In Stolen Pride: Loss, Shame, and the Rise of the Right (The New Press, 2024), author Arlie Russell Hochschild recounts her six years embedded in the heart of Appalachia. The book, a finalist for the National Book Award, focuses primarily on Pikeville, a town of 7,500 in eastern Kentucky which is nearly all white, older, rural, high-school-educated, victims of economic downturns, native-born, and poor.
Hochschild wrote: “It occurred to me that a close look at this vulnerable patch of red America . . . might offer clues to red America as a whole, and indeed to the winds of white nationalism blowing around the world.”
In her earlier book, Strangers in Their Own Land: Anger and Mourning on the American Right, Hochschild, a retired Berkeley sociologist, studied the rise of the Tea Party in Lake Charles, LA. She identified a “deep story” that summarized the experience of residents in that environmentally ravaged area.
“Many felt as if they were standing in line waiting to move forward toward the American Dream,” she wrote. That dream included a secure job, a home, a car – and the idea of earning one’s way up. “But the line was stalled, because – as it seemed to them – women, African Americans, immigrants, and refugees were ‘line-cutters.’”
Kentuckians agreed with this deep story but added a second chapter – the tale of two bullies. “Bad” bullies (the deep state, the liberal media, and cultural elites who promoted “deviant” sexual norms) enabled the “line-cutters.” A “good” bully vowed to punish the line-cutters.
This second bully was “full of himself, kind of mean…” Hochschild wrote. “He has obvious flaws, but you forgive them, because he’s a good bully, strong enough to push around the bad bully. He’s protecting you; he’s your bully. So, when others criticize the second bully, you defend him not because he’s perfect but because he’s your bully.”
In-depth interviews with 80 residents of eastern Kentucky provided the primary source for the author’s analysis. While she interviewed a few women, immigrants, and people of color, she focused primarily on white native-born men from the top to the bottom of the social spectrum. Additionally, she examined historical documents, reviewed secondary sources such as newspapers and city council minutes, studied relevant statistical data from multiple sources, and exposed herself to the music and literature of the region.
Early chapters examine “pride biographies” of representative Kentuckians. A planned right-wing rally in Pikeville provided a lens for examining multiple perspectives. While sometimes long and rambling, the biographies and rally-planning details provide context for later analysis.
In the middle chapters, the author documents the decline in both the material and pride economies of eastern Kentucky. The material economy has been devastated by the loss of coal mining and manufacturing jobs, the destruction of land through practices such as “mountain top removal,” and the scourge of opioid addiction. The pride economy has suffered from diminished rewards for hard work, shifting norms about gender fluidity, and declining perceived value of rural life.
These shifts led to a pride paradox. Hochschild wrote: “On one hand, rural [Kentucky] Republicans felt fierce pride in hard work and personal responsibility. If you succeeded, you felt proud. If you failed, you felt shame. They were more prone to blame themselves for failure, but they lived in a state with fewer economic opportunities.
A narrative that the “bad bullies” had stolen the traditional wealth of the region helped to mitigate the shame. Land, natural resources, jobs, traditional culture, and pride had all been stolen. The line-cutters (ethnic minorities, immigrants, etc.) had received the stolen good and needed to be punished.
The final chapters further explore pride, shame, and the rise Donald Trump. What many on the left saw as Trump’s character flaws appeared to many Kentuckians as useful tools for resolving the pride paradox.
One informant told the author: “Trump . . . needs to get heard to feel important. That’s a good thing because we need a big microphone. A lot of people think Donald Trump is highly self-centered, a narcissist, and he is. But when he’s running for us, that’s to our advantage.” Appalachia had been unjustly shamed. Many people who lived in the region believed Trump would help them recover their stolen pride.
Hochschild described a four-step dance that Trump choreographed to dispel shame. First, make a provocative public statement (the 2020 election was stolen). Second, “bad bullies” shame Trump (amassing evidence the election was free and fair). Third, Trump positions himself as the victim of shaming (he was unfairly denied the presidency). Finally, Trump, the “good bully” reclaims pride for himself and his followers (the capitol attack on January 6, 2021).
Finally, the book offers an alternative resolution to the pride paradox. Hochschild observed “hidden foot traffic across what we might call an ‘empathy bridge’ spanning opposing views.” Hochschild identifies two groups of bridge crossers. Both groups experienced limitations in the material and pride economies. The first group rose above those challenges and then gave back to the community and reached out to others with different world views. The second group slid down and hit bottom before rising back up and reaching out.
People between these two extremes are less likely to cross the “empathy bridge.” Hochschild suggests perhaps “they haven’t gotten shame enough out of the way to develop empathy with others.”
Hochschild’s writes with the rigor of an academic researcher and the compassion of a deep listener. Extensive footnotes and detailed descriptions of research method are available to those who seek them. The more casual reader should find the book both accessible and engaging.
While the book focuses on rural, white, economically challenged men in Appalachia, the pride paradox extends to other populations. Hochschild concludes that the first task in healing our national divide is understanding the realities of those who are often overlooked:
“And there are many: inner-city Blacks, small farmers, rustbelt low-wage workers, truck drivers vulnerable to automation, retail and service workers soon to be replaced by AI, underpaid teachers, childcare workers, attendants in homeless shelters, and the homeless, to name a few.”
Sally, the dismay and growing feelings of betrayal felt by MAGA voters may help to unite the country, but only if the chorus of jeers, and “I told you so’s” subside fairly quickly.
You wrote, “Appalachia had been unjustly shamed. ”
How true that is. Appalachia and other poor regions of the South know only too well how many on the left view them, with outright and outspoken condescension. Of course, Trump capitalized on that.
We’re going to need Trump voters to join the Stop Trump movement. That requires a willingness on their parts to admit they made a terrible mistake; which is never easy. It also requires Trump opponents to dispense with the finger pointing, and shaming.
Thanks to Hochschild for actually getting out and talking to, not talking at, and listening to people who voted for the current president. It’s no secret he’s a bully and a narcissist, but he’s made skillful use of those traits; that poor people, less educated people in Kentucky could explain that to Hochschild could be — and should be, in my opinion — a lesson and a wake-up call to Democrats in Congress, their consultants and everyone who’s ever looked down on people in rural areas or those who vote for Republicans out of loyalty to values that they think or remember that Republicans once held. Perhaps a few of them still do.
I thank both Ms. McMillan and Ms. Saunders for recognizing that many poor people and people who live in rural areas of this country know full well that they are often viewed with derision for voting for the current president. Those who hold such views, even privately, also should consider dispensing with derision and condescension as well as recognizing that such attitudes are mistaken and not helpful.
Good scold, but … maybe I’m missing something here. The poor and uneducated explained their case to Hochschild, and he reports it with respect? Maybe that’s in the book, but it didn’t get to me in this book report.
I’m not seeing any approval whatever of the line cutting narrative, the reasonable expectations about a Trump presidency, anything that suggests any respect for them. At best, they’re presented as yet another victim story.
Respect for each other is a good thing, it should be a guaranteed starting point, but it isn’t something like a dollar I can give you whether I think you deserve it or not.
You’re definitely missing that the author is a “she” and not a “he.”
Thank you for an important bit of information. Hochschild was, and likely remains, a highly respected American sociologist who chooses her topics carefully and finds those she interviews according to research criteria, not for their ‘victimhood’ status. She reports what she learns, not what will please anyone or everyone.