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We need to ask ourselves: Where does our garbage go?

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Tuesday, 02 September 2025

Written by D.G. Martin

Where does our garbage go? After you take it out of your house into your bin and roll it to the curb, the garbage truck comes to get it and rolls on out of your neighborhood. But then, where does it go?
My grandchildren, each in their own ways, were obsessed with all things garbage when they were little. They were always on high alert for the sound of the garbage truck’s arrival. We bought toy garbage trucks along with little, tiny rolling bins that amused them (and us!) for hours. Being a “garbage man” was the top career choice for one for a while.
They also had a book called “Where Does the Garbage Go?” The book read, “When the last layer of soil is spread on top of a landfill, grass and trees are planted on top of it. The landfill becomes a park or a playground.” There were drawings of a colorful playground, full of happy children. This cheery book, with wonderful intentions, showed a happy ending to a stinky pile of trash.
That book stuck with my granddaughter, and she recently wrote her college thesis on where, in fact, the garbage went for many years in Chapel Hill.
Spoiler alert: There is no happy playground on top of your local landfill if you live in Chapel Hill.
Some lucky communities that are next to a landfill might get a park in exchange. But in reality, being a landfill host community is much messier. Promises like parks are made to communities, and are often broken. Certain communities, usually those already burdened by poverty and racism, bear the burden again and again.
Here’s a little local history: For generations, the land near what are now Rogers and Eubanks roads in Chapel Hill was home to a historically Black community composed of farms and sawmills. The Rogers-Eubanks Neighborhood Association’s website says, “It was beautiful land. The woods were untouched, the streams were full of fish, and there were all types of birds and wildlife.”
But in the 1970s, Chapel Hill needed a new landfill, and the town chose land in the Rogers Road community. The town government offered the community benefits to soften the weight of the landfill’s presence. At the time, it was unusual — almost unheard of — for communities to receive any sort of incentive for bearing the burden of environmental hazards.
In exchange for the landfill, the Rogers-Eubanks community would receive water and sewer hookups, taking them off well water and septic. It was a clear recognition that there was the potential for water pollution.
And there were other promises -- of paving roads and installing sidewalks. After 20 years, the landfill would be closed and a new site would be found. And indeed, on top of the landfill would be a park. At the heart of this agreement was Mayor Howard Lee, Chapel Hill’s first Black mayor and the first Black mayor of a majority-white Southern city since Reconstruction.
Mayor Lee knew the burden of the landfill would impact the community. Knowing this, he made a deliberate effort to engage with residents.
Despite Mayor Lee's good intentions and engagement, the repercussions came fast and hard. Trucks rolled through daily, and smells filled the air and homes. The tap water ran brown, laced with unsafe bacteria. Pests roamed the streets scavenging trash. Community members became sick.
Residents protested, but to no avail. In the 1990s, the landfill was expanded further into the community.
Then, after more than four decades — 42 years of bearing the unseen and too often ignored costs — the community won a rare and hard-earned victory. The landfill was closed in 2013. The town funded a community center, which is a vital hub for the neighborhood.
But problems plague the community. Many homes are still not connected to the water and sewer lines. Some residents bathe in contaminated well water and purchase bottled water for drinking and cooking. The promise of sidewalks was not fulfilled by the town of Chapel Hill. And indeed, there is no park.
So where does our garbage go these days? Now our garbage travels an hour and a half to Sampson County. And just like Rogers Road, it sits next to a historically Black community, already burdened by hog and poultry farms. This community was told the landfill would not grow, but what started as a 20-acre landfill is now over 1,000. Different place, same story.
Across the South and the nation, familiar patterns repeat: land once home to communities long pushed aside is now used for landfills, industry, or other unwelcome uses—too often without residents’ say.
We’ve got to come to terms with the fact that solutions are rarely simple. They’re almost never wrapped up in bright colors or easy endings, like those cheerful garbage trucks and parks on top of landfills in my grandkids’ book might suggest. The real work of solving problems isn’t neat or easy. It’s messy. It’s complicated. And it demands more than good intentions.
When we go looking for solutions—whether it’s in government, education, or how we deal with our stinky, dangerous trash—we can’t just ask, “What’s the fix?” We’ve got to ask, “Who’s being affected?” and just as importantly, “Are they being heard?”

Publisher's Pen: Cracker Barrel, “This Bud’s for You!”: A tale of two branding blunders

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Tuesday, 02 September 2025

Written by Bill Bowman

I love Cracker Barrel! In my twenty-one annual motorcycle trips to the Midwest, Cracker Barrel consistently delivered that warm, down-home Southern cooking and hospitality that started each day just the way Uncle Hershel designed it.
In today’s hyper-reactive marketplace, brands seem to be under constant pressure to change and evolve. However, from a marketing point of view, when change comes at the expense of abandoning your brand, the consequences can be unforgiving.
It takes years to build a brand. Anyone who knows me also knows I believe in branding as defined by three simple truths: Who you are. What you are. What you stand for.
It amazes me that successful products like Bud Light and iconic corporations like Cracker Barrel could make such poor and catastrophic decisions—whether it’s redesigning an iconic logo or partnering with a controversial figure like Dylan Mulvaney. How can you possibly lose sight of your customers and core audience who have served you well for decades? Curious minds would like to know.
Cracker Barrel abandoned its iconic image of “Uncle Hershel” sitting beside a cracker barrel, replacing it with a bland, minimalist design supposedly meant to modernize the brand and attract younger customers.
Wrong move. Nationwide, customers felt the company had abandoned its roots, and criticism came fast and harsh. At last count, this lapse in judgment cost Cracker Barrel nearly $100 million. However, it could have been much worse had they not reversed the decision just days later.
Not so with Bud Light. In 2023, they partnered with transgender influencer Dylan Mulvaney in a campaign to promote inclusivity. That campaign sparked a political firestorm across the country, leading loyal Bud Light customers to boycott the product—and in some cases, publicly destroy it.
Cracker Barrel’s $100 million mistake pales in comparison to Bud Light’s staggering $1.4 billion loss in sales, which ultimately dethroned them as the nation’s top-selling beer.
All of this adds credence to the adage: Go woke, go broke.
A brand and logo are not just concepts and graphics—they represent trust, nostalgia, history, and tradition. By choosing to preserve its original imagery, Cracker Barrel made a strategic decision to honor its heritage and reassure its loyal base.
Bud Light attempted a radical repositioning without fully understanding its audience. Their campaign wasn’t just progressive—it was political. A costly lesson, for sure. If change is needed, it must be evolutionary, not revolutionary.
Brands, businesses, organizations, and people must adapt to survive and thrive—but they must do so with empathy, clarity, and respect for the values that built their success.
Cracker Barrel’s course correction showed that even amid controversy, a brand can recover by reaffirming its identity. Bud Light, on the other hand, is still struggling to regain the market share it lost.
In the end, Cracker Barrel made the right call. It listened. It learned. And it chose legacy over trend. That’s a decision worth applauding—and one that other brands would do well to remember.
Keep your eyes on America’s most loved motorcycle brand, Harley-Davidson. They may be the next corporate tragedy if they aren’t paying close attention to their customer base or ignoring these conspicuous and disastrous business decisions. Just sayin’.
Thank you for reading Up & Coming Weekly.
See you at Cracker Barrel.

Many Americans ask: What has happened to us?

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Tuesday, 02 September 2025

Written by Margaret Dickson

Troy's Perspective: Fayetteville voters not interested?

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Tuesday, 26 August 2025

Written by Troy Williams

Political observers anticipate that Fayetteville's upcoming municipal election will attract a record number of voters. This expectation is significant, especially when considering that the last municipal primary only saw about eight percent voter turnout, with early voting estimated at just three percent.
Voter turnout for municipal elections is consistently much lower than for presidential and midterm congressional elections. One reason may be that municipal elections in North Carolina are usually nonpartisan and occur in odd-numbered years.
A partisan crowd packed the Cumberland County Board of Elections meeting on Aug. 5, ready to protest the potential exclusion of the early voting site at Cliffdale Recreation Center.
They reportedly received an early morning alarm from the Fayetteville branch of the NAACP, Democracy North Carolina, and Common Cause North Carolina, urging them to attend the meeting. Cliffdale is a popular voting site in Fayetteville, located on the west side of the Hollywood Heights subdivision, which is predominantly African American, just off Cliffdale Road.
The level of concern depends on who is speaking. Was there an actual need for worry? Board Chairman Linda Devore stated during an appearance on a WIDU radio talk show the following Friday that Cliffdale was never at risk of losing its status as a voting site, even if the board decided to extend the voting beyond the central election office.
Many African American voters believe that Republicans are suppressing their votes, especially since there have been recent changes in how the composition of local election boards is constructed. Cumberland County has a five-member majority Republican board.
Each term, both the Democratic and Republican parties submit recommendations to the state board of elections for two representatives from each party on the local board. The most recent change is that the State Auditor now appoints the chairman.
These changes are likely fueling the distrust in the system, which some leftist groups are exploiting to motivate voter participation through fear.
Has anyone's vote been suppressed in Cumberland County lately? That shouldn't be the case, but an early morning communication announcing an urgent call to arms can effectively rally the troops.
Fayetteville's issue with voting is not due to suppression, but rather a lack of engagement and interest among voters. Fayetteville has more than 130,000 registered voters, but in the last election, the primary voter turnout was in the single digits, and only about 12 percent of voters participated in the general election.
Approximately 13,000 voters decided for a city with a population of over 200,000 citizens. Around 57,000 voters are African American, while 42,000 are white. With Black voters having an advantage, it's perplexing to hear fears that white conservatives might take over. The numbers don't add up.
Cumberland County will submit two plans to the State Board of Elections because the local board of elections did not reach a unanimous vote. Both plans include two voting locations for early voting in the primary, and both designate Cliffdale as an early voting site. Voter suppression? No, it's just people who aren't interested in voting.