Stacy Kranitz has been collaborating with local writers to tell stories that offer a complex and nuanced understanding of what central Appalachia looks like 50 years after becoming a byword for poverty.
In his historic 1964 State of the Union address, President Lyndon B. Johnson declared War on Poverty, wanting to find ways to significantly change the lives of those the American dream had left behind. LBJ believed that America had the resources to wipe out economic scarcity, and he used military rhetoric to rally the people around the cause. Central Appalachia became the frontier for the initiative.
This region comprises all of West Virginia and parts of Southwestern Virginia, Eastern Tennessee, Eastern Kentucky, Southeastern Ohio and Western North Carolina. It is a large swath of land that runs along the Appalachian mountain range.
News organisations descended on the region to put a face to the War on Poverty. Journalists depicted it as an unseemly place to live. These representations have haunted its people ever since. Those responsible, had the best of intentions, but ultimately they contributed to unfair stereotypes of a rural group of people who already felt ostracised from the American Dream. Fifty years later, most of the programs put in place to eradicate poverty have been severely hindered by reductions in aid.
I have been making photographs in the region for five years. This past summer I collaborated with VICE and local writers Juliet Escoria, Catherine Moore and Jacob Knabb to tell stories that offer a complex and nuanced understanding of what central Appalachia looks like 50 years after becoming the poster-child for poverty.
We focus on the effects of the declining coal industry, systemic problems with the healthcare system, the struggle against the obliteration of mountains due to strip mining; the drug epidemic; and the history and meaning of the terms redneck and hillbilly.
I did not want to produce a series of stories that reinforced mass media's view of central Appalachia as a poverty-ridden region. I also do not believe it is useful to ignore the poverty and only showcases selectively positive things. Both strategies fail to acknowledge the complexity of life in any region.If we want to utilise mass media to demystify stereotypes, represent culture, sum up experience, interpret memory and history, we must collectively acknowledge that these stories do not offer an authoritative view of a place. Central Appalachia is too vast and complicated for this.
Despite the failure of past depictions, there is value in thinking through how and when we attempt to change the circumstances of people through government-initiated policies. There is value in reporting that examines what it looks like when these policies fail. It is useful to understand how marginalised communities continue to struggle. It is important to remind ourselves that there was a time when a president thought he could eradicate poverty in the Unites States. As we prepare for a new election and a new president it is valuable to revisit the issues at stake in overlooked parts of America. It is valuable to provide representations of life in Appalachia that are dimensional and considerate of its effects on those that live in the region.
Kirk is drinking at Buddy's, the only bar left in Madison, West Virginia, at the time (since closed). Much of the region has struggled with a declining coal economy. Miners have been laid off in record numbers, and local businesses have closed their doors.
Kendra and Jailah after attending Boone County, West Virginia's annual Coal Festival in Madison. They are wearing matching T-shirts professing their love for each other. The celebrations had lower turnout than in past years, given mass layoffs in the coal industry.
Bryan Dunlap, 39, surveyor for Patriot Coal. He's worked for six companies, three of which have declared bankruptcy.
Dakota Workman is a personal trainer at Southern Fitness in Madison. He is also a youth leader in his local church and volunteers at the Madison Public Library. He believes in the future of the region and sees himself as having an important role in building a community in Madison.
Downtown Logan, West Virginia, is a picturesque town with historic redbrick buildings nestled between hills and a river. A large percentage of the population lives in poverty or is on government assistance or both. Drug use is rampant.
Shawn, the child of a drug-addicted prostitute, grew up in the projects in Charleston, West Virginia, and started selling drugs at 14. He was recently released from prison after serving almost ten years for drug-related charges. He hopes to use his experience to help underprivileged youths.
The Mountaineer Power Plant near New Haven, West Virginia, converts the region's coal into electricity. These plants are slowly becoming obsolete as we seek cleaner energy alternatives.
Linda and neighbour Alan in downtown Logan. Linda can barely afford the rent for her sparsely furnished apartment, where her two daughters sleep on the floor. Alan is on disability due to a coal-mining injury, entitling him to $600 a month and a prescription for the painkiller Norco.
Jeff Barker receives an X-Ray from the Remote Area Medical Volunteer Corps in Wise, Virginia. RAM, staffed by 1,200 volunteers, has made central Appalachia a focus of its mission to provide free health care to rural populations.
Exam rooms at RAM's annual pop-up clinic in Wise are repurposed animal stalls at the town fairgrounds. Over the course of three days in July, RAM performs 7,035 dental procedures and gives out 840 pairs of glasses.
Patients camp overnight at the Wise fairgrounds to ensure they will be in line at 6 AM to receive free medical treatment. Virginia is one of 19 states that haven't adopted Medicaid expansion under the Affordable Care Act.
Dental care is by far the biggest demand at the RAM clinic. Patients wait for hours in outdoor tents to have their teeth treated. Volunteers work quickly to sanitise equipment and dental workstations as patients get X-rays and have their teeth cleaned or extracted.
Hershel lives on Stratton Street in downtown Logan. Retired, he spends his days running a yard sale form his porch. Like most people living on Stratton, Hershel says he feels unsafe. He warned us not to stay on the street after dark because of prostitution, robberies, and violence.
Joe Ford was the first black police chief and mayor in Iaeger, West Virginia, population 300 and 98 percent white. Joe's father, a coal miner, never wanted his kids to work in the mines. Joe went into law enforcement while most of his 12 siblings left for Detroit to work in the car industry.
Cassandra Stacy, from Meigs County, Ohio, describes herself as a "hill punk." She lives in a Devils Diciples biker club and describes her neighbours as antiauthority, antigovernment people who want to be left alone and not controlled by others. She feels at home in this community.
Josephine Kirby, from West Columbia, West Virginia, is 96. She runs a convenience store that has been in her family for 75 years. Inside the store are photographs of people who grew up in the community. Outside, men stand around for hours smoking cigarettes and swapping stories.
Highway 23 as it crosses Benge's Gap, Virginia, the site of an historic battle between colonists and Native Americans. White settlers took this land as their own in the late 1700s, when many colonists first crossed the Appalachian Mountains.
Mountain Justice is a collective of organisers fighting coal and other extractive industries. At the organisation's summit this year – held in the Kanawha State Forest near Charleston, West Virginia – participants learn how to test a stream's water quality.
Reflective overalls can be found for sale on roadsides throughout the coalfields.
Max Taylor, from the Carolina Friends School, participates in the Mountain Justice summit. During a workshop, he learns how to ascend trees for tree sits and banner drops. These are key elements of direct-action campaigns.