PART I: AN INTRODUCTION

Alan Howell’s commitment to the Confederacy cannot be overstated.

One of the most striking aspects of his restaurant, Alan Howell’s Dixie Barbecue, is the sheer amount of Southern memorabilia covering the walls – photographs of old soldiers, a replica of a soldier’s letter, an advertisement for “Dixie Cola: The Flavor that Never Surrenders.” The sign outside is adorned with a giant Stars and Bars and, every January 19, bears the message, “Happy Birthday, General Lee.”

But inside this wooden building, located on a quiet road near the outer limits of Johnson City, Tennessee, exists another kind of décor, one in which the restaurant’s owner takes equal pride. “See these stickers?” he asks, holding up a white bumper decal that reads “OBAMA 08” in blue block letters. “I had these printed up even before he said he was running. I heard him speak and I said to my wife, ‘That man is gonna be president.’”

Next to the cash register, past his seven sauces and his famous coconut cake, is a stack of stickers that say, “I AM A CHRISTIAN, I OWN A GUN, I AM A DEMOCRAT.” As I leave, he runs after me, pressing a bottle of hot sauce labeled OBAMA into my hand.

The problem with writing about Appalachia is that, unless one is born and bred in the region, it is almost impossible not to sound like a jerk. Appalachia is one of the last places in America that remains acceptable to mock, at least to the wider world. Observers run the risk of sounding either vaguely contemptuous or overly sensitive, big-city gawkers with no sense of the rhythms of real life.

The First Congressional District of Tennessee, which covers seven counties in east Tennessee and parts of two more, doesn’t make observation any easier; in many ways, it seems as far removed from Washington as it is possible to go. It encompasses a Kodak factory, a NASCAR track, and Dollywood, a theme park based on the life and times of Dolly Parton. Neither moonshine nor meth busts are uncommon.

According to the listings in the Johnson City paper, there are forty-two Baptist churches in the area around the city, one Catholic parish, and one synagogue, which bills itself as “the only Jewish community between Knoxville and Roanoke.” Roughly speaking, that makes it the only temple for two hundred miles in either direction.

But as this election in particular – with its emphases on soccer moms and Joe Six Packs – has suggested, the next president of the United States is going to have to learn how to engage with this region of America, and others like it. And of the two major candidates, the one most likely to have difficulty with such a task is Barack Obama. These are the people Obama characterized in an infamous April speech as “bitter,” “clinging” to guns and religion. (Guns and religion are both exceedingly popular in the First District.) This is Sarah Palin’s target audience – a population that skews middle- and working-class, one whose beliefs and values are often mischaracterized and underrepresented. This is a district that hasn’t elected a Democrat in over a hundred years.

Still, Obama is not without his advocates in the region. Which begs the question: how has the candidate reached out to voters in this reddest of red states, and what can his supporters teach him? After all, even if they’re voting for a Democrat, these are Palin’s people too.

PART II: THE CONTENDER

On the other side of town lies East Tennessee State University. The epicenter of liberal elitism, such as it is, the college offers, among other majors, studies in rural medicine, Appalachian studies, and storytelling. As such, it doesn’t exactly conform to ivory-tower stereotypes.

The same can be said of Rob Russell, the head of the Writing and Communications center here. Nothing about him or his office – which is covered in Elvis paraphernalia and Christian references – appears to set him apart.

And indeed, that seems to be the image that Russell likes to project. “I’m not a politician,” he insists. “I’m just a regular guy. I’ve never done anything like this before. But it’s like they say in the movie Network: I’m mad as hell and I’m not gonna take it anymore.”

“This,” in Russell’s case, refers to his Congressional run, for the same seat Alan Howell failed to win in 2006. Russell comes from Hamblen County, on the outer edges of the First District. And being a native, he’s realistic about his chances.

“I asked my wife what you would do if you wanted to win a Democratic race here,” he says, reclining in his desk chair. “She told me, ‘You’d move.’”

Russell, too, claims that his values reflect his roots, citing the way Obama’s economic policies would affect voters here. He describes himself as “almost more liberal” than Obama on health care reform, an issue he notes is of particular relevance in an area heavily populated by middle- and low-income voters.

It’s unsurprising, then, that Russell doesn’t see an unbridgeable gap between Obama and the district, despite formidable odds. “Do I see a disconnect? No,” he says. “After all, McCain is an old rich white guy. I mean, he has the veteran credentials, but still.” Obama, in contrast, “needs [to put] more effort into getting [himself] understood. People need to see how his story relates to the larger American story.”

But Russell acknowledges that the view of Obama as “elitist” is still an issue among potential voters. So, too, is race, which he describes as “an obstacle,” and the area’s traditional Republican allegiances: “People here are naturally suspicious of Democrats,” he says. But what’s needed more, he asserts, is simply more PR to clear up what he describes as “misunderstandings” of Obama’s positions on the major issues.

“People here don’t realize that they’ll actually be paying less in taxes,” he says. “That’s more money in middle class and working class pockets. That’s worth the absence of a check in the mailbox.”

But Obama is never going to prove how he relates to anyone in this area, Russell claims, without better support from local Democrats. Despite the efforts of the Democrat Resource Center, a newly opened political office in Johnson City, “it’s not even really a party here,” he says. “It’s so poorly organized.”

PART III: THE UP-AND-COMERS

Next to ETSU, popular local pizza chain Buck’s gets a boost in business every Tuesday night. And judging from the customers, everyone’s a blue state resident.

On Tuesdays, Buck’s sees the arrival of Barack and Pizza, an informal gathering of local enthusiasts. For the most part, these are college students, gathering to discuss and plan campaign initiatives. A meeting on a cool October night has an enthusiasm belying the group’s status as something of an anomaly.

Elliott Cennamo and Eric Blankenbeckler believe, however, that they may not be as alone as appearances would suggest. “You know, both candidates lost in Tennessee during the primaries,” says Blankenbeckler, president of ETSU Students for Obama. “I really think this could be a swing state.”

Blankenbeckler, from the neighboring 2nd District, and Cennamo, from western Virginia, have as intimate a knowledge as any of the culture of the region. “Southern values are Democratic values,” Cennamo asserts. “Humanitarianism is central. Caring for your neighbor.”

Despite the fact that both students are passionate about different values – Blankenbeckler cites the economy and energy independence among his chief concerns, Cennamo focuses on human rights – they’ve found common ground behind Obama, who, they believe, tells a story that should strike a chord with many here. “How can you call him elitist?” Blankenbeckler muses. “This is someone who was raised by a single mom with an absent dad, who started at the bottom of the ladder politically, who paid off his debt only a couple of years ago. He’s living the American dream.”
“Elitism?” Cennamo adds. “People must be making something up. His family situation especially should resonate with this area.”

But both Blankenbeckler and Cennamo acknowledge that old practices will die hard here. Like everyone else interviewed for this story, both students cited the region’s century-old allegiance to the GOP. But, they argue, Obama’s message carries more weight for modern residents. “Everyone wants a job,” Cennamo says. “Everyone wants to send their kids to a good public school. Everyone wants to go to college and climb the ladder to better themselves.”

“Considering everything, we’d like to think that the region will go blue,” Blankenbeckler adds. “But realistically, the chances are slim to none.”

What conclusions, then, are strategists on both sides to draw from these supporters? As usual in the case of Appalachia, the apparent answers aren’t always the correct ones. Obama’s failure to connect with such a large number of voters reflects, at its heart, a breakdown in communication.

To assume, however, that such voters are merely ignorant – the “unchurched,” if you will – is to risk pigeonholing them into the stereotypes that figure so prominently into the national discourse, that of the uneducated hillbilly. If they want to reach out to this region, now and in the future, the Democrats are going to have to expand their reach to visibly encompass those outside the Beltway.

And Republicans will have to be careful not to rely too heavily on historical precedent, and not to take these voters – however reliable they may seem – for granted.

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