Community partnerships prove crucial for engaging residents of the Imperial Valley on the health challenges they face

There is one word that has been at the center of my mind over the last several months that I spent trying to be present among the many communities of Imperial Valley – intimacy.

It’s not something you can expect from anyone, let alone demand. And maybe in some kinds of journalism, it’s not even necessary. But it was in this case: People who live and work in the Imperial Valley are busy with their lives, and some reporter calling from San Diego most likely won’t get noticed. But that reporter showing up repeatedly just might.

As a 2024 California Health Equity Fellow at the USC Center for Health Journalism, I put that experiment into practice.

When I learned that companies were eyeing vast stores of lithium under the Salton Sea, I had many questions. While local leaders in Imperial Valley have been looking to lithium as a potential revenue stream that could transform the region, community opinion has been mixed. As a reporter, one of my first impulses was to ask community members what it is they wanted to see. Nearly everyone spoke to me about the struggling rural health care system. They listed off tons of concerns, topic by topic.

Local hospitals have been struggling financially and shutting down essential programs. For example, the year prior to this project El Centro Regional Medical Center closed its obstetrics department, leaving one maternity ward in the county. Now the region is undergoing a redistricting process that many hope will help stabilize and consolidate resources. In the wake of those financial struggles is a community watching their already thin resources become ever more scarce.

I set out with an open-ended question: How are Imperial Valley community members getting the health care they need?

The Imperial Valley is a geographically isolated community. It's a desert valley on the U.S.-Mexico border, mountain ranges straddle it east to west, and the degrading Salton Sea tucks deep into its agriculture-focused towns. 

Step one was simple but not easy – make myself present.          

I attended community meetings and events in Imperial Valley, often just to listen – from Salton City to Bombay Beach, from Calipatria to Calexico, from Brawley to El Centro, Imperial to Holtville, and back and forth across the border to Mexicali, where I would stay. I walked the streets for hours getting a taste of what it means to spend time in the valley in a year when extreme heat days might break records. 

I walked into businesses at random, lingered in the library, and I even frequented the Imperial splash pad and talked with community members who also needed a refresher. Of course, I got in the water, too. 

It’s reporting by hanging out, as an investigative reporter once told me.

Of course, it raised plenty of questions I often had to answer on the fly. Not everything was effective. How do you create the possibility of open-hearted conversation without being a part of a community, particularly where journalists are often seen as outsiders? 

I tried as many engagement strategies as possible. We printed cards advertising listening sessions, and included QR codes to surveys where people could write to us about what they thought was important. It seemed open-ended; maybe people would feel inclined to share their frustrations.

Sometimes it worked. I stood in public and tried to engage folks in conversation and lead them up the survey. A couple filled it out. It was interesting, but also frustrating. How do you get someone to care?

But we also took another, more efficient approach. In the community there are a number of devoted and active organizers who already know very well what is needed to engage folks, since it’s a deep part of their practice. With the help of three community organizations (The Becoming Project, Imperial Valley Equity and Justice, and Los Amigos de la Comunidad) and with the support of the fellowship and my leadership team at inewsource, we held three community listening sessions in Calipatria, Calexico and Brawley. 

Dozens of community members came and shared with us their stories and told us what we need to pay attention to.

One benefit I did not foresee that came with partnering with these organizations is that they knew the dynamics of the community and could help guide the conversations in nuanced ways. They knew the power dynamics, they knew whose voices might need a special kind of attention for them to feel comfortable sharing.

I was moved for instance when an organizer navigated a complicated conversation back to community members after a local leader held the stage for what she felt was long enough. She was polite, but clear: Many of the folks in the room rarely had the stage to speak.

We served food. Sharing a meal reminds us that what’s taking place is ultimately a human interaction, not just a transaction and a reporter’s search for material.

Reporting like this takes time, and reminding yourself that before you are a journalist, you are a person, and that people are not just your “sources” but people living and facing the conditions in their own community.

Why should they speak to you at all? I think it's worth asking that question constantly.

I could have written a dozen stories from all that I learned over these months, thanks to the candid, nuanced stories community members bravely shared. In the end, my reporting was an answer to the concerns and issues community members brought up. It was clear that for many services, Imperial Valley residents are forced to travel beyond county lines, if they can. For expecting mothers, for example, that proves very challenging. It is also clear that the city of Mexicali, Baja California’s capital city, offers resources that often outshine local services. 

It's also abundantly clear is that the promises of lithium money as a means to improve Imperial Valley’s rural health care system will require ongoing community-powered insistence that their concerns be treated as a priority.