By Ken Miller
For the Kentucky Lantern
Kenny Cody, a conservative writer and Republican activist from northeastern Tennessee, recently wrote an opinion column in Human Events which took aim at Kentucky’s own Tyler Childers, labeling him “nothing but a hick lib.”
His argument boiled down to the idea that “Childers fell victim to Nashville, progressivism, the mainstream media, and the ‘hick lib’ mindset.” In other words, Childers had traded his authenticity for progressive politics and that his music and message no longer belong to Appalachia because they don’t match Cody’s idea of what Appalachia should be.
I decided to take Cody’s framing for a test drive.
My wife and I attended PossumFest last weekend in Cumberland, which is in Harlan County tucked right in between Harlan and Whitesburg, and I wore my “Hick Lib” t-shirt recently purchased from Kentucky for Kentucky. It felt like the perfect place to see how the phrase, weaponized in Cody’s column, would land among the very people he believes “hick liberalism” alienates.
Outfitted with my “Totally Opossum” cap and mirrored driver’s glasses, I walked through the festival crowd with my social scientist’s curiosity. Would folks scowl? Would I be politely ignored? Would somebody say something snide or argumentative? Or would the phrase just fly right over people’s heads?
My wife and I weren’t exactly blending in either. As I pushed her around town and the festival in her bright pink wheelchair, we were hard to miss. There wasn’t actually a parade at PossumFest, but if there had been, we probably could’ve rolled right in and passed for a float. Between the shirt, the cap and the hot pink wheels, we were about as subtle as a brass band.
And people noticed … but in the best way. The woman running Poor Folks Arts & Crafts flashed me a big thumbs-up. A merchant sitting outside her shop hollered across the street, “Love your shirt!!” Dozens of others smiled and said the same. More than a few asked, “Where can I get one like that?” No one seemed confused. No one seemed offended. Not a soul tried to run us out of town.
Culture over politics: What PossumFest made me remember
Part of why this struck me so strongly is that I’m not originally from Kentucky, although I’ve lived in Kentucky for the past 33 years. I grew up in rural Missouri, in a place once known for its “prairie progressives” — farmers and small-town folks who backed unions representing many of our fathers in the Kansas City automobile plants, supported our public schools by attending every home game, believed in the old FFA motto that began with the words, “I believe in the future of farming” and almost always voted Democrat.
That ground has since shifted, and today it votes solidly Republican. In that way, it mirrors Eastern Kentucky, which has taken its own long road from labor-Democrat loyalties to being ruby red on the political map.
But what I was once again reminded at PossumFest is that cultural identity in rural America is always more complex than what political pundits would have us believe. Communities don’t shed their history of resilience, compassion or creativity just because voting patterns change. Tyler Childers knows that, and his music reflects it. Appalachia, with its struggles and beauty, its stubborn independence and deep compassion, tells a story of a people who endure, adapt and care.
So if Cody wants to use “hick lib” as a slur, that’s his business. But from what I saw at PossumFest, Kentucky is more than ready to reclaim the label with a grin and a wink. Maybe, that’s the real story Cody missed: Appalachia isn’t afraid of change, or of artists like Kentucky’s very own Tyler Childers who dare to sing it into the open.
Don’t write off rural Kentucky
And for Democrats who have written off places like Harlan County, here’s a bit of advice: Don’t. Folks out there still care about the same things they always have like steady jobs, good schools, clean water, safe roads and fair wages. They haven’t lost their sense of community, or their pride. What they’ve lost, more often than not, is the feeling that anyone from outside the region still sees them.
If you want rural Kentuckians back, which you so often now claim you do, don’t do it with a consultant’s memo or a TV ad. Do it by showing up. Sit a spell and listen. Hey, why not even wander through a fall festival and strike up a conversation or two? You might be surprised how quickly doors open when people know you’re not just passing through or only looking for a vote.
Because out there, a “hick lib” is simply someone who belongs, someone who carries forward the mountain spirit, the stubborn pride, and the heart of Kentucky. In other words, they’re Kentuckians just like the rest of us.
Originally published on September 10, by Kentucky Lantern.
Editor’s Note: This column is shared as an examination of the diverse and nuanced political and social views our region shares. All of us are more than political party. None of us should allow partisan political pundits from outside the area to pit us against our neighbors, no matter their views or our own.
