Appalachia’s Sacrifice Appalachia has alway
Post# of 65628
Posted On: 11/19/2016 4:18:02 PM
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Appalachia’s Sacrifice
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Appalachia has always given more to America than it has received, especially its natural resources and, in times of war, its sons and daughters. A recent example of this inequity is the Chapter 11 filings of several major coal companies, legal maneuverings that may allow them to evade the millions needed to clean up the devastation they’ve left behind.
Anyone believe that Trump knows about this, let alone gives a shit?
How about you GOPERS, anarchists and nihilists, any of you believe that the Federal Gov. has a role in cleaning up after the bastards?
Sounds like a disaster to me. How about some FEMA money for new water pipes? Or is 'free enterprise' going to step in, step up?
By RON RASHNOV. 18, 2016
CULLOWHEE, N.C. — In a year dominated by political frenzy, the water crisis in Flint, Mich., was one of the few stories to grab the headlines away from the presidential race. Pallets of bottled water were donated. Celebrities ran fund-raisers. Congressmen grilled the mayor and the governor, demanding to know how they could let their citizens drink poisoned water. A handwritten warning posted above a drinking fountain became a national disgrace.
Yet how many Americans know or care that a similar “do not drink the water” warning is above every drinking fountain in the Knott County Opportunity Center in Kentucky, which houses a community college, a Head Start program and the county library — and that the warning has been necessary for a decade?
Knott County lies in southeastern Kentucky, deep in Appalachian coal country. When I was there 15 years ago, I could taste the coal in the water. Today you still can. Brent D. Hutchinson, who directs the Hindman Settlement School in Knott County, said of the water: “Some of it is brown. Some of it is yellow. Some of it smells like sulfur. We only drink filtered or bottled water in my house, just in case. At the school, we still serve only filtered or bottled water to our students and guests.”
It’s not just Knott County. This year, after yet another water advisory 50 miles away in Martin County, one resident spoke of budgeting over $25 a month for bottled water — in a county with a median household income of just $18,000.
The poisoning of Appalachia’s drinking water — from mining runoff, industrial waste, worn-out pipes, a whole confluence of causes — isn’t a new story. A 2009 New York Times article about the effects of tainted water on a community near Charleston, W.Va., details the effects of any contact with the water.
It’s worth quoting the article, which begins with an account of one family’s battle with bad water, at length: “Her youngest son has scabs on his arms, legs, and chest where the bathwater — polluted with lead, nickel and other heavy metals — caused painful rashes. Neighbors apply special lotions after showering because their skin burns. Tests show that their tap water contains arsenic, barium, lead, manganese and other chemicals at concentrations federal regulators say could contribute to cancer and damage the kidneys and nervous system.”
In this case, there was a happy ending. Because of a lawsuit against the county, residents received “regular deliveries of clean drinking water, stored in coolers or large blue barrels.” And eventually, pressure from the community forced the state government to build a new pipeline to deliver better water. But it was an isolated success; politicians and the national news media have mostly ignored Appalachia’s water crisis.
This lack of outrage should be especially striking given the rest of the nation’s long-term economic debt to Appalachia, a major source of coal. Perhaps that is part of the problem. America wants cheap energy, and if the region’s inhabitants must suffer to provide it, better that than a higher utility bill.
Appalachia has always given more to America than it has received, especially its natural resources and, in times of war, its sons and daughters. A recent example of this inequity is the Chapter 11 filings of several major coal companies, legal maneuverings that may allow them to evade the millions needed to clean up the devastation they’ve left behind.
As my friend and fellow Appalachian writer Jeff Biggers once told an audience, when you turn on a light switch, think about the people who have risked their lives in mines to make that electricity possible. Also keep in mind those living near the mines who must drink and bathe in contaminated water.
It is hard to argue with Daile Boulis, a resident of Loudendale, W.Va., who lamented, in an interview with Blue Ridge Outdoors, that “the rest of the country treats us like we’re the cost of doing business in America.”
When these businesses leave, what happens to the miners who have risked disease and death, and the ruined landscape left behind? The numerous causes of Appalachia’s unsafe water are more complex than they sometimes appear. And so are the solutions, which include how to assist communities that will continue to suffer the environmental fallout.
At a time of such national divisiveness, Americans can find common ground in demanding safe drinking water for all of our citizens. The warning signs remain posted in the rural, almost totally white Kentucky city of Hindman, but the signs also remain up in the largely black Michigan city of Flint.
Hindman and Flint are united in their misery. Perhaps safe drinking water can be one of the first issues around which we can begin to reunify our fragmented nation.
http://www.nytimes.com/2016/11/19/opinion/app...r&_r=0
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