My Personal Apology to West Virginia

Dear West Virginia,

 

1

You became a state in 1863.

 

2

A little late to the party, yes, but your people built this country.

 

3

They came from all over Europe—and the South.

 

4

Some tinted. Some not.

 

5

And they dug.

 

6

Deep inside the Appalachians, they crouched, and they swung.

 

7

They breathed.

 

8

They fought for their rights.

 

9

And one way or another—from bullet, explosion, dust, or time—they died.

 

10

But their sons kept digging.

 

11

And fighting.

 

12

And breathing.

 

13

And dying.

 

14

The black gold lined pockets.

 

15

And it was put to use.

 

16

Wars.

 

17

Steam engines.

 

18

Electricity.

 

19

Steel.

 

20

The Rust Belt before the rust.

 

21

There was no glory.

 

22

But there was value, even if the tent cities didn’t show it.

 

23

With hydrocarbons missing, the earth kept spinning.

 

24

Times changed.

 

25

Places changed.

 

26

Black gold was not as shiny.

 

27

Though it still paid the bills.

 

28

And it paid for graves.

 

29

But the change kept changing.

 

30

The mountains no longer masked aches and pains.

 

31

Lungs felt blacker.

 

32

The air of promise was just dusty.

 

33

Arthritis and hypoxia mixed well with analgesics.

 

34

The analgesics lined pockets.

 

35

Now, there was another way to die.

 

36

And sons—the ones who didn’t make the pain breathless—had nothing left to dig.

 

37

West Virginia was called obese.

 

38

Drug-addicted.

 

39

Uneducated.

 

40

And because most were pale, it was okay to not care.

 

41

And hurl insults.

 

42

Rednecks.

 

43

Hillbillies.

 

44

Racists.

 

45

Oh, and privileged.

 

46

For years, I started at number 37.

 

47

Now, I know numbers 1 through 36, too.

 

48

And I’m sorry.

 

Sincerely,

The one with privilege

 

Note: This letter was inspired by Taylor Brown’s Rednecks.