December 8, 2016--Voices From Rural America

When looking at the electoral map of the results from the recent election, with Republican counties in red and Democratic ones blue, pretty much all of America looks bloody.

One has to look hard to find what are in effect blue enclaves. Enclaves mainly along both coasts that represent cities such as New York and San Francisco, but in addition places here and there in the middle of the country such as Ann Arbor or Louisville that are also college towns.

This also encourages urban liberals to feel that it's mainly smart, well-educated people who are wisely Democrats. As for the others living in Red-State America, so much the worse for them. What do they know about cappuccinos?

From reporting in yesterday's New York Times, it appears that this rural-urban split is also common in many places in Europe.

From, "Like Trump, Europe's Populists Ride a Wave of Rural Discontent to Victory"--

"The elites in the city are detached from reality," said Joszef Grochowski, a lifelong village resident and mayor [of Kulesze Koscielne, Poland]. "They no longer understand the needs of ordinary people." 

Populist, anti-establishment parties are now on the move in Europe. If they are far from homogeneous, these parties share common ground in their core constituencies--rural voters. Just as Donald J. Trump rolled up a big rural vote in his unexpected presidential victory, Europe's populists are rising by tapping into discontent in the countryside and exploiting rural resentments against urban residents viewed as elites.

This not-understanding-the-needs-of-ordinary-people reminded me of how I was more than prone to that in my early years at the Ford Foundation. And, who knows, perhaps even to toady.

Ford had a program called the Rural Community College Initiative (RCCI) that focused on the educational and community development needs of 24 of America's "most distressed" counties. From some in the Black Belt in Alabama to various counties in Appalachia, to others along the Texas-Mexican border, to schools and colleges on Indian reservations. We made large grants to address these needs and arranged for frequent convenings of college and community leaders so that they could share experiences and learn from each other's efforts.

At one such convening in Uvalde, Texas, about two years into the RCCI, after we all had dinner and more than a few drinks, I made a presentation before the gathered minions about "distressed counties" and how Ford's good efforts were all devoted to helping their communities enhance their assets. Familiar Ford and RCCI stuff.

After about 20 minutes of my rattling on, slouching in the back row was Joe McDonald, founder and president of Salish Kootenai College in Pablo, Montana. Joe and I had known each other for years and worked together on this and other initiatives that were devoted to helping the establishment and development of tribally-controlled colleges. And so I recognized that slump and from it knew I was about to get the business. As indeed I did--

"You guys from Ford keep talking about 'distressed' this, 'distressed' that. And how our counties and reservations are 'impoverished.' Some of the fellas and I have been talkin' about that. And to tell you the truth, we don't like it. We're not distressed and not impoverished."

"But," I interjected, "If you look at the Commerce Department's county-by-county map of the country, the 24 of you represented here are from among the most impoverished. I wish it were otherwise, but unfortunately it's the truth."

Those words coming out of my mouth didn't feel all that good.

"We go back a long ways," Joe said, "And we've always been straight with each other." I nodded. "It's true we may be poor by economic measures but we're rich, very rich in other ways."

"I'm listening," I said.

"In some places in natural resources but in all cases in history and culture. My people, for example, have lived and survived in this area for quite a few thousand years. With all due respect many more years than your people. Even more years than your Ford partner there whose family I know came over on the Mayflower." He winked at her.

"It's true, they really did."

"So we like to think of ourselves in ways different than you guys and the Department of Commerce do. It's not that we don't want your help, including your money which we can really use, but to be honest with you both we don't want to hear too much more about being distressed and impoverished. We know about that but we want you to know about the other side of the picture. Our history, culture, traditions, and family and community strengths."

Silence filled the room. My Ford partner and I knew they were right. From our eastern-elite vantage point, we had not shown enough respect for the lives they were living or the things they had achieved. That it's not all about educational attainment and one's financial balance sheet.

"We've got big problems." Joe concluded, "and with your help we want to fix them best we can. But at the end of the day, we feel pretty good about ourselves and what we and our people have achieved against great odds."

That evening changed my life.

June 26, 2014--Midcoast: Change

I asked the previous owners of our cottage, who live in Sarasota, why they had a place so far north. If it was to be a getaway from the heat and humidity of Florida summers, why not have a place much closer, say, in the mountains of North Carolina.

"Well," he said, "we came to the Midcoast of Maine right after we got married--that was more than 40 years ago--and liked what we saw. There is of course the natural beauty but then there is also the slowed-down lifestyle and all the local history which people respect and remain true to. We thought about how nice it would be to be able to visit regularly, but we had various obligations and a business in Florida that we needed to tend to and didn't get back here for many years."

"I understand," I said, "This really is a special place. But how . . ."

"I'm getting to that. About 15 years ago we came back for a vacation and loved it all over again. You know what especially appealed to us? The fact that so little had changed. There were no new houses, many of the businesses were owned by the same people from 30 years before, and we even recognized some we had met during our first visit. And amazingly, so did they! I mean, remember us. So we impulsively bought a place and never looked back."

Rona and I have been here now for only five years and like some of the same things. Though not much has changed during that time, it's not as if everything stands still, nor does it feel like people are stuck in place. Even those who have to struggle don't whine about it and find ways to enjoy life.

So when two Sundays ago, on the day we arrived for the season, we turned off US 1, and then drove south on Route 129, and as usual slowed down and held our breathes out of concern that some of the familiar places had been transformed or were no longer there.

We slipped through Damariscotta happy to see all the shops intact and everything seeming familiar. "That's good," Rona said, with a sigh of relief, "Nothing's changed. Just how I like it."

Ever pessimistic, I said, "Don't get too excited, we still have ten miles to go."

And we ticked them off one-by-one, now on the Bristol Road, feeling assured, as we crept along, that things were as we had left them six months ago.

"That's what I love about this place," Rona said, "They know what to value. It's not all churn, churn, churn or getting, getting, getting. Back in the city after being away for only a few months our shoe repair shop was gone as was our dry cleaners and a lot of restaurants."

"And don't forget all the new banks, drug stores, and coffee places. But here . . ."

Rona cut me off, "Slow down, stop, look, look over there."

I hit the breaks afraid there was an animal in the road. "At what?"

At that." She was pointing at something on her side of the car.

I pulled over onto the margin. "I don't see what you're seeing."

"Over there. By Farmhouse Lane."

"It looks the same to me. Just like in November."

"You're not looking at the right place. Bend down so you can see out my window. Next to the street sign."

"Oh my, I see what you mean."

"That's different, right? That wasn't there last year."

"I think you're right."

"It's a little tacky, don't you think?"

"I agree," I said, "Very."

"I know people like to name their houses. Like our place is called the Lilac Cottage because of all the lilac bushes. So I'm OK with them calling this place The Nuthatch's Nest. Nice alliterative name. But the sign!"

"That's my point," Rona said.  "The name's fine, the sign's fine, but the little painting on it is another story."

"Yeah, of the nest with three cute little eggs in it."

"At least there's no mother nuthatch."

"You know," I said, "to me we're sounding a little spoiled. This is a live-and-let-live place so who are we to complain about something like this."

"It's just that we were talking about how we like the changelessness here and how something this innocuous stands out and . . . but," she caught herself, "But I think you're right. Actually, we're sounding more than a little spoiled."

"I think we need to calm down," I said, swinging back onto the road, "and count our many blessings."

Rona reached over, smiled, and kissed me softly. "Many."