The Road to the White House Runs Through Eastern Kentucky

Tucked away in the rolling foothills of Eastern Kentucky, among “Trump 2024” flags draping off of fence posts and stars-and-bars flying off of truck beds, the last heartbeat of the old Democratic Party still echoes. 

The rural, working-class mining and logging towns that comprise much of Appalachia seem, at least on paper, to embody the core of the Democratic Party. ​​Since the Great Depression, the American left was built on labor interests and the government’s role in protecting workers from “big business.” Historically, Appalachia was among the nation’s most militant centers of organized labor—the largest labor uprising in U.S. history, the Battle of Blair Mountain, occurred in Logan County, West Virginia, part of the decades-long Coal Wars that pitted miners against law enforcement throughout the region.

For much of the 20th century, this ideological lean was felt at the ballot box. Kentucky delivered victories to Jimmy Carter in 1976 and to Bill Clinton in both 1992 and 1996, while Democrats dominated local and state races up and down the mountains. This trend was visible throughout Appalachia as a whole as well. As late as the 1980s, West Virginians joked that the general election was a mere formality—the Democratic primary was the one that truly mattered.

Today’s politics tell quite a different story. Kentucky is now almost synonymous with deep-red MAGA country, alongside much of the region that once defined the Democratic heartland. In June 2025, Robin Webb, one of Kentucky’s longest-serving Democratic legislators, crossed the aisle to join the GOP, leaving just one Democrat to represent Eastern Kentucky. Her explanation was straightforward: she no longer trusted the Democratic Party, which she said had “increasingly alienated lifelong rural Democrats like [herself] by failing to support the issues that matter most to rural Kentuckians.”

Ronnie Collins, President of the Perry County Young Democrats, recognizes the most important consequence of this increasing sense of alienation from the Democratic Party in Kentucky: except for the major federal races, there simply aren’t any Democrats on the ballot. 

“The first thing [Democrats] have to do is actually get people running in these states,” he told The Gate.  “If you can go a decade or two of your life and not see a Democrat on the ballot, you’re not going to be really thinking about the Democrats,” he added. “You’re not going to feel like they care about your area.”

National politics tend to have little influence on the opinions of rural Kentuckians, and it’s easy to see why—Appalachia has a long history of being overlooked and politically disenfranchised. Nicholas Hazelett, the 19-year-old chair of the Johnson County Democratic Party, expresses frustration that “even your local Republican parties in some areas have been nonexistent as well—they’re kinda just assuming they’re gonna win anyway.”

“In Appalachia especially,” he added, “we usually think that the government is going to discount us and not want to hear our opinions.”

Hazelett urged the Democratic Party apparatus to invest in communities like his if they want to win back working class, rural voters. “If you can’t spend your money in Chicago—because let’s be honest, every Democrat on the ballot is probably going to be elected—spread it to places that don’t have those means,” he said. “Here, even asking people for $25 is hard.”

Chase Carson, the tourism commissioner for the city of London, Kentucky, echoed that sense of disconnection. His friends, family, and peers, he said, “only pay attention to what’s happening on a federal level every four years. Other than that, they don’t really pay attention to people like Mitch McConnell or Hal Rogers, what they actually do.” When I spoke with him on October 1, he added that many of them didn’t even know the federal government was shutting down.

To many outsiders, rural Appalachian communities might seem like a lost cause for Democrats. How could it be worth investing resources in places like Johnson County, where voters backed Donald Trump 85–15 in 2024, if they’d never win? Wouldn’t it be more strategic for Democrats to focus on reclaiming margins in suburban areas around cities like New York or Chicago, where funding is more accessible and media spotlight is easier to come by?

The young local leaders I spoke with, however, urged the party to think differently. “It wasn’t even nine years ago that we had a state senator and a state representative that were both Democrats—we had county-wide Democrats, we had them in the county district court,” said Hazelett. “It’s not uncommon; it’s just a question of when did it stop, and why.”

For organizers like Hazelett and Collins, the road back to relevance starts at the local level. “You can’t be big picture,” Collins explained. “People want to know how it will affect them and their community, not necessarily the rest of the nation.” He mentioned the success of mountain Democrats like Andy Beshear, who tie even the most contentious culture-war issues back to their Christian faith and the wellbeing of their neighbors. 

They also warn against the overly academic messaging style that has earned national Democrats great criticism over the last several months. “We have to talk about policy like we’re explaining it to someone at a restaurant, not at a conference,” said Hazelett. “We’re relying on charts and graphs when regular people just want their roads fixed and their water clean.”

Of course, in an area that values tradition as heavily as Appalachia does, no amount of messaging is going to be the silver bullet that sends voters to the polls for the Democrats en masse. “These are people that have been lifelong Republicans. A lot of times, you’re not going to change their mind on issues,” Collins acknowledged. “Around here, tradition is a really big thing.”

These young leaders, however, remained cautiously optimistic about the next generation’s ability to be forces of change for the Democrats—if the party invests in them. “I asked myself: where’s everyone else my age? Why is no one involved in this work with me?” Carson recalled about his entrance into politics. “Now, at 25, that younger generation is just starting to get into that political world.”

Hazelett shared a similar sense of hope. “If their family are Republicans, they’ll most likely register as Republicans, but that doesn’t necessarily reflect their views, especially with Gen Z and Millennials,” he said. By meeting people where they are, whether at town halls or local parades, he’s found that many are open to conversation and eager to engage on the issues that matter to their communities.

The most important takeaway from the work of young Democratic leaders in Kentucky is that rural people and communities are not a lost cause, and they are worth fighting for. Hazelett has spent recent months talking to voters at parades and fairs while establishing local party infrastructure in counties where it has long been absent. Collins is focused on expanding youth involvement in Democratic politics in Perry County, aiming to leave behind a strong base to build off of before heading to law school. Meanwhile, Carson is collaborating with state legislators to rebuild his city after devastating natural disasters and to develop its first fairgrounds, crucial work for the community.

From their tireless work to meet with all of their neighbors, even those who often hold different political views, they’ve learned that most people simply want the best for their communities. “Republican or not, I believe that everyone out here in Kentucky is a good person,” Collins said. “If your car breaks down, it’s gonna take you two or three minutes before someone pulls up with a jack and booster cables.” 

“We are some of the most loving, kind, down to earth people you will meet in your life,” Carson added, contrasting what he observes in his community to the hyper-dramatized portrayal of Appalachian communities in Vice President J.D. Vance’s memoir Hillbilly Elegy, which critics have said downplays the systemic causes of poverty and addiction in Appalachia and reinforces negative stereotypes that Appalachians are beyond help. “We are still navigating through these challenges, but the progress and the success and the people that are behind this work in Appalachia are wonderful. It’s truly inspiring to see what Appalachia used to be and what Appalachia is projected to be in the future.”

In the wake of a Democratic victory in off-year elections around the nation, much of the conversation has centered on whether the party should model themselves after moderates Spanberger or Sherrill, or instead chase after Mamdani’s progressive populism. What this moment really demonstrates, however, is something Appalachian Democrats have long understood: the power of hyperlocal politics. 

For years, Democratic organizers like Hazelett, Collins, and Chase in deep-red Appalachian counties have been meeting voters where they are, basing their messaging around shared concerns and local identity instead of abstract partisan politics. Their success in connecting across political divides offers an arguably more useful lesson for the nation as a whole, which contains a lot more places like Paintsville than like New York—if Democrats want to sustain these wins into 2026 and 2028, they would do well to follow the lead of the Appalachian organizers who’ve been doing this work quietly and persistently all along.

“We elected a Democratic governor not once but twice, we said no to archaic abortion restrictions, we said no to privatizing public schools. We have all the issues people in an urban center believe in, we just have to cater it in a different way,” said Hazelett. “We’re not a lost cause.”

The image featured in this article is licensed for reuse under the Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic license. No changes were made to the original image, which was taken by Matt Wasson and can be found here.