The Illusion of Together

Every destination says it: “We’re working with the community.” It sounds noble. Heartfelt. Strategic. When we say community, we mean residents.

And when we say engagement, we mean please stop fighting us on Facebook.

We’ve turned “community engagement” into the adult version of “group project.” A few people do the work. A few complain about the work. And the rest? They don’t even show up.

Still, every plan, campaign, and committee meeting begins the same way: “We want to hear from our community!” Cue the email blast, the QR code, the public forum that four people attend. One of them to complain about pickleball noise, and one to ask why the tourism office doesn’t have a TikTok.

We keep trying to build these idyllic 1950s versions of civic life: neighborhood potlucks, smiling volunteers, block captains. But it’s 2025. People don’t even answer their phones if it’s not DoorDash. Your community doesn’t want to meet at the rec center - they want to comment anonymously and feel heard immediately.

So let’s just say it:

Community development in 2025 means designing for distance and disinterest.

It’s not about dragging everyone into the town hall anymore. It’s about building systems that still work when most people are too busy, burned out, or binge-watching Love Is Blind to attend.

We can’t guilt people into engagement. We have to earn their trust quietly, over time. Community isn’t consensus anymore, it’s a survival strategy.

A DMO’s job is less “rally the troops” and more “keep the ship steady while everyone argues about the map.”

So no, your residents probably aren’t showing up. But they’re watching. They’re scrolling. And they’ll definitely notice if you screw it up.

That’s modern community. Invisible until it’s mad.

Three Lessons for the Modern Civic Era

1. Stop chasing consensus. You’re not building a choir. You’re managing a crowd.

2. Design for disengagement. Assume most people won’t participate. Build systems that still work when they don’t.

3. Trade nostalgia for trust. Mayberry’s gone (the fictional one!). But you can still build a place people believe in, if you stop pretending it’s 1956.

Lately, I’ve been meeting with destinations who aren’t burned out from crisis, they’re bruised from apathy. Not angry residents. Not political upheaval. Just the quiet ache of trying to lead when no one seems to care. That’s the part no one trains you for, when the meeting rooms are full, but the spirit is gone. When you realize “community fatigue” isn’t about opposition; it’s about emptiness. And that’s why this work matters. Because we’re not just marketing places anymore, we’re rebuilding the muscle of collective care.

🖤 – Jennifer Barbee

Publicly funded feelings. Privately held truths.

Wanna talk about it? Join my Haunted Happy Hour, Tourism Edition 10.31.25