Reversing the Rural Brain Drain and my guilt for contributing to the problem

This past week in class we discussed elitism in higher education and the social, intellectual, and physical disconnect between more highly educated individuals and lower-class communities. Rob Henderson's article perfectly describes the alienation of the working class from the T.V.-like lives of the elite. We also talked about the rural brain drain, a phenomenon arising out of the exodus of more highly educated individuals from their rural, lower-class communities to concentrated bigger cities. Studies have shown that the rural brain drain is especially potent in rural California.

This discussion reminded me of a recent experience I had that brought my own guilt for contributing to the rural brain drain into focus. During my 2L fall at UC Davis's Aoki Water Justice Clinic, I worked on a water rights project in unincorporated Tulare County. My supervising attorney and I took a road trip down to meet with the owners of a remote gas station. The goal was to convince the owners to sign an easement allowing a local mutual water company to access their property and expand the water storage tank for the surrounding homes. We had reason to believe this would be difficult given the stay-out-of-my-business mindset of the owners.

Picture of the gas station in Tulare.

Before we left, my supervising attorney warned me that the owners may not trust us because they would think of us as "big city" attorneys and they might even liken us to big government. Studies have shown that rural Americans tend to distrust the federal government. Because of that, he recommended that we wear casual clothing and refrain from using legal jargon. My response was incredulous: Is Davis a big city? Am I the out-of-touch liberal that Fox News warned my uncles about? Could someone really mistake me for an attorney?

I tried to explain to my supervisor that I was so clearly not a "big city" attorney. For one, I had no idea what I was doing. On top of that, I spent a good portion of my life with my family in the Central Valley (Newman, California to be exact). Newman, located in sunny Stanislaus County, looked almost exactly like this area of unincorporated Tulare (it smelled like it too). Surely, that fact would win me some trust from the owners of the gas station.

Picture of "bustling" downtown Newman.

It didn't. The first thing the owners asked us was where we were from. One owner explained that this was very important to them because things "ran differently" down there and we wouldn't understand unless we were actually from there. I tried to explain that although I was from the Bay Area, I had a connection to the Central Valley through my family. That wasn't good enough. He dismissed us with a "you would never understand." Our field trip was a bust.

In the end, we were lucky that another student at the clinic was from Tulare. Over the phone, she and the owners bonded over local Mexican restaurants and dive bars. We managed to convince the owners to sign the easement by communicating through her. This equalizing factor, that they were all from Tulare, was necessary to foster trust and close the deal.

For me, this experience illustrated the air of elitism and pretentiousness in higher education that is immediately recognized and distrusted by rural, working class communities. It also proved that the most effective way to bridge this gap is through the return and reestablishment of more highly educated class migrants in their respective communities. This would avert the "you would never understand" impulse.

This whole experience reminds me of my role within the rural brain drain. I can't help but feel guilty that I don't plan to return to my community in Newman. My mom told me many stories about how my grandparents were forced to work long hours in subpar conditions for below minimum wage. Hearing about the way that farm owners and corporations took advantage of my migrant grandparents disgusted me to my core. I wish someone had come and provided them with legal help. Wouldn't it be moral for me to move back and provide that assistance for others?

Picture of my siblings and my vovô in his Newman backyard on Easter.

But then I start to think about what it would be like for me if I actually went back. The last time I was in Newman, Main Street was lined with Blue Lives Matter flags. The latest news was a hate crime that occurred when a group of men knocked down the mailbox of a gay couple and threw rocks at their house. My uncle, a typical resident of Newman and a lifelong Republican, told me he wouldn't speak to me anymore because I had come out as gay.

I know in my heart that no matter how much I might want to give back to Newman, I would never feel safe if I returned. Hate crimes in California, against both gay and Asian people, are on the rise. This is especially true in Trump supporting counties. My choices would seem to be staying away from Newman or sacrificing my identity and hiding who I am. For me, the latter is inconceivable. For now, I will have to contribute to the rural brain drain.