education (less than 12 years; 12 years; more than 12 years), and occupational status (white-collar; blue-collar) and combining them into appropriate categories, in this case high, medium, and low. A respondent with at least two out of three characteristics in the same category was included in that category. 80) PART Ill: FROM REGIONALISM TO URBAN UFE �THE IMPACT OF THE URBAN MILIEU ON THE APPALACHIAN FAMILY TYPE Urbanization has produced a great number of changes in American society. Along with industrialization, urbanization has changed the United States from a rural society to a predominantly urban society. Especially affected have been the five major social institutions: politics, education, religion, economics, and the family. Perhaps the institution that has been affected the most has been the family. The sociological literature indicates that the family has changed from an extended family type to a nuclear family type. Parsons (1951:510) maintains that urbanization, technology, and bureaucratization have produced an "isolated nuclear family." According to Parsons (1955a:9; 1955b:354) and Zelditch (1955:307), the modern American family, especially the urban family, is the product of the transition from an extended family type in which there is a great deal of dependence on the kinship network, to a nuclear family type in which there is a great deal of isolation from the kinship unit. The modern nuclear family tends to occupy a separate dwelling apart from the family of orientation of either parent. The household is economically independent of the kinship unit. Parsons (1955a:9) maintains that the modern nuclear family is a product of "adaptive-upgrading" and is a more stable, improved type of family. Leslie (1973:18, 53, and 213) suggests that urbanization and industrialization have been instrumental in producing movement toward the nuclear family as the dominant family type. Goode (1963) has proposed that, concomitant with the trend of society toward modernization, industrialization, and urbanization, the extended family becomes rare and the corporate kin structure disappears. Zimmerman (1947) and Wirth (1938) express the view that the American family is characteristically of the isolated nuclear form. Gleason (1956) maintains that the younger generation objects to joint living arrangements and it is only with reluctance that most older people will give up their freedom and become members of their children's household. McKee and PART Ill: FROM REGIONALJSM TO URBAN UFE (81 �Robertson (1975:387) state that the nuclear family is the established family form in America. FAMILY TYPE IN CENTRAL APPALACHIA. The early frontiersmen who settled in the Central Appalachian mountains (Southwestern Virginia, West Virginia, Eastern Tennessee, and Eastern Kentucky) tended to come seeking isolation. The isolation sought and secured by these settlers was conducive to the development of an extended family type. Outsiders were considered to be interested only in exploitation (Appleby, 1970:34), so the extended family and extended kinship network became important to the mountaineer. The development of the extended family type made each valley the domain of a single family. The extended family was responsible for the specialized roles of religion, education, government, and even the military through the defense of the family (Gibson, 1975:5). These specialized roles were taken over by clans or groupings of extended families as they developed. The military role of the clan is best exemplified by such conflicts as the Hatfield-McCoy and Allen-Edwards feuds in the late 1800's and early 1900's (Caudill, 1963). The literature indicates that the extended family is still very much in existence in Central Appalachia. Brown and Schwarzweller (1974:64) in an extensive study of the Appalachian family found that the extended family continues to be important. Some noted Appalachian scholars maintain that the extended family is still the typical family type in the Central Appalachian Mountains. Gazaway (1974:94) in her study of a Kentucky mountain community found that most family situations consisted of three generations of a family group. Stephenson (1968:2) learned that related families tend to live in at least the same neighborhood. He also discovered that it was unusual to find a family that had no kin-at least a second cousin or uncle by marriage-in other neighborhoods. One of the most noted of Appalachian authors, Weller (1966:13) states: It is not unusual today to fmd families with four generations living side by side in one narrow valley-brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, and cousins-intermarrying to such an extent that in some fashion every person is related to every other. It frequently happens that a girl marries and does not even have to change her last name. A major factor in the continued existence of the extended Central Appalachia has been endogamy. Vincent (1898), while visiting Kentucky, noted that there were isolated mountain families living and coves with strong ties of kinship based upon three or more of intermarriage. Matthews (1966:10) states that: family in the hills of up hollows generations . . . cousin marriages and the tendency for brothers and sisters to choose mates who are themselves either siblings or first cousins is evident. For siblings of one group to marry siblings of another is considered ideal and provides security in time of emergency. Matthews (1966:xxiii) further states: 82) PART l/l: FROM REGIONALISM TO URBAN UFE �The condition intervening between kinship and other social networks is local endogamy, the practice of choosing a marriage partner within the bounds of the community. Endogamy must have had its beginning with geographical isolation and valley families' practice of marrying "conveniently" and it persists because it supposedly provides structural stability. It provides economic stability, since marrying into a neighboring farm means land and consolidates and conserves wealth. It provides cohesion insofar as marriage between persons allied by blood continually strengthens the kin network and reinforces the "mechanical solidarity" that operates in such a system, and it gives personal satisfaction inasmuch as persons marry those whom they are expected to marry and whose way of life they share. The present study was devoted to an analysis of family type in the urban milieu. The author wanted to determine whether the urban environment is conducive to the development of a nuclear family type. To perform this task, a group of urban migrants from a rural geographical area where the extended family is still commonly found had to be studied. While the extended family type is considered to be prevalent in Central Appalachia, the sparse studies of the family type of urban Central Appalachians have indicated that the nuclear family type is dominant. Weller (1975:110) and Schwarzweller, Brown, and Mangalam (1971:130 & 286) state that the migrants' household is typically a complete nuclear family unit composed of husband, wife, and their children. Those who do not join an established household when they move to the city usually locate in the immediate vicinity of kinfolk and friends. However, they rapidly take on the characteristics of the nuclear family. Schwarzweller, Brown, and Mangalam (1971) found that in 85.5% of the cases they studied, the household was a complete nuclear family unit; in most of the other cases (8.7%) it could be classified as an extended family unit. Since the literature suggests the prevalence of an extended family unit in Central Appalachia and the prevalence of a nuclear family type among Central Appalachian migrants, it was felt that urban Central Appalachians would be an adequate group to study. Therefore, the family type of a group of Central Appalachian migrants was examined and then compared with the family type of non-Central Appalachian migrants in the urban milieu. Procedure The population in this investigation consisted of families in Akron, Ohio whose names were listed in the current Telephone Directory for Akron and Vicinity. The sample consisted of a random sample of 312 families residing in Akron whose names were listed in the telephone directory. Three hundred names were initially selected, through the random selection procedure to serve as interviewees. A list of two hundred additional names was compiled (employing the same procedure used in compiling the initial list) and utilized when potential interviewees on the original list could not be reached or refused to participate. PART Ill: FROM REGIONALISM TO URBAN UFE (83 �FAMILY BACKGROUND. Respondents were classified as either Central Appal- achian migrants or non-Central Appalachian migrants. Central Appalachian migrants were those who moved to the Akron, Ohio area after spending their lives in the Central Appalachian mountains. Non-Central Appalachian migrants were those persons who had lived their entire lives in Akron or had moved to Akron from somewhere outside the Central Appalachian area (these persons had never resided in Central Appalachia). · Seventy-three (23% of the total sample) of the persons participating in the study were Central Appalachian migrants. Fifty-one (73%) were from West Virginia, eight (11 %) were from Eastern Kentucky, twelve (16%) were from Eastern Tennessee, and two (3%) were from Southwestern Virginia. Two hundred thirty-nine (77% of the total sample) of the interviewees were nonCentral Appalachian migrants. One hundred forty-four (46% of the total sample) were persons who had lived in Akron all their lives and ninety-five (31% of the total sample) were individuals who had moved to Akron from somewhere other than Central Appalachia. FAMILY TYPE. Family type was classified as either nuclear or non-nuclear. Billingsley's (1968) classification of families as nuclear, extended, or augmented was originally employed. However, since only two families were classified as augmented, families determined to be extended and augmented were combined into the non-nuclear category. Twenty-two (7%) of the families were considered to be non-nuclear and two hundred ninety (93%) were classified as nuclear. Results The cross-tabulation of family background and family type revealed a significant difference between Central Appalachian migrants and non-Central Appalachian migrants in Akron, Ohio in relation to present family type (X2=7.817; p< 0.01). The measure of association (C=0.17) indicates that Central Appalachian migrants are slightly more likely than non-Central Appalachian migrants to live in non-nuclear families and non-Central Appalachians are slightly more likely to live in nuclear families than Central Appalachian migrants. While a difference is indicated, it may not be an important difference. An examination of cell frequencies and percentages (Table 10:1) indicates that there is little percentage difference between Central Appalachian migrants and non-Central Appalachians in terms of family type. Both are much more likely to reside in nuclear families than non-nuclear families. Ninety-three percent (190) ofthe respondents in this investigation were living in nuclear families. Eighty-five percent (62) of the Central Appalachian migrant families and ninety-five percent (228) of the non-Central Appalachian migrant families were nuclear. Present Family Type And Family Type Of The Family Of Orientation Socialization is an important process in the life of an individual. Flacks (1979:23) states that the family is "the primary institution for the inculcation of basic 84) PART /ll: FROM REGIONALISM TO URBAN UFE �TABLE 10:1 CROSS-TABULATION OF FAMILY BACKGROUND AND PRESENT FAMILY TYPE Non-Central Appalachian Migrant Central Appalachian Migrant Present Family Type Frequency % Frequency 0 /o Total Frequency Nuclear 62 85% 228 95% 290 93% Non-Nuclear 11 15% 11 5% 22 7% Total 73 100% 239 100% 312 100% X2=7.817. df=1 p<0.01 % C=0.17 values and molding of culturally appropriate character structures. "Leslie (1969) notes that the individual develops family values and attitudes toward the family early in life. If it is the case that family values and attitudes toward the family are developed during the early years, one would expect persons from nuclear families to establish nuclear families of procreation and persons from non-nuclear families of orientation to establish non-nuclear families. The results of the present study indicate that persons living in nuclear families tende to come from nuclear families of orientation, but people residing in nonnuclear families also tended to come from nuclear families (Table 10:2). The vast majority of the respondents in the study lived in nuclear families of procreation and nuclear families of orientation. CENTRAL APPALACHIAN MIGRANTS. Eighty-four percent (61) of the Central Appalachian migrants in the study lived in nuclear families of orientation. Eightynine percent (55) of the interviewees living in nuclear families of procreation had lived in nuclear families of orientation. Fifty-four percent (6) of those living in non-nuclear families had lived in nuclear families of orientation. These are important results in that they indicate that the majority of the Central Appalachians had lived in nuclear families prior to establishing their own family units. They also indicate (in contrast to the literature) that the majority of those families that were non-nuclear in Akron had lived in nuclear families of orientation, and that the majority of those whose family of orientation had been non-nuclear established nuclear families of procreation in the city. OTHER MIGRANTS. Eighty-eight percent (84) of those persons who had moved to Akron from somewhere outside of Central Appalachia (other migrants) had lived in nuclear families of orientation. Eighty-nine percent (83) of those living in nuclear families had lived in nuclear families of orientation. Only one person residing in a non-nuclear family had lived in a nuclear family of orientation and one person residing in a non-nuclear family of procreation had lived in a non-nuclear family of orientation. PART///: FROM REGIONAliSM TO URBAN liFE (85 �TABLE 10:2 CROSS-TABULATION OF FAMILY TYPE OF THE FAMILY OF ORIENTATION AND PRESENT FAMILY TYPE Present Family Type Family Type of the Family of Orientation Nuclear Frequency Nuclear Non-Nuclear Total /o Non-Nuclear Frequency % Total Frequency 256 88% 14 64% 270 87% 34 12% 8 36% 42 13% 290 100% 22 100% 312 100% 0 /o 0 AKRONITES. Eighty-seven percent (125) of the persons who had lived in Akron, Ohio all their lives had resided in nuclear families of orientation. Eightyseven percent (118) of those persons presently living in nuclear families had lived in nuclear families of orientation. Seventy-eight percent (7) of those respondents living in non-nuclear families had lived in nuclear families of orientation. Present Family Type and Family Type Directly Prior to Moving to Akron The results of this study indicated that, by far, the majority of the respondents were living in nuclear families and had lived in nuclear families of orientation. It seemed logical to expect, on the basis of these findings, that the family type directly prior to moving to Akron, for Central Appalachian migrants and non-Central Appalachian migrants would also be nuclear. Further analysis tended to support this expectation. Ninety-nine percent (153) of those residing in nuclear families had lived in nuclear families prior to moving to Akron. Twelve (92%) of those living in nonnuclear families had lived in nuclear families prior to moving, and only one person living in a non-nuclear family had lived in a non-nuclear family. CENTRAL APPALACHIAN MIGRANTS. Ninety-seven percent (71) of the Central Appalachian migrants had lived in nuclear families prior to moving to Akron. Ninetyeight percent (61) of the respondents living in nuclear families had lived in nuclear families prior to moving to Akron. Ten (91%) of the Central Appalachian migrants living in non-nuclear families had lived in nuclear families. Again, we see the pattern. Most of the Central Appalachian migrants were living in nuclear families and tended to move from nuclear family situations. Also, those residing in non-nuclear family types, in defying the literature, tended to move from nuclear family situations. Importantly, only two of the family types directly prior to moving were non-nuclear. OTHER MIGRANTS. Ninety-nine percent (94) of the other migrants resided in nuclear families prior to moving to Akron. Ninety-nine percent (92) of those living in 86) PART Ill: FROM REGIONALISM TO URBAN UFE �nuclear families had lived in nuclear families before moving. The two persons presently residing in a non-nuclear family type had resided in a nuclear family before moving. TABLE10:3 CROSS-TABULATION OF FAMILY TYPE DIRECTLY PRIOR TO MOVING TO AKRON AND PRESENT FAMILY TYPE (CENTRAL APPALACHIAN MIGRANTS AND OTHER MIGRANTS) Present Family Type Family Type Directly Prior to Moving to Akron Nuclear Frequency % Non-Nuclear Frequency % Total Frequency % Nuclear 153 99% 12 92% 165 98% 2 1% 8% 3 2% 155 100% 100% 168 100% Non-Nuclear Total 13 Present Family Type And Family Type Since Living in Akron Based on the results previously discussed, the author decided to determine whether respondents had, during their residence in Akron, ever lived in a family type different from their present one. Twenty percent (64) of the sample had lived in non-nuclear families at some time during their life in the city. Only fourteen percent (42) of those persons living in nuclear families had ever lived in non-nuclear family situations since residing in Akron. TABLE 10:4 CROSS-TABULATION OF FAMILY TYPE SINCE LIVING IN AKRON AND PRESENT FAMILY TYPE Present Family Type Family Type Since Living in Akron Nuclear Frequency % Nuclear 248 86% 42 290 Non-Nuclear Total Non-Nuclear Frequency % Total Frequency % 0 0% 248 80% 14% 22 100% 64 20% 100% 22 100% 312 100% PART Ill: FROM REGIONAliSM TO URBAN liFE (87 �Twenty-six percent (19) of the Central Appalachian migrants, sixteen percent (15) of the "other migrants," and twenty-one percent (30) of the Akronites had lived in non-nuclear families at some time since living in Akron. Conclusions The original purpose of this study was to determine whether the urban environment is a determining factor with regard to family type. It has provided little evidence to indicate that this is the case. The primary goal was to compare Central Appalachian migrants with nonCentral Appalachian migrants because the literature suggested that the non-nuclear family was more prevalent in the Central Appalachian mountains. The results indicate that, regardless of family background, the vast majority of the respondents (1) resided in nuclear families, (2) lived in nuclear families of orientation, (3) resided in nuclear families directly prior to moving to Akron (Central Appalachian migrants and other migrants), and (4) had lived in nuclear families since living in Akron. This investigation has provided an important indication that updated studies of present family type in Central Appalachia need to be performed. There is every indication that studies of family type in Central Appalachia are outdated and somewhat restricted in terms of geographic locale. Only after more updated studies have been performed can we draw more accurate conclusions concerning the comparison of Central Appalachian migrants and other persons in the urban milieu. 88) PART Ill: FROM REGIONALISM TO URBAN UFE �EFFECTS OF SCHOOLS & SCHOOLING ON APPALACHIAN CHILDREN IN CINCINNATI Thomas Wagner's Appalachian School Project Committee (1973) established the groundwork for study of the experience of Appalachian children in public education. Sponsored by the Urban Appalachian Council in cooperation with the Cincinnati Human Relations Commission, study group members conducted extensive observations and interviews during the spring of 1974 in three predominantly Appalachian public schools in Cincinnati: Oyler Elementary School, Roberts Junior High School, and Western Hills High School. Although interviews were carried out with teachers and administrators as well as with students, the results of interviews with students were most revealing. Students expressed a strong orientation toward neighborhood and family (as detailed, for example, in reports on relationships with siblings and frequency of family visits to kin in the mountains) and, by contrast, widespread alienation from the schools' academic and extracurricular programs. Principally as a result of the recommendations of Wagner's committee, Cincinnati Public Schools, beginning in 1973, obtained data on county of birth for students enrolled in city schools, their parents and grandparents. These data enabled researchers to systematically determine the ethnic composition of the area schools. Soon other studies followed. In order to establish a relationship between student dropout rates and aggregate student (i.e., school) characteristics, Marvin Berlowitz and Henry Durand (1977) isolated a set of school-related variables including student characteristics such as racial or ethnic background, selfconcept and family income. In this study a school with 40% or more first, second, and third generation students of Appalachian origin was considered predominantly Appalachian. Results indicated that factors associated with high dropout rates in these schools were high rates of absenteeism (Pearson r=.68), low reading achievement (Pearson r=.89) and high rates of student suspension (Pearson r=.49). By identifying specific variables related to student alienation PART Ill: FROM REGIONAliSM TO URBAN UFE (89 �(dropping out), Berlowitz and Durand amplified the important finding in Wagner's study of widespread student antipathy toward school. COMPARING THE NEIGHBORHOODS. A comparison of Cincinnati neighborhoods on adult education and youth dropout rates shows how the education problem in Cincinnati is distributed geographically. In Table 11:1 the neighborhoods are listed by their 1970 socioeconomic status rank (Maloney, 1974). A look at the educational statistics show that percent of high school graduates and school dropouts varies greatly according to the socioeconomic status of the neighborhoods. Some of the higher mtes are in such low SES areas as Camp Washington (49.6), Lower Price Hill (57.8), and Over-the-Rhine (44.8). High SES areas such as North Avondale (2.2) and Hyde Park (4.2) have relatively low dropout mtes. The dropout problem is clearly a city wide problem, however. Even Hyde Park had twenty 16-19-year-old dropouts in 1980 and Westwood had 246. TABLE 11:1 ADULT EDUCATION AND YOUTH DROPOUT AND JOBLESS RATES FOR CINCINNATI NEIGHBORHOODS LISTED BY 1970 SOCIOECONOMIC STATUS RANK CIVILIANS 16-19 YRS OLD, 1980 % 0 /o % Camp Washington 2,198 10.5 14.9 28.0 119 62.18 49.58 49.5 East End* 3,230 12.6 11.7 24.0 266 46.61 36.46 28.6 Lower Price Hill 2,155 161 72.05 57.76 47.2 30.2 474 49.36 36.70 29.5 190 61.6 21.0 ----- 145 80.70 66.20 51.7 SocioStat isEconomic tical Status Rank Neigh1970 1980 borhood 2 2 3 4 5 8 5 4 NR Jobless (Unemployed Not Not High or not Enrolled School Labor in school Grad. Force) Percent High School Graduates (25 years Popuor older) Total lation % 1980 Black 1970 1980 no. North FairmontEnglish Woods* 5,889 Queensgate1 0.5 60.9 15.1 23.3 ---- 90) PART Ill: FROM REGIONALISM TO URBAN UFE �(Table 11:1 Continued) Percent High School Graduates Not (25 years Enrolled PopuIat ion % or older) Total in school % 1980 Black 1970 1980 no. SociaEconomic Status Rank 1970 1980 Stat istical Neighborhood 6 South CummingsvilleMillvale 4,908 92.2 20.2 28.0 535 West End 12,886 94.8 20.5 29.0 RiversideSedamsville 3,007 7 11.5 8 9 9 10 11 12 13 3 13 14 28 11.5 14 27 15 25 16 NR 6 21 Jobless (Unemplayed Not High or not Labor School Grad. Force) % % 22.61 11.58 6.0 964 25.82 17.84 13.3 19.9 31.8 249 61.84 50.20 45.4 Over-theRhine 11,914 66.7 15.2 21.2 758 54.74 44.8 37.7 Walnut Hills 9,912 90.4 24.3 38.2 679 33.87 24.30 21.2 Mount Auburn 8,889 72.6 31.0 50.0 855 31.22 20.93 19.8 FairviewClifton Heights 7,940 10.0 27.8 53.0 457 36.10 18.16 10.7 39.0 308 61.04 46.75 28.2 38.9 60.2 236 34.32 22.88 19.1 28.5 52.7 63 57.14 42.15 33.3 696 30.17 20.11 15.9 179 46.36 17.87 17.9 South Fairmont 4,104 Corryville Winton Place* 5.8 26.1 4,539 52.1 RiversideSayler 1,301 Park* Winton Hills* 0.7 6.2 7,711 88.8 30.5 50.1 2,739 11.7 --- 47.6 PART Ill: FROM REGIONAllSM TO URBAN UFE (91 �(Table 11:1) Continued) Jobless (unemplayed SociaEconomic Status Rank 1970 1980 Stat istical Neighborhood Graduates (25 years Popuor older) lation % 1980 Black 1970 1980 Not Not High Enrolled School Total in school Grad. % % no. % 17 18.5 Carthage 2,782 147 18 15 Avondale 19,845 19 17 Evanston NR 23 EvanstonE. Walnut Hills* 2,241 20 16 21 18.5 22 45 Northside 11 ,884 24.3 40.6 51.07 40.13 32.7 28.80 19.36 13.4 832 26.20 11.29 6.5 142 23.23 6.33 6.3 33.6 43.8 1,495 49.83 32.48 19.9 32.77 21.9 77.2 36.3 44.0 1,451 9,089 92.3 East Price Hill 20,361 Mount Adams 0.0 30.0 46.5 67.7 39.6 4.4 or not Labor Force 53.3 12.4 31.6 45.6 894 48.88 1,958 4.1 45.8 81.0 43 27.90 636 0.0 16.9 55.9 49 40.81 26.53 55.9 42.6 53.4 853 30.94 15.59 9.1 23 29 California 24 20 Madisonville 12,242 25 30 Oakley 11,801 2.9 45.6 59.4 654 38.22 20.03 12.8 26 22 Sayler Park 3,384 1.9 44.8 58.8 288 44.79 21.87 14.2 27 36 Univers~y Heights 10,526 28 29 31.5 31.5 12.7 61.9 74.1 2,825 West Price Hill 20,218 0.4 45.7 60.5 1,369 Central Business DistrictRiverfront 2,528 18.8 41.8 67.3 92) PART Ill: FROM REGIONAliSM TO URBAN UFE 1.4 29.80 93 48.38 0.92 4.3 14.24 6.4 6.45 6.7 �(Table 11:1 Continued) Percent High School Graduates Not Popu(25years Enrolled Iat ion % or older) Total in school 1980 Black 1970 1980 no. % Jobless (Unemplayed Not High or not School Labor Grad. Force) SociaEconomic Status Rank 1970 1980 Statistical Neighborhood 30 North-West Fairmont* --- 36.5 --- Fay Apartments* 3,159 91.2 --- 58.6 178 29.77 20.22 .001 --- 91.4 157 13.37 8.91 NR 31 NR NR 10 46 39 Mount Look out* 3,533 % % 12.4 Columbia Tusculum* 3,132 3.9 46.9 74.1 156 33.96 14.47 5.7 0.3 30.0 111 62.16 14.46 36.9 47.7 59.0 55.6 249 41.36 13.25 13.3 NR 7 Linwood* 1,425 32 42 Rose lawn2 3,541 33 37 East Walnut 4,106 32.9 Hills 59.6 74.1 192 19.79 13.75 3.1 34 24 Bond Hill 11,408 69.6 53.6 56.8 755 30.06 12.84 8.6 35 33.5 Hartwell 5,394 10.7 41.7 62.1 229 30.6 10.48 4.4 36.5 43 Clifton 9,240 12.3 70.7 84.1 490 22.9 16.12 12.9 36.5 26 Kennedy Heights 6,591 75.5 61.0 71.1 507 34.5 11.24 9.3 38 Westwood 53.7 67.6 1,678 37.4 14.66 10.0 38 33,459 39 40 Pleasant Ridge 10,181 40 35 College Hill 41 33.5 Mt. Airy 4.5 15.9 62.9 71.7 456 30.48 17.98 12.7 17,264 33.9 60.5 68.6 1,153 28.53 11.70 4.8 496 40.92 10.28 4.4 8,199 10.2 66.9 72.6 PART /ll: FROM REGIONAliSM TO URBAN UFE (93 �(Table 11:1 Continued) Percent High School Not Graduates Enrolled Popu(25 years or older) Total in school lation % 1980 Black 1970 1980 no. % SociaEconomic Status Rank 1970 1980 Stat istical Neighborhood 42 47 Hyde Park 76.0 84.8 707 18.4 43 41 North AvondalePaddock Hills 6,762 53.0 69.4 78.6 916 8.2 44 44 14,955 Mt. Washington 11,632 4.24 0.6 2.2 2.2 20.16 9.2 31.7 18.0 12.6 12.0 48.4 63.3105,595 29.7 13.1 8.6 3.8 0.5 66.6 74.7 600 42.2 CITYOFCINCINNATI 385,457 34.0 50.9 57.9 27,508 SMSA 1,401,491 Jobless (Unemployed Not High or not Labor School Force) Grad. % % *Asterisk indicates name change from 1970 to 1980 1 Oueensgate population is primarily institutional. This neighborhood had only five households in 1980. As of 1980, Cincinnati is considered to have 47 residential neighborhoods, not including Queensgate. In 1980, the number was 44. 2 Roselawn's 1980 SES rank excludes consideration of data for tract 62.02 (Longview Hospital). 1970 rank includes 62.02. SOURCE: Census of population and housing (PHC80-2-121 ), 1980, U.S. Department of Commerce , Bureau of the Census . 1970 SES Rank: The Social Areas of Cincinnati, by Michael E. Maloney, Cincinnati Human Relations Commission, 1974. 1980 SES Rank: The Social Areas of Cincinnati, 1980, forthcoming publication by the same author. Data for Cincinnati portion of split tracts is deleted. Although high school dropout rates tend to vary directly with the SES rank of the neighborhood, the data show that there are exceptions. For example, Mt. Washington, which had the highest SES rank of all Cincinnati neighborhoods, had a 1980 dropout rate of 20.2, higher than for the West End, which had a 1970 SES rank of 7 (44 being the highest, 1 the lowest rank) and dropout rate of 17.8. The other exception to dropout rates varying according to SES is that dropout rates in some Appalachian neighborhoods are even higher than their SES rankings would indicate. For example, Carthage had a 1970 SES rank of 17, but its dropout rate in 1980 is 8th highest in the city at 40.1. Eight of the ten neighborhoods 94) PART Jll: FROM REGIONALISM TO URBAN UFE �with dropout rates above 40% are predominantly Appalachian (see Table 11:2). Appalachian and Black are not mutually exclusive terms, of course. Over-theRhine, for example, has thousands of Blacks with roots in Appalachia. Among the predominantly Black neighborhoods, North Fairmont, English Woods, andOver-the-Rhine have extremely high dropout rates (Table 11:2). However, there are some pleasant surprises that may indicate effective efforts to promote school attendance among Black youth. South Cumminsville, West End, Avondale, Evanston, Bond Hill, Kennedy Heights, and Madisonville have dropout rates of less than 20%. Winton Hills, Fay Apartments, Mount Auburn, Walnut Hills, and Corryville are in the 20-25 percent range. These rates, of course, should not be considered as acceptable. TABLE 11:2 SES RANK (1970) AND DROPOUT RATE RANK (1980) FOR THE TEN NEIGHBORHOODS WITH THE HIGHEST DROPOUT RATES Predominant Ethnic Group of Dropouts Neighborhood Dropout Rate Lower Price Hill Sedamsville-Riverside Camp Washington N. Fairmont-English Woods South Fairmont Over-the-Rhine Riverside-Sayler Park Carthage East End Northside 57.8 50.2 49.6 48.4 46.8 44.8 42.9 40.1 36.5 32.7 Dropout Rate Rank 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 SES Rank Percent Black White Appal. 3 8 1 4 13 9 15 17 2 21 0.5 0.7 10.5 60.9 5.8 66.7 6.2 0.0 12.6 12.4 X X X X X X X X Black Appal. X X NOTE: For both Dropout rate and SES rank, 1=Worst case. Queensgate with a dropout rate of 66.2 was deleted because youth population is institutional. Camp Washington also has an institutional population (CCI) but is also a residential community with high dropout rates. Table 11:2 shows the percentage of the adult ADULT EDUCATION LEVELS. (over 25 years of age) population in each census tract and neighborhood for 1970 and 1980. Tract numbers for 1970 and 1980 show changes in census tract designations made between the two censuses. Both the lower and higher SES tracts and neighborhoods tended to increase their percentage of high school graduates significantly during the decade. In order to interpret the full meaning of these data, some questions need to be answered for each PART 1/1: FROM REGIONAliSM TO URBAN UFE (95 �neighborhood. Tract 8 in the West End, for example, went from 19.4% high school graduates in 1970 to 14.7% in 1980. Did more young people fail to complete school or did the better-educated people move out of the tract? Did the tract boundary change? Is this an urban renewal area? The two tracts in Bond Hill showed relatively little change during the decade. Is this because the neighborhood is very stable? Are younger presumably bettereducated people moving out or going away to college? The tracts in Fairview-Clifton Heights had such a dramatic improvement in education levels that one should ask whether "gentrification" is taking place. Or is the improvement mostly due to younger people staying in school longer? Note that the youth dropout rate is still relatively high in Fairview-Clifton Heights (18.2%). The summary statistics at the end of Table 11:2 show that in 1970, Cincinnati was ahead of the SMSA in percent of high school graduates. By 1980, Cincinnati had fallen behind the metropolitan area as a whole. As of 1980, only 57.9% of Cincinnatians over 25 had a high school education compared to 63.3 in the SMSA. No doubt, migration is a factor in the relative decline for central city, but, regardless of the causes, this decline has serious implications. A comparison of dropout statistics between the two censuses is made difficult by the fact that the 1970 census lists 16-17-year-old and 16-21-year-old dropouts. From the 1980 census, we can get 16-19-year-old groups which cannot be compared to the 1970 groupings. Nonetheless, these figures are useful because they clearly indicate the nature of the neighborhood climate for school achievement. It is fair to say that in a "typical" Cincinnati census tract only about half of the population are graduates of high school and that about one-third of the young people are dropouts by the time they are 19. Dropout rates continue to be highest in White Appalachian tracts. The highest dropout rate in 1980 (excluding Queensgate) was in tract 10 in Over-the-Rhine (64.4): tract 91 in Lower Price Hill (52.8) was second. Tract 10 is Appalachian (Black and White) and Black, and Lower Price Hill is Appalachian White. The pattern of Appalachian dropouts shows up in the middle as well as in the lower socioeconomic range. Carthage, Avondale, Evanston, East Price Hill, and Northside are comparable socioeconomically, but the heavily White Appalachian CIVILIANS, 16-19 YEARS OF AGE Not in School East Price Hill Westwood Northside Avondale Over-the-Rhine West Price Hill 96) Not High School Graduates 745 335 627 437 418 415 408 PART l/l: FROM REGIONAI.JSM TO URBAN UFE 247 293 281 319 195 �tracts generally have higher dropout rates than predominantly Black tracts of comparable SES. Of the 8,702 16-19-year-olds in the city in 1980, approximately 3,854 are estimated to be Black and 4,848 Appalachian White or Other White. In each of these six neighborhoods, the number of dropouts, even when one omits those under 16 and over 19, is large enough to justify the operation of a special high school or major adult education facility. In the Western Hills plateau area, there are nearly 2,000 out of school youth of whom 777 dropped out before completing high school. Similar area concentrations exist in such neighborhoods as Avondale, Walnut Hills, Evanston, Mt. Auburn, Corryville, and Madisonville on the east side of the city, as well as in Northside and surrounding areas. ·For those interested in comparing Cincinnati dropout statistics with Central Appalachian counties, another study is of interest. The University of Kentucky Appalachian Center has published a study of dropout rates for related counties in Eastern Kentucky, Tennessee, Virginia, and West Virginia. The Central Appalachian study uses census data on 16-19-year-olds and shows, for example, a 30.7 average dropout rate for Eastern Kentucky Appalachian counties. Dropout rates in the 18 "worst case" Kentucky counties range between 35.9 (deKalb, Tennessee), and 49.9 (Clay, Kentucky). By comparison, Cincinnati's 11 "worst case" neighborhoods have 16-19-year-old dropout rates ranging from 32.7 (Northside) to 57.8 (Lower Price Hill). The Cincinnati system is hardly outperforming the poorest counties in Central Appalachia in retaining Appalachian youth through the 12th grade. Although the nature of schooling and the organization of schools may be different in urban as opposed to rural schools, the point remains: the schools must address the issue of the uneven educational attainment of their students. IMPLICATIONS. Only about half adult Cincinnatians have a high school education, and nearly one in five of Cincinnati 16-19-year-olds are school dropouts. Whether one considers the ideal of free and universal education, looks at education as a means to produce a highly trained labor force, or views schooling as a vehicle for the prevention of social problems, the conclusion is the same. The community needs to take concrete steps to provide a higher level of education for its population. When one adds to the statistics presented in this report the knowledge that many of our high school graduates are ill-prepared for college, jobs, or further vocational training, Cincinnati's situation could be considered one of crisis proportions. The first step in the search for solutions is to acknowledge that a problem exists. One definition of a problem is that a problem is merely the absence of an idea. One idea that seems to be working on a small scale is the network of communitybased education centers sponsored by the Urban Appalachian Council, the Episcopal Diocese of Southern Ohio, Santa Maria Community Services, Cincinnati Union Bethel, and similar programs which provide Adult Basic Education and G.E.D. preparation. These and other programs need to be expanded and their efforts more broadly supported with public and private funds. Public and private schools need to do more to keep young people in school and our colleges and universities need to do more of the kind of linking with neighborhood-based programs that Xavier and the University College at the University of Cincinnati are PART Ill: FROM REGIONAliSM TO URBAN UFE (97 �trying to implement in Lower Price Hill and Northside. In these programs, counseling and instruction are carried out in the neighborhood setting by university-trained personnel. Students, the majority of whom are completing a high school equivalency curriculum, are in this way prepared to take the next step - attendance at a local college or university. The Cincinnati community can take advantage of the new national interest in adult literacy by becoming an innovator in this field. 98) PART l/l: FROM REGIONAliSM TO URBAN UFE �APPALACHIAN YOUTH IN CULTURAL TRANSITION Education has received considerable attention in the literature on Appalachian youth. Much of the literature points to cultural differences which created problems for Appalachian youth in school. Language or accents of first-generation youth (and some second-generation youth, as well) set them apart immediately (Rhodes, 1968; Wagner, 1974, 1975). Misinterpretation of mountain dialect, idiomatic expressions, accent differences, and other cultural differences cause problems in relationships of Appalachian youth with urban peers and school personnel (McCoy and Watkins, 1979). Appalachian culture places emphasis on individual achievement and the value of self-sufficiency - Appalachians are not "joiners" and do not relate readily to group activities. Appalachian youth are less likely to seek, or readily accept, school personnel support, such as sponsorship or encouragement by a particular teacher or counselor; they try to deal with problems on their own. They are less likely to participate in school activities (Rhodes, 1968; Wagner, 1975), and parents are less likely to participate in PTA's (Watkins, 1976). Youth do not identify with their schools, especially in junior and senior high school (Miller, 1979), since most youth are placed in an unfamiliar neighborhood for those grades. In addition, since few youth participate in school activities, few are in positions of leadership to serve as role models for others. Parents are overwhelmed by school bureaucracy, by unfamiliar extracurricular activities, and by the educational jargon of such groups. Class differences in terms of a mother's employment may conflict with meeting times and may preclude a work schedule to attend those meetings. High absenteeism and truancy are related to the cultural value placed on the importance of the family, as well as to the traditional migration process. Familism requires that family situations take priority over education (and in many cases, jobs). High absenteeism (Adams, 1971; Wagner, 1974; Rhodes, 1968) is, at least in part, a result of youth being needed at home to help care for siblings and household matters. The traditional migration process, in the three to five years after initial settlement in PART Ill: FROM REGIONAliSM TO URBAN UFE (99 �urban areas, involves frequent relocation (Schwarzweller, 1970). A family's adjustment to an urban area can mean moving several times to find satisfactory neighborhoods, jobs, schools, doctors, and shopping areas. "Indifference" or lack of interest in education was cited by many authors as one of the prevailing features of Appalachian youth in school (Wagner, 1974, 1975; Huelsman, 1969; Henderson, 1966; Moore, 1976). This attitude was described in various ways, as youth feeling ambivalent toward school, being shy, reticent, passive, avoiding conflict, and withdrawing. Few, however, perceived the significance of cultural conflict. Appalachian parents see more value in basic education and skills development than in extracurricular activities and abstract idea training (Miller, 1977). Parents may encourage Appalachian students into career/practical skills and vocational classes rather than college preparatory or advanced placement classes. Parents often sacrifice personal needs in order to have their children achieve the educational level equivalent to their own (Adams, 1971). However, the low educational level of Appalachians, traditionally, complicates parents' commitment to higher education (Miller, 1977). Kunkin and Byrne found that the parents without high school degrees considered education irrelevant (Kunkin and Byrne, 1973). Moore and Pastoor (1976) were interested in whether educational values of Appalachian youth were retained in an urban setting. They compared sixth graders in Perry County, Kentucky, and Cincinnati, Ohio, and found that both groups felt that education was moderately important to their lives. Urban youth, however, felt more positive toward education than rural youth, in that urban youth had more confidence in their teachers' abilities and urban students were more inclined to aspire toward a college education. But based upon current evidence, urban Appalachian youth are frustrated in accomplishing such goals. Appalachian students have also experienced difficulty in racial, class, and cultural conflicts. Wagner (1975) says, in describing the typical Appalachian student in his sample: If he attends a school where there are blacks, he will not understand the blacks and will tend to keep to himself or to associate only with other white students. If he is placed in a threatening situation, he will normally withdraw, not because he is afraid, but because he does not understand the more aggressive behavior of black students. If pressed too hard, he will simply take action to avoid future incidents (such as avoiding the lunchroom, the front hall, or, in the extreme situation, quit attending school.) Appalachians have traditionally had little experience with urban blacks, since the black population in the Appalachian region is relatively small. Miller explains that this lack of experience continues in urban schools in elementary grades since Appalachian children attend school with other Appalachians in their own neighborhoods. However, contact increases at the junior high school level where white Appalachians often constitute a minority in the schools. Since the junior high and high schools take Appalachian youth out of their own neighborhood, away from their own "turf," they become fearful, believe rumors of reprisals, and generally feel intimidated. 100) PART Ill: FROM REGIONAliSM TO URBAN UFE �Class differences cause Appalachian youth to feel "looked down on" and the lack of attention given to Appalachian culture only adds to a defeated self-image. Differences in language, dress, and values are seen by other classes as deficiencies or inferiority (Miller, 1977; 1979). These feelings of inferiority and fear were found in Cleveland to stem from the lack of skills and experiences in certain situations (Kunkin and Byrne, 1973). The conditions affecting Appalachian youth in school have culminated in extreme dropout rates. Maloney (1974) found that all twelve of the census tracts in Cincinnati with dropout rates of 40 percent or higher were in Appalachian neighborhoods Several authors suggested methods of working with Appalachian youth to improve educational levels, as well as relationships with school personnel and peers. Some of these solutions have been alluded to: teacher training (Adams, 1971; Wagner, 1974; Henderson, 1966), curriculum development (Wagner, 1974) in Appalachian culture, and the use of innovative teaching methods (Wagner, 1974). Parent and community involvement in the schools (Wagner, 1974; Henderson, 1966; Watkins, 1976) was considered important in order to provide a personal approach and commitment, as well as having parents and students feel ownership to their schools. Future roles, expectations, and aspirations of Appalachian youth are unclear. Wagner (1975) found Appalachian youths' job aspirations to be vague and unrealistic considering low school achievement. Henderson (1966), in studying Appalachian youth, did not find any relationship between school achievement and employment aspirations. Moore and Pastoor (1976), on the other hand, observed a positive relationship between the perception of a good education and a good job among urban Appalachian youth. In addition, Ricco (1965) found a positive relationship between achievement aspirations in both Appalachian and non-Appalachian males in Whitehall, Ohio, a small urban area. Other than school-related experiences, little information exists concerning the behavior of Appalachian youth in urban environments. However, there is some evidence that the transition from the mountains to urban life presents cultural incongruities. For example, independence and freedom of movement were allowed by parents in the Appalachian mountain environment. However, when migration occurred, the spatial restrictions of the urban setting affected this lifestyle. Parental freedom, combined with alienation experienced in the school systems, and peer pressure (Huelsman, 1969) resulted in higher delinquency rates. Examples of cultural clashes creating adverse attitudes toward authorities among these (Appalachian) youth include domestic stress in the new environment, individualism in the face of need for legal help, and perceived prejudice in the legal system, both as to poor people and as to Appalachians in particular (McCoy, 1976). Inner-city Appalachian youth must also deal with restricted recreational facilities. Facilities are often staffed by workers insensitive to the Appalachian value system, or are controlled by other groups. Appalachian youth find themselves caught between the values of the urban society in which they live and the values from their heritage. PART lll: FROM REGIONALISM TO URBAN UFE (101 �Data This study is based on survey data collected in 1975 to assess youth behavior in four cities: Baltimore, Providence, Cincinnati, and Detroit. The National Center for Urban/Ethnic Affairs (NCUEA) developed and tested the survey instrument, and then contracted with community organizations in each city to collect the data. NCUEA provided training and technical assistance to the community organizations during the data collection phase. Questionnaires were administered in parochial and public schools in Detroit and Baltimore. The Providence and Cincinnati organizations were unable to obtain access to schools and utilized outreach programs to administer the questionnaire to youngsters in the community. The out-of-school populations were selected in specific predetermined ethnic neighborhoods on the basis of a 20% sample of ethnic youths in each selected neighborhood. Interviewers were instructed to find and interview youths fourteen to twenty years old in the prescribed neighborhoods by locating youths where they were known to "hang out," such as recreation centers, bars, churches, neighborhood drop-in centers, and after-school programs. Interviewers had to account for unique variations. For example in Cincinnati an added consideration of low educational levels among out-of-school youth meant that some interviews had to be conducted in small groups; other interviews needed to be conducted with the interviewer reading the questions and filling in the answers. Findings Comparisons based on the survey data and on noting similarities and differences among the various youths should provide a certain understanding of the differences in behavioral patterns between Appalachians and other urban ethnic youths and provide some further insights into the cultural transition experienced by Appalachian youths. The sample of 1458 youths included 445 (30.5%) Appalachians, 157 (10.8%) Blacks, 307 (21.1%) Polish, and 549 (37 .7%) other ethnics. Each group contained slightly more males than females: 43.4% of the Appalachians were females, 44.5% blacks, 48.8% Polish, and 45.6% other ethnics. The median ages of the ethnic groups in the sample are shown below. Appalachian youths were the oldest in the sample, with a median age of 17.1 years. Blacks were the youngest, 16.3 years. Median Age 17.1 16.3 16.6 17.1 Appalachian Black Polish Other Total Sample 16.9 Religious affiliation for Appalachians and blacks was primarily Baptist, with Roman Catholicism second in importance (see Table 12:1). Polish youths were overwhelmingly Roman Catholic (90%), as were other ethnics (53.6%). 102) PART Ill: FROM REGIONAUSM TO URBAN UFE �Fundamentalism underlies the religious beliefs of many Appalachians and strongly influences other values. These beliefs are founded on a literal interpretation of the Bible, an expectation of reward in the next life, and a world view in which God is omnipotent and man is fallible (Jones, 1978). TABLE 12:1 RELIGION Appalachians % N Blacks % N Polish 0/o N Baptist Black Muslims Church of God Congregational Eastern Rite Catholic Episcopalian Greek Orthodox Holiness Islamic Jewish Lutheran Methodist Presbyterian Pentecostal Roman Catholic Other None 138 31.7 8 1.8 26 6.0 3 0.7 2 0.5 11 2.5 5 1.1 7 1.6 0 0.0 12 2.8 16 3.7 27 6.2 10 2.3 17 3.9 70 16.1 31 7.1 53 12.2 74 6 9 1 0 0 0 3 0 0 3 9 2 2 15 9 19 1 0 4 2 3 0 0 1 0 1 4 3 2 1 274 1 6 Total 436 152 48.7 3.9 5.9 0.7 0.0 0.0 0.0 2.0 0.0 0.0 2.0 5.9 1.3 1.3 9.9 5.9 12.5 302 0.3 0.0 1.3 0.7 1.0 0.0 0.0 0.3 0.0 0.3 1.3 1.0 0.7 0.3 90.7 0.3 2.0 Other % N 42 3 20 3 10 11 12 2 6 11 31 12 1 9 295 18 50 7.6 0.5 3.6 0.5 1.8 2.0 2.2 0.4 1.1 2.0 5.6 2.2 0.3 1.6 53.6 3.3 9.1 550 Religion in the mountains (and transferred to the urban environment) was less focused on institutionalized ritual and ceremony than based on personalized beliefs in God, Christ, and the church. Specific and literal interpretations of the Bible have molded behaviors and emotions and have shaped a value system which permeates daily life routines. Fundamentalist churches which were delineated in the questionnaire include Baptist, Church of God, Congregational, Holiness, and Pentecostal; 43.8% of the Appalachians and 58.6% of the blacks belonged to these churches. The surprisingly large number of Appalachians (12.2%) who did not identify with any church may be indicative of the cultural transition Appalachian youths are experiencing. The transition from the more traditional Appalachian values to the more secular values and belief systems of urban youths could be due, in part, to influence from their peers or from obtaining a more "realistic view" of life based on their negative experiences in urban neighborhoods. The role of the church among inner-city urban youths probably reflects ambiguity as to its purpose and value for PART lll: FROM REGIONAliSM TO URBAN UFE (103 �many of them. The storefront churches prevalent in many inner-city areas represent a lack of stability that does not provide for the type of support needed by the youths in confronting various situations which occur during cultural transition. Even though religion and the development of religious values are important to Appalachians, church attendance is not. More than half the Appalachians in our study either never attended, or else, only attended services a few times in the past year (Table 12:2). Even in grade school years, church attendance was considerably less than for the other three groups. The importance of religion to Appalachians is in shaping a belief system, not in regular church attendance. TABLE 12:2 ATTENDANCE AT RELIGIOUS SERVICES Appalachians Grade Past School Year Never Few times a year About once a month Few times a month About once a week N Blacks Grade School 19.4 19.6 9.1 15.5 36.4 439 35.1 28.7 6.6 12.4 17.2 442 11.3 12.0 9.3 24.0 43.3 150 Polish Past Year 15.8 24.3 15.1 20.4 24.3 152 Other Grade Past School Year Grade Past School Year 2.3 5.0 5.6 11.6 75.5 8.3 23.4 6.9 10.9 50.5 14.6 15.7 6.8 20.8 42.0 303 547 302 29.4 31.1 7.9 14.5 17.1 544 As recent studies have revealed, Appalachian youths have substantial problems with the urban school systems. Educational attainment, measured by a median for highest grade completed, shows that Appalachians in the study had completed fewer school years than any other group, even though they were one of the oldest groups in the sample. Further, there were few Appalachians enrolled in high school academic programs or college classes (Table 12:3). Median Highest Grade Completed Appalachians Black Polish Other Ethnic 9.9 10.1 10.6 10.3 Total Sample 10.2 Since Appalachian youths' experiences with the public school systems have been negative ones, some are apparently selecting other alternatives to complete their education. Table 12:3 shows that Appalachians (10.9%) as well as 104) PART ll/: FROM REGIONAI..JSM TO URBAN UFE �TABLE 12:3 CURRENT SCHOOL PROGRAM Appalachians % N Black % N Polish N % Other Ethnics % N High School Academic 60 22.6 34 25.8 119 49.0 125 35.1 General 83 31.2 47 35.6 70 28.8 102 28.7 GED 20 7.5 0 0.0 2 0.8 11 3.1 Business Course 22 8.3 14 10.6 19 7.8 41 11.5 Vocational or Trade School 29 10.9 18 13.6 7 2.9 24 6.7 College 13 4.9 6 4.5 17 7.0 26 7.3 Other 39 14.7 13 9.8 9 3.7 27 7.6 Total 438 100.0 151 100.0 303 100.0 545 100.0 Blacks (13.6%) were in trade or vocational schools. An additional 7.5% of Appalachians were enrolled in GED programs, which was a substantially higher number than for the other young people. Debunking all the stereotypes revealed in Polish jokes, the grades reported by Polish students were substantially higher than those reported by the other groups (Table 12:4). In addition, Polish students had the highest proportion enrolled in high school academic programs with many enrolled in college programs (7 .0%), as well as the highest median school years completed (10.6). Black youths were similar to Appalachians in the area of education, reporting the lowest grades of all groups, and low median grade completed scores. None of the Black youths were enrolled in GED programs, but some, like Appalachians, were apparently selecting alternatives to the public school system in that 13.6% were in trade or vocational programs. Over one-fourth of the youths in the sample were not in school, but were of school age. Appalachians comprised 49.2% of these, 34.2% were other ethnics, 11.8% were Polish, and 4.7% were blacks. In revealing their reasons for not completing school, 49.2% said they had dropped out. The majority of Appalachians, Polish and other ethnics had dropped out of school, while Blacks evidenced a greater variety of reasons for being out of school, including almost a quarter whose education was disrupted by being in jail (Table 12:5). PART Ill: FROM REGIONAliSM TO URBAN UFE (105 �TABLE 12:4 GRADES IN SCHOOL IN THE PREVIOUS YEAR Appalachians % N Black % N Polish % N Other Ethnics N % Fail D Average CAverage 8 Average A Average 36 52 206 105 39 8.2 11.9 47.0 24.0 8.9 8 15 88 34 6 5.3 9.9 58.3 22.50 4.0 9 16 110 132 36 3.0 5.3 36.3 43.6 11.9 35 68 245 162 35 6.4 12.5 45.0 29.7 6.4 Total 266 100.0 132 100.0 243 100.0 356 100.0 TABLE 12:5 REASONS FOR NOT COMPLETING SCHOOL Appalachians % N Black % N Dropped Out 108 57.8 3 Suspended/ Expelled 12 6.4 Hospitalized 20 Jail Other Total Polish % N Other Ethnics % N 16.7 26 57.8 58 44.6 3 16.7 4 8.9 29 22.3 10.7 2 11.1 2 4.4 5 3.8 20 10.7 4 22.2 3 6.7 14 11.5 27 14.4 6 33.3 10 22.2 24 18.5 187 18 45 130 The post-high school plans of respondents (Table 12:6) show realistic expectations of Appalachian youths, especially in light of their current educational experiences. Only 16.2% planned to go to college, while nearly onefourth planned to go to work. Of the Appalachians, 20.7% had no plans after high school and 12.7% did not plan to go to complete high school-not an encouraging picture for further educational achievements. In light of Moore's (1976) finding that urban youths aspired more toward a college education than rural Appalachian youths, the youths in this study, who are older, have apparently reduced their expectations by the time they reach high school age. Low expectations, however, may also be a reflection of fatalism, another prominent value among many others discussed by Jones (1978). 106) PART Ill: FROM REGIONALISM TO URBAN UFE �More Black youths and Polish youths planned to attend college than to go to work. Their higher expectations for the future are also revealed in the small number who look forward to a future without a high school diploma. TABLE 12:6 PLANS AFTER HIGH SCHOOL Appalachians % N Academic College Vocational Training Work Go into Business Marry/Raise Family Join Army Other Don't Know Don't Plan to Graduate Total N Black N % Polish N % Other Ethnics N % 61 16.2 50 35.5 82 30.4 80 16.8 30 93 8.0 24.7 10 27 7.1 19.1 20 62 7.4 23.0 41 107 8.6 22.5 11 2.9 6 4.3 10 3.7 35 7.4 14 24 18 78 3.7 6.4 4.8 20.7 2 9 9 24 1.4 6.4 6.4 17.0 14 19 10 44 5.2 7.0 3.7 16.3 20 33 15 107 4.2 6.9 3.2 22.5 48 12.7 4 2.8 9 3.3 37 7.8 377 141 270 475 Current employment data show that Polish and other ethnic youths had the highest proportions employed (fable 12:7). Appalachians, on the other hand, had the highest unemployment. Appalachians, traditionally, have tended not to seek jobs through state employment services or employment agencies, but have utilized the kin and friend network to find jobs (Schwarzweller and Brown, 1970). This method of finding jobs is not nearly as productive in times of high unemployment as when jobs are plentiful, and may be part of the explanation for the high number of unemployed Appalachian youths. The conditions of inner-city Appalachian youths in this survey reveal some very discouraging patterns. The culture of Appalachian youths is undergoing change. This process of change in the urban environment has created new situations with which a changing culture must deal, but the Appalachian youths in this survey were armed with few resources for this task other than support from family and their own inner strength. In summary, the findings showed that Appalachian youths had completed fewer school grades than the comparative groups, although they were older in age. Few were enrolled in high school academic programs; however, some were selecting vocational education and GED programs as alternatives. More of the Appalachians than other groups were school dropouts, and many of those who were in school had either no plans or low expectations for their future. Some PART Ill: FROM REGIONAliSM TO URBAN UFE (107 �TABLE 12:7 EMPLOYMENT Appalachians % N Part-Time 78 Black % N Other Ethnics % N Polish % N 29.0 25 50.0 88 57.1 116 38.3 6 12.0 30 19.5 93 30.7 2.0 4 2.6 10 3.3 Full-Time 62 23.0 Homemaker 18 6.7 Not in School/Not Employed 111 41.3 18 36.0 32 20.8 84 27.7 Total N 269 100.0 50 100.0 154 100.0 303 100.0 did plan to go to college and about one-fourth planned to work. However, if the high unemployment of this young age group is any indication of what the future holds, their chances for employment in adult life will be less than other groups. Implications For The Future Of Appalachian Youth The above research findings show consistently, that compared to other urban ethnic youths, Appalachians exhibit great symptomic behavior, indicating severe difficulties in coping with urban environments. Why these greater difficulties of adjustment should exist for urban Appalachian youths is not clear at the present time. Further study is needed to understand the relationship between these behaviors, patterns, and the differences in cultural conditions for Appalachian youths. The recency of the migrant experience of Appalachians relative to other ethnic youths is certainly one factor that need to be considered. Empirical confirmation is needed to determine more specifically what accounts for these differences. Conflict with public institutions (in particular, the school system) is a critical factor in any attempt to understand Appalachian youths. Consistent evidence exists that Appalachian youngsters have high dropout rates, above average truancy rates, and in general, are dissatisfied with school. Many Appalachians do not have the family and religious support systems that are needed to address medical, social, and psychological needs. Only a proper understanding of Appalachian culture and the needs of Appalachian peoples will permit the development of appropriate community support systems. Several factors have been cited as significant to the design of support systems intended to serve urban communities containing large numbers of Appalachians. 108) PART ll/: FROM REGIONALISM TO URBAN UFE �These systems should be: 1. FAMILY AND KINSHIP ORIENTED Family and kinship networks have been an important source of support for mountain families (Brown, 1970). In making the transition from mountain lifeways, there is a deterioration of these kinship support networks. The University of Kentucky Medical Center and the Betheseda North Hospital in Cincinnati found that by developing a familial orientation of health delivery, the services and responsiveness among Appalachian families improved (Watkins, 1973). 2. COMMUNITY AND NEIGHBORHOOD BASED* Support systems for Appalachians should be neighborhood based, rather than being associated with the presently structured schools or other institutions. Experience has shown that Appalachians respond best to services that are located near their homes. In Cincinnati in recent years, response by Appalachians has been favorable to programs like youth drop-in services, community organizing, and cultural heritage projects whose primary functions are based upon self and family defined needs. Human services or referrals to such agencies are provided as a secondary function. Self-involvement has served to instill ownership in the programs by Appalachians, as well as helping them to feel that they have given something in return for the services received. 3. CULTURALLY SENSITIVE* Cultural sensitivity is another important characteristic of a support network responsive to the need of Appalachians. Cultural sensitivity does not necessarily mean that a program would be culturally specific. A program within the Appalachian community would need to deal with several variants of Appalachian culture, as well as other ethnic groups. 4. NON-BUREAUCRATIC* Another factor that is necessary in providing services to Appalachian youths in particular, is that support systems should be flexible, open, personal, and family oriented. A personal approach has been described by David Looff (1971) in his work with mountain children. He strongly emphasizes the Appalachian characteristics of personal support and familism as crucial to his success in working with the children. Youths tend to respond well to approaches which recognize them as people with problems, but not when labels such as "sick" or "mentally ill" or "bad" are placed on them. 5. COMPREHENSIVE A fifth factor to consider in developing supports for Appalachians is suggested by James S. Brown, a long-time scholar of Appalachian PART Ill: FROM REGIONAUSM TO URBAN UFE (109 �migration and migrants. He suggests that Appalachians are multiple problem families; that their arrival in the cities presents many unique problems for the family which differ for each member of the family; and that these problems are cultural inasmuch as they are economic. Urban conditions affect each member of the family in such a unique way that the support systems usually offered by kinship and family are less effective in the new environment than they were in the moun- tains. Multiple, sociocultural conflicts combined with a lack of initial opportunity to gain meaningful employment create multiple problems for the family. Since the Appalachian family relied very heavily upon the support system of kinship and familism in the mountains, the conflicts and stresses confronted in the urban environment also deteriorate that support system so that it is not as effective as in the mountain tradition. *Categories similarly named in Watkins, (1975). Conclusions In conclusion, an increased understanding of Appalachian culture and needs, with the provision of appropriate support systems, could improve the conditions for Appalachian youth. Although economic conditions are also part of the problem, for Appalachians, all the problems cannot be solved through economic support. Neither should these be school based at the present time due to the alienation of the youth from the schools. These supports must be rooted in the communities and neighborhoods and involve the tremendous strength that family and kinship can offer to Appalachian youths. 110) PART Ill: FROM REGIONAliSM TO URBAN UFE �BLACK APPALACHIAN MIGRANTS The Issue Of Dual Minority Status A greater proportion of blacks moved out of Appalachia during the great migration of the fifties and sixties than did whites, reducing the percentage of blacks in Appalachia to 7.3% of the population by 1970 (Appalachian Regional Commission, 1971). As a result of this selectivity, blacks are more common among Appalachian migrants than among those who remained in the region. An estimated one out of five Appalachians living in Hamilton County, Ohio, for example, is black. While studies were being conducted among Appalachian migrants who were white, black migrants were either excluded from the analysis or grouped with other blacks. Too few Appalachian blacks were found in any single survey to analyze as a separate category, and researchers feared combining blacks and whites together lest the importance of origin be confounded by race. Today the educational attainment of black Appalachian migrants is substantially lower than their white counterparts (Fowler, 1980). There are reasons to believe that black Appalachians may have little in common with white migrants. First, their origins in Appalachia were different. While most white Appalachians living in Cincinnati, for example, came from Kentucky and Tennessee (McCoy and Brown, 1981), blacks moved from Alabama, Georgia, and Mississippi (Appalachian Regional Commission, 1971; Fowler, 1976). Appalachia is not a single cultural entity and migrants from different parts of the region may be as different as Appalachians and non-Appalachians. Second, within the same part of the region black Appalachians have usually lived isolated from whites (Allen, 1974; French, 1975; Cabbell, 1980). As with the rest of the nation, blacks were excluded from the mainstream in Appalachia. Having shared little in Appalachia, it seems doubtful black and white Appalachians found much in common after they migrated. Third, although migration brought many Appalachians-black and white-to low income neighborhoods of the city, they settled apart from each other (Fowler, 1981). Blacks from Appalachia moved to black neighborhoods where they PART Ill: FROM REGIONAliSM TO URBAN UFE (111 �identified with, and were identified as, blacks, but perhaps not as Appalachians (Zigli, 1981). On the other hand, there are reasons to believe that Appalachia has had an influence on black migrants similar to that of whites. One of the frrst studies on black culture in Appalachia concluded that while blacks were isolated, they nonetheless developed value systems similar to whites in the area (French, 1975). While the importance of such a value system has recently been a subject of criticism (Billings, 1974; Philliber, 1981) any influence it has upon the life chances of white migrants should also then be true of blacks. The only research which has analyzed black Appalachians as a separate category supports that conclusion. Fowler's (1981) study of residential distribution found that both black and white Appalachians were more likely than their non-Appalachian counterparts to live in low-income areas of the city. Whether blacks from Appalachia integrated into the local black community where they migrated or remained distinct because of their Appalachian heritage in the same manner as white migrants remains an unanswered question. The purpose of this paper is to provide a partial answer to that question by analyzing the socioeconomic attainments of black Appalachian migrants in Hamilton County, Ohio, relative to non-Appalachian blacks, white Appalachians, and non-Appalachian whites. Data Data were obtained by combining three surveys conducted in Hamilton County, Ohio. They were the 1971 Model Cities Survey (Sherrill, 1972), the 1975 Cincinnati Area Project (Philliber, 1981), and the 1980 Greater Cincinnati Survey (Obermiller, 1982). While neither methods of sampling nor measurement were the same, combining the studies produced 113 black Appalachians. That yielded a large enough group to provide a basis for at least some tentative observations. There are four differences in the ways the three surveys were carried out which may contribute to errors in the fmdings here. Two of those differences are minor and two are of some consequence. First, the Greater Cincinnati Survey was conducted by telephone, while the other two were collected in-person. Findings from telephone surveys are generally consistent with in-person interviews, so this difference should matter little (Tuchfarber and Klecka, 1976). Second, participants in the Model Cities Survey were selected as part of a multistage probability sample stratified by race; the Cincinnati Area Project used a multi-stage probability sample of blocks with quotas proportional to the population; and the Greater Cincinnati Survey selected people using Random Digit Dialing. These differences also probably matter little (Tuchfarber and Klecka, 1976; Sudman, 1966). On the other hand, the Model Cities Survey is drawn from the population living within the inner-city low-income area designated as the target for the Model Cities program while the other two studies are drawn from the population of Hamilton County. As a result, the combination of the three samples disproportionately represents people in low-income neighborhoods. Finally, the Cincinnati Area Project and the Greater Cincinnati Survey classified people as 112) PART Ill: FROM REGIONAliSM TO URBAN UFE �Appalachian if they were born in Appalachia or had at least one parent born there, while the Model Cities Survey classified people as Appalachians if they had moved to Cincinnati directly from Appalachia. As a result, the Model Cities Survey classified some persons as non-Appalachians who would otherwise be Appalachian. We have no reason to believe that any of these factors seriously altered the findings, but they should be remembered before reaching any final conclusions. Findings Although migrants from Appalachia generally are better educated than nonmigrants who remained (Larkin, 1973), Appalachians average fewer years of education than natives and other migrants in their places of destination (Philliber, 1981). Table 13:1 shows that only 58% of the white Appalachians in the three studies had completed high school, but 78% of other whites graduated. However, while white Appalachians are left at a competitive disadvantage to other whites, black Appalachians are not much different from other blacks. 38% of the black Appalachians compared to 39% of other blacks were high school graduates. Both groups are seriously less educated than whites, but their differences from each other are small. TABLE 13:1 PERCENT HIGH SCHOOL GRADUATES BY RACE AND APPALACHIAN HERITAGE Race Appalachian Other Black 35% (1 01) 39% (380) White 58% (359) 78% (1 ,015) TABLE 13:2 PERCENT OF LABOR FORCE EMPLOYED IN SKILLED TRADES OR WHITE COLLAR POSITIONS BY RACE AND APPALACHIAN HERITAGE Race Appalachian Other Black 41% (54) 30% (231) White 60% (248) 81% (783) PART Ill: FROM REGIONAliSM TO URBAN I.JFE (113 �The same pattern emerges with respect to occupational attainment among those in the labor force. White Appalachians have a lower percentage employed as whitecollar workers or in skilled trades than non-Appalachian whites have, 60% and 81%, respectively. Both black groups have even fewer such employees. All but 41% of the black Appalachians and 30% of other blacks are employed in semi-skilled or unskilled jobs. Although the difference between the two black groups is still small, it should be noted that what difference does exist is in favor of black Appalachians. The pattern is repeated in family incomes. The average annual income of other whites in the three surveys was $16,470. White Appalachians had average annual incomes of $14,182. Both black groups were considerably poorer. The average family income of black Appalachians was $7,742 and the income of other blacks averaged $6,719. TABLE 13:3 AVERAGE INCOME BY RACE AND APPALACHIAN HERITAGE Race Appalachian Other Black $7,742 (98) $6,719 (403) White $14,182 (366) 16,470 (1 ,017) TABLE 13:4 RELATIVEATTAINMENTSOFBLACKAPPALACHIANS, WHITE APPALACHIANS, & OTHER BLACKS AS A PERCENTAGE OF THE ATTAINMENTS OF OTHER WHITES Group Education Job Income Black Appalachian 45% 51% 47% Other Black 50% 37% 41% White Appalachian 74% 74% 86% 100% 100% 100% Other White Table 13:4 summarized relative attainments of the four groups. On each of the three variables non-Appalachian whites averaged higher achievements than other groups. 78% were high school graduates, 81% had white-collar or skilled jobs, and the group averaged $16,470 in family income. If these figures are set equal to 100%, then the relative attainments of white Appalachians are shown to be about three-quarters of 114) PART ll/: FROM REGIONAliSM TO URBAN UFE �the attainments of other whites. Each of the surveys used in this study have previously been analyzed to show the relative attainments of white Appalachians so these findings are not new. They are reported here only to provide a ready comparison with black Appalachians. The data collected from black Appalachians are not entirely consistent. Black Appalachians have fewer high school graduates, but better jobs and higher incomes than do other blacks. However, none of the differences within the black group are actually very large. When the attainments of either group are compared to non-Appalachian whites, both groups are shown to have half or less of what nonAppalachian whites have. Their differences from each other are trivial when compared to their differences from whites. It should be noted that the higher socioeconomic attainments of nonAppalachian whites can not be explained by age or by length of residence. In each of the three studies no significant differences existed for either of these variables. The explanation for the advantage of non-Appalachian whites lies in other directions. Conclusion The best conclusion from this study of the relative attainments of black Appalachians is that black Appalachians experience the same life chances as other blacks. They are restricted by being black, but they are not further restricted because they are Appalachian. The ethnogenesis which is characteristic of working class and poor white Appalachians is not shared by Appalachians who are blacks. Black Appalachians have become a part of the larger black group. There are two factors which may explain why black Appalachians are not distinct from other blacks in the same way Appalachian and non-Appalachian whites are. First, ethnogenesis is partially the result of labeling and discrimination by others. White Appalachians were singled out from the general white population by stereotyping and discrimination, thereby giving impetus to the formation of a group identity (c.f. Chapter Three). Black Appalachians were not similarly distinguished from the general black population; labeling and discrimination affected all members of that group equally; giving no momentum to the rise of a separate black Appalachian identity. But ethnogenesis can also come from stereotyping and discrimination which is internal to the group itself (Obermiller, 1982). In this case, race recedes in importance and socioeconomic stratification becomes critical. Intergroup labeling among white Appalachians in urban areas is quite negative and originates in the higher status cohort. The absence of large differences in socioeconomic status among blacks in the county, particularly when compared to whites residents, may lead to a diminution of intergroup stereotyping. This phenomenon may account for the absence of ethnogenesis among black Appalachians (Lewis, 1978). For both of these reasons, Appalachian blacks do not appear to have emerged as a group separate from blacks who are non-Appalachian. PART Ill: FROM REGIONALISM TO URBAN UFE (115 �This page intentionally left blank �CONCLUSION: The Future For Appalachians In Urban Areas There is probably little consensus on what the future holds, or should hold, for people of Appalachian heritage living outside the region. In most of the cities where Appalachians migrated little recognition appears to be made of the thousands of people who came from Appalachia. Fifteen years ago the popular press was filled with journalistic tales of Appalachians moving to Chicago, Detroit, Cincinnati, and other cities of the Midwest. Political organizers and social service providers directed efforts to reaching this population. Times have changed, and interest in Appalachians outside of the region is waning. There is little to indicate that Appalachians moving from the region thought of themselves as a group. They identified with family and community, but region of origin was not important. The recognition and treatment of Appalachians in urban areas as a group came from the outside. The journalists came first. The newspapers of Cincinnati, Chicago, Detroit, and Cleveland carried stories of "hillbillies" who had moved to Uptown, Over-the-Rhine, and other inner city neighborhoods of those Midwestern cities. Appalachians were the "in-topic" and feature articles were found in all the newspapers of these cities. The service providers came next. Agency heads in the neighborhoods where Appalachians settled tried to understand this new clientele. What they seemed to have in common was an origin in the mountains of the southern part of the United States. They had little education, seemed to be hard workers, stuck together in family groups, and had little familiarity with urban ways. Programs were called for to service the needs of this new population. Both journalists and service providers looked at Appalachians and saw a social problem. Social scientists in the sixties and seventies began to develop theoretical models to explain the behavior of Appalachians. Brown and his colleagues were especially interested in the family structure of Appalachians. The concept of the stem family was introduced. Appalachians were characterized as strong extended families with roots in CONCLUSION (117 �Appalachia and branches in the cities of the Midwest A reciprocal relationship existed between these parts providing support as needed from one part to the other. In the seventies the emphasis on family declined and a new emphasis on ethnicity emerged. The ethnic model provided some new approaches to the understanding of Appalachians in urban areas. For the frrst time Appalachians were recognized as a group. They were more than people with problems in common, they were a group who at some level associated with one another in churches, bars, and neighborhoods. They married other people with Appalachian heritage at a rate greater than chance. They lived close to one another. At some level they even identified with others like themselves. The basis of ethnic group formation among people with an Appalachian heritage was the treatment they received from residents in the cities to which they migrated. The cities of the Midwest had begun an economic decline at the time Appalachians migrated there in large numbers. Blacks from the South also came to these cities. Natives of Midwestern cities faced economic threats from the declining economic base of the region. Because Blacks and Appalachians had just arrived in those cities they were recognized as the cause of the problem. Hillbillies became a target of discrimination. Negative stereotypes were used to characterize these people in the same way that recent European and Asian immigrants were characterized in other cities. These negative images created and reinforced the belief that Appalachians were unsuited for employment and probably unsuited for life in the city as well. Discrimination against them became common. The reaction to that discrimination brought Appalachians together resulting in the formation of an urban ethnic group. The ethnic model shifted attention from Appalachians to the urban milieu. Earlier approaches had seen the problems of Appalachians resulting from their inability to adjust to urban life and the solution to their problems in the strengths of their families and character. The ethnic model saw the experiences of Appalachians resulting from the treatment they received from other people. Their problems reflected a lack of opportunity, not a lack of ability; and the solution to those problems was in political action. The ethnic analogy provided a way of servicing the needs of Appalachian migrants and their families. In the sixties and early seventies money was directed by government and foundations to meet the needs of racial and ethnic groups. No one was interested in providing services to poor WASPs. Recognition of Appalachians as a group provided a basis for securing these funds. Organizations were founded which provided legitimate vehicles to conduct services to these people. That was yesterday. The idealism of the sixties has been replaced with the reality of the eighties. Part of the decline in support for services to the poor is because so many programs of the sixties were fruitless. Probably the largest benefactor of those programs were the service providers who found steady work. In many cases people who were provided services would have succeeded without those services. Funding became disillusioned with the lack of success. The economic difficulties of the past decade have further eroded support for social services. High rates of inflation have reduced the real income of many families. People, insecure about their own futures, have been reluctant to press for expensive social reforms addressing issues of inequality. Finally, the civil rights movement has faced internal dissension. Instead of working together, different 118) CONCWSION �groups have fought between themselves over the issue of whose needs are greatest. Philosophical positions have become more important than the needs of people. The pragmatic utility of ethnicity is not what it was. The evidence is clear that Appalachians living outside the region faced problems. The initial migrants had little education and few experiences which could provide a basis for good employment. They found work as lower blue collar laborers and housing in inner city neighborhoods. The unfortunate fact is that the children of these migrants did not fare better. They, too, left school before graduation and often faced unemployment. Subsequent generations of Appalachians continue to face such problems. For most of the past thirty years, Appalachian migrants have been a people who didn't belong. Studies of Chicago, Cleveland, and Cincinnati clearly indicate that Appalachians were regarded as outsiders, denied access to opportunity because of their origin. At the same time they were forgotten by the region they left behind. As Appalachia became a political entity funds were funneled into the region to serve the people living in the region. Migrants were outsiders with no claim on those funds. Two new problems emerge for descendents of Appalachians living in the cities of the Midwest First, early migrants had a support network in the region. In the family system which Brown described relatives remained on family farms. Weekends were times to return to the mountains for social visits. Unemployment in the cities was dealt with by returning again to those same mountains where relatives would take a person in and provide food and shelter until work was once again available. Probably more important, these families provided emotional support. Life in the city wasn't expected to be pleasant and family understood the desires of mountain people forced to leave their communities. Second- and third-generation Appalachians have lost much of this support. Close relatives who remained in the mountains have grown old and died. Parents, brothers, and sisters are city people who live in the same neighborhoods where thy live. The family farms are worked by distant cousins or have been sold to strangers. The option of returning to the region is closed. They don't belong. The second problem occurs as each succeeding generation has less of an identification with their origin. The time is approaching when the majority of Appalachians living in urban areas are two or more generations removed from the mountains. A second-generation Appalachian's closest relative in Appalachia was a grandparent and for a third-generation migrant the closest relative was a greatgrandparent. These Appalachians have grown up outside of the region. They are city people whose only contact with Appalachia comes from visits with kin. Their parents and grandparents may have identified with someplace in Appalachia but Appalachia has never been home to these people. It is a situation which has happened in every white ethnic group in America. The third generation has little identification with the region of origin from which their ancestors came. There is another limitation which has always kept ethnicity among Appalachians at a minimum. For a century the people of Appalachia denied the existence of pluralism. In the nineteenth century when the communities around Appalachia developed strong identification with local areas in opposition to identification at a national level, Appalachians resisted. They thought of themselves as Americans. When the communities around them revolted and attempted to withdraw CONCLUSION (119 �from the Union, Appalachians stayed. Even within the region today, Appalachians are more likely to identify themselves as Americans and less likely to identify with a region than are people in surrounding areas. This has had an effect on the development of ethnicity among Appalachians living in urban areas outside of the region. Despite the discrimination, despite the labeling, these people seldom see themselves as members of a group base on region of origin. If the ethnic model has served its purpose and the time has come for other ways of understanding the experiences of Appalachians living outside the region, what is appropriate? This will be the issue for the next decade. Although only speculation is possible, some options already exist. The problems of Appalachians outsid~ the region in future years may best be understood as problems of class. Estimates differ but probably between a quarter and a half of the people with Appalachian origins remain in low income neighborhoods of Midwestern cities. One of the greatest disappointments has been the lack of upward mobility among succeeding generations of people of Appalachian origin. A major cause lies in the tendency to leave school before graduation. Manufacturing has become technologically demanding. People without education simply lack the skills to operate the machinery industry requires. The only jobs available for people without education are in service areas and unskilled labor. These jobs bring low pay and frequent layoffs. For many Appalachian people this has become their fate. In a sense these people have melted into the inner city neighborhoods where they live. They have grown up on the streets. They are probably not identified as Appalachians by others; they have neither strange accents nor rural ways which make them stand out from other natives of the cities where they live. When they think of where they belong they are most likely to identify with the cities where they were born and raised. Appalachia is where their grandparents and maybe great-grandparents came from, but not them. They have become city people living in and identifying with the Midwest. Many of these descendants of Appalachian migrants have become a part of the emerging urban underclass found in many of our cities. They lack the skills to succeed in a market place which has increased its technological demands. They lack identifying traits necessary for the survival of ethnicity. They have become a people society will pass by. They will continue to live in inner city neighborhoods. Trapped in a cycle of poverty, their children will suffer the same fate. They will become invisible people we will choose not to see. For these people there truly are too few tomorrows. Cincinnati may remain an exception to this pattern. While other Midwestern cities have already assimilated their Appalachians, Appalachians in Cincinnati appear to remain a strong and viable ethnic group. There are two reasons for this difference. One of the factors in the Cincinnati experience is the existence of strong identifiable neighborhoods. The geographical layout of Cincinnati creates many residential areas easily separable from other areas. Many neighborhoods are identifiable by the type of people who live in them. Institutions like churches and neighborhood bars draw from local areas and provide a place where people come together. As a result, customs survive longer than would otherwise be expected. For example, churches provide an opportunity for singing songs learned in the mountains. Potluck dinners provide people an opportunity to socialize. What are basically rural customs survive in the churches and bars of Appalachian neighborhoods. 120) CONCWSION �The second factor important in the survival of Appalachian ethnicity in Cincinnati is the presence of strong leadership. Cincinnati has people who have spent large portions of their lives in working for Appalachian people. 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"Monitoring migration trends." American Demographics, 7:27-47. Ryan, John P. 1975. Cultural Diversity and the American Experience: Political Participation Among Blacks, Appalachians, and Indians. Beverly Hills: Sage. Sarna, Johnathon D. 1978. "From immigrants to ethnics: toward a new theory of 'ethnicization'." Ethnicity, 5:370-8. Schwarzweller, Harry K. 1970. "Adaptation of Appalachian migrants to the industrial work situation: a case study." In Behavior in New Environments: Adaptation of Migrant Populations, edited by Eugene B. Broey. Sage Publications. 1981. "Occupational patterns of Appalachian migrants." In William W.Philliber and Clyde B. McCoy (eds.), The Invisible Minority: Urban Appalachians. Lexington: The University Press of Kentucky. Schwarzweller, Harry K., James S. Brown, and J.J. Mangalam 1971. Mountain Families in Transition. University Park, PA: The Pennsylvania State University Press. Shapiro, Henry D. 1977. "Appalachia and the idea of America: The problem of the persisting frontier." In J.W. Williams (ed.), An Appalachian Symposiwn. Boone, NC: Appalachian State University Press. 1978. Appalachia On Our Mind. Chapel Hill, NC: The University of North Carolina Press. Sherrill, Samuel B. 1972. Cincinnati Model Neighborhood Survey: A Statement of Research Objectives Metlwdology. Cincinnati: Institute for Metropolitan Studies, University of Cincinnati. Shibutani, Tamotsu and Kian M. Kwan Ethnic Stratification. New York: MacMillan. 1965. BIBliOGRAPHY (135 �Simpkins, 0. Norman 1974. "An informal, incomplete introduction to Appalachian culture." In Marshall University Distinguished Reading Series 2. Huntington, wv Spicer, Edward H. 1971. "Persistent cultural systems: a comparative study of identity systems that can adapt to contrasting environments." Science, 1974:795-800. Steeves, Allen D. 1964. "An analysis of internal migration with specific reference to the flow of people from the Atlantic provinces to Guelph, Ontario." Unpublished M.A. thesis, University of Toronto. Stephenson, John B. 1968. Shiloh: A Mountain Community. Lexington: The University of Kentucky Press Stone, Leroy 0. 1969. Migration in Canada: Some Regional Aspects. Ottawa: Dominion Bureau of Statistics. Sudman, Seymour 1966. "Probability Sampling with quotas." Journal of the American Statistical Association, (September):49-71. Taylor, R.L. 1979. Migration In Canada: Some Regional Aspects. Ottawa: Dominion Bureau of Statistics. Traina, Frank J. 1980. 'The assimilation of Appalachian migrants in northern Kentucky." Working Paper 12. Cincinnati: Urban Appalachian Council. Tuchfarber, Alfred and William Klecka Random Digit Dialing. Washington: Urban Institute. 1976. Uhlenberg, Peter 1975. "Noneconomic determinants of nonmigration: sociological considerations for migration theory." Rural Sociology, 38:296-311. Urban Appalachian Council 1979. Urban Appalachian Counci/1978 Annual Report. Cincinnati: Urban Appalachian Council. V ailliant, G.E. 1966. "Parent-child cultural disparity and drug addiction." Journal of Nervous and Mental Diseases. 142-534-9. Vance, Rupert B. 'The region: a new survey." In Thomas R. Ford (ed.), The Southern 1962. Appalachian Region: A Survey. Lexington: University of Kentucky Press. 136) B/BUOGRAPHY �van den Berghe, Pierre L. 1978. Race and Racism. New York: Wiley. Vincent, George E. 1898. "A retarded frontier." American Journal of Sociology, 4:1-29. Wagner, Thomas E. 1973. "A study of selected Appalachian migrant students attending urban junior high shools in the Cincinnati, Ohio, area." Unpublished DED. Dissertation, University of Cincinnati. 1974. "Report of the Appalachian school study project." Urban Appalachian Council Working Paper No.4. June. 1975. "Urban Appalachian school children: the least understood of all." Urban Appalachian Council Working Paper No. 6. January. Walls, DavidS. 1977. "On the naming of Appalachia." In J.W. Williamson (ed.), An Appalachian Symposium. Boone, NC: Appalachian State University Press. Ward, David 1971. Cities and Immigrants. New York: Oxford University Press. Watkins, Virginia McCoy 1973. "Consideration of factors relevant to the development of health support systems for Appalachian migrants." Master's Thesis, University of Cincinnati. Watkins, Virginia M. and Diana G. Trevino 1982. "Occupational and employment status of Appalachian migrant women." In Rick Simon (ed.), Critical Essays in Appalachian Life and Culture: Proceedings of the Fifth Annual Appalachian Studies Conference. Boone, NC: Appalachian Consortium Press. Watkins, Virginia McCoy and Clyde B. McCoy 1979. Drug Use Among Urban Ethnic Youth. Report to the National Institute on Drug Abuse. (January). 1980. Drug Use Among Appalachian Youth. Services Research Monograph. National Institute on Drug Abuse. Watkins, Virginia McCoy and Ray West 1976. "Relationships and potentials between the urban Appalachian family and the neighborhood school and neighborhood stability." Case study prepared for the National Center for Urban Ethnic Affairs. Urban Appalachian Council. Watts, Ann DeWitt "Cities and their place in southern Appalachia." Appalachian Journal, 1981. 8:105-18. BTBUOGRAPHY (137 �Weller, Jack 1966. 1975. Yesterday's People. Lexington: The University of Kentucky Press. "Urbanization and the disappearance of a heritage." In Emmett M. Essin, ill (ed.), Appalachia: Family Traditions in Transition. Johnson City, TN: The East Tennessee State University Research Advisory Council. Weller, Robert H. and Leon F. Bouvier Population: Demography and Policy. New York: St. Martins Press. 1981. White, Stephen E. 1983. "Return migration to Appalachian Kentucky: an atypical case of nonmetropolitan migration reversal." Rural Sociology, 48:471-91. Williams, J. Allen, Jr. and Louis St. Peter 1977. "Ethnicity and socioeconomic status as determinants of social participation: a test of the interaction hypothesis." Social Science Quarterly, 57:892-98. Williams, J. Allen, Jr., Nicholas Babchuk, and David R. Johnson 1973. "Voluntary associations and minority status: a comparative analysis of Anglo, Black, and Mexican Americans." American Sociological Review, 38:637-46. Williams, Robin "Structure and process in ethnic relations: increased knowledge and 1979. unanswered question." Paper presented at the Annual Meeting of the American Sociological Association. Wirth, Louis 1938. "Urbanism as a way of life." American Journal of Sociology, 44:1-24. Yancey, W.L., E.P. Ericksen, and R.N. Juliani 1976. "Emergent ethnicity: a review and reformulation." American Sociological Review, 41:351-403. Yinger, J. Milton 1976. "Ethnicity in complex societies: structural, cultural, and characterological factors.: In Lewis A. Coser and Otto N. Lasen (eds.). The Uses of Controversy in Sociology. New York: The Free Press. Zelditch, Morris, Jr. "Role differentiation in the nuclear family: a 1955. comparative study." In Talcott Parsons and Robert F. Bales (eds.). Family, Socialization and Interaction Process. Glencoe, IL: The Free Press. Zigli, Barbara 1981. "Appalachian Blacks-the 'double minority" Cincinnati Enquirer 5):A-6. Zimmerman, Carle C. 1947. Family and Civilization. New York: Harper and Brothers. 138) B!BUOGRAPHY (May �CONTRIBUTORS Kathryn M. Borman is Associate Professor of Education in the Department of Educational Foundations at the University of Cincinnati. James K. Crissman is Associate Professor of Sociology in the Department of Sociology at Illinois Benedictine College. Clyde B. McCoy is Professor of Sociology and Associate Director for Cancer Control at the Papanicolaou Comprehensive Center at the University of Miami. Michael E. Maloney is Executive Director of the Appalachian Peoples Service Organization - Urban in Cincinnati. Martin N. Marger is Professor of Sociology in the Department of Social Sciences at Northern Kentucky University. H. Virginia McCoy is Visiting Assistant Professor in the Department of at Florida Atlantic University. Sharlotte K. Neely is Associate Professor of Anthropology in the Department of Social Sciences at Northern Kentucky University. Phillip J. Obermiller is Assistant Professor of Sociology in the Department of Social Sciences at Northern Kentucky University. Robert W. Oldendick is Assistant Director of the Institute for Policy Research at the University of Cincinnati. William W. Philliber is Professor and Chair of the Depar1ment of Sociology at the State University of New York at New Paltz. Maureen R. Sullivan is Executive Director of the Urban Appalachian Council in Cincinnati. Thomas E. Wagner is Professor of Planning and Administration and Senior Vice Provost at the University of Cincinnati. CONTRIBUTORS 139 �This page intentionally left blank �INDEX A Appalachian entrepreneur, 44, 45, 47 Abt Associates, 13 Appalachian Festival, 8-10, 44 Academy for Contemporary Problems, 13 Appalachian Fund, 6-8 accent, 28, 37-41, 44, 65, 99 Appalachian Identity Center, 7-9, 46 advocacy; organizations, 5-12, as role for outsiders, 45-46, see also support services Appalachian Issues Network, 11 age profile of Appalachians, see demo graphic characteristics Akron, OH, 4, 15, family type study in, 83-88 Alabama; migration patterns, 55-58 alcoholism, as stereotype, 37-38, 41 Allen-Edwards feud, 82 Anschell, Kurt, 13 apathy, as stereotype, 37-38, 41 Appalachia; defmition of, 53-58, dropout rates in, 97, economy, 64, inmigration, 52, 60, migration within, 54, 55, 6062-regions of; central, 58, 59, southern, 3, 25, 26, 52, 58, 62 northern, 59, 61 Appalachian Action Council, 12 Appalachian _Alliance, 11 Appalachian Committee, 6-8, 10, 13 Appalachian Community Development Association, 9-10 Appalachian Development Projects Assembly of the Commission of Religion in Appalachia, 11 Appalachian Migrants in Urban America: Cultural Conflict or Ethnic Group Formation?, ii, 15 Appalachian movement, urban, 5-12, 4547 Appalachia On Our Mind, 43 Appalachian People's Service Organization-Urban Office, 11 Appalachian Regional Commission, 53, Report to Congress on Migration, 52 Appalachian School Project Committee, 89 Appalachians; defmition of, 45-46 Appalachian Studies Conference, 11 Appalachian Women's Organization, 8 Archdiocese of Cincinnati, 6 Area-to-Area Migration Flow Data, 52-54 Arizona, migration patterns, 54-60 ascription, 43 assimilation, 30 Atlanta, GA; migration patterns, 55-58, INDEX (141 �c Appalachian movement, 46 attainment, socioeconomic, 16, 20-21, 26, 36-37, 70, of blacks, 21, 36-37, 70, and community council participation, 74-79, of Maritimers, 2627, of recent migrants, 51, 64 automobile industry, 28 California. migration patterns, 54-57, 59, 60 Camp Washington, 9 Career Education Program (UAC), 10 Catholics, in Cincinnati, 44, involvement in Appalachian movement, 7 Ayer, Perley, 5, 6 B Baltimore, 15, 46, migration patterns, 5658, youth study, 102 Central Ohio Appalachian Council, 11 CETA, 10 Barth, Frederick, 43-44 Charleston, WV, migration patterns, 57, 58 Battelle fustitute, 9 Chattanooga. TN, 57, 58 Berea College, 5, 6 Chern Dyne industrial site, 11 Bethesda North Hospital (Cincinnati), 109 Chicago, studies of, 15, Appalachian movement in, 46, migration patterns, 56, 57, 59 Birmingham, AL, 56-58 blacks; dropout rates, 90-95, involvement in community councils, 74-79, political influence, 30, views of Appalachians, 37-40, youths, 102, 104-107, see also, attainment, socioeconomic black Appalachians, 90-95, 111-115, culture, 112, education, 113, income, 114, migratory patterns, 111, occupations, 113-114, residential patterns, 112, studies of, 15 blaming the victim, 14, 16 Bragdon, Marshall, 5-6 Brown, Katie, 8 Brown, James, 13 Bureau of the Census, 52 Cincinnati, OH; Appalachian population of, 4, as center of urban Appalachian movement, 5-11, migration patterns, 4, 25-27, 56-57, youth study, 100 Cincinnati Area Project, 1975, 15, 112 Cincinnati, City of; affmnative action policy statement, 8, City Council, 11, Human Relations Commission, 5-9, 13, 89, Mayor's Friendly Relations Committee, 5, 6, Public Schools, 89 Cincinnati Enquirer, 6 Cincinnati Union Bethel, 97 Citizen's Services Survey, 1981, 73 City Folk, 11 civil rights activism, 29 142) INDEX �class relationships, ii, within urban Appalachian movement, 16, vs ethnicity, 16, 17, 30, 31, see also upward mobility, middle class Appalachians 43-44, sensitivity to, 107 D Dallas, TX, migration patterns, 55, 56, 58, 60 Clermont County, OH, 15 Cleveland, OH; Appalachian movement in, 11, 12, 46, migration patterns, 4, 56, 57, 59, studies of, 15, youth, 101 Dayton, OH, Appalachian movement in, 11, 46, migration patterns, 4, 56, 57, 59, 63, studies of, 15 Deaton, Brady, 13 Client Advocate Program (UAC), 11 delinquency, 99, 100, 101 coalitions of neighborhood groups (Cincinnati), 74-77 coal industry, 3, 64 demographic characteristics of Appalachians, 26, 36, 70-71, 73-75, studies, 15 Coffey, Virginia, 5, 7 Depression, effects on migration, 25, 26 Coles, Robert, 13 Detroit, MI; Appalachian movement, 46, migration patterns, 56, 57, 59, 63, youth study, 102 Columbia, SC, migration patterns, 57, 58 Columbus, OH, 4, 15, 46, Appalachian movement in, 11, migration patterns, 56, 57, 59, national conference, 9, 13 discrimination, 4, 5, 19-22, 36 Community Chest (Cincinnati), 10, 11 dropout rates, 64, 89-97, 101, 106 Community Commitment Foundation, 8 Drug Education Program (UAC), 10 community councils, participation in, 7479 Drukker, Ray, 6 downward mobility, 16 E community organizing, 9, 11, 46, 74-79 ecological patterns, 28-32, 40 competition for jobs, 19, 21, 36, 37, with blacks, 28 Council of the Southern Mountains, 5-7, 11 culture, Appalachian, i, 44, 99, 100, 108, establishing, 8, 9, existence of, 21, 27, education; Appalachian attitude towards, 99-101, studies of, 15, see also schools education, lack of, as stereotype, 38 educational attainment, 16, 36, 64, 70-71, 100-101, 113, of blacks, 70, of Cincinnatians, 96-97, improving, 101, by neighborhood, 90-94, in rural Appalachia, 96 INDEX (143 �elderly, studies of, 15 fear of institutions, 21 Emmanuel Community Center, 6,7 federal recognition of urban Appalachian movement, 9 endogamy, 82, 83 Florida, migration patterns, 54-60 Episcopal Diocese of Southern Ohio, 97 Ft. Lauderdale, 56-58, 60 ethnic boundaries, 27-28, 30-32, 35, 44 ethnic entrepreneur, 44-45, 47 ethnic group, Appalachians as, ii, 16, 17, 22, 46, further development, 30-31, 6366 ethnic group formation, 19, 22, 23, 6365, conditions for, 23, 25, cultural model, 22, 23, 25, 27, ecological model, 24, 28, ethnic boundary model, 24, 27, 35, 43, political economy explanation, 17-21, political model, 24, 29-30, 69 Foster, Frank, 67, library on Appalachian Migrants, 11 Fowler, Gary, 13 fundamentalism, 103 G Gallahan, Sister Shirley, 6 great migration, 3, 13, 63, 64 Greater Cincinnati Foundation, 8 Ethnic Groups and Boundaries, 43 Greater Cincinnati Survey, 1982, 36, 112 ethnicity, 16, 17, 21, 24, 27, 64, "stereotyped," 31, see also ethnic group formation, culture Greater Cincinnati Study, Fall1980, 70 Greenville, 57 extractive industries, 25, 26 Griffin, Roscoe, 5, 13 F Faber, Stuart, 6, 7 H Hamilton Appalachian People's Service Organization, 11 factionalism, 45-46 family, importance of, 21, 89, 99, 100, 109, 110 family type, 44, nuclear, 81-83, extended, 81-83, in urban milieu, 83-88, of orientation and procreation, 84-86 Hamilton, OH, migration patterns, 4, Appalachian movement in, 11, studies of, 15, 16 Hamilton County, OH, black Appalachians in, 111-115, political activity, 69 Hatfield-McCoy feud, 82 farming, in Maritime provinces, 25-26, in southern Appalachia, 25-26 health, studies of, 15 fatalism, 21, 106 Heritage Room, 8, 9 144) INDEX �homeland, i, 44, 65 jokes, ethnic, 20, 27 home ownership, 78 Junior League of Cincinnati, 8 K honesty, as stereotype, 12, 37, 38, 41 Kentucky; migration patterns, 56-58, northern, i, 15 housing, studies of, 15 Houston, immigration, 56-58, 60 HUB Social Services Center, 7 Huntington, WV, migration patterns, 57, 58 Kentucky, eastern, dropout rates, 97, migration patterns, 3, 4, 58 Kentucky Mountain Club, 11 kinfolk messages, 4 Knoxville, 1N, 56, 57 identity, Appalachian, 7, 9, 11, 15, 2021, 24, 28, 30, 35, 45, by out-group, 15, 28, 30, see also stereotypes, ethnic group Ku Klux Klan, 46 L Illinois, migration patterns, 54-57, 59-60 labor unions, 16 income, 20-21, 36, 52, 70-71, 112, of recent migrants, 64 Lappish Movement, 44, 45 independence, 21 LEAA Grant for Youth Service Training, 9 Inner City Neighborhood Coalition, 10 Lexington, KY, 15, 19, migration patterns, 55-58 Indiana, migration patterns, 54-56, 59, 60 Leybourne, Grace, 13 Indianapolis, 56, 59, 63 Los Angeles, inmigration, 55-57, 59 Institute of Govenmental Research, 74 Louisville, KY, migration patterns, 56-58, 63 interaction, patterns of, 22 loyalty, as stereotype, 37, 38 Internal Revenue Service, 52, 53 The Invisible MiMrity, ii, 14, 15 isolation, 21, 40 McCoy and Watkins, 14, 20 McCoy, Clyde, 13 J Jacksonville, 56-58 M Main Street Bible Center, 6 Maloney, Michael, 6-10, 44-46 INDEX (145 �Marger, Martin, 17 Morgan, Larry, 13 Maritime provinces of Canada, economy, 25, 26, outmigration, 25, 26 Mountain Life and Work, 9, 13 Mountain Families in Transition, 13 Marltimers, culture, 27, occupations, 25, 26, political presence, 29, residential patterns, 28, self-perception, 27, stereotypes, 28 Multigenerational research, 14, 15 Mynatt, Ernie, 6, 7,9,45 N Massachusetts, inmigration, 54 Memorial Community Center, 7 Nashville, TN, inmigration, 55-58 Michigan, migration patterns, 54-56, 59, 60 National Center for Urban/Ethnic Affairs, 102 middle class Appalachians, 20, 26, 44, 64 National Conference on Urban Appalachians, 1974, 9, 13 migrants, i, ii, 3, 4, 19-21, generation of, 63-65, recent, 63-65, SES, 20, 21, 26, 28,37,41, 52, 64,90,94,95,see also ethnic group, attainment, socioeconomic migration, .rural-to-urban, i, 3, 4, 20, 21, 25, 26, 52, adjustment to, 6, 7, 100, 101, 108, 109, within Appalachia, 5360, of blacks, 19, decline in, to Midwest, 59, 60, 63, and decline in education, 90, process, 3, 4, 100, pushpull factors, 3, 25, recent, 51-60, studies of, i, ii, 13, 15, 51, 52, 53, "turnaround," 52, 60 neighborhood, 13-15, 109, -based education, 96, 97, -based support systems, 109, Cincinnati, 74, 89-90, and dropout rates, 90-94, satisfaction with, 75, see also Camp Washington, Over-the-Rhine, Northside, Norwood, South Fairmont, community organizing New Brunswick, 25 Newfoundland, 25 "Newfies," 27 New Jersey, migration flows, 54, 55, 60 migratory streams, 4, 51, 52, in Canada, 25, 26 New York, migration patterns, 56, 57, 59 Miller, Tommie, 16 Norfolk, VA, migration patterns, 57 Miner's Benefit Program, 8 North Central region, migration patterns, 59,60 minority group, concept of, 17 Mobile, AL, 56-58 North East region, migration patterns, 59, 60 Model Cities, 7, Survey, 1971, 112 North End (of Hamilton, OH), 11 Montgomery, AL, migration patterns, 57, 58 Northern Kentucky University, 13 146) INDEX �Northside (Cincinnati}, 9 Pittsburgh, P A, Appalachian movement in, 56, 57, migration patterns, 59, 61 Norwood, OH, 10, 16, 21 policy, studies of, 15 Nova Scotia, 25 0 Obermiller, Phillip, 14, 16, 17 occupational status, 16, 20, 28, 36, 70, 78, 112, 113 Office of Economic Opportunity, 13 Ohio, migration patterns, 56, 57, 59 Polish youths, 102, 105 political behavior of Appalachians; affiliation, 71-73, development of, 31, effect on neighborhood council involvement, 73-75, importance of ethnic origin to, 71, involvement in, 71, studies of, 70, strength of, 29, within urban Appalachian movement, 46, see also solidary groups political economy theory, 19-21 Ohio State Appalachian Commission, 12 "poor whites," 17, 46 Ohio-Kentucky-Indiana Bluegrass Association, 11 Porter, Father John, 6 Ontario, inmigration, 28 ports of entry, 3, 16, 29, 64 "optimization of interest," 31 poverty stereotype, 15, 16 Our Common Heritage, 11 poverty, studies of, 15 outsiders in the urban Appalachian movement, 9, 10, 11, 45 Prince Edward Island, 25 Providence, RI, youth study, 102 Over-the-Rhine, 6, 7, 90, 91 p Protestants in Cincinnati, 44 R patriotism, as stereotype, 37, 38 racial conflicts, 100 Pennsylvania, outmigration, 56-58 racism, a stereotype, 37, 38, 40, 41 Philadelphia, 57 recreational facilities for youth, 101, 102 People's Appalachia, 13 Reddin, Larry, 9 Perry County, KY, 100 Phoenix, AZ, inmigration, 56, 57, 59, 60 religion, 26, 102, 103, as stereotype, 37, 38, studies of, 15 Pilot Cities Center, 7 residential clustering, 28, 31 INDEX (147 �resourcefulness, as stereotype, 37, 38 "stereotyped ethnicity," 31 Riclunond, VA, 56, 57 suburbanization, 16 Roanoke, VA, migration patterns, 55-58 success patterns of urban Appalachians, 14 s St. Mary's Catholic Church, 6 Sullivan, Maureen, 10 support systems, 4, 99, 101, 107, 108, 109 Santa Maria Community Services, 97 schools, Appalachians in, 13, 99, 105, 106, 108 self-image, Appalachian, 8, 45, among youth, 101 self-sufficiency, 99 T Tampa/St Petersburg, FL, inmigration, 5558,60 Toledo, OH, 15 Tennessee, migration patterns, 56-58, dropout rates, 97 Shapiro, Henry, 43 Texas, migration flows, 54-58 Social Areas of Cincinnati Report, 9, 13 Toronto, 25-29 social participation, 15 socioeconomic status, see attainment, socioeconomic solidarity groups, 30 Sons and Daughters of Appalachia, 7 The South Goes North, 13 southern states, inmigration, 52, 59, 60 traditionalism, 16, 21 "triage" policy, 10 u unemployment, 65, in Appalachia, 3, in Maritime Canada, 26, among youths, 107 United Appalachians of Cincinnati, 7, 9, 45 South Fairmont (Cincinnati), 9 Spiegel, Louise, 6, 7 stereotypes of Appalachians, 28, 30, 31, 36-40, held by blacks, 36-40, held by middle-class Appalachians, 20, 40, through jokes, 20, need to eliminate, 7, 9, 14, positive, 36-40, in scholarly writing, 35, studies of, 15, 35 "Stereotypes of Appalachian Immigrants," 14 148) INDEX United Way (Cleveland), 12 University of Cincinnati, 13, Behavioral Sciences Laboratory, 73, summer institutes, 9, University College, 97 University of Kentucky; Appalachian Center, 97, Medical Center, 109 upward mobility, 28, 30 �Urban Appalachian Council, 5, 8, 45-47, advocacy, 9, 15, 89, growth, 9, Long Range Plan, 10, objectives, 8, research, 10, 11, 13-15, 89, turmoil within, 10 v v youth, 99-110, cultural transition, 99, 100, 103, job aspirations, 101, posthigh school plans, 107, religion, 102104, relationship to school, 99, 100, studies of, 15, 102 values of Appalachians, 16, 21, 44, 100, black Appalachians, 112 violence, as stereotype, 37-38 Virginia, migration patterns, 55-58 visibility, absence of, 30-31 VISTA, 10 w Wagner, Thomas, 13 Washington, DC, Appalachian movement in, 46, migration patterns, 58 welfare, 16 West Palm Beach, FL, 56-58 West Virginia, migration patterns, 4, 57, 58 western states, migration patterns, 59, 60 Whitehall, OH, 101 Williams, Diane, 8 Winston-Salem. NC, area, 57 women, studies of, 15 Working in Neighborhoods, 11 World War IT, effect on migration, 3, 26 X Xavier University, 97 INDEX (149 �about the authors phillip obermiller holds graduate degrees in philosophy from the Athenaeum of Ohio and in sociology from the Union Institute. His cross-national studies have been funded by the Canadian Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council. He has also held a Postdoctoral Fellowship for Advanced Research in the Humanities and Social Sciences from the Andrew A. Mellon Foundation. He currently holds joint appointments as a research associate at the Appalachian Center of the University of Kentucky and as a visiting scholar in the U.C. School of Planning. Obermiller’s research has been published in the International Journal of Comparative Sociology, Social Science Quarterly, Ethnic Groups, Social Insight, Urban Education, Appalachian Heritage, Now and Then, Pittsburgh History, Appalachian Journal, and the Journal of Appalachian Studies. william philliber, one of the founders and senior partners of Philliber Research & Evaluation, holds a Ph.D. in sociology from Indiana University and has more than forty years of experience in program design, development, and evaluation. He has written several dozen articles, and is the author or editor of six books including, The Invisible Minority: Urban Appalachians and Equal Partners: Successful Women in Marriage. � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Appalachian Consortium Press Publications Description An account of the resource This collection contains digitized monographs and collections from the Appalachian Consortium Press. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Appalachian Consortium Press Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Appalachian Consortium Press Date Issued Date of formal issuance (e.g., publication) of the resource. June 1, 2017 Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource <a title="Digital Scholarship and Initiatives" href="http://library.appstate.edu/services/digital-scholarship-and-initiatives" target="_blank">Digital Scholarship and Initiatives</a> Publication Digital Publisher Digital Republication Appalachian State University Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Too Few Tomorrows: Urban Appalachians in the 1980's Description An account of the resource <span>Between the 1940s and 1970s, approxiately three million people left the Appalachian mountains in search of jobs in Midwest urban areas, such as Cincinnati, Chicago, and Detroit. Unfortunately, about a third of these people were forced into a life of long-term underclass dwellers. Struggling with questions of identity, rootlessness, and cultural negation, these people were given the name of “urban Appalachians.” Published in 1987, </span><em>Too Few Tomorrows</em><span> addresses some of the pressing questions regarding urban Appalachians and their story of migration to city life.</span><br /><br /><a href="https://drive.google.com/open?id=1CWjy0eKA23dyk2k6sA6ocIk2Z3ARzC2q" target="_blank">Download EPub<br /><br /></a><a title="UNC Press Link" href="https://www.uncpress.org/book/9781469637051/too-few-tomorrows" target="_blank">UNC Press Print on Demand</a> Subject The topic of the resource Ethnicity--Appalachian Region, Southern Ethnology--Appalachian Region, Southern Regionalism--Appalachian Region, Southern Appalachian Region, Southern--Social conditions Appalachian Region, Southern--Social life and customs Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Obermiller, Phillip J. Philliber, William W. Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1987 Language A language of the resource English Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Appalachian Consortium Press Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Appalachia Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDF E-books Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/deed" target="_blank">https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/deed</a> Spatial Coverage Spatial characteristics of the resource. https://www.geonames.org/12212302/appalachia.html Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived <a title="UA 76 Appalachian Consortium records" href="https://appstate-speccoll.lyrasistechnology.org/repositories/2/resources/9" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener"> UA 76 Appalachian Consortium records </a> Is Part Of A related resource in which the described resource is physically or logically included. <a title="Appalachian Consortium Press Publications" href="https://omeka.library.appstate.edu/collections/show/82" target="_blank"> Appalachian Consortium Press Publications</a> Temporal Coverage Temporal characteristics of the resource. 1980s Appalachians class culture economic race social sociology urban