Leadership

This past week, I traveled to Corning New York for the last session of my Appalachian Leadership Institute meeting. Each of the meetings aligned and focused on one of the five priority goals of the Appalachian Regional Commission (ARC established in 1965 by President Lyndon B. Johnson), which was put in place to uplift the region to be on par socially and economically with the rest of the nation. This was the sixth session before graduation in July. The session focused on leadership and capacity building - ARC goal #5.

Corning is in Southern Tier Central region of New York's 14 Appalachian counties. It is the site of Corning Glass an international fortune five hundred company. It is home to the Corning Glass Museum (a separate entity), as well as The Rockwell Museum – a Smithsonian affiliate art museum.

Corning is a shining star in the most northern part of Appalachia, which is why it was chosen to host our 40-member cohort of ALI fellows. As the saying goes, “everything that glitters is not gold” and we as a cohort were challenged in real life to address the ugliness of bigotry and ignorance in a place we would have never expected it.

Hailing from Georgia and New York and everywhere in between the 13 states of Appalachia, the 6th cohort of ALI have been traveling a few days out of the week to visit a community in Appalachia since October 2024. We have traveled to Knoxville, Tennessee; Huntsville, Alabama; Athens, Ohio; Hagerstown, Maryland and Shelbyville, North Carolina. In each place we had a packed schedule of panels, meet and greets, discussions, workshops, fieldtrips, and team challenges. But we always had free time planned in our schedule to explore on our own. Corning was no different. What was different was the reception.

ARC Federal Cochair, Gayle Manchin, and I at the 1982 World's Fair Tower, Knoxville, TN.

Appalachia comes with stereotypes, some good, some bad. This is no different from any other place. There are tropes and narratives of people, nations, regions, cities, and towns. The North and the South conjure different images of progression or repression. When we traveled to Alabama, one of the more northern Appalachia representatives expressed their trepidation about being so far south. They feared being a member of the LGBT community. They were concerned about possible bigotry. But unless they outed themselves, they passed. However, during that trip not once were they or anyone else made to feel uncomfortable. People went out to socialize after dark, we walked around as a group, alone, and pairs without issue. So, it is ironic that the place where someone was made to feel unwelcome was in New York, a state that is supposed to be liberal, a place that is synonymous with diversity. But as I told a small group of fellows on our group chat, "The southern tier is not New York City.”

It is upon reflecting on the following incident, I decided to write about the Corning session. During free time after our first training day ended, a bunch of fellows went out to grab some drinks and socialize at dusk. They were a mixed group of mostly white folk, and one darker skinned African American man from South Carolina. Minutes before 9 PM, while still light out he sent a text to our group chat telling us to “Be careful. Just had a truck of white guys bravely shout ‘n*gger’ as we were walking to the pool hall.”

I can't say I was surprised at the occurrence, given the political divisiveness in which we live today. The southern tier is the most homogenous place I have ever lived in my life. It is also the most outwardly conservative. As a transplant coming here in 2018, I was surprised to see Confederate flags being proudly flown and worn by the southern tier citizenry across Allegany and Cattaraugus Counties. I remember soon after moving from southern Indiana sitting in the Olean YMCA watching an SNL skit (2011) that featured a confused defendant (Bobby Moynihan) who found himself in Bangor, Maine courtroom where everyone acted like they were in the Louisiana Bayou. They even talked about being the originators of jazz, throwing the defendant in a swamp full of gators, and sentenced him to spicy gumbo. I laughed so much because I felt similar confusion seeing those flags, hearing country music, and the general vibe of the area.

Soon after moving, I met a couple transplants from down south. The one friend mentioned her surprise at seeing the flags, wondering “where do these people think they live?” She expressed her frustration at the way coworkers tried to explain away the racist ideology of the “rebel flag” and how it symbolizes heritage not racism. An acquaintance from Mississippi mentioned in a conversation during the Pandemic at the height of the Black Lives Matter protests how when he first moved to the area he was at his son’s little league game and came to the realization that, “The South won! They just moved north” where most people are white. He then mentioned how locals were getting behind the “All Lives Matter” statement. To which he combined the two slogans stating back to them that “All black lives matter!”

I mention all this because we need to check our biases. A bunch of white guys in a truck yelling the N-word is not necessarily the picture of what pops in your head when you think New York.  And yet there it was. A few, presumably young, white men decided it was okay to yell a racial epithet at a well-dressed, black man and a group of his white counterparts. They were all disrespected.  

The following day, the people who were not present expressed their shock and apologies.  Obviously, we were all upset and disappointed because our friend had been verbally accosted. That evening the majority of fellows joined a discussion centered around the incident. The South Carolina fellow expressed his shock and sorrow, but also his gratefulness that it happened to him and not someone else. As he discussed his work to rehabilitate young fathers, many of who are poor and white, tears ran down his face. He told us how he would like to sit and talk to those young men to understand why they would use such hateful language. He told us how he was capable to take on the burden because while another person might have taken the word to heart and undergone a downward spiral, he was able to take the occurrence and have an open honest discussion with our cohort about racism, hate, and intolerance in our nation and what we plan to do as leaders.

Some of our fellows have never had these conversations before because they live with the privilege of not having to actively address prejudice. One of the Ohio representatives mentioned how his community is 99% white, and they do not have exposure to ethnic, cultural, or racial diversity. I get it. According to the US Census (2020) Cattaraugus County is 91% white, with a larger than average percentage (3.7) of “American Indian and Alaskan Native” people given the two non-contiguous Seneca Nation territories in the county.

And while I understand and empathize with the challenge to expose people, I found this to be an excuse. If the Covid Pandemic taught us anything, it is how technology can bridge those gaps of access. Every Appalachian leader in that room was chosen because of their skills, experiences, and networks. As leaders in our communities, we have the social capital and technological abilities that go beyond people who have limited education and resources.

I challenged everyone to think about ways that he could engage people from other places. I brought up my own experiences in the classroom where I have Zoomed in my Coloured and Black family members from South Africa, friends from Saudi Arabia, trans advocates from Maine and California to engage with youth. I brought up plans to engage fellows in our cohort to expand their reach by welcoming them into spaces that I am privy to. Where there is a will there is a way. But sometimes we get so caught up in the way things are and who is around us that we do not even try.

If you are someone who values difference and understands how the mosaic of ethnic, cultural, racial, and gendered experiences make us a stronger nation, then it is important to do the work. That means not only in your personal life but also in your professional life. Racism is not a black problem it is an American problem. Everyone can be guilty of ethnocentrism. As the father of sociology, Emile Durkheim posited that every human society has the ability to classify. And the first things we classify is each other, us v. them, believers and non-believers. Furthermore, "Primitive man never looked out over the world and saw “mankind” as a group and felt his common cause with his species. From the beginning he was a provincial who raised the barriers high. Whether it was a question of choosing a wife or of taking a head, the first and important distinction was between his own human group and those beyond the pale. His own group, and all its ways of behaving, was unique" (Ruth Benedict 1934; 11).

We need to check our biases, and we need to heal the wounds that we carry with us to confront the shadow of our collective and individual consciousness. For true healing, and enlightenment to manifest in the world, we need to examine the feelings and fears that live in the dark parts of ourselves that we often try to suppress. We cannot, nor should we solely focus on the positive aspects of life lest our negativity have no outlet and it ends up manifesting as disease or antisocial behavior. As leaders we need to be all the more vigilant.

Xavier Ramey an activist leader in Chicago asks

“Have you yet worked out your hurt? Because until you work out your hurt. You're not going to be able to successfully embody this in a way that actually restores the world.  You're just gonna declare what you want and you’re gonna say who is wrong…

It’s important because as leaders, we think a lot about, how do we do something procedurally. We think about how do we practice this work but we don’t understand that the work, the power of it, and the restoration of the world that can come from it comes from a healed embodied state. Where you yourself have dealt with the racism that was inflicted upon you, the sexism that came your way… we hear this a lot, people of color, I don’t want to go into those [spaces] I will be retraumatized. I will be this, I will be that. I want to be protected. You cannot protect yourself and be a leader by excluding yourself from where the work happens. 

That’s, that’s somebody else’s words in a play, like I can’t go there, is not, that can’t be our language if we’re saying we’re leaders. I can’t face that can’t be our work…

It’s not about IF we go, it’s about HOW we go. How will you go there? Because avoiding there won’t change anything…But if you yourself as a leader have not understood how you embody it and you start from a healed, trauma informed space, every strategy will not be an invitation, it will be a declaration. Every process will not be about community, it will be about you being acknowledged for the hurt you’re still holding…

What is the work? The work is the conversations, the hard ones that involve classism, sexism, racism, dehumanization. And then it is the work of actively entering and moving within the spaces where the hurt may be perpetrated. But when healed you move with precision, with strategy, with awareness, and love.

In our history, we have things to celebrate and things to mourn. This is a part of life when we focus. Solely focusing on one aspect denies reality and it becomes propaganda. My fellow friend from South Carolina mentioned in our conversation was that he was glad that this happened to him and not someone else. Because he was able to carry the burden. He was able to transform the shadow and negativity of that event and transform it into something positive. This is shadow work taking the reality of negative actions or feelings and rather than sinking into more darkness, we transform it into light. We transform it with action. And in so doing we light the candles of others; we spark problem solving and critical thinking. We become the true leaders that this Appalachia and nation itself needs. Look at your biases. Confront your own shadows. And transform them.

In reflecting, on the past week, my friend said that he was grateful to take on this burden, I too am grateful this incident happened in New York, rather than in Alabama or Tennessee where it may have been expected. But in New York, in 2025, it was unexpected. During this “Come to Jesus” moment the Northern fellow, whom I mentioned earlier had felt uncomfortable in the South brought up how when he asked his town to make a proclamation about pride month the officials pushed back telling him, “We're fine, now. It's 2023 and 2024, we have moved past this.” But he held them to proclaim Pride Month because he said, “When we become complacent that is when we are at danger of slipping backwards.”

This Pride month, this Juneteenth remember the struggles of those who came before us. Honor their memories with our joy and work. We must remember an afront to one individual or group is an afront to all. Let us remind people that while we might not have done the best in the past, we are doing better now. Know better do better! In Kamala Harris's concession speech, she mentioned that although the night might seem dark, it is within the darkness that the stars shine. She told people that times would become dark, and urged everyone present at her speech “to shine with the light of a million stars.” So, glow up America, the world is watching.