A state funding cut hits the needy in Wilkes County

I have great affection for “by God, Wilkes County.” My students and I have spent a good deal of time there the last couple years. The home of Junior Johnson, Zach Galifianakis, the Kruger Brothers and Merlefest would have to be interesting. It amazes. But it’s bruised as well.

Wilkes had a strong economy for generations. But NAFTA hit hard, crushing manufacturing. The county lost imposing stalwarts as well – Lowe’s, Northwestern Bank, Holly Farms, Carolina Mirror and North Wilkesboro Speedway. In the late 1990s, the unemployment rate was an (unthinkable) 2 percent. A decade later, it had soared to nearly 14 percent. Median income dropped by 30 percent over 15 years. About half of Wilkes households now make under $30,000 a year. A third of all kids live in poverty. No substantial Carolina Comeback looms.

Tina Krause is the director of Hospitality House in Boone. The non-profit agency serves seven counties, including Wilkes (where Krause lives), providing food, shelter, counsel and therapy to clients facing poverty, crisis and homelessness. As Krause notes, “a lot of folks in the community I love have a good deal to unpack.”

The shelter serves, on average, 117 souls a day in residence and many others beyond. Krause reports that over 80 percent of the men assisted by the shelter, and 90 percent of the women, no matter the immediate cause of their homelessness, struggle principally to cope with trauma. For the men, it’s often child abuse. For the women, sexual assault. On the first visit I made to the facility, Krause talked an immensely distraught client out of suicide in the parking lot. On the day of my second interview, a vulnerable former resident took his life. And though many have mental health or addiction challenges, Krause notes “lots have just seen the bottom fall out.”

Krause speaks of Wayne, a “quiet and humble man, not that different than most folks here.” After years working a farm in Wilkes County, and then doing a long stint at Tyson Foods, severe lower back pain and blood clots made it tough for him to walk. He explained he had become humiliated – a man is supposed to support his family. He lost his home and his faith in himself.

When Wayne came to the shelter, Krause says, you could tell he was in crisis. “Our first job was to get him the health care he needed, then we could deal with the other challenges.” He eventually got an operation and treatment for the clots. They helped him apply for disability as well. Wayne is quick to say: “Hospitality House gave me a miracle.” For Krause, though, too many others fall between the cracks: “this is a low income county, with all that entails.”

I was unsurprised, but intensely dismayed, to read in a newsletter, just before Christmas, that Hospitality House’s modest state grant funding had been cut in half. They estimate it costs $27 a day to provide shelter, food and counseling to each of their hundred-plus residents. The $60,000 cut, the letter explained, means that funding for 18 days is eliminated – on top of the already-massive challenges. What the letter didn’t explain – because the Hospitality folks are too kind and non-political to think this way – is the cuts were necessary because the General Assembly wanted to heap more tax cuts on the richest Tar Heels. Krause is a saint. I’m rude.

Sixty-thousand dollars, in some ways, is small change. But this transfer – harsh cuts for the vulnerable, generous largesse for the rich – now defines North Carolina public policy statewide. It doesn’t make for a happy new year.