Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Protecting Appalachia from harm
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Theresa L. Burriss
Burriss is a proud Appalachian native and activist who lives in Radford, Virginia.
Mother's Day was somber this year. Sure, I enjoyed the typical "Happy Mother's Day!" greeting from my spunky 7-year-old, Campbell, my aloof pre-teen, Paul, and my devoted partner, Jim. But other matters distracted me, especially as the four of us hiked Jim's lush, unspoiled property in Floyd County early that morning.
Though a slight chill in the air required our wearing fleece jackets, the sun blazed in a clear azure sky as we meandered down the trail to a clear-flowing creek. Paul and Campbell delighted in spotting minnows and crawdads, while Jim and I strolled along the water's edge, admiring the abundance of nature's spring beauty, breathing in the crisp, clean air.
Despite our good fortune of living in such a pristine setting, I could not help but contrast it with the environmental destruction occurring in some of my Appalachian neighbors' backyards.
Not only have I witnessed such degradation from the ground, on the very land where they currently live and where multiple generations of their families lived, loved and died before them, but I also have taken in the broad-sweeping ruin from the air. During a flyover of Central Appalachia last summer with a SouthWing pilot and friend, I struggled to understand the power of greed. As a native Appalachian, who practically learned to walk in the verdant forests of east Tennessee, I have indeed taken in the ruin, for it has penetrated my soul and infected my spirit. "It" goes by the name of mountaintop removal coal mining.
And while I recalled the nearby wasteland, one that T.S. Eliot could never have imagined, I immediately thought about the heroes and heroines fighting on the frontlines to stop mountaintop removal.
Judy Bonds and Maria Gunnoe most immediately came to mind. After all, it was Mother's Day. Both women are mothers. Judy is even a grandmother. And their children and grandchild, along with a blood-born connection to the land, prompted their involvement.
Loyal Jones, in his oft quoted 1973 essay "Appalachian Values," identifies "Love of Place" as one of 10 important cultural characteristics for us Appalachians. He explains, "It is one of the unifying values of mountain people, this attachment to one's place, and it is a great problem to those who urge mountaineers to find their destiny outside the mountains."
For most Appalachians, the land is like a close relative, one who is loved fiercely and loyally, one who, in return, provides nurturance and sustenance. Judy and Maria demonstrate such a bond with the land, as they have committed their lives to saving it.
Indeed, their efforts have not gone unnoticed. On April 21, Gunnoe was the second Appalachian woman in the award's 20-year history to accept the Goldman Environmental Prize. Bonds was the first. She won in 2003. Many in the world equate such recognition with the Nobel Peace Prize, and it is significant to note that of the seven annual recipients, only one grassroots environmental activist per continent is selected. During this year's ceremony, held at the San Francisco Opera House in April, Gunnoe was congratulated by former Vice President Al Gore, while CNN's Christina Amanpour and philanthropist Richard Goldman presented her with the award.
Their worldwide recognition of their work to protect the Appalachian Mountains from mountaintop removal is cause for celebration in many regards. The obvious involves the universal attention brought to bear on such a deleterious form of surface mining. Perhaps the not so obvious includes dispelling over a century's worth of negative stereotyping of Appalachian women. While Daisy on the "Dukes of Hazzard" and Granny on "The Beverly Hillbillies" pervade many Americans' thoughts about the region's females, Appalachian women boast a long history of fighting injustices.
In fact, Judy and Maria stand in the tradition of such women as Rebecca "Ma" Blizzard. In 1912, when Southern West Virginia coal miners were organizing for the union, Ma pried up railroad tracks along Cabin Creek with two other women. The result? They prevented coal company gun thugs on an armored train, known as the Bull Moose Special, from shooting striking miners and their families, who were living in tents. Earlier in the year the miners had been evicted from company-owned houses for defying the mine owners and demanding humane treatment for themselves, as well as their wives and children.
Almost a century has passed since Ma Blizzard's acts of civil disobedience, but Appalachian women like Bonds and Gunnoe continue to fight for what is just and right. They demonstrate the strength of so many Appalachian women, whether well-known throughout the region, nation and world, or simply within their own family and community.
All deserve to be celebrated. The recent acknowledgment of Maria's contribution to environmental and social justice serves as a reminder. So now, two weeks after Mother's Day, I have moved past my pensive mood and hold my head a little higher. I revel in the accomplishments of my sister Appalachians. I strive to emulate their actions. In the process, perhaps, I will serve as a greater role model for my sons, Paul and Campbell.
