Pushing Through the Noise

In the Eastern Panhandle, one candidate is betting that voters are ready to move past division and toward results.

In West Virginia’s Eastern Panhandle—where growth is outpacing infrastructure, costs continue to rise, and political frustration has become a familiar undercurrent—Lucia Valentine is positioning herself as both a product of the region and a response to it. A Shepherdstown native with a background in environmental policy and legislative advocacy, Valentine is running against incumbent (R) Chris Anders as a Democrat for the House of Delegates in District 97, covering parts of Berkeley and Jefferson Counties.

Having narrowly lost to Anders in 2024, Valentine, 29, didn’t blink, but simply poured more time and energy into a campaign that centers on lowering the cost of living, strengthening public education, and ensuring that rapid development does not come at the expense of water, land, or long-term stability. 

But beyond policy, Valentine’s candidacy reflects something more structural—a generational shift in a state long defined by entrenched political patterns. West Virginia has historically had among the lowest levels of female representation in state government, even as younger candidates and first-time challengers have begun stepping forward in greater numbers. 

Valentine, who spent the past five years working inside the legislature as a policy advocate, is part of that emerging wave. Her campaign is less about sweeping promises than it is about recalibrating priorities—moving attention back toward issues like school funding, workforce retention, and basic infrastructure, while challenging a political culture she sees as increasingly disconnected from everyday life in the state.

That perspective—shaped by both proximity and experience—is where her argument begins. “I think education overall—supporting our public schools—has been a big piece of my platform,” she acknowledged. “But specifically, the adjustments to the school funding formula that we did not see pass this last session.”

From the outset, her focus lands on something foundational and familiar in West Virginia: a system widely acknowledged as underperforming, yet doggedly resistant to change.

Valentine pointed to a state-commissioned study—a more-than-$100,000 RAND report—that outlined a path forward, including increased funding levels, targeted support for districts with higher concentrations of special-needs students, and limits on the rapidly expanding Hope Scholarship program.

“Basically, none of those recommendations were taken seriously,” she said. “They passed zero bills [in the latest session] to address any of it.” Even modest attempts to adjust the formula, she noted, stalled before reaching the finish line. 

“I think for locality pay, specifically, there’s still tension with other counties feeling like it’s unfair—or that it’s a hand up for the Eastern Panhandle. But I also think, with the prioritization of the Hope Scholarship and shifting focus away from public schools, the urgency just isn’t there.”

Familiar Pattern

That lack of urgency, she suggested, extends well beyond education. Foster care—a system currently serving nearly 6,000 children across the state—stands as another example.

“The legislature talked a big game about wanting to address that this session, but nothing major really came of it,” Valentine underscored. “In fact, the governor vetoed one of the biggest bills that passed [HB 4730], which would have provided services for youth aging out of the foster care system. ” 

The measure had broad legislative support, making its failure all the more striking. It should be noted, however, that the only ‘no’ vote in the entire legislature on the bill was Valentine’s current opponent, Anders.  “So again, it’s this theme of—these are real issues they claim to care about, and then nothing actually gets done. We literally have children dying in our foster care system. It’s disgusting and heartbreaking.”

The breakdown, she added, is not confined to a single office or decision, but reflects a wider dysfunction within the state’s current power structure. “No one is showing true leadership—stepping up and actually making a difference on any of these issues,” Valentine indicated. “And when they try, they have the governor opposing them.”

Water infrastructure—or the lack of meaningful investment in it—offers another example, she pointed out. “There was no major legislation passed around drinking water, especially for the southern region of the state. It’s a core issue that we should be able to deliver on, and we’re not seeing that happening.”

Closer to home, in the Panhandle, Valentine shifts the conversation toward growth and/or the consequences of it. “I can’t think of anything less compatible with our region and what people actually want,” she said, referring to recent legislation surrounding data centers.

For Valentine, the concern is not simply development itself, but how it is being managed—or, in her view, not managed—at the local level. “Passing HB 2014 without any guardrails is completely unprecedented,” she said. “Not only are local communities being bypassed, but the legislature actively worked against putting any in place.”

She pointed specifically to the legislature’s handling of the accompanying rules bill, HB 4983, which outlines how the law is implemented—and was eventually approved by the governor on March 26, 2026. “No amendments were passed to add basic safeguards,” Valentine said. “I advocated for one that would have required companies to report how much water they’re using and whether it would impact existing users.”

Without those measures, she warned, the risks extend beyond process and into long-term consequence. “I think it’s kind of grounds for this to become one of our next extraction stories if we don’t do it right.”

Increased Attention

If Valentine’s priorities point to what isn’t getting done, her approach to governance centers on why—and what it would take to change it. “I’ve worked at the Capitol for the past five years, and I’ve consistently run on the idea that working across the aisle is the way forward,” she emphasized. “We have to modify how we’re governing in this state.”

In her view, West Virginia’s political gridlock comprises a system increasingly shaped by division, outside influence, and a lack of practical cooperation.

“Our legislature is so deeply divided right now,” she said, pointing to more than $2 million in spending by special interest groups in recent races. “That’s unprecedented—and it’s being used to uphold extreme ideological positions.”

Her campaign, she added, is an attempt to move away from that dynamic. “The purpose is to offer people another choice—to restore trust and respect, to actually forge relationships and deliver real results, not culture war issues.”

That message has already shown signs of traction. In 2024, she captured nearly 46% of the vote in one of the closest legislative races in the state—outperforming national party benchmarks and narrowing the margin in a district long considered out of reach.

“That really indicated to me that the message resonated,” she said. “We were able to bring in Independents and Republicans, and that’s what we’re focused on doing again.”

Whether that momentum holds remains to be seen, but Valentine believes broader conditions are shifting—particularly in fast-growing regions like the Eastern Panhandle, where local concerns are beginning to override traditional party lines. 

“In comparable districts, we’ve seen swings of seven or eight points,” she said. “And I think there’s been an increased attention to local issues—especially data centers and the loss of local control.”

For many voters, she added, those issues have become less abstract and more immediate—a reflection of decisions made without their input. “These are the kinds of things that are mobilizing people,” Valentine said. “Because they feel like they’ve been cut out of the process—or they’re not represented by the people in power.”

New Voices

If Valentine’s candidacy reflects a shift in priorities, it also reflects a shift in who is stepping forward to lead. “When I ran last cycle, there were only a couple women on the ballot,” she said. “This year there are over sixty women running for the state legislature—which is record-breaking.”

The contrast is stark in a state that ranks last in the nation for female representation—a gap that Valentine views as both symbolic and systemic. “In West Virginia, we’ve had the least number of elected women of any state in the country,” she noted. “So I think women across the state have heard that call and are ready and willing to step up.”

Still, entering that space as a young candidate comes with its own set of assumptions—ones she’s learned to address directly. “It’s easy for people to say, ‘What do you know?’ or assume I don’t have experience,” she recognized. “But working at the legislature for several years gives me a really unique perspective.”

That experience, she added, is what clarified the gap she now hopes to fill. “There are no people my age—and very few women,” she said. “And we need stronger leadership in the Eastern Panhandle. We’re one of the major growth areas of the state, and we need people who are actually going to deliver for our region.”

For Valentine, it’s a perspective rooted in a question many younger West Virginians continue to wrestle with: whether staying is still viable. “We bring the perspective of people who want to stay in West Virginia, build their lives here, and have families here,” she said. “But we also feel like our government is not focused on making our everyday lives better.”

In that sense, her campaign makes a case for why a different voice might lead to a different outcome. “I think we’re able to speak to what people want to see change in a way that’s new. That said, I don’t think Democrats can just swoop in and save the day. We need people who are willing to be champions for their communities on both sides—and push through the noise that’s holding everyone back.”

Michael Chalmers