I grew up here in The Natural State. From my earliest memories cruising in my pawpaw’s classic red and white Ford past cow pastures and waving neighbors to my college years on the hill in Fayetteville and my more recent professional journey through the Delta and other regions, I remain in awe of the way Arkansans take red dirt and make just about anything you can imagine. However, my unique place in our history and society compels me to recognize our complex shared history. No state is perfect, not even the only state (place in the world) where a woman off the street can dig for diamonds, call the Hogs with a rowdy crowd, and shop at one of the most globalized companies all in the same day! In this project, I’ve partnered with Arkansas Strong to shed a little light on some overlooked “gems” of our state.

Through a creative process of listening to Arkansans in two historic counties, Ouachita and Phillips, I heard voters share their stories about the barriers they face in accessing civic processes and engaging with their communities. I heard about the things that make residents proud and some things that rip up their souls. The perspectives shared in this short series will help readers begin a journey to a deeper understanding of life in the Arkansas Delta and South Arkansas and, in turn, validate some overlooked perspectives and generate the urge to learn more.  

On Ouachita and Phillips Counties

Both Ouachita and Phillips counties played crucial roles in making Arkansas the state it is today. Ouachita County, a southern Arkansas gem, boasts a history that stretches back to its establishment in 1842. Its county seat, Camden, was once a Spanish outpost in 1782 before being renamed by American settlers. Today, it stands as a testament to the resilience and innovation of its people, producing influential politicians and cutting-edge defense technology. As described on its website, Camden is a thriving community deeply rooted in agriculture and industry.

Phillips County, situated in the eastern part of the state along the Mississippi River, has been a crucial site in the history of Arkansas as an essential port for hardwood and cotton. Many of us remember Elaine and surrounding areas as sites of racial violence and redemption—namely, the Elaine Race Massacre and, now, the burgeoning grassroots political movements. Music, storytelling, and nearly two dozen National Register of Historic Places represent parts of the county that tell the tale better than more lucrative exports. The county seat, Helena-West Helena, has earned its place as a political hotspot in the Arkansas Delta over the past few years. 

The primary purpose of this project is to highlight the unique histories, politics, and cultures of Arkansans across the state. We chose to begin with residents of Ouachita and Phillips Counties because these two very different counties have similar stories to tell. Documenting and broadcasting narratives and personal perspectives not only sheds light on the specific challenges these communities face, such as failing infrastructure and diminished trust in local leaders and the resilience they demonstrate, but it also provides a starting point for addressing the systemic issues that hinder civic participation and engagement in these and other communities. 

Highlighting Family and Community

Families are the backbone of any community. In our listening sessions, we dove into the rich tapestry of personal stories that comprise the fabric of Ouachita and Phillips counties. From tales of ancestors who fought for civil rights to modern-day struggles and triumphs, these narratives provide a deeper understanding of the community’s identity and resilience and color the current status of communities. 

Civic Engagement

Civic engagement is a critical component of a functioning democracy. However, marginalized communities often face significant barriers to participating in civic processes. Through our listening sessions, we uncovered some specific obstacles that residents of Ouachita and Phillips Counties encounter, such as voter suppression tactics like [specific tactics] and lack of access to information and resources like [specific resources]. By bringing these issues to light, we hope to advocate for meaningful changes that will enable greater participation in civic life.

Local Culture and Community Pride

The local culture of Ouachita and Phillips Counties is not just rich and diverse but a source of immense pride for its residents. Shaped by generations of contributors, this unique character is something to be celebrated. Our project will do just that by highlighting cultural aspects and high points that residents point out as vibrant examples of the place they call home. These high points foster a sense of pride and belonging among residents and showcase the vibrancy of rural Arkansas.

The Importance of Uplifting Rural Voices

We know that Arkansas is a rural state. After a statewide campaign, rural has a whole new meaning to me. Growing up in rural Southwest Arkansas, I know what it’s like to feel like your part of the state isn’t getting its fair share. I believe uplifting rural voices is not just important but essential for creating a more inclusive and representative society. Rural communities often feel disconnected from broader political and social conversations, leading to feelings of neglect and disenfranchisement. This project aims to change that, ensuring that their concerns and perspectives are heard and addressed.

Moreover, political malpractice or injustice that goes unchecked devastates morale. Providing a platform for these voices ensures their concerns and perspectives are heard and addressed. This project aims to bridge the gap between rural and urban areas, fostering greater understanding and solidarity as we briefly examine some less familiar experiences. 

What’s to come

In the upcoming three-part series, readers can expect to read powerful stories from the residents of Ouachita and Phillips Counties. We will share in-depth interviews, personal anecdotes, and reflections on these communities’ unique challenges and triumphs. I hope these entries bring attention to the often-overlooked struggles of these underserved communities and amplify their voices.

We hope you will join us on this journey as we amplify the voices of rural Arkansas and work towards a more inclusive and equitable society. Stay tuned for our first post, where we will dive into civic engagement and community involvement. We can make a difference by listening, understanding, and advocating for change.

The post Voices Across Counties: Amplifying Rural Arkansas appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

There’s just something about Arkansas’s rural landscapes, where the rhythm of life is measured by the seasons. Here, neighbors still greet each other with a warm smile and a firm handshake. Community is built from shared hardship and triumph. It is a place where the simple pleasures of life take precedence over the clamor of ambition.

Yet it is exactly a clamor that threatens our rural way of life. 

The threat is the insidious, unending hum of technology — crypto mining — which is encroaching upon the sanctity of the Arkansas countryside.

Rural life is when humanity beats in harmony with the land. Despite modern technological advances in agriculture or the expansion of commercialism, rural life in Arkansas is still rooted in simplicity and connection to the earth. It is still a place where the land lives and breathes. 

But now our rural spaces are menaced by crypto mining, which interrupts the balance between humans and the land. 

Crypto mining, with its voracious appetite for energy and its relentless pursuit of profit, has set its sights on our rural spaces. Drawn by the promise of cheap electricity and vast expanses of available land, crypto mining operations — large swaths of computer farms —descend upon our communities like modern-day prospectors, seeking to extract digital gold from the blockchain.

As a result, Arkansas’s rural landscape is turned into fields of digital industrialization. And the noise, the relentless white noise of these computer farms… the tranquility that is rural life is shattered by the ceaseless hum of machinery, twenty four hours a day, seven days a week.

But perhaps the greatest danger these crypto mines pose is not just the physical transformation of the land, but in the erosion of rural culture itself. In the rush to exploit the resources of Arkansas’s land, we risk losing something more precious — the intangible sanctity of rural space. 

Arkansans are deeply rooted in their rural communities. They understand that the beauty of these places lies not solely in their economic potential, but in their ability to nourish, to abide, and to connect us to something greater than ourselves. They remind us that rural Arkansas is not just a landscape to be exploited, but is rather made up of living, breathing spaces.

As we confront the threat of crypto mining in our rural communities, let us recognize the value of what we stand to lose. 

The post a clamor that threatens Arkansas’s rural life appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

Come to Arkansas and find seemingly contradictory values represented: hospitality and rugged individualism, grit and obedience, candor and a hefty dose of minding your own business. We are a beautiful collection of perspectives, wouldn’t you agree?

Arkansans are also stubbornly proud, especially in their mistrust of government. Rural Southerners have an especially unique skepticism of government intervention, which is as ingrained in us as the right to bear arms and looking out for your neighbors.  

But despite our diverse opinions and our indignation with nosy government, we have a problem standing up to overreach with one specific issue. Why? Well, it’s simply impolite to talk about certain things.

Chief among the “impolite” topics is the issue of reproductive freedom. In other words: abortion. Or women’s healthcare. Or murdering babies. Or the right to choose… depending on who you’re asking. 

Earlier this week, I read that the Arkansas Abortion Amendment was certified by the Attorney General. According to Arkansans for Limited Government, the group behind the Amendment’s effort to restore some abortion access in the state, politicians make for bad doctors. Regardless of how one feels about abortion, the group argues, we don’t need politicians regulating reproductive decisions. We don’t need government in the exam room, so to speak, regulating things as personal as pregnancy.

I cannot help but agree.

Regulating people’s healthcare, especially a woman’s organs, is not only a divergence from our cherished values of personal freedom and individual liberty but a stark example of burdensome—even deadly—government overreach. 

The notion of limited government has been etched into our consciousness and our traditions, but the regulation of reproductive healthcare challenges this ethos. It forces us to question whether a government that we already view with suspicion should extend its reach into the most private corners of our lives. 

Personal independence is not just a value, but a way of life in Arkansas, and interference should be seen as an affront to the principles that make us who we are—people in control of our own lives. Personal liberty means we alone decide our destiny. And we alone know what is best for ourselves and our families. 

The regulation of abortion is a logical paradox, even outside of a morality paradigm, because of its relevance to government overreach. And I’d like you to bear with me for a minute. I know it’s a polarizing issue; I’m not trying to change anyone’s mind about how they morally feel about abortion. What I’m aiming to do is reinvigorate a healthy skepticism of government.

I would never presume to know what is best for another person’s health or for the choices their family must make.

Now extend this to the Arkansas state government, which has proven that it  cannot be trusted on matters of the collective or individual good. When the government regulates our healthcare and steps into our doctors’ offices, the government undermines our trust, implying that the entity of the state knows better than we do when it comes to decisions about our own lives. This is antithetical to what it means to be an Arkansan—a self-reliant, responsible individual.

And speaking of responsibility: government overreach, well-intentioned as it may be, often brings about its own unintended consequences. In Arkansas, regulations disproportionately affect our rural communities. It is our duty to ensure that any policy reflects a commitment to fairness and justice for our rural communities rather than perpetuating already awful health disparities between urban dwellers and rural folk.

I’m not here to change minds on how people feel about abortion. Your judgment of the issue is yours, and yours alone. You are entitled to your opinion, and oftentimes, those opinions are rooted in compelling and valid experiences. 

No, this is not about changing minds. But it’s about keeping the government out of our homes and hospital rooms, out of conversations with our families and our doctors.

It’s not my business, or the government’s, to know the myriad of factors going into a person’s decision regarding the trajectory of their life. I don’t know if a person was raped. I don’t know if a person suffered a miscarriage. I don’t know if a family got a terrible diagnosis. 

The point is, I don’t know what’s best for you. 

The government doesn’t know either and it sure as hell doesn’t have any business telling people what’s good or right. That’s between them, their doctor, and the Good Lord above. 

Let’s get back to our Arkansas roots and keep government where it should be: out of our doctor’s office and back in the business of governing policy, not people’s lives. 

The post Mind your Biscuits: The Case Against Government Overreach in Arkansas appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

We stand out for many things, some good, some bad but all are pieces of the mosaic that makes us who we are. 

One of those bad things is that we’re the only state in USA to become fiscally insolvent. The Diamond State earned that dubious distinction in 1933 after an ill-conceived road building initiative led to bond payments that the state couldn’t afford.  

But here’s one of the good: 1967 we set another benchmark when the legislature enacted Governor Winthrop Rockefeller’s bold plan for open and transparent government. The rest of the nation has modeled our sunshine laws since then. 

Over the years, the legislature and a myriad of court rulings have steadily eroded the citizen access to record and public meetings that were established under Rockefeller’s 1967 Freedom of Information Act.  In both the 2021 and 2023 legislative sessions, several bills were filed that sought to almost completely eliminate public access under FOIA. Most of those bills were defeated, some convincingly, but the steady loss of open government was clear to transparency advocates around the state. 

FOIA’s endangerment became even clearer following the 2023 session when the Attorney General created a secret task force to “reform” FOIA. Transparency advocates knew we needed to act to protect our right to know—or we were going to lose it. 

The anti-FOIA rumblings crescendoed this September when Governor Sarah Sanders called a special session seeking to enact legislation that would practically end citizen access to public documents. Access to these documents is essential to oversight of state decision making, contracting and rule-making. 

A large and ideologically diverse coalition of citizens came to the Capitol and made it clear to legislators that the people of Arkansas simply wouldn’t stand quietly by while our ability to oversee state government was in jeopardy. 

The bulk of that awful bill was defeated, but even then, we lost more of our access under FOIA. Worse yet, the Governor, key legislative leaders and the Attorney General made public statements indicating they “were just getting started.” 

Those who were at the Capitol for that special session observed a kind of arrogance and hubris from those elected to represent us. This was unprecedented; members of the public were insulted by the Senate President, shushed by committee chairs and silenced when seeking to provide testimony on the far reaching effects of the proposed legislation.

In the midst of this gross example of bad government, something unique was conceived. People who’d been political enemies for decades stood together, united in opposition to government secrecy. Far left progressives stood side by side with the most extreme right activists to make it clear that the people of Arkansas have had enough. Many who witnessed that unusual unity have said it’s like nothing else they’ve ever observed.  

A broad coalition of citizens concerned about the ongoing attacks on transparency came together and began having informal meetings to discuss how to protect our rights under FOIA. This led to joining together: the formation of a group known as Arkansas Citizens for Transparency. 

The group has now produced a first draft of a constitutional amendment proposal that will “enshrine FOIA in the Arkansas Constitution.” Those drafting the proposal outlined their goals in a public letter introducing the draft.

The non-partisan, citizen led group is now organizing a series of public meetings seeking input on the draft. Once the final wording has consensus, the group will formally organize a ballot question committee and the process of ballot title approval and gathering the 90,704 signatures required to qualify for the 2024 general election ballot. 

Our state motto is “Regnat Populus”—The People Rule. If the people are to rule, government cannot hide its decision making process from the people. 

Transparency is often burdensome; sometimes it’s even expensive. But it is absolutely necessary for government of, by and for the people to survive. 

We cannot allow those who seek a government of secrets to make their goals become the laws we’re forced to live under. 

The post Standing Strong: Arkansans Unite for Open Government appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

Head down Razorback Road on a late spring weekend in Fayetteville and you’ll see Canopy city — red and white fabric roofs, boxes of beer, a throw rug or two and maybe an old La-Z-Boy recliner. Under the canopies we find unlikely bedfellows, canopy fellows if you will. The pre-family reunion known as the hog pen. 

Canopy city is where we grab a donut from someone you know well even if you don’t know their name. Or a slice of Domino’s Pizza, a random chicken wing. Under the canopies we take shelter from the rain, from the scorching June sun or the unseasonably cold April wind — whatever the weather sees fit to be that day cause it’s always fickle like that. 

We’re here because we’re queued up to get into the hog pen, the Razorback baseball section that’s essentially a big lawn out behind left field. Sometimes folks line their chairs and pop up canopies days, maybe weeks, in advance of a series. We chat and crack jokes and get rowdy. Swap stories, talk sports. Shoot the shit like good Arkansans do. 

About 90 minutes before first pitch, the pen gates open like the parting of the Red Sea. Only in this moment the tribe of pen family, brothers from another mother, transform into enemies as soon as the gates open. When the Red Sea parts, it’s every man, woman, and child for themselves. All friendship and kinship is suspended for a few minutes of total chaos: Grown men of a well-seasoned age haul ass down the lawn, beer bellies bouncing while wagons of Yeti coolers and Fireball whiskey trail behind. Women sprint like division 1 athletes, steamrolling over anyone or thing in their pathway. Children zoom past the old folk straight to the fence and slide face first into their family’s preferred spot, sacrificing their tiny bodies for a shot at premier baseball viewing. It’s a few glorious, unforgettable minutes of sports fandom. It’s utter insanity. 

Just as quickly as the first 50 people pour into the pen, we’re set up and back to being one another’s chosen family. The Fireball comes right out, the unofficial libation of the hog pen. It’s the most widely used and respected of liquors out here. No, not for its taste, but because it travels well, warms you up when it’s cold, gives gumption, and consoles broken baseball hearts. 

Assigned seating isn’t a thing, as you’ve already gathered. It’s first come, first served but we do have an acknowledgement of everyone’s preferences. There are the berm folks, the ones who set up on the little ledge of a hill ten or so yards back from the fence. Team Berm likes the unobstructed view of the game no matter how dense the front of the pen gets. Our crew sets up at the fence, known as the rail. The rail is coveted; truly the only right and holy view if you care about seeing balls and strikes. It’s the best place to sit if you’re gonna ask me, but nobody did ask me and that’s fine.

The allure of the hog pen is different for each person; it offers an experience that those who sit in chair backs or fancy boxes wouldn’t understand. Bring your kids and shoo them off to play catch. Grill out and have picnics. Make friends with frat bros and county sheriffs and people who drive 7 hours one way in their campers to watch some baseball. Heckle the hell out of the visiting team. Drink your own beer. Pass out homemade cookies. Act a fool. The pen is where life moves a little slower and a little easier. 

We met a guy named Sherman under contentious terms during one of the rail seating conquest moments. On this particular day, we didn’t make the rail and sat behind Sherman on the second row. Feathers got ruffled over chair placement and some biting words were exchanged.

But eventually things settled and Sherman became a beloved baseball brother. He and his wife live out in the boonies, somewhere past Lamar, about a hundred or so miles from Fayetteville. He’s retired and has a tattoo of a body-building Razorback on his right calf. Often he has twin granddaughters in tow who sit in swinging camp chairs made for 8 year-old bodies.

Sherman is of a certain generation and demographic you see a lot of in the pen — country boys in their sunset years watching ball, harkening back to a time when they too could run and throw and hit like those young men out there, in the prime of their youth, playing America’s game. 

There’s Jimmy, pen patriarch, who is always on the rail no matter what. It’s a respect-your-elders type of thing with Jimmy; we all just know he deserves to be in the front. He’s kind and generous, always ready in his straw hat to toss tootsie pops to kids. Jimmy is the easy-going, Tommy-Bahama-wearing, “no bad days” grandpa of the pen who makes everyone feel at home. 

Ten yards behind Jimmy and Co. are the berm regulars —Lancey. Forest. Cam. Brenden, et al. Cam’s been sick but is fighting hard. He shows up to Canopy city with his buttons that say “Cam Kicks Cancer!” and homemade I♡Hogs keychains and bracelets he sells to help pay down medical bills.

The first time I saw Cam was three years ago at a super regional at Baum Stadium. The team was soaring that year and greedy ticket holders were scalping hog pen spots for hundreds of dollars. The hog pen, you should know, is the great equalizer. The Shakespearan theater pit of baseball, where anyone can and should be able to afford a ticket to watch a game. Cam had an empty, torn up Eureka Pizza box he had scribbled “QUIT OVERCHARGING FOR HOG PEN TICKETS” on that he proudly held up all weekend from the berm. 

West of Cam and down at the rail sits Amanda, our official yell leader. Nearby are the trio of nurses, Belinda, Ashley and Z. Kendall with the unmistakable cyclops-looking sunglasses is also at hand. And so is Lance, who always makes his way down the rail during every 7th inning stretch, just so he can shout “allrightyousonsofbitches!” while snapping group selfies with front-rowers every few feet. It’s a beloved tradition and an honor to be in a Lance selfie that is posted the subsequent day on his Facebook page for all the world to see. There’s also Greg, gentle-giant Army vet, and his badass but easygoing wife Jill. Greg’s part of the yellow-hat crew, the ones who sport canary Arkansas ball caps with red As, easily identifiable in a sea of red and white headware faithfuls.

I’d be remiss, of course, if I didn’t mention Rick. The Rick of Razorback fandom royalty. If you know the hogs, you know Rick, who is the ultimate hog lover and a favorite fan often seen on televised Razorback games. Rick dons a visor with fake furry red hair attached, which he calls the Razorback wig, and he’s on a quest to attend 100 Razorback games this year. I think maybe he already did it. He doesn’t just love baseball, he loves supporting every kind of hog team and often bounces from one game to the next if different sports overlap in a season. He wears fake tusks in his mouth, Razorback sneakers and socks that have his wife’s face on them. He rides a beefy motorcycle. Knows everyone’s name. He brings perspective, a good time for all, and a doormat he throws on the hog pen ground to keep his shoes clean when it rains. 

Our home base is in left-center, over by the university’s camera guy who films the outfield action. It’s excellent home run territory and prime real estate to snag a ball or three during batting practice. One season, my partner Ben took a go-ahead home run to the jaw standing in the pen out in left-center. It left a bruise but it was a game-winning hit, so worth it.

We sit by Marc and Cali of Siloam Springs, both of whom work for a Christian card company. Marc runs ultramarathons for fun, and Cali (wo)mans his aid stations. Sometimes their blended family of grown kids cycle through the games with them. Marc wears a tired red bucket hat adorned with Razorback enamel pins and buttons. He’s a Midwestern guy who’s made his home with the hogs. Marc and Cali are happy, down to earth people we love. If things are going well, they both start to dance. Dancing Marc is a special treat; the world wishes it could be so lucky to see him break out his ole’ midwestern white dude moves, overflowing with joy as his body glides along to the stadium sounds of Rhianna or Red Dirt country. 

This season didn’t end how we wanted it to. The hogs were absolutely slaughtered by TCU during our home-hosted regional. The weather was crappy and games were delayed. We didn’t make it to supers or to Omaha.

But it’s okay. We won our conference and we spent hours with our hog family enduring some exceptionally frigid and windy games in one of America’s best collegiate ballparks.

Baum Walker Stadium really is special, and the hog pen is a big part of that. It’s flanked by people who exemplify decades of statewide Razorback fandom — folks who have longed for a national championship and have woo’d pig sooie for longer than I’ve been on this earth. They know the stories and the voices and the ghosts of this game. 

I remember a time before the hog pen existed when baseball wasn’t such a thing in the Natural State. I never thought there’d be enough room for Arkansas to love baseball the way I do, that it would never be able to quit its first love of football. That we’d never find a devotion beyond it.

But by some mysterious, even magical force, baseball has blossomed here. I’ve seen it catch like a fever, spreading its allure with elementary aged kids and pave the way for the explosion of travel ball clubs and city rec leagues. I can see the reverence for what Dave Van Horn has built here these last twenty years or so in Fayetteville through commitment, passion, and perseverance.

We celebrate our pro hogs. We pack out Baum Stadium. We clear a lawn in left field so people can cram in with their coolers and families and friends. A championship looms large, yes it is so close that we can taste it. But that’s not why we’re here. We’re here for the hogs and our chosen family. It’s the trash talk, the delivery pizza, the peanut shells and dusty tracks along the rail that draw us in and keep us coming back. We tolerate the downpours and the spider bites, the tipsy frat guys and the left-sided sunburns because of the joy we feel when we’re together in this place. 

We are the hog pen, and we’re here because we’re home. 

The post Finding home in the hog pen appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

Hope has yet again produced a public servant of whom all of Arkansas can be proud. Do our two US Senators know where Hope is?

April 14, 2023, was a perfect spring day in Indianapolis, Indiana. At the Birch Bayh Courthouse, enveloped in marble walls, depression-era murals, and octagonal vestibules, a formal investiture ceremony was held for Judge Doris Pryor —  proud daughter of Hope, Arkansas. 

For over 130 years, white men have dominated the Chicago-based 7th Circuit Court of Appeals. From its first session back in 1891 to early 2023, the court has only seen two Black judges. Judge Doris Pryor is the third and the first Black judge from Indiana to ever serve on the 7th Circuit Court. 

The Hope native was not the only Arkansan in attendance that spring day. The Chief Judge that performed her swearing in was the Honorable Lavenski Smith, also a native of Hope. 

My good friends — the Honorable Jim Gunter, former Associate Justice of the Arkansas Supreme Court, and his wife Judee — were also present at the ceremony. The Gunters made the ten-hour trek through America’s heartland from Hope to Indianapolis to witness Judge Pryor’s historic investiture. 

But it was more than the judicial backdrop that led Jim and Judee Gunter to Indiana that day. In a curious, only-Arkansas kind of way, Judee Gunter taught Doris (Clark) Pryor in her math classes at Hope High School. Doris was an honor student and on occasion baby-sat Judee’s son, Guy. Like it is in small town, Arkansas, The Gunters were friends with Doris’ parents, James and Linda Clark.

It was poetic; the people of our state know how to have one another’s backs. So it was a “Hope Fest” on that 72º day at the Birch Bayh Courthouse in downtown Indianapolis. 

Hope, the small southwestern town in Hempstead County, has a knack for churning out talented, accomplished Arkansans. In recent memory, Hope has been home to one president (Bill Clinton), two governors (Clinton and Mike Huckabee), a Supreme Court Justice (Gunter), and one Presidential Chief of Staff and hugely successful businessman (Mack McLarty). There’s also the world’s top rated stereo speaker manufacturer and Hope native (Paul Klipsch). And of course the first female country and western singer to sell a million single records was Patsy Montana; she grew up in a small community near Hope.

In keeping with the Hope effect, Judge Doris Pryor graduated cum laude from the University of Central Arkansas in 1999 and worked for a year in her hometown before applying to law school. After graduating from the University of Indiana Mauer School of Law, Pryor returned to Arkansas to work as a public defender. Later on, she served two clerkships for federal judges — Leon Holmes and Lavenski Smith — both appointed by Republican presidents, a fact that would serve as a twist of fate in Judge Pryor’s Senate confirmation hearing.

To say Judge Doris Pryor has good legal chops is like saying the summers in South Arkansas are a tad warm. Judge Pryor has an incredible background in the legal community; she served a four year term as the National Security Chief for the U.S. Attorney’s office for the Southern District of Indiana, and she was a federal prosecutor for 12 years. Judge Pryor is licensed to practice law in multiple states and was a U.S. Magistrate Judge for four years. Maybe it’s the Hope effect, but it’s also Doris Pryor’s aptitude, drive, and dedication to her vocation that led to such impressive achievements. 

Her most recent feather in cap is the 7th Circuit Court of Appeals nomination, which came from President Biden last May after a seat on the court opened. Indiana, like Arkansas, is run by Republicans, who hold both the Governor’s office and a supermajority in their state legislature. They also have two Republican US Senators, Todd Young and Mike Braun. 

If the Senators wanted to play politics, they could have blocked Judge Pryor’s nomination by refusing to give her a “blue slip” for it to advance. “Blue-slip” is the consultation between the President and the home-state Senators for judicial nominees. The process is used to ensure that nominees, in this case Judge Pryor, are up to snuff — in other words, mainstream and well qualified. In this case, it’s a bi-partisan approach to vetting nominees, resulting in the best-suited candidate for the position at hand.

But Senators Young and Braun did not do that. In fact, they did quite the opposite. When Senator Young introduced her to the Senate Judiciary Committee in July of last year, he specifically expressed his appreciation of the President’s willingness to consult with him and Senator Braun on Judge Pryor’s nomination. It was a heartening display of respect and cooperation from members of both parties. 

During the confirmation, Senator Young was effusive in his praise of Judge Pryor.  He mentioned that she has experience on all sides of the courtroom, that she understands the difference between the role of an advocate and the role of a judge, and that she has know-how on both the criminal and civil side of the docket. She was unanimously rated qualified by the American Bar Association. 

Doris Pryor, the daughter of Hope, AR, shone bright. Recognized as experienced, agile, and of course qualified, Judge Pryor was confirmed on a 60-31 vote in the Senate last December. That roll call vote made her one of the few federal judges nominated by Biden to be confirmed on a strong bipartisan vote. Senate Republican Leader Mitch McConnell voted to confirm Judge Pryor. So did Senator Lindsay Graham of South Carolina.

Hope had yet again produced a public servant of whom all of Arkansas could be proud. So what happened to Doris Pryor’s home state senators on this vote? Astonishingly, neither Senator Tom Cotton nor Senator John Boozman could bring themselves to vote for this highly qualified achiever from the tiny town of Hope, AR. Had she done something to offend? Decide a case they didn’t like? Affiliated with a group that didn’t meet the smell test? With so much experience and such broad bipartisan support, the move by the Arkansas senators is puzzling. 

When Ross Perot was running for president years ago he appeared on the Larry King show a lot. When discussing some public policy with which he disagreed, Perot would often say, “It’s just sad Larry.” That’s the way I feel about our political leaders. We may never know why the senators from Arkansas made a point of voting “no” on Judge Pryor’s confirmation. A quick internet search reveals no quotes or statements explaining either man’s thinking. 

Judge Doris Pryor is a home state gal with all pluses and absolutely no minuses — even Senators Graham and McConnell see it. Arkansas, including its US Senators, should be more than proud to have Doris Pryor at the helm of the 7th Circuit Court of Appeals. Here in the mid-south, we celebrate the accomplishments of our most talented sons and daughters. 

I wonder if Mr. Cotton or Mr. Boozman plan to show up at the Hope Watermelon Festival this year? It might be a little chilly this August, if you catch my drift.

The post What’s in the water in Hope? appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

The greatest dynasty in collegiate athletic history? The Arkansas Razorbacks.

Over 150 years ago, President Andrew Johnson began the tradition of hosting athletic champions when he invited baseball’s Washington Nationals and Brooklyn Atlantics to join him in a White House ceremony.

In the age of television, we’ve made a big production out of the White House hosting Super Bowl winners, NBA champions, and the college equivalents. And they might bring in the women’s gymnastics team if they win Olympic gold. 

But track and field? No, not them. Not the men and women wearing singlets, running around an oval, jumping or throwing heavy objects.

A few years ago Stadium Talk told the story of America’s greatest college sports dynasties. Oklahoma, Texas, Alabama and Notre Dame football teams all received mentions, as did the UCLA Bruins men’s basketball teams. Penn State’s men’s wrestling and women’s volleyball teams. And the Connecticut and Tennessee women’s basketball powerhouses under Gene Auriemma and Pat Summit, respectively. 

How about that dynamite Minnesota women’s ice hockey dynasty that won 6 national championships? Bet you didn’t know the Trinity College Bantams men’s squash program won 17 national titles. To quote the author, Jennifer Studer Daley, “no other team on this list comes close to touching the number of titles that belong to the Iowa Hawkeyes wrestling program.” They won twenty three.

Ms. Daley is correct; no other team on her list comes close. That’s because Ms. Daley’s list does not include the greatest dynasty in American collegiate athletic history: the Arkansas Razorback Track and Field teams, which have won a collective 49 national titles in track and field and cross country, 42 under legendary coach John McDonnell.  

To be fair to Ms. Daley, the iconic Sports Illustrated magazine printed a similar story, and also forgot to mention the Razorbacks.

National spotlights on track and field usually focus on Oregon, where legendary NIKE founder Phil Knight spent his running days. Oregon has won 32 national titles, which is no slouch.

It’s also no Arkansas.

The ancient Greek and Roman empires were the backdrop for the first organized athletic competitions, which evolved into track and field as we know it today. The decathlon is thought of as the supreme test of speed, skill, and endurance to test the best all-around athletes. And we celebrate the marathon today with road races around the world that give everyday all-comers a chance for glory. 

The White House is not going to invite the national champion Arkansas men’s and women’s track teams for a visit. But that does not mean that Arkansans should pat our tracksters and coaches on the head and send them on their way. They deserve better.

In Arkansas, Football is king. Basketball is second. Baseball is third. No need to argue any of that. Would football or basketball recruiting be harmed if we started making a big deal over Track and Field? If the university became known as a track school? No, Track and Field prominence would diminish nothing in football or basketball. If anything, it would make the U of A look more cosmopolitan, adding to the perception that NWA is a sophisticated cultural corridor, complete with spectacular art museums, world class bicycling trails, and a modern medical school with a new way of thinking.  

Hot Springs has impressed me with its presentation of offerings, which celebrate the city’s history as home to some of Major League Baseball teams’ spring training during the 1930s to early 1950s. In February, the city dedicated only the third known statue of Babe Ruth (the other two are in Baltimore and Japan). There’s a baseball trail with plaques depicting the exploits of famous major leaguers. Babe Ruth is said to have hit two of the longest home runs he ever hit during spring training in Hot Springs. The city hosts an annual event bringing in retired major league players to speak on baseball then and now. All of this over spring training from long ago.

I’m not in the PR business, but I think I know a lost opportunity when I see one. When you are the greatest in history at something, step up and tell your story. No one else is going to do your crowing for you. And in the case of Track and Field, it is not even a close call. 

The post America’s Track and Field Dynasty  appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

For me, it is the way I was raised. Being country means the outdoors, loving hunting and fishing. It’s being respectful — to your parents and to everyone you meet.

My reckoning with being country came when I was three years old. My mom met the man who would have one of the biggest impacts on my life. They would get married and he would be my stepdad. He took me in like I was his own, started teaching me what it meant to be country and how to be country. He thought me how to hunt, fish, to love and respect nature. This man, my dad, taught me about work ethic. He showed me you never do something halfway, and you don’t quit until it’s finished. 

Hunting and fishing aren’t just sport; they are ways to provide for your family. And hunting is key to sustaining our critical wildlife population. If one species gets to be too big, it could tremendously hurt another species’ population.

Hunting showed me a way to love and respect wildlife, especially the wildlife I choose to kill. Fishing is another provision I cling to. When I was young, I didn’t fully understand what hunting and fishing were all about; I just thought it was for fun, that you kept all fish and killed every animal you saw while hunting. I have since learned to appreciate fun and sport in the context of respecting animals and the relationship between humans and wildlife. This is the way of nature.

Respect, there’s an idea. It’s not very common now days, but I was taught it at a young age. Respect yes ma’am and no ma’am, yes sir and no sir. It’s doing what you’re told, the first time without talking back.

Work, really one’s work ethic, defines what kind of person you are. I whole-heartedly believe that. And work ethic defines the type of person I am; it shows what I am capable of. To me, it means doing your task the right way, the first time you do it. Like my dad says, you don’t do things half way or quit in the middle. You get it done.

To be country is a way of life. It’s your actions. It’s your love for God’s creation. It’s respect and care for others. But that’s not all of is. These elements are really what define us as humans — respect, working hard, not quitting.

I learned it at the beginning of my life, what it means to be country, and it’s how i plan to live out the rest of my days.

The post To Be Country appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

I am often asked what drives me to fight so hard for public schools. The people who ask me this are usually introspective types who read books like Finding Your Why by Simon Sinek, or perhaps Pastor Rick Warren’s Purpose Driven Life. I recommend both of those books as well as a fair amount of introspection. And I love people who ask me honest questions. But I am never asked that question by public school teachers; they already know. Because every public school teacher knows a James.

James grew up in an old clapboard house his father inherited from his father, on land they did not own but were allowed to farm. He was the oldest of 4 children. His mother was a homemaker and his father a driller for the gas company. His few clothes were patched and his hair was often greasy. He slept with his siblings in a cold, drafty room with a high ceiling under a pile of quilts.

For a child in poverty, James was pretty well-fed. His father grew a huge garden, and they raised their own beef and hogs. They gathered eggs from hardworking hens. James had a BB gun by the time he was 4 and hunted squirrels with his uncle. His mother fried them up just like chicken to eat with mashed potatoes and gravy.

James also scoured the Ozark Mountains for rabbits and quail that the family ate. He fished in the Arkansas River for their supper. A few years later he would hunt deer and learn to dress it himself.

On his first day of school, James wore a shirt his mother made him. She dropped him off at the Cecil schoolhouse, which had 2 classrooms. James was with grades 1 though 4, and the class next door had 5th-7th. Between the 2 classes there were 97 students. 97 for 2 teachers.

James cried all day. He didn’t know anyone. He didn’t even know how to tie his shoes. He did know the alphabet because his mother taught him.

James says his 1st grade teacher was nice, but it’s the teacher next door, Mrs. Lyla Crawford, who made a bigger difference in his life. I guess she had bus duty because when the last bell rang, Mrs. Crawford noticed how sad and scared he was while waiting for the bus. So she took his little hand in hers and walked onto that bus with him and sat down. She patted the seat for him to sit beside her. And as mile after country mile passed James snuggled up next to Mrs. Crawford. He even laughed a little bit while they talked. And when he got off the bus, James told his mother he loved school.

James went on to County Line for high school, and then to Arkansas Tech, the only one in his family ever to go to college. After that he earned his master’s degree at the University of Arkansas. The world opened up to him and he became a history teacher, bus driver, junior high principal, then an assistant superintendent. I guess he really did love school because he gave 40 years of his life to educating children in public schools in Arkansas.

But that’s not all he did.

James is my dad. I am living proof of how public school — and specifically the teachers a child encounters there — can change the trajectory of a person’s life. And it is never just that one person. In our case, my dad’s education changed what my brother’s and my life would have been and is still changing the lives of his seven grandchildren.

Every public school teacher has taught a James. And I say public school teacher because public schools are the ones who serve the children in poverty all over this state. At the end of the day, James is why we fight for teacher raises to recruit and retain people fleeing our profession. He is why we fought the LEARNS Act. We know that vouchers won’t fix education because vouchers don’t fix poverty — they just exacerbate it. And when public schools are hurt, James gets hurt. James, and all of the children like him, as well as all of the other lives their lives touch for better or worse in the future. 

I fight for public schools because it is personal to me. Our state government holds in its hands the power to change the lives of children like James every day, which in turn changes the lives of their families for generations. It is a sacred privilege and responsibility. But instead of addressing the poverty that plagues our schools and communities, our lawmakers deliberately choose to leave children like James behind, for their own personal gain.

This is not okay.

We are the ones who stand between a corrupted government and our children. We are the Lyla Crawfords, the ones who see them and refuse to leave them behind. And we are not going away.

Elections are in 2024. And actions have consequences. Just like when we give out report cards and a student has failed to do what we asked—they fail the class. Arkansas Strong is keeping track of the legislators who ignore their teachers. They are failing our state.

There are 30,000 teachers in this state and every one of us has a sphere of influence. Families, students, and parents who support us; communities that depend on us to lead. If we stick together and vote, we can decide who represents us, ousting the ones who have failed Arkansas.

This is a long game. And we are in it to win it — for the sake of our kids, and for generations to come.

The post On What Drives Me appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

Strength is not only the power to exact change, but also the endurance to persevere. There are many examples throughout Arkansas history in which we not only used our power to exact change, but powered through the adversity plaguing us with strike. The most prominent example that comes to mind is when the Little Rock Nine stood up against segregation, and started to integrate into Little Rock Central High School. They used their strong wills and powerful minds to go against social and political practices. Understanding that though the fight would be tough, the positive ramifications it would have on the next generations was worth the price.

That sort of selflessness and self sacrificial mindset is the embodiment of Arkansas strength. They were met with many threats against not only their lives, but of the lives of the people they hold dear. Unfortunately the threats did not just stop at verbal assault. Many of them, Like Ernest Green, were physically assaulted by their white classmates. Even amidst the violence, they did not stop persevering. They were able to use their strength to start the integration process, but the battle was far from over. In 1958, Little Rock high schools were closed for an entire academic year. An attempt to ice out the strong willed Arkansas, amidst the political, social, and legal controversy. But they did not back down, they remained headstrong and waited for their time to shine. In May of 1958, Ernest Green became not only the first African American student to take classes at Little Rock Central High School, but he also became the first African American student to graduate from there as well.

This cataclysmic moment became the first ripple in an ever changing title wave that swept the nation. Little by little, other districts, cities, and even states started to use the Little Rock Nine as a symbol for hope, and a symbol for change. This would not be the first or the last time that Arkansas has become a beacon for hope and an inspiration across the nation. In 1992, Arkansas native Bill Clinton was elected as President of the United States. Bill Clinton was able to take all the core values that Arkansans hold dear, and amplify them on a nationwide scale. During his presidency, the United States saw its lowest unemployment rate in the past 30 years. He was able to create more than 22 million new jobs. Just like the Little Rock Nine, he used his power to enact change. He ensured internet access to over 95 percent of all schools, he raised the educational standards, which increased reading and math scores on the SAT. Overall Bill Clinton and the Little Rock Nine are perfect examples of what make Arkansas strong. And that is the fact that Arkansans are strong willed and well mannered, always fighting to tackle injustices and inequalities they see. Arkansas is strong because it sees where change is needed, and becomes that change.

Works Cited:

“Te Clinton Presidency: A Historic Era of Progress and Prosperity .” National Archives and Records Administration, National Archives and Records Administration, https://clintonwhitehouse5.archives.gov/WH/Accomplishments/eightyears-01.html. 

The post The Little Rock Nine (What Makes Arkansas Strong) appeared first on Arkansas Strong.