Emily Witherspoon has spent a lot of time panhandling—in her case, flying signs, which means holding a sign asking for cash—in West Asheville, North Carolina. Now she earns money on the streets in a different way: She sells copies of The Intersection, a new bimonthly, physical street newspaper written by unhoused people in Asheville—people whose voices she says often go unheard.
Street papers are newspapers that typically cover life and politics as they impact people who are housing insecure or unhoused. In some, articles are written by professional journalists; in others, articles are written by people with lived experience of homelessness. Street papers are sold by unhoused people as a legal way to earn money while developing skills like salesmanship and customer service. The International Network of Street Papers estimates there are ninety-two street papers in thirty-five countries.
Witherspoon, who was previously unhoused, likens street paper sales to harm reduction—a public health and wellness philosophy that encourages those who engage in high-risk behaviors to avoid the most dangerous forms of the behavior and to experiment with healthier alternatives, rather than punish them for the behavior or demanding total abstinence. “I would often fly [a sign], and you’d [hear] ‘Get a job!’” Witherspoon says. “But this, you’re selling a paper. It’s helping to build the first steps of going back to work . . . . This is harm reduction in action.”
The Intersection is a project of the Asheville Poverty Initiative, a nonprofit that seeks to educate the community about poverty. The publication’s editorial meetings are hosted by editor Leslee Johnson, professor of humanities at University of North Carolina Asheville. They’re held Saturday mornings at Asheville Poverty Initiative’s 12 Baskets Cafe, which serves free food to anyone who needs it, four days a week.
Johnson started the paper last fall as a continuation of a weekly, twenty-person writing group she has run with the Asheville Poverty Initiative for the past four years and a zine group she’s helmed for the past two years. (They publish a new zine quarterly featuring the writing group’s work; they’re about to publish their eighth zine.) She says she envisioned a newspaper becoming a way for 12 Baskets’ guests to reach people beyond its doors.
Asheville’s street paper began around the same time that the city tightened restrictions on solicitation, the city’s official term for panhandling. Though solicitation with a sign is currently permitted throughout Asheville, the city has had a panhandling ordinance since 1965. Panhandling on medians is forbidden, and previously, verbal panhandling was forbidden in two tourist areas of Asheville. In August, Asheville City Council voted 6 to 1 to expand the restriction to three additional areas. The Intersection, Johnson says, “is a response to that.”
So far, The Intersection has published two issues, each eight pages in broadsheet newspaper form. The team at the paper has profiled a founding member of 12 Baskets, written about a new local homeless shelter, and published poetry, art, games, and horoscopes. The Asheville Poverty Initiative’s chaplain also writes a column in each issue.
A $2,500 grant from ArtsAVL, an arts organization in Asheville, funded the first two issues of The Intersection. Asheville Poverty Initiative partially funded the third issue, in addition to Johnson selling classified ads at one-fourth or one-eighth of a page. She uses the graphic design program Canva to assemble the newspaper with a template from the Newspaper Club, a digital design service which prints and delivers their papers. The Intersection’s first print run in the fall sold out at 150 papers, so they printed another 150 and also sold out those; the next run was 300 papers and as of now, there are only a few copies left, Johnson says.
Kelly Redfern, who writes the paper’s horoscopes, is formerly unhoused and is a self-taught astrologist who follows tarot and divination content on YouTube. She carries a sketchbook with her to jot down thoughts for the horoscope throughout the week.
Redfern is also one of The Intersection’s seven vendors, whose locations and distribution times are overseen by Johnson. She usually vends in front of a grocery store in West Asheville. While vending, she—along with other vendors—wears a blue badge on a yellow lanyard with her name on one side and information about how the First Amendment guarantees the right to sell newspapers on the other. She sometimes calls out “Extra! Extra!” as part of her sales pitch.
Vendors—some of whom also write for the newspaper—receive a batch of ten papers for free to sell for $3 apiece; they can then purchase additional copies for $1 apiece. They accept payment in cash or via Venmo, which is later paid out by the Asheville Poverty Initiative. Tee McCraig, a volunteer at 12 Baskets, says this model “is reenfranchising the disenfranchised” and provides “a palatable way to share resources.” People who may not feel comfortable giving to individuals soliciting on the street might feel better buying a paper.
Mike Findlay, CEO of the International Network of Street Papers, says the sales process allows the vendors to develop workforce-ready customer service skills, such as communication and sales. This is helpful for unhoused folks who may be looking for an on-ramp to other employment. “Street papers not only provide people with a chance to make a dignified income, but they also give people a sense of purpose and community,” Findlay wrote in an email to The Progressive.
Before taking on the project, Johnson consulted with Will Connelly, the executive director of the street paper The Contributor in Nashville, Tennessee. Connelly says he helped start the biweekly paper in 2007 as a way “to change the panhandling dynamic” by empowering the people who were relying on the practice for an income. The Contributor now has 200 vendors who buy paper copies for fifty cents and sell them for $2; customers can purchase an issue online or through a QR code on the front of the newspaper. The publication also pays its writers $20 per every 250 words. (Currently, The Intersection does not pay its writers.)
While street papers have their own success stories, Connelly underscores the importance of remembering why they exist and whom they serve. “A street newspaper is uncovering or showing people in the community the reality of the conditions in our city—some of the stuff that people don’t always want to think about,” Connelly says. “And that can be tough.”
Street Sense is another street paper, published and sold biweekly by the unhoused community in Washington, D.C. At its peak before the pandemic, Street Sense printed 16,000 copies, according to Brian Carome, CEO of Street Sense Media. Nowadays, the publication prints 5,200 issues, which are sold by 110 vendors who buy issues for 50 cents and sell them for $3. Whereas The Intersection is run completely by volunteers, Street Sense employs two full-time editors and has a rotating cohort of four to six journalism, photography, and graphic design interns, Carome says. The interns do most of the hard news reporting, but in this past fall, Street Sense received a small grant from the Nora Roberts Foundation to train four vendors to also write.
Street Sense trains its vendors on sales techniques and customer service. “You’ve got to see the vendors as ambassadors,” Carome says. “You want to make sure they understand how visible they are, and how negative impressions can really hurt the paper, and how positive ones can help it.” And it’s working: “We’re twenty-plus years into this, we’re very well established, and we’ve got a real loyal following.”
Reader loyalty is crucial to street papers’ success. Customers will buy a “paper not just for great journalism,” Findlay says, “but also to support [their] local street paper vendor.”
Redfern, the vendor, says she gets more out of The Intersection than just an opportunity to write and a way to make money. The street paper is meaningful because “we get to tell what’s important about our community,” she said. “This is us leaving a footprint for others, [telling them] ‘This is what we experienced.’ ”