The Appalachian Pebble
Published in Le Monde
(France) on 10 October 2014
by Gilles Paris (link to original)
(France) on 10 October 2014
by Gilles Paris (link to original)
Translated from
by Clare Durif.
Edited by Bora Mici.
Bad publicity season has hit Kentucky, with its chilling pictures and scary remarks, to the point that it’s definitely necessary to get the children out of there to stop them from having nightmares on account of either the renewal of Mitch McConnell’s mandate or the election of his Democratic rival Alison Lundergan Grimes — especially considering what’s currently being said about both parties.
Tensions are as high as the surprise element of this close race, where according to the polls, the lead held by the outgoing candidate is pretty much limited to their margin of error. Mitch McConnell, head of the Republican minority in the Senate, doubtlessly believed he had done the hardest part by winning against Matt Bevin — a candidate backed by the tea party — during the Republican primary. However, he had not counted on the use, by his Democrat rival, of a pebble in his shoe dating back to the spring, an Appalachian pebble.
On April 18, the Republican senator had gone over to the Lee County Community Center in Beattyville — 1,200 inhabitants and a plethora of churches to take care of them. The area is mountainous and pretty poor. At the entrance to the building, he came across Edmund Shelby, reporter and editor-in-chief of The Beattyville Enterprise, the venerable weekly newspaper founded in 1883. Shelby asked him the only question that really interests his readers: What would he do about jobs? “It’s not my job,” the incumbent senator candidly replied.
A week later, the retort was on the front page of the periodical, the news spread to Washington, and 60-some-year-old Edmund Shelby had his 15 minutes of fame. Mitch McConnell’s team multiplied its tactless counterattacks with statements like “words taken out of context” or “inaccurately reported.” This was quite a feat when directed against an experienced journalist and former president of the Kentucky Press Association, but his rival wasn’t going to let such a blunder slip through her fingers.
Six months later, Alison Lundergan is still bombarding Mitch McConnell with the same bad publicity formula, one that hasn’t aged a bit. Edmund Shelby has since returned to his life in the three counties the Beattyville Enterprise covers at 203 Main Street, in an office that Cheryle Walton, ad manager, has decorated with her pictures and French Impressionist prints, but more than in previous years, he is impatient to know the results of this race for the Senate.
Tensions are as high as the surprise element of this close race, where according to the polls, the lead held by the outgoing candidate is pretty much limited to their margin of error. Mitch McConnell, head of the Republican minority in the Senate, doubtlessly believed he had done the hardest part by winning against Matt Bevin — a candidate backed by the tea party — during the Republican primary. However, he had not counted on the use, by his Democrat rival, of a pebble in his shoe dating back to the spring, an Appalachian pebble.
On April 18, the Republican senator had gone over to the Lee County Community Center in Beattyville — 1,200 inhabitants and a plethora of churches to take care of them. The area is mountainous and pretty poor. At the entrance to the building, he came across Edmund Shelby, reporter and editor-in-chief of The Beattyville Enterprise, the venerable weekly newspaper founded in 1883. Shelby asked him the only question that really interests his readers: What would he do about jobs? “It’s not my job,” the incumbent senator candidly replied.
A week later, the retort was on the front page of the periodical, the news spread to Washington, and 60-some-year-old Edmund Shelby had his 15 minutes of fame. Mitch McConnell’s team multiplied its tactless counterattacks with statements like “words taken out of context” or “inaccurately reported.” This was quite a feat when directed against an experienced journalist and former president of the Kentucky Press Association, but his rival wasn’t going to let such a blunder slip through her fingers.
Six months later, Alison Lundergan is still bombarding Mitch McConnell with the same bad publicity formula, one that hasn’t aged a bit. Edmund Shelby has since returned to his life in the three counties the Beattyville Enterprise covers at 203 Main Street, in an office that Cheryle Walton, ad manager, has decorated with her pictures and French Impressionist prints, but more than in previous years, he is impatient to know the results of this race for the Senate.