The Future

Has the world gone mad or is it full of wonder? Sometimes it depends on which direction you’re looking.

Posted on February 28, 2017 Written by Lindsay Fernandes

Fairly recently I was having a discussion with a friend, and she said, “I will always remember 2017 as the year the entire world went crazy.” This statement was made, not only in the context of our current national and international affairs, but in the context of her actual life, which is in an undeniable valley.

Because I tended to agree with her, I took a purposeful step back from the things that had me in a tailspin; namely, the news, my facebook feed, my smart phone addiction since the inauguration. I found, around the time of this conversation, that I could hardly take a solid breath because I was overloading myself on information that I couldn’t possibly change. I was waging battles in my mind when I wasn’t even in the fight. So I stepped back, turned off the television, turned off my phone, and focused on the problems that were right in front of me, and over which I had even the slightest bit of control.

Here is what I found. I discovered, slightly to my dismay, that my generation is meeting middle age, and with that particular shift come many shocking realities. For not only has our nation recently entered an extraordinarily turbulent and unpredictable time, but my people, my friends and family, are likewise entering a major shift in their lifestyles, priorities, and in many cases family structure. It’s an interesting place to be.

The carefree, childless days of our twenties are behind us. Late nights at the bars worrying over who picks up the tab are long gone. Now are the days of parenthood, marriages that succeed or fail, mortgage payments, and aging bodies. I can hear my friends on a daily basis looking at their country, looking at their lives, and wondering what happened.

Wondering why the whole world has suddenly gone crazy.

I have friends who have recently battled childhood cancer. I know of several families who have lost their children to cancer, and are coping with the aftermath. A friend I went to college with recently lost his wife to cancer. I have friends who have children with developmental or learning delays, and are involved in the daily struggle to help their children grow and mature.

I have friends who are themselves battling cancer, even as they try to raise young children and maintain a sense of normalcy. I have friends whose marriages are either falling apart or have already fallen, who feel stuck in the trenches of a reality they never expected, and are looking for any toehold in the mud and muck with which to claw their way out.

It’s depressing. And yet, I’ve seen other things too. I’ve seen a young mother with cancer, literally on death’s doorstep, rally and return home and finally gain some strength. I’ve seen a young Hispanic girl beginning to excel in school due to the tireless kindness of a tutor who loves her and never misses a session. I’ve watched a mom in a tight spot find the toehold she needed due to the goodwill of a stranger who wanted to help with no possibility of acknowledgement.

I don’t know what the future will hold. But lately I’ve gotten off my phone and into real life, and I’ve watched one small miracle after another small miracle pull those I love a little further along. And one day those miracles will add up, and these friends will be back on sure footing. One prayer at a time, one hurdle at a time, one miracle at a time.

We can’t always see where we’re headed. We don’t always understand why things happen the way they do. But what I’ve seen lately has reaffirmed my belief that if we lift one another up, and if we keep faith in our basic humanity, we can slowly overcome the impossible. Stranger to stranger, friend to friend, human to human, it’s up to us to say the prayers, do the work, lend the helping hand, and watch the miracles happen through us.

And who knows what the future will hold. It might not be crazy at all.

BirminghamWatch steps into the breach: Veteran journalists provide in-depth local coverage for the city

Posted on February 23, 2017 Written by Carl

By Carl Carter, APR

When I arrived at The Birmingham News with a newly minted journalism degree in the mid ‘70s, one of the first people I got to know was Carol Nunnelley, then covering City Hall. We and dozens of others worked hard on a newspaper that went through four editions a day. There were endless boring meetings, all nighters counting votes, and occasional shouting matches as reporters competed for space and resources for stories they cared about deeply.

After a decade, I bolted for a PR career, but Nunnelley and many others soldiered on. And at a point when most would be content to sit and reminisce, she has once more emerged as a major force in Alabama journalism, as co-founder and editor of BirminghamWatch. It’s an ambitious — maybe even Quixotic — undertaking for anybody, but especially noteworthy for someone who long ago earned her spot in the annals of American journalism.

After a full career capped by eight as managing editor of The Birmingham News, she took on a new challenge with Associated Press Managing Editors, a job that took her across the country, training journalists and building bridges between media and readers. Meanwhile, back home, The Birmingham News was following the national trend for newspapers, cutting back on editions and coverage, reducing staff, and leaving stories uncovered.

Nunnelley wasn’t willing to concede the news business to mediocrity. At least not in her home town. She and two others founded the Alabama Initiative for Independent Journalism, setting it up as a 501(c)3 nonprofit entity, similar to about 100 others around the country, including the widely followed Pro Publica. The AIIJ publishes BirminghamWatch, which — like most nonprofit news organizations — relies largely on philanthropy and reader donations for support, much like Public Radio. The AIIJ also received a welcome grant in August 2016 from the Ethics and Excellence in Journalism Foundation.

The project began with some financial backing from individuals, with experienced journalists who were willing to donate their time to help get it launched. BirminghamWatch published its first story in September 2015 and has never looked back. Key to its operations and success from the very beginning has been another Birmingham News alum, Emily Jones Rushing, who serves as president of the board.

“We try to focus on news that matters, especially on topics that aren’t getting the attention we believe they deserve,” said Nunnelley. “We’re able to focus on the longer term, without the pressure of day to day deadlines. At the same time, we’re seeking just the right balance between beefier, in-depth stories and shorter pieces that might have more immediate reader appeal,” she said.

Education, state and local government, the economy and the environment have been major topics of coverage, but she takes extra pride in the voter guides prepared for the most recent elections. BirminghamWatch partnered for those guides with WBHM 90.3, Weld, B-Metro, Starnes Publishing (publisher of regional newspapers around metro Birmingham), Trussville News, Public Libraries of Jefferson County, and the League of Women Voters. The guides provided key non-partisan information about key races in Shelby and Jefferson counties.

Most recently, BirminghamWatch has established a partnership with Weld to ensure that all meetings of the Birmingham City Council and Jefferson County Commission are staffed. “The people of Birmingham need to know what’s happening in their community, and how it affects their lives,” said Weld Publisher Mark Kelly. “For us, working with Carol and BirminghamWatch is an integral part of our efforts to fulfill that mission.”

Things aren’t perfect. Nothing in media is, these days. Nunnelley is acutely aware of the gaps in sustained coverage of surrounding cities and counties, where many councils, commissions, school boards and other government agencies work without the oversight of any watchdog media.

“There are budget limitations, of course. We have to do what we can based on the personnel available. But we’re continuing to work hard to provide coverage of things that are important for the people who live, work and do businesses in greater Birmingham. We’re getting more traffic at birminghamwatch.org, and we continue to work to earn local support. We’ll continue experimenting with various models for providing sustainable coverage, but we do rely on the financial backing of local individuals, and I think we’ll see more of that support as people get in the habit of relying on our coverage and gain confidence that we’re in this for the long haul,” she said.

As a note, I must point out that while I engage in public relations work for clients, I follow a strict policy of disclosing whether I’m getting paid to write something, and by whom. That is a requirement of the Public Relations Society of America’s Code of Ethics. BirminghamWatch is not a client. They didn’t pay me a dime to write this. BirminghamRaw does not publish sponsored content.

Donations to BirminghamWatch are tax deductible and may be sent to:

Alabama Initiative for Independent Journalism, Inc.
147 Glenview Drive
Birmingham, AL 35213

Discovering the ugliness of a magical world

Posted on January 29, 2017 Written by Lindsay Fernandes

By Lindsay Fernandes

So I was trying to figure out how to begin here, and in my jumble of thoughts I hit upon the word “raw.” For one thing, that’s how I feel. Raw. Along with millions, literally millions of others. For another thing, that’s what this blog is about. Birmingham Raw. Being open, stark and sometimes ugly. So I’m going to lay it out on the line – who I am, where I came from, and why I’m so very, very raw right now.

Let me tell you a story about a time I went with my dad to Home Depot to pick out a rose bush. I was young; probably lower elementary, which would mean late 80s, early 90s. And I saw a man dressed as a woman. It was obvious this was a man, and I tugged on my dad’s shirt and asked him why that man had on girl’s clothes. He didn’t miss a beat, and whispered back, “Oh, that’s a transvestite. Sometimes men feel like they should dress in women’s clothes, and we call that a transvestite.” I thought that was a little wild, but more in a “whoa, I just saw a transvestite!” kind of way, not in a “look at this disgusting spectacle of sin and depravity,” kind of way. So I went home and told my mom what we saw at Home Depot. She might have looked slightly aghast, maybe said, “Wait, where have y’all been?” but then she just shrugged and said, “Yep, that’s what it was. Everybody’s different, and some men dress like women.” And I stored that word in my psyche and processed it as a different kind of normal.

This is one small example of a childhood that left me entirely unprepared for the realities we face in America today. I grew up a white girl on a cul de sac of ethnic and religious diversity, quite literally named Strollaway Lane, and when they taught me that racism and bigotry were in the past, I believed them. I played side by side with black kids, Islamic kids, Catholic kids. I had Islamic immigrants on one side and African American FBI agents on the other. I went to Hoover High School, and there were a few openly gay kids. It was okay though, because that was when everybody watched Will & Grace, so it was sort of cool and maybe a little edgy to have “Jack” as a friend. Then I went to Millsaps College, which is just about as liberal as liberal can be, and there were gay kids everywhere. All religions, all ethnicities, all shapes and sizes and colors. During and after college I dated the man who is now my husband. He’s a natural born American citizen, but he’s first generation. His parents were immigrants.

And here’s something pretty raw and real.

It took me YEARS to realize we were an interracial couple. Which is funny, because I’m actually a pretty smart girl. But it just never occurred to me. I don’t say this to pat myself on the back for how open minded and forward thinking I am, but to highlight the intense naiveté of my childhood experience. I genuinely didn’t think it mattered. I had no idea that colors and races and religions actually mattered. The nineties, especially for me, were a time when everyone sort of politely pretended to be accepting, when people said all the right things. But I thought it was real. Because in my house, it was.

So fast forward to now, and how I’ve been so intensely blindsided by the vitriol and anger that currently permeates our culture. It was a sucker punch for me. And it hurts, and it’s scary, and it’s incredibly real in a way that I was totally unprepared for. I wept relentlessly on election night and the following day. I hid from my kids to cry in the kitchen. I commiserated with my neighbors, who happen to be incredible, awesome people that God put in my life because I need them. I said the F word a lot more than usual. I stumbled upon some new, unexpected friends who have proven an invaluable source of comfort and relief.

And I found, to my shame, that it was my African American friends who gave me that pat on the back and the brace to the spine that I needed most. It was my African American friends who shook their heads and said, “Lindsay, don’t let this get you down. We’re going to pray, and we’re going to stand up for what’s right, and we’ll get through this. We’ll be alright.” And I realized with a tremendous jolt that they were well equipped for this world, and I wasn’t. I was a sheltered white girl who thought that racism was over. At least over “out loud.” But they knew better, because their reality had been starkly different to mine all along and I just didn’t know.

This is the raw part. I was totally clueless. Completely naïve. Living in an ivory tower. A dream world. But now my eyes are open. I look at my kids and I see the grandchildren of immigrants. I look at my last name, and I know it looks “Mexican.” And then I think about that damn wall. And then I think about the millions of refugees, the millions of disenfranchised, the millions of fellow Americans who are fearful because they’re different, or dependent, or sick, or gay, or the wrong color, or the wrong religion.

And I realize that no one can afford the luxury of naiveté anymore. It’s time for eyes wide open, because that’s the only way to get things done. That’s the only way forward. Let’s own it. Let’s be raw. Let’s proclaim our truths so that we can shed them and walk into the future with free hands, no baggage.

I was a smart, clueless, happy little white girl. A product of a magical childhood. A product of fabulous parents who hoped avidly for the future they prepared me for.

Where are you raw? What is your truth? Own it. Be raw for a minute. And then get up and move.