Where Southern Hospitality Begins
- Undisclosed
- 2 days ago
- 5 min read
Updated: 1 day ago
Welcome to Scioto County — “Where Southern Hospitality Begins.” You’ll find those words painted proudly on Portsmouth’s floodwall, part of over 2,000 feet of murals celebrating over 2,000 years of local history. It’s more than just a tagline — it’s the city’s official slogan, and has been for decades. A sweet little phrase that sounds like a hug wrapped in a warm, buttery biscuit.

But if you live here, really live here, day in and day out, you start to realize that “Southern Hospitality” often feels less like a promise and more like a warning.
Take the recent Portsmouth City Council debacle over a simple resolution, one that dared to say “we’re a welcoming place for all people,” including our LGBTQ+ neighbors. That’s it. It wasn’t an ordinance. It didn’t grant special rights. It didn’t cost anything. It was just an affirmation, a statement that everyone, regardless of identity, deserves to feel safe and respected in the city they call home. That seems pretty on-brand for a place that claims to be hospitable, right?
Apparently not.
Instead, we got a drawn-out process over three city council meetings, one of which (April 28th, 2025) included a four-hour public comment session where residents poured their hearts out. Queer students, service workers, outreach staff, and activists explained why this resolution mattered. They talked about discrimination, fear, and the harsh reality that LGBTQ+ youth are overrepresented in the homeless population and suicide statistics. Their message was clear: we can’t just pretend to be inclusive — we have to say it out loud.
In the days leading up to the May 12th, 2025 vote, a council member, who also happens to be a pastor, went on a radio show to reassure listeners that Portsmouth didn’t need a resolution affirming LGBTQ+ people. Why? Because, according to him, we’re already “a loving and giving town to all people of goodwill.” He even invoked our beloved slogan: “Where Southern Hospitality Begins.” As if repeating that phrase magically includes the very people it’s been used to exclude. As if branding can take the place of real belonging.
Then came the vote itself. During the meeting, another council member delivered what amounted to the spiritual cousin of an “All Lives Matter” speech. She said she could never support a resolution that singles out any group, as if acknowledging the specific struggles of LGBTQ+ people somehow takes something away from everyone else. The irony? That line of thinking is exactly what creates exclusion, all while pretending it’s fairness.
Even before the meeting began, the contradictions were already on display. I was seated near a woman who would later speak glowingly about “Southern Hospitality” during the public comment period. But just minutes earlier, in casual conversation, her friend casually dropped the word “libtard” like it was nothing. I called it out — because in council chambers, we’re asked to be respectful, and using a slur rooted in hate doesn’t exactly qualify. She and her friends were visibly offended, even muttering that I had “hateful words” — for pointing it out. It was a perfect case of cognitive dissonance: if you’re going to argue we don’t need a resolution because we already have enough hospitality, maybe start by rejecting name-calling. Call someone a “bleeding heart liberal” if you must, but don’t use a word co-opted from an outdated medical term and twisted into something deliberately cruel.
Let’s circle back to that phrase for a second… “Where Southern Hospitality Begins”
It’s cute, right? It was coined in the 1960s by a well-meaning mayor who wanted to brand Portsmouth as the gateway to the South. Never mind that “the South” has a bit of a history — you know, slavery, segregation, lynching, Jim Crow. The kind of “hospitality” practiced back then looked pretty warm — if you were white, straight, Christian, and property-owning. For everyone else? Not so much.
Historically, Southern Hospitality was about smiling through exclusion. It was the gentility of the plantation, built on the backs of enslaved labor. It was charm with a power structure baked in. It was kindness (for the right people) and it’s still wielded that way today, often unconsciously. It’s a friendly tone that masks a refusal to make space for anyone who doesn’t fit the “traditional” mold.
So here we are, in 2025, in a town that insists it’s already welcoming while rejecting even the idea of saying that out loud. A resolution affirming that LGBTQ+ residents are valued was dismissed as too political, too divisive, too specific. And yet, the language used to deny it was just as specific, it specifically erased LGBTQ+ people by refusing to name them, acknowledge their struggles, or affirm their right to belong.
This is what “Southern Hospitality” often means in practice: politeness over progress. A warm smile that doesn’t want to hear you out. Civility that vanishes the moment you ask to be seen.
It’s not that I expect miracles from our city government. But I did expect more than a motto and a shrug.
And here’s the kicker — beyond the moral failure, it’s just bad economics.
Communities that embrace their LGBTQ+ neighbors don’t just become more inclusive, they become more prosperous. LGBTQ+ Americans command nearly $1.4 trillion in annual purchasing power. Many are entrepreneurs, artists, tech workers, and small business owners — exactly the kind of people who help revitalize local economies. Cities that affirm and protect their LGBTQ+ residents tend to attract talent, foster innovation, and spark investment. And yet, here in Portsmouth, even that practical truth seems lost. I can’t help but note that our local museum, which benefits from members of the LGBTQ+ community, including creatives themselves, is led by someone who voted “No” on this resolution. The irony would be funny if it weren’t so disappointing.
Inclusive cities have seen their downtowns reawakened thanks to LGBTQ-owned businesses, arts festivals, and welcoming spaces. These aren’t just “nice-to-haves”, they’re economic engines. Portsmouth, with its rich history and real need for growth, could have leaned into that energy. Instead, it slammed the door.
So what now?
Now, we keep showing up. We keep speaking out. We stay persistent. Because real hospitality, the kind that actually makes people feel welcome, doesn’t come from a catchphrase on a sign. It comes from action. It comes from accountability. It comes from affirming people when it’s hard, not just when it’s comfortable.
If Portsmouth wants to keep saying it’s where Southern Hospitality begins, then maybe it’s time we start acting like it.
And if not? Well — we’ll keep reminding them what true hospitality actually looks like.
It looks like… showing up.
It looks like… speaking up when it would be easier to stay quiet.
It looks like… building something better, not just waiting for someone else to do it.
Volunteer for Portsmouth Pride or take part in a local mutual aid group like AppalAction Mutual Aid. Get involved with the Scioto County Democratic Party. Run for office — or lend your support to someone else who will. Every city council seat, school board race, and committee chair matters more than people think.
Need a place to start?
Because reminding people what hospitality means only goes so far. Eventually, you have to be the example.
Let’s make “Where Southern Hospitality Begins” mean what it should’ve meant all along — everyone, welcomed and protected, no exceptions.
Sources / Additional Reading
https://scottleeth.substack.com/p/potential-lgbtq-resolution-sparks
https://ugapress.org/book/9780820332765/the-southern-hospitality-myth/
https://southernstudies.olemiss.edu/study-the-south/all-are-welcome/
https://glaad.org/2024-visibility-perceptions-in-advertising/importance-of-featuring-lgbtq-people/
https://www.diligent.com/resources/blog/lgbtq-inclusivity-local-government