It’s no secret that the cosmopolitan urbanites hate with a burning passion those they consider the “little people.” By little people, I mean blue collar whites, rednecks, homesteaders and deplorable Trump supporters. This forgotten class is typically described as being located in flyover America – the plains of Kansas, Appalachian hollers, the Rust Belt and areas not chic enough for hipsters to colonize. Those aren’t the only places that can be considered “flyover” though.
It’s called “flyover” by our shitlib political and cultural overlords because it’s the ignored and discarded swaths of America. Jet setting from California to New York, your average Silicon Valley bugman could care less what happens in Branson, Missouri. Hell, they probably couldn’t find the Show Me State on the map. They know people live there, but they know instinctively they’re the enemy of progress and pozz. It’s why shitting on Joe Sixpack is encouraged in all areas of our effeminate and degraded culture. These traditional Americans, really salt-of-the-earth types, are the “other” to the rootless neo-nomads that call home the airport, their iPod and fashionable spots in New York, DC or Miami.
There’s another element to “flyover country” that always gets missed though. Conservative and reactionary pundits will be quick to call their opponents “coastal elites,” but what about the flyover on the coasts? Not every inch of the coast is politically ruled by catladies, dainty numales and foaming at the mouth anti-white progressives.
A Democrat operative may catch a flight from DC to Atlanta, but they’re content to ignore the millions of “Trump people” that live on the coasts. I’m of course talking about whites. Colored people, by and large, vote for progressive policies. They don’t mind being ridiculed and forgotten by their proto-communist rulers, as long as they vote the right way.
The Albemarle Region of North Carolina and the Northern Neck of Virginia (all Trump country) are as alien to the haughty and pompous liberal as Ten Sleep, Wyoming (population 260) and Wallace, Idaho (population 784). While relatively close to centers of power (urban hellscapes and the imperial capital), this coastal flyover country is lonely shoreline, containing beaches, marinas, marshes, old steamship wharfs and ancient towns that date back to colonial times. It’s largely unremembered by the denizens of Metropolis and to them, might as well be Mars. That is, unless they need a beach trip getaway.
I remember chatting with a Yankee transplant in the small town of Kilmarnock, Virginia. She was from Massachusetts and had that thick and grating New England accent. Moved down to retire and escape the crushing taxes of the Bay State. Something tells me she’ll likely continue her old voting patterns though. She told me, “Yeah. It reminds me of home. Only warmer. The locals are a lot different; they’re very nice – don’t get me wrong. But, they’re almost too nice. They’re no New Englanders, am I right?”
She wasn’t wrong. We are too nice. It’s about time we stopped being so nice and welcoming to people that ignore (or are condescending) to coastal flyover country. This is our home, even if it is “flyover.”
A scourge to communists, scallywags, hipsters and feminists, Silas Reynolds calls anywhere south of the Potomac his home. He has a penchant for muscle cars, firearms and 80’s action movies.