When Truth Wears a Paper Bag: Choosing Transparency in the North Country

A few days ago, I found myself in a conversation that began with what looked like, on the surface, a hopeful idea: an independent news project in the North Country, designed to share stories without paywalls or corporate influence. The mission was compelling, and in many ways aligned with my own belief in the power of community storytelling.

We exchanged a few messages, and they even invited me to be featured in their next post, which felt like an unexpected gift. The entire conversation was through Facebook messenger, between me and an unnamed admin of a local Facebook page. I responded with curiosity, hoping to understand who I was talking with, and how they approached authorship and attribution. 

I asked a simple, important question: who was behind the reporting? Who wrote the stories, edited the drafts, or made decisions about what to cover? Their answer caught me off guard. They explained that their collective does not operate with bylines or a public-facing editorial board. There were no names to share. The stories, they told me, should stand on their own, free of personal identities that might overshadow the facts.

For a moment, I had no words. What I felt in that pause was a mixture of disappointment, confusion, frustration, and a sudden, almost physical distance between us. It reminded me of moments in my own life when I have greeted someone with warmth and received only coldness in return, or when I have tried to connect and found nothing to resonate with. It reminded me of picking up the phone to a cold call, hearing a script with no heartbeat behind it, no anchor to land on. There was a hollowness to it that left me unsettled.

I felt unsettled because here in the North Country (and everywhere), trust depends on seeing. We live in a place where people still look one another in the eye, where a handshake carries weight, and where a name means something. When I asked for a name and received none, I realized just how deeply that matters to me, not only as a professional working in reputation and visibility, but as a human being.

Transparency, I believe, is what builds a healthy community. It starts in our earliest relationships, between a parent and a child, where honesty and clarity help a young person feel safe and secure. That sense of security is foundational, resting only a step above our most basic needs for food and shelter on Maslow’s hierarchy. Without it, everything else begins to feel unstable and out of reach.

When I think about transparency, I think about how it invites context. It offers us a lens through which to interpret what we hear. Knowing who stands behind the words allows us to place them, to measure their weight, to hold them accountable if necessary. Without that, information floats in a kind of vacuum. It can be repeated and shared, but it struggles to be trusted.

That trust is not just a nice-to-have in the North Country; it is essential. Most of us have at least one story that comes to mind when we think about how it feels when trust is broken. Maybe it was a business owner who was not upfront about their prices. Maybe it was a politician who twisted their stance to win favor, or a salesperson who quietly massaged the truth to close a deal. Maybe it was a parent who made a promise they couldn’t keep. We all know the damage that does because of the sting we still feel today when we remember these moments.

The simple truth is this: knowing who is behind something changes everything. It transforms a message from an empty echo into a conversation. It invites relationship. It calls forth meaning.

For me, the experience of asking that question, “who is behind your reporting?”, has been a clarifying moment for which I’m deeply grateful. It reminded me why I chose the name Clear View Advantage for my work. Clarity and visibility are not corporate slogans to me. They are values I live by. They are the foundation of the trust I build with clients, and the way I want to move through the world as a human being.

I thought back to the recent radio conversation I had with my friend Lynne, who was telling me about the nature of moths. They are drawn to light. I have always felt a kinship with that idea. Light is knowledge. Light is truth. Light is what lets us see where we stand. I want to move toward that, even if it sometimes feels risky, because stepping into the light is the only way to connect with others in a real, meaningful way.

When I picture someone choosing not to show their name while claiming to serve the truth, I think about a person trying to talk to me with a paper bag over their head, or speaking from behind a curtain, or refusing to look me in the eye. It reminds me of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, that faceless figure in Dickens’ story who points without speaking. There is something deeply unsettling about a presence that will not reveal itself. It asks us to trust blindly, and I struggle to feel confident in that.

I am still sitting with what this means for me and for this news collective. I do not want to dismiss their mission, because I believe the North Country deserves journalism that is independent, brave, and locally focused. I believe our stories matter. But I also believe that if we want trust to take root, it cannot grow in the dark. Even the strongest mission will fail if it cannot anchor itself in the names, faces, and human accountability that make a community real.

If there is one idea I would ask my neighbors across the North Country to hold onto, it is this: transparency must come before trust. 

Whether it’s in our businesses, our news sources, or our own personal relationships: if we want trust, we have to show ourselves. We have to remove the paper bag.

Because when we allow ourselves to be seen with all our strengths, flaws, and honest intentions, we make it possible for others to meet us with trust. We create a space where questions can be asked, where accountability can grow, and where genuine connection can thrive. That is what strengthens the North Country, and it's what makes this region resilient. 

In a place built on neighbors helping neighbors, transparency is more than a virtue. It is a promise: that we will stand behind our words, that we will own our mistakes, and that we will show up in the light together.

-Amanda