Editor’s note: This is a series of questions OpenAI’s ChapGPT came up with when prompted to interview a new newspaper owner in town.
The conversation has been edited, as both ChatGPT and Rashah McChesney are long-winded.
How long have you been working in journalism?
I developed my first published photograph in a dark room at the Daily Cougar at the University of Houston in 2004. I’ve been working as a professional journalist since 2010.
What motivated you to become a journalist?
I became a journalist because I wanted it to be my job to photograph every day. I stayed in journalism because I’ve always wanted to break people out of the bubbles they live in and surprise them with the wonder and mystery and humanity of the places where they live.
Can you describe a particularly impactful story or project you’ve worked on?
I’ve been published in the Washington Post, gotten to be a guest on Science Friday at NPR, had a podcast I created get downloaded by thousands of people, seen photos I’ve taken get picked up by the BBC and by outlets in China and Poland, but nothing has felt as powerful and impactful as reporting in my own backyard. Especially in moments when I can see that people are receding from each other, barriers are going up and communication is failing. There’s fear and mistrust and my instinct is to jump in and try to build some connective tissue.
One particular story in Juneau sticks with me. It was in December of 2019 and we got a call that a police officer had shot and killed a man early on that morning. I drove out to an apartment complex to find out what happened and it was silent, cold and there were scraps of yellow crime scene tape everywhere. I kept walking up to people and most of them didn’t want to talk about the details of what had happened. But, a handful of people stopped, some of them started crying; it turns out many of them had heard the gunshot and some of them had watched Kelly Michael Stephens – better known as Rabbit – essentially bleed to death outside of their homes.
Some were afraid of retribution from the police, or didn’t want to be associated with Rabbit’s struggles with addiction. But, a handful of them told me that – among other things – Rabbit was a tattoo artist. Many of them had tattoos from him and, while they weren’t willing to tell me their names or show me their faces, they gladly pulled up their shirts or rolled up their sleeves to show off his tattoos.
In that moment, the inevitable fight over whether the killing was justified and how the police responded and who was in the wrong faded away and people were able to share the humanity of the man who died – to tell stories about him that no one else seemed to care about. And I think often for those who live in poverty, or who are in active addiction, or those who live out their daily lives in the margins that we shove people into, their experience with journalists and journalism doesn’t hold space for that humanity. It is a profound responsibility.
What experiences have you had as a journalist in Alaska specifically?
I moved to Alaska in 2012 to work for the Peninsula Clarion. I’ve bounced all over Alaska since then, but I think I’ll always be a Kenai girl at heart.
When I left there, I landed in Juneau to work a stint at the Associated Press covering the legislative session in 2015 – remember that one? Oil prices tanked, the PFD got pulled into politics – it was a big year. When I left, I was asked to temporarily step in at the public radio station, KTOO. I stayed for six years working first on Alaska’s Energy Desk and then leading the city team. I’ve also been pinch-hitting as an editor for KYUK in Bethel.
How has working in Alaska shaped your approach to journalism?
I moved to this state to work in community news, learn what it was like to be beholden to a small town and I’ve not been disappointed. I have two degrees in journalism now, but I learned more about the necessity and value of journalism in Alaska than anywhere else. Here are a few of those key lessons:
- That you must hold power to account – even when you have to see them at the grocery store later.
- That when you’re telling a story of great interest to communities outside of the one it originated in, you must carefully weigh the curiosity of outsiders against the very real experiences and needs of those living the story.
- That there are more than two sides to every story, but pretty much everyone in town knows all of the facts and woe betide the hapless cheechako who gets them wrong.
Why did you decide to take ownership of a newspaper in Haines?
I’ve never had the pleasure of living in Haines, but I’ve always admired the local newspaper, how it doesn’t pull punches and has a reputation for being fiercely independent. I love that the town is engaged and as a person who prioritizes public discourse, I value the sheer volume of it in Haines.
I’m sure I’ll find moments of exhaustion in chronicling each successive controversy. But, the thing is, we need people to be engaged in their communities in this way. We need to fight with each other to find our boundaries and build a better community for everyone.
I think this is the perfect place to help a newspaper evolve from being a paper you hold in your hands, to one you can also see on your phone, or in a newsletter in your inbox every day.
How do you view the role of a local newspaper in a community?
We know that newspapers in this country are dying at an alarming rate. Since 2005, thousands of them have closed and we’ve lost more than half of our country’s newspaper journalists in about that same time period.
Beyond the human-interest pieces, local controversies, and public safety stories – what this means is that a lot of places are losing access to credible sources of information. You can spend as much time on Facebook and Nextdoor as you’d like, but they will never replace the value of having an experienced journalist keeping an eye on the power brokers, local government, schools, and the private businesses in your town.
Community newspapers in Alaska are the barnacles of the news ecosystem. Even as they get slimmer, lose ad revenue, fail to capture younger audiences in their communities – they are still clinging to survival. Most have not moved into digital spaces in a meaningful way and are losing readers, subscribers, and advertisers as a result – the Chilkat Valley News is not exempt from this. But, to me, these problems are not indicators that communities in Alaska do not want good journalism – they are signs that news outlets must evolve to address the needs of the modern news consumer.
I think every community that wants to thrive, be sustainable, and move toward being an equitable place for all who live there – needs a newspaper holding up a mirror. We are a crucial cog in the machinery of democracy.
So when Kyle Clayton, the former publisher of this newspaper, called to say he was thinking of selling – I realized that this was my chance to get in and tackle this problem head-on.
How do you plan to engage with the local community through your newspaper?
First and foremost, I plan to be a source of critical news and information to the community. But, I will also be there to photograph your kids playing sports, and the deluge of drunk Canadians and legislators who roll through town for beerfest, and the wild eagle party each fall – to show you the weird and wonderful in the mundane.
Are there specific types of stories or issues you are passionate about covering?
I am a community news connoisseur – it helps to be nosy. From the quilt show, to the controversial books in the library, to the best pickles at the farmers market, to the people struggling to beat addiction, to who caught which fish where and how big it was, I am interested in it all. I want to know how you move through life, what drives you and why – and then I want to tell other people about it.
How do you intend to balance local interests with broader news?
I have a very specific news hierarchy that I follow. I will prioritize local news, and then pick up stories from the region that may be relevant to us. Then statewide news that could impact the community. Then national or international news as it becomes available. I have a strong preference for investigative news and what outlets like ProPublica are doing to uncover corruption.
What changes or innovations, if any, are you planning to introduce in the newspaper?
I think there are a lot of digital spaces we could be in – and I’m not just talking about social media, though there’s a value in meeting people where they are. In my dream world, I can use the paper’s archives and AI to teach students (and heck, maybe adults in the community who are interested) how to query AI tools, fact-check what they find and recognize misinformation when they see it.
Do you have any role models in journalism or editors who have inspired you?
Right now, Larry Persily is a role model. I often tell people he’s Alaska’s news dad. He has put so many resources into keeping community news alive in this state – I aspire to that level of dedication to our mission as journalists.
I grew up watching Peter Jennings and Walter Cronkite and have always valued journalism that gives context to the news of the day – though I often do not agree with what television news prioritizes. When I was younger, I wanted to be Helen Thomas – particularly at the height of her time when she was grilling presidents like errant school children. These days, I’m much more likely to read a story written by former Haines journalist Claire Stremple or Alaska Beacon editor Andrew Kitchenman. They both have a great sense for what impacts people at the community level – even as they tell statewide stories.
For the last few years I have aspired to be more like Tara Haelle. She is, among other things, a health and science journalist who was writing about vaccine hesitancy and misinformation long before the COVID-19 pandemic came along. What I admire about her writing is that it shows a steadfast willingness to hear people out, to seek out facts, debunk myths and – at a time when a lot of journalists struggled to keep their own biases in check – she has been a strong voice of reason. I believe that people like her are the reason communities can continue to grow and learn together – even as they’re fighting battles rooted in fear of each other.
How do you plan to maintain journalistic integrity and trust with your readers?
By being transparent, open to the idea of being wrong, correcting mistakes quickly and operating under a “no surprises” rule with people.
What are your thoughts on the role of digital media in local journalism?
I operate with the philosophy that we have to meet people where they are, whether that’s in print, online, or in person. The value of journalism shouldn’t be limited to one group of people who prefer to consume it in one specific way.
How has your family contributed to your success as a journalist?
Like many families, mine has had its challenges. But one thing I’ve always felt is that we love each other and we fight for each other (even while we’re fighting each other). I have six brothers, two sisters and my parents and while most of them have gone into blue collar careers – I’ve always felt that they supported and nurtured my inner office-dwelling nerd. They gift books, listen to my rants about news and the media industry as a whole, tell me when I’ve written something incomprehensible and should start over. In fact, I called my dad the other day to ask about contracting and the Lutak Dock – he had plenty of insight.
Can you describe a challenging moment in your career where the support of others made a difference?
During 2020, one of my sisters got sick – and I took care of her for nearly a year – and then one of my brothers died suddenly. I was managing a daily newsroom in Juneau, helping keep the public radio network afloat while also alone in my home and I absolutely hit rock bottom. I thought I had failed as a journalist, as a sibling, as a human. But my community in Alaska wouldn’t let me quietly disappear – no matter how much I tried.
I heard from people all over the state after my brother died, some who I had considered colleagues or maybe friendly acquaintances. They came together and filled my house with food, made me feel welcomed, needed, and valued. A number of people reached out to tell me that they too had lost a sibling, that I was not alone and that it was OK to grieve.
It was what I needed to get up to go to work every day, and those connections are why I was able to continue telling stories and really thinking about what my friends and neighbors might need to know to go about their day.