Every once in a while a major media outlet rolls out a story on poverty in Appalachia. A little while ago The Guardian took a crack at it. The result is pretty standard for the genre.
In fact, journalists have been making similar copy out of Appalachia since the nineteenth century. What sets these more recent examples apart is the emphasis on drug addiction and the decline of the coal industry. (I’ve always found it ironic that one of the stereotypes about Appalachia is the idea that it’s a primitive region where time stands still, when in fact it’s the ideas people have had about Appalachia that have remained remarkably consistent for over a hundred years.)
Poverty is a tough issue to deal with in any context, but addressing poverty in Appalachia is especially thorny. On the one hand, there are parts of Appalachia in which poverty is a very pervasive and systemic problem, one that bears talking about.
On the other hand, one problem that Appalachians of pretty much all socioeconomic backgrounds face is the prevalence of stereotypes. And one of the most common stereotypes about the region is the notion that it’s uniformly and singularly poverty-stricken. So by talking about the problem of Appalachian poverty, it’s easy to contribute to the problem of Appalachian stereotypes.
Furthermore, one of the reasons poverty in Appalachia is hard to address is the fact that many Americans simply tend to ignore what goes on in the region. And one of the reasons people ignore it is because they think it’s just a place full of incurably poor people. It’s quite a dilemma.
The only way out of it, I think, is to ensure that when we talk about poverty in Appalachia, we don’t let ourselves adopt the sort of despairing tone that too often characterizes these sorts of discussions, in which poverty is a problem too wide and too deep to try and fix. And, crucially, Americans must always remember that when they’re talking about poverty in Appalachia, they’re talking about their own fellow countrymen.
The East Tennessee Historical Society just opened a special exhibit on Lloyd Branson, one of this region’s most prominent artists of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. The exhibit runs through March 20 and then heads to the Tennessee State Museum in Nashville.
If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you’ve encountered Branson’s work before. The banner image running along the top of this website is from his painting of the Overmountain Men’s muster at Sycamore Shoals, the event that started the march leading to the Battle of King’s Mountain. The original painting is part of the Tennessee State Museum’s collection, but it’s on loan to ETHS for this exhibit.
Some sources—including yours truly—have reported that Branson also painted the Battle of King’s Mountain itself, but that this work went up in flames when a Knoxville hotel burned down in 1916. But it looks like the lost King’s Mountain canvas wasn’t a Branson work after all. Adam Alfrey of ETHS tells the Knoxville News-Sentinel that contemporary newspaper reports attributed the painting to James W. Wallace, one of Branson’s students.
That’s not much consolation for the torched painting, though, because Wallace was a fine artist, too. He did a number of works on regional and historical themes, including a really nice painting of the signing of the Treaty of Holston. I’m dying to know what his depiction of King’s Mountain looked like.
Back when Thomas Nelson withdrew David Barton’s The Jefferson Lies from publication, Barton claimed that Simon & Schuster would release a new edition in 2013. Whatever arrangement he thought he had with S&S must have fallen through, because it never happened.
Two years on, it looks like he’s finally found somebody to reissue it: WND Books, the publishing arm of WorldNetDaily.
If the PR is any indication, it seems that Barton and his associates, like the French monarchists before them, have learned nothing and forgotten nothing:
Despite the wildly popular success of the original hardcover edition, a few dedicated liberal individuals campaigned to discredit Barton’s scholarship and credibility, but to no avail.
Wait, to no avail? Dude, they found so many errors and misrepresentations that the original publisher pulled it from circulation. That’s kind of why you’re writing this ad copy for a new edition in the first place, remember?
Nice try with the circumstantial ad hominem, too. “A few dedicated liberal individuals” sounds so much better than “numerous historians and evangelical commentators.”
I will say, however, that the new cover looks a lot sharper than the old one, so it’s got that going for it.
(Hat tip: Warren Throckmorton)