Dear Sagebrush Sally,
I’m troubled by a recent public social media post that blames reporting by your website for the end of the Tecopa Hot Springs Park concessionaire contract, rather than acknowledging the operators’ own documented failure to comply with Inyo County requirements and the terms of the contract they signed. The post even referenced you by name, suggesting that your columns defend harmful behavior under the guise of free speech. What concerns me even more is that this framing was shared in a local community group where some residents were blocked from viewing or commenting, while others may have taken it at face value.
When people refuse to acknowledge their role in a failure—and instead shift blame onto others—it not only distorts the truth, it erodes trust in the community. In a place like Tecopa, where word travels fast and narratives can harden quickly, how do we promote accountability and honest self-reflection? And when someone can’t or won’t admit fault, what’s the best way to keep the record straight?
— Concerned About the Story We’re Telling
Dear Concerned About the Story We’re Telling,
Well, it’s not every day I get name-checked in a public post—though I suppose I should thank them for the free publicity. I’ll admit, it’s a strange thing to see my columns used as a prop in someone else’s argument, especially when the point being made is less about facts and more about preserving a preferred narrative.
The reality is this: the Tecopa Hot Springs Park concessionaire contract ended because the operators failed—documentedly—to meet the requirements of both Inyo County and the agreement they signed. That’s not my opinion; it’s written in the public record. No amount of social media spin, selective storytelling, or finger-pointing changes that.
I understand why people want to soften the blow of a loss. Admitting our own role in a failure is hard. But when the story being told is built on blame-shifting rather than accountability, it doesn’t just protect pride—it poisons trust. In a small community, that’s dangerous. It warps how we remember events, it divides neighbors, and it sets a precedent that truth is optional when it’s inconvenient.
Now, about the blocking and closed-door conversations. When certain voices are barred from the room, it’s not a conversation—it’s a performance. If the goal were truly dialogue, all perspectives would be allowed in. Limiting who can speak or hear only ensures that misinformation circulates unchecked.
So what do we do? We keep showing up with the facts, clearly and calmly. We resist being baited into personal mudslinging, because truth can stand on its own without insults to prop it up. And we remember that those unwilling to self-reflect may never change their story—but we can make sure the rest of the community has access to the real one.
Because here’s the thing: I’ll keep writing, whether my name is used as shorthand for free speech, journalism, or “troublemaking.” If defending open dialogue and an informed public gets me called out, I’ll wear that like a badge. The desert has a long memory, and facts last longer than Facebook posts.
— Sagebrush Sally
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