Communities in Crisis
Kentuckians must unite to overcome setbacks

IT has been said that the worst thing about a crisis is not having one – the idea being that a crisis will stir enough passion and prompt enough action to find a new way to approach a problem. If this thinking is correct, Kentucky should be primed for problem-solving, since we have a plateful of crises before us today.

We’ve known for quite some time that our small towns are losing jobs. Now the tobacco shoe has fallen, with production cuts creating an immediate economic nightmare for thousands of our citizens.

The turbulence is relentless, much like an airplane ride that rattles both the body and the nerves. And despite a captain’s reassurance that the plane can withstand the stress, the fact remains that everything has its breaking point.

Just where is the breaking point for rural Kentucky? Perhaps our landscape really does bear a resemblance to the one sketched by medieval mapmakers: dragons lurk everywhere.

One place in Kentucky recently communicated its plight by flying its courthouse flag upside down. This universal distress symbol signaled the impact of the loss of jobs – if not of hope – in a small corner of northeastern Kentucky, making us aware of the circumstances it shares with too many of our state’s communities.

The worry cannot escape those who live in relatively prosperous urban Kentucky. Clearly, all the shopping centers built in Lexington weren’t designed for residents alone. The same is true of the service and medical industries that have developed there to serve roughly one-half of the state.

My work takes me to many small places. Several years ago my itinerary included Vanceburg, where a riverside park was being dedicated. The drive from Morehead on the first sunny morning after a stretch of rainy days took me through some of the most beautiful country I had ever seen. Tobacco farmers were very much in evidence, finally getting into the fields to set their annual crop.

In Vanceburg, the Nine West shoe factory was still a viable place of employment, but the end was near. The mayor, a thoughtful civic activist, looked out over the Ohio River that morning and acknowledged that it was only a matter of time until the factory closed.

I recently spoke in Henry County, home to some of the most insightful farmers in Kentucky, including writer Wendell Berry, his brother John and other Berry family members whose pride in their way of life inspires us all. The 115 farmers attending that evening’s event heard speakers talk about partnerships and alliances, diversification, new products and companies, and Internet sites to use as marketing tools. But it was hard to find comfort in our words and many of the farmers had the look of having seen the inevitable end of a well-worn road.

The best speakers were farmers who themselves had found a way to turn the corner, finding a niche – if not a booming market – for their products. There was some small comfort in the knowledge that these fledgling efforts are starting to take wing and that others are waiting to be developed.

Driving away that night, it was clear that the best solutions to this crisis will come from places and people like these – communities that can call on outside assistance but retain control of their own future. The challenge for the rest of us will be to have the courage and wisdom to recognize the connections between these communities’ future and our own and to act on that recognition for the benefit of all Kentuckians.

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