Early this December (2025), my team and I found ourselves in the heart of DC, awaiting to present our findings and recommendations for Fayette County to the funders, external stakeholders, and other participants of the Appalachian Collegiate Research Initiative (ACRI).  The Annual ACRI Conference, hosted by the Appalachian Regional Commission (ARC) and East Tennessee State University, provided a bit of a shift in demeanor that my team and I needed to adapt to. While some members of the crowd at the conference may have once worked in Uniontown, or were originally born in Connellsville, the majority of our audience were students and University faculty, having just completed the same timeline of work we had accomplished. 100 students, from 13 different Universities along the Blue Ridge, dove into bodies of work similar to ours, with the same goals in mind: economic development, uplifting residents, and aiding distressed counties recognized by the ARC.

This new audience demands that we be conscious of a different set of standards, ones set by the conferences that students and faculty have filled for the past two decades. Rather than having to be meticulous regarding every word you speak and careful where your intentions lie, you must instead be conscientious of how you come off when describing the work that you conducted. Did you “change” an asset in the town for the better, lacking the approval of the town officials and people? Or did you first listen to the concerns of those very town folk, come to a consensus with your team on primary issues that can be somewhat addressed with our given bandwidth, and then provide recommendations on what the town can initiate?

There isn’t as much of a concern regarding “real-world” consequences or, say, a client not approving of your work. Rather, there’s the fear of coming off as condescending, depicting the clients and stakeholders you worked with so closely as beneath you. We must distinguish ourselves as not saviors, not white knights, and especially not a group of stuck-up city kids coming into town and deciding “what’s right.” Which, to be honest, I felt some Universities struggled with.

It was fascinating to see the varying projects that groups brought forth, attempting to remedy such contrasting issues, with unique solutions of their own. Some universities dealt solely with natural disaster relief in the wake of Hurricane Helene’s destruction, citing how it’s not as simple as federal funding reaching those who need it. Another university specialized in highlighting medical issues rampant in the Appalachian region, utilizing their public health track of study; they acknowledged the fact that so many people disproportionately struggle with access to medical insurance and primary care attention. However, some initiatives were met with more criticism and doubt than others, like one team pushing for literacy in AI tool use in marketing and for personal use. It’s obvious to see why the recommendation of AI use in a distressed county that usually possesses less frequent technology access seems silly, but they set the precedent that there must be a first for everything in innovation. I think it’s just as obvious to see that we all had our hearts in the right place.

Growing up in the NYC borough of Queens, anything “Appalachia” was far removed from my vocabulary. I frankly hadn’t learned much about the region or met anyone from the region until I attended the University of Pittsburgh, nestled a lot closer to the Alleghenies. I was only familiar with harmful stereotypes that depicted people incorrectly, and instilled damaging generalizations of a people I’ve come to idolize. My interactions with the fine people of Fayette County, and what can be chalked up as my experience with Appalachia thus far at large, have been embarrassing. It’s embarrassing to admit my only preconceived notion of the population in Fayette County stemmed from these harmful stereotypes. Now that isn’t to say I believed them wholeheartedly, but it’s all I had at my disposal for years. I had never bothered to challenge the stereotypes for my own education and awareness. How can I consider myself worldly?!

My experience has been eye-opening. You can fully recognize the privileges you possess when working in a distressed county full of pride. Not only do I live in an area that can provide for me in terms of education, food, and housing, but the same goes for where I come from– and most likely, wherever I will go. It’s easy to be proud of yourself and your hometown when all of these resources are at your disposal, but it means something substantial to me to see pride more radiant than mine in a county with less to show for it. When I’m older, I’ll see this experience in retrospect as a reminder to myself– be wary of your privileges, and how deeply rooted they are. It extends beyond the cash in your pocket; there’s location, proximity to the closest school, a town willing to address the homeless issue they have– a town not letting such an issue permeate in the first place!

Contrary to the typical classroom course, this opportunity allowed me to work with real problems we see across the country, work with real people who can fight my opinion or suggestions, and allowed me to make important decisions in real time. Everything was real, which is rare to encounter in the scholastic setting. It really is a privilege to be thrown into uncomfortable circumstances, with volatile factors and situations, just to see how I’ll act– all while not having to delve into the adult, real world.