Welcome to Gaia! ::

Here we are. We are the undignified backbone that supports America. Yet you hate us so. We talk with a drawl; you call us uneducated. We work with our hands; you call us primitives. We fly the Battle Flag; you call us ignorant and bigoted. You call us names, Hillbilly, Hick, and Redneck. You say you hate us because we are scum.

But are you not the bigoted one? Hating someone for where they live and how they talk. Basing your only knowledge on a stereotype? That sounds just like what you accused us of. Do I detect hypocrisy? I believe so.

Maybe a history lesson is in order. Do you know where your beloved insult ‘Redneck’ comes from?

It begins in 1920, when a group of seven Baldwin-Felts detective agents were terrorizing the small mining community called Matewan (Pronounced: Mat-uh-wan). The town’s police chief was a man by the name of Sid Hatfield. He was a born shortly after the Hatfield-McCoy feud. Hatfield told the agents that they were breaking the law by bringing guns into the town. They disagreed however and a gunfight ensued. All of the detectives, a deputy, the mayor, and another citizen were killed. About a year later, Sid Hatfield and his deputy Ed Chambers were going to their trial for killing those men. When the reached the McDowell County courthouse, forty heavily armed Baldwin-Felts detectives gunned the two men down. They were unarmed to show a display of hospitality.

This pushed the pro-union coal miners over the edge. That’s what all this is about, pro-union miners against anti-union mine owners who hire detective agencies who were nothing more than private armies. They began to march and assemble at Lens Creek Mountain. In about four days 13,000 men had gathered there. A little ways off another group of miners commandeered a train and met with another column of marching miners. Meanwhile, the anti-union sheriff of Logan County began to set up defenses and assembling the largest private force in the nation on Blair Mountain. That’s right where the miners were headed too. For a week it was hell and flying lead on that mountain. Airplanes were hired to drop homemade bombs on the miners. Then the government got involved. They dropped some WW1 surplus bombs on the miners. To this day, that is the only instance of the U.S. Government bombing its own people.

With the U.S. Government involved, Bill Blizzard (a leader in the Miners’ force) called of the attack and told his men to disperse. He was afraid he was going to loose too many good miners. All in all, about thirty of the detectives died an about fifty to a hundred miner died. Considering that they were up against entrenched machine guns, I say they did mighty well. Many men were tried with treason and murder, but were acquitted due to the evidence of an unexploded bomb that had been dropped.

Now that story time is over, you must be wondering what that had to do with Rednecks. The pro-union coal miners tied red bandanas around their necks to identify each other. This may not sound like much, but if you were one of these men, you were a good hardworking union man who provided for his family. You fought for your rights and beliefs. You were the embodiment of America. You were Americana.

If you call me a Redneck it shall not insult me, even if you mean to. I know the true meaning, and if you listen close enough you might just hear me laughing. If you call me a Hillbilly, it would be out of place since I live in Illinois where there are no mountains, nor would I be insulted. I am descended from the Scotch-Irish hill folk of Appalachia, and I know are a very noble, although isolationist, people. Where I live now is very clannish, I believe it’s due to the Scotch-Irishness of the people. I love it.

We have been called backwards, clinging to our religion and our guns. I shall be myself. I will throw caution to the wind, go head first into any problem without fear or regret. I know there is almost no problem that either my God or my rifle cannot fix. My heavenly Lord gives me inner strength and courage, and my rifle lets me feed my family and protects me from whatever is trying to hamper my life.

We are the blue collar that’s below the red neck. We are the dusty hat below the blazing sun. We are the earth beneath the plow. We will always remain; we will always provide without thanks; we will always support our nation. We risk life and limb to provide and protect. Be it the soldier mangled protecting freedom, or the farmer whose arm is ripped off trying to make a good harvest. I suggest the next time you see a blue collar man, say thanks by giving him a courteous nod, just acknowledge the men who work so hard.