Hillbilly Jubilee

Seven months ago, the dilapidated Sayer building crumbled in my hometown of Logan, West Virginia, located at the heart of the Appalachian Coalfields. In the building’s place now exists a new lot, filled with lush grass and marked with a vibrant welcome sign that brings life and hope to the once-lifeless entrance to my town. Image courtesy of Dylan Vidovich of The Logan Banner.

In his New York Times-bestselling book Hillbilly Elegy, author J. D. Vance recounts stories of his upbringing in Appalachia while exploring the obstacles and crises facing the region and its people. Generated by an economic phenomenon commonly referred to as “the Great Divide,” Appalachia’s current crisis stems from a decades-long economic depression that occurred as America’s rural and urban economies drifted apart. The Great Divide has resulted in a crippling opioid epidemic, an exodus of working-class families, a critical public health emergency, and an undervalued education system, among many other grave challenges.

Although many of Vance’s observations accurately portray the challenges facing Appalachian society, Hillbilly Elegy also establishes a narrative that Appalachian “hillbilly” culture is dead, mischaracterizing the identity of an entire region. Vance describes Appalachia with an elegy, a piece of art that commemorates a death—all despite the fact that Appalachia’s culture remains alive and well. As a small-town West Virginian, I can confidently say that no one should count the people of Appalachia out.

The crisis that Vance explores is undeniably prevalent in current Appalachian culture, to be sure. Throughout my childhood, I constantly heard about the “good old days”—the days before the Great Divide, when Appalachian coal and manufactured goods were used in every household. These were the days when a car sat in front of every business, vibrant welcome signs hung in front of every building, and children played on every street. To me, however, these stories of the past are only a fantasy. All I have ever known is the sight of lifeless streets, abandoned homes stained yellow from years of neglect, and boarded-up businesses with faded letters naming something that no longer exists.

The collapsed Sayer building in Logan, West Virginia. Image courtesy of Dylan Vidovich of The Logan Banner.

The crisis experienced by the Appalachian people has torn at the very core of our existence, altering the composition of Appalachia’s social, political, and economic structure. However, people should not pity Appalachia, for the crisis at hand has not resulted in the death of our culture or our identity. Rather, it has cultivated a resilient, hardworking, and compassionate group of people ready to revitalize their communities and learn from the lessons of the past.

Across Appalachia, in small towns and cities plagued by the effects of this crisis, new seeds of hope are beginning to grow. In my town, the collapse of a dilapidated, unattractive building spurred the creation of a new, welcoming community attraction. This kind of progress, revitalization, and diversification is not unique to my locality. Communities, individuals, and establishments throughout Appalachia are beginning to discover and implement local solutions to local problems.

A testament to this is the Hatfield-McCoy Trails, a regional ATV trail network in Southern West Virginia consisting of over 700 miles of trails. The trail system attracted 55,000 tourists to the area last year alone, an increase of 10 percent from the prior year—part of a trend that is only expected to continue. Organizations like this have saved many towns from the brink of extinction, resulting in new life and entrepreneurial growth.

However, programs like this should only be used as a crutch, not as a solution, for the issues we now face. We cannot allow ourselves to fall into the mistake of the past by relying on a single industry to sustain an entire population. The revenue that Appalachian localities collect from programs such as the Hatfield-McCoy Trails must be reinvested into our own communities to help diversify our economy.

Admittedly, the Appalachian people’s path to success is lengthy, full of many barriers that will take proper leadership and substantial initiative to overcome. The story is not about rebuilding what was—it is about creating what will be. Any time I return home, I sense a feeling among the people of my area that I have never felt before: hope. We must celebrate this hope. Let us not eulogize Appalachian culture, for the crisis at hand has ultimately led to new life. Instead, let us revel in Appalachia’s new beginnings and new creations.

Cameron Adkins is a staff writer at CPR and a freshman in Columbia College majoring in Political Science. He is from Logan, West Virginia.