Lowndes County deserve journalism that better serves residents. They should part of creating it.
Two years ago, I launched my independent, nonprofit publication, Southerly, with a series of stories on failing wastewater infrastructure in Lowndes County, Alabama, and the people who are working to find engineering, policy, and economic solutions to address it.
Pamela Sue Rush was the center of the first story. A soft-spoken and compassionate woman, she was one of few folks willing to speak out about how she was forced to straight-pipe sewage directly from her mobile home into her yard. Rush struggled with her health and was unable to work, so she, like many rural Americans, couldn’t afford the thousands of dollars it would cost to install an on-site septic system. She feared that by publicizing her struggle, she would be fined by the local government or stigmatized by her community. But she graciously opened her home to us on a sweltering day, and over the years, spoke to many more journalists and activists about inequities in her community — from healthcare to infrastructure to broadband access — and about her hopes for her children.
“A long time ago, I was ashamed about it, and didn’t want anybody looking at this stuff,” she told me when we met. “But I had to come out of my shame. God gives me strength. I hope it will happen in my lifetime. It might.”
Pamela died from COVID-19 this summer. She was only 48, and her untimely passing is an example of the larger injustices of the coronavirus pandemic: Latino and Black people, in Alabama and in urban, suburban and rural areas across the U.S., are harmed by the coronavirus at higher rates.
People like Pamela are why Southerly exists. There is a glaring hole in dedicated coverage of the complex relationship Southerners — especially those living in rural areas — have with their natural environments, and how issues like pollution, extreme weather, and infrastructure are inextricably tied to economics, politics, and public health.
But many people who live in rural Alabama don’t get to speak for themselves, and the media has for decades sorely misrepresented or overlooked your experiences. When a major news outlet swoops in to cover a story — flooding, a chemical spill, a presidential election — complicated issues like economic development, resource access, and class and race relations are often boiled down to a simple quote that perpetuates negative stereotypes. It’s a loss for those outside of these communities too — rural places are resilient and tight-knit and can offer lessons for people across America.
Southerly provides accessible, informative, truthful, well-rounded journalism in places that lack access to consistent, accurate news due to a variety of reasons: shrinking newsroom budgets, media monopolies, misinformation from politicians, social media, and industry.
We want to work with you to amplify the stories of people in Lowndes County — stories about the work folks have been doing for decades, and hurdles you’ve faced. We want journalism to be a conversation, not a transaction.
A Kentuckian by birth and now a resident of Durham, North Carolina, I am currently a John S. Knight Community Impact Fellow through a remote Stanford University program that is helping journalists and technologists develop news and information solutions that better connect communities of color in the U.S.
Over the next seven months, I’ll be working to improve media coverage and build trust in rural Southern communities by listening to folks about where they get their news, what problems and challenges they face in finding information about environmental and public health issues, and their ideas for what would be most helpful to get information out more reliably — whether that’s online, in-person, through schools and churches, or elsewhere. Once we’ve identified the barriers, we’ll work closely with community members — who will be compensated for their time and effort — to find resources and develop solutions to help bridge these gaps.
And we’re starting in Lowndes County.
The plan is to have a series of conversations over the next two months with homeowners, teachers, community leaders, youth, and activists, and then work with these folks to improve media coverage and reach. I want to use what I learn to inform how Southerly and other local news outlets can more effectively work with community leaders and organizers, reach residents, and ensure more stories are told about the intersection of racial and economic inequities, public health and environmental issues, and the future of our region.
Of course, the coronavirus pandemic requires a change in approach — a lot of the work will be online or on the phone — but the mission remains the same: How do we build trust where journalism has failed people? How do we do it in a way that allows you, the readers, to lead the way, since you know the place you live best? How do we make it so everyone has an opportunity to learn and share?
Reporting and telling stories alongside community members like you is key, so that you’re part of creating the solutions. We want to ensure journalism is place-based and meaningful, not extractive. We want to use consistent, reliable reporting and creative storytelling to build trust. Reporting on rural Southerners’ relationship to the environment cannot alone dismantle inequitable power structures—but it a step toward putting power back in your hands.
If you’re interested in speaking or being part of this project, or know someone in the area who might be, please reach out to me: lgilpin [at] southerlymag.org. Thank you!
Lyndsey Gilpin is the founder and editor-in-chief of Southerly. She is a 2020–2021 JSK Community Impact Fellow.
