Cultura y noticias hispanas del Valle del Hudson
“Being a Neighbour”: SALT’s Community support Network in Sullivan County
February 2026The SALT coalition in Sullivan County was born out of a simple challenge: to bring help directly to the community. About fifteen years ago, several local organizations that met monthly to coordinate programs came across an article about the county's poor health ratings, particularly in relation to opioid use and overdose cases. Someone put the newspaper on the table. The decision, recalls co-founder Martin Colavito, was clear: accept that reality or "start a journey that, with compassion and care, would help people access the resources and services available to improve themselves."
From the beginning, SALT (Sullivan Allies Leading Together) never intended to be a fiscal entity. "It was never founded to be an organization," Colavito explained, "what we did, and what I continue to try to maintain, is to be a neighbor." The idea was simple: anyone can go through moments of despair; we are all part of the community; no voice is worth more than another.
The initial strategy was straightforward and human, Colavito recalls: "Go out into the streets, talk to people, listen, and guide them to available services. See what their needs are." So the group began by connecting families with immediate help: furniture donated by the county warehouse, food, transportation, whatever was needed. Over time, that circle of support grew thanks to volunteers and neighbors willing to help.
From the beginning, SALT also decided to stay out of partisan politics. Officials could participate, but "as neighbors," not for publicity. According to Colavito, that stance explains part of the respect the community has for them: "We never fell into that tribal notion that if you're a Republican or a Democrat, you're already on one side. We're all neighbors, and we're not moving from there."
Years before the overdose crisis made headlines, SALT pushed New York State to distribute naloxone (Narcan) directly to the community. The state ended up partnering with the group, giving it an open account with its supplier. "All we cared about was getting harm reduction supplies into people's hands," Colavito said.
The result: lives saved and fewer overdose deaths. So far this year, SALT has distributed more than 5,000 kits, of which more than 3,000 were delivered directly to the community—from hotels and events at places like Bethel Woods to the group's regular walks to put harm reduction materials directly into the hands of community members. "It's not about telling someone what to do with their life," Colavito explained, "it's about giving them a chance, like having a defibrillator on hand: a chance to act."
Many people were afraid to leave their homes; others simply had no food. Thus, SALT's food distribution program was born, initially from the trunks of cars, in collaboration with Cornell Cooperative Extension of Sullivan County and the Hudson Valley Regional Food Bank. "Cornell adapted its mission to respond to the crisis," Colavito said. "I've never seen an agency do anything like that before."
Today, SALT delivers food to more than 700 people per week, in addition to a seven-day emergency service that guarantees food in less than 24 hours, even on holidays. "Imagine not being able to sit down with your family to eat on Christmas or Thanksgiving," she said.
Maria (who did not give her last name to protect her identity), an immigrant and beneficiary of SALT's services and a resident of Monticello, called one sad Thanksgiving morning because they had no food. Upon receiving the food, she was moved by the support: "I am always afraid, but the fact that you came here today makes me feel safe," she told the SALT volunteers.
In addition, the Committee for Equity and Justice meets every two weeks to discuss local issues such as homelessness, hunger, and job opportunities. That committee gave rise to the annual Unity event, a celebration at Liberty's Creekside Park where food, music, and games are shared. "The only difference between people is luck," Colavito reflects.
SALT has forged some unusual partnerships. One of them, with the Liberty Police Department under Chief Steve D'Agata, has been exemplary. Officers delivered food, participated in outreach events, and helped break down mistrust. "Police chiefs don't usually do that," Colavito said, expressing gratitude for a relationship based on mutual respect and absence of prejudice.
About $35,000 remained from that grant, and with additional donations (including $7,500 from the Tourism Association), the group's reserve remains between $45,000 and $50,000. They often reject funds with restrictive conditions: "You can't tell us what our community needs," Colavito insisted to some sponsors, "our community will tell us."
Today, public funds are scarcer, and misinformation has grown, especially rhetoric blaming migrants. Nevertheless, neighbors continue to respond. For example, a local farm pledged to donate 240 dozen eggs per week. "We have to do much more with much less," he explained, "but we will continue to guide people toward hope."
Colavito speaks openly about his own journey: from his impulsive and prejudiced youth to a life of constant learning. He credits his wife Lynn, "the strongest person I've ever known," and leaders like Dana Halpern for challenging him and helping him grow. Decades of working with people incarcerated at Rikers Island and other facilities led him to question the social services system based on profit rather than human care.
"I wasn't there to change their lives," he said, "I was there to help them decide what they wanted to do with their lives. The only thing I always encouraged them to do was to be prudent, whatever they did."
“I don’t know how much longer I’ll be in my position at SALT,” he admitted. “I will always serve people, but I hope the group remains what it should be: a space guided by compassion, love, and care, not by grants. That’s a difficult balance.”
On November 19, the SYDA Foundation presented its annual community service award to Martin Colavito for his exceptional and enduring service to the Sullivan County community.
The phone continues to ring every day, weekends, holidays, at all hours. SALT cannot always offer money or housing, but it strives to ensure that every caller ends the conversation with dignity and direction. In other words, with a neighbor on the other end.
facebook.com/SullivanAlliesLeadingTogether
instagram.com/saltcares
sullivancce.org/agriculture/sullivan-fresh-community-cupboard
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COPYRIGHT 2026
La Voz, Cultura y noticias hispanas del Valle de Hudson
The initial strategy was straightforward and human, Colavito recalls: "Go out into the streets, talk to people, listen, and guide them to available services. See what their needs are." So the group began by connecting families with immediate help: furniture donated by the county warehouse, food, transportation, whatever was needed. Over time, that circle of support grew thanks to volunteers and neighbors willing to help.
From the beginning, SALT also decided to stay out of partisan politics. Officials could participate, but "as neighbors," not for publicity. According to Colavito, that stance explains part of the respect the community has for them: "We never fell into that tribal notion that if you're a Republican or a Democrat, you're already on one side. We're all neighbors, and we're not moving from there."
Years before the overdose crisis made headlines, SALT pushed New York State to distribute naloxone (Narcan) directly to the community. The state ended up partnering with the group, giving it an open account with its supplier. "All we cared about was getting harm reduction supplies into people's hands," Colavito said.
The result: lives saved and fewer overdose deaths. So far this year, SALT has distributed more than 5,000 kits, of which more than 3,000 were delivered directly to the community—from hotels and events at places like Bethel Woods to the group's regular walks to put harm reduction materials directly into the hands of community members. "It's not about telling someone what to do with their life," Colavito explained, "it's about giving them a chance, like having a defibrillator on hand: a chance to act."
The pandemic and the shift towards food
Before the pandemic, SALT had opened an intergenerational community center in the former St. John Street School in Monticello. The idea was to create a kind of public square where children, families, and seniors could gather safely. Then COVID-19 arrived, and with it, a new reality: hunger.Many people were afraid to leave their homes; others simply had no food. Thus, SALT's food distribution program was born, initially from the trunks of cars, in collaboration with Cornell Cooperative Extension of Sullivan County and the Hudson Valley Regional Food Bank. "Cornell adapted its mission to respond to the crisis," Colavito said. "I've never seen an agency do anything like that before."
Today, SALT delivers food to more than 700 people per week, in addition to a seven-day emergency service that guarantees food in less than 24 hours, even on holidays. "Imagine not being able to sit down with your family to eat on Christmas or Thanksgiving," she said.
Maria (who did not give her last name to protect her identity), an immigrant and beneficiary of SALT's services and a resident of Monticello, called one sad Thanksgiving morning because they had no food. Upon receiving the food, she was moved by the support: "I am always afraid, but the fact that you came here today makes me feel safe," she told the SALT volunteers.
What it means to "be a neighbor"
SALT's neighborly spirit is also reflected in its prevention and coexistence programs. Together with Cornell, the group has developed school projects and obtained funding from the Drug-Free Communities program, which focuses on young people. One of its bilingual pillars is Fortaleciendo Familias (Strengthening Families), which brings parents and children together once a week for dinner and dialogue about their mutual challenges.In addition, the Committee for Equity and Justice meets every two weeks to discuss local issues such as homelessness, hunger, and job opportunities. That committee gave rise to the annual Unity event, a celebration at Liberty's Creekside Park where food, music, and games are shared. "The only difference between people is luck," Colavito reflects.
SALT has forged some unusual partnerships. One of them, with the Liberty Police Department under Chief Steve D'Agata, has been exemplary. Officers delivered food, participated in outreach events, and helped break down mistrust. "Police chiefs don't usually do that," Colavito said, expressing gratitude for a relationship based on mutual respect and absence of prejudice.
Money, mission, and balance
Although SALT is now a 501(c)3 nonprofit organization, Colavito is wary of letting money dictate the mission. He and his wife Lynn accepted a grant from the Department of Health on the condition that the payment be deposited directly into SALT's account and used only for three purposes: the Unity event, quarterly LGBTQIA2S+ gatherings, and an annual community soup event.About $35,000 remained from that grant, and with additional donations (including $7,500 from the Tourism Association), the group's reserve remains between $45,000 and $50,000. They often reject funds with restrictive conditions: "You can't tell us what our community needs," Colavito insisted to some sponsors, "our community will tell us."
Today, public funds are scarcer, and misinformation has grown, especially rhetoric blaming migrants. Nevertheless, neighbors continue to respond. For example, a local farm pledged to donate 240 dozen eggs per week. "We have to do much more with much less," he explained, "but we will continue to guide people toward hope."
Colavito speaks openly about his own journey: from his impulsive and prejudiced youth to a life of constant learning. He credits his wife Lynn, "the strongest person I've ever known," and leaders like Dana Halpern for challenging him and helping him grow. Decades of working with people incarcerated at Rikers Island and other facilities led him to question the social services system based on profit rather than human care.
"I wasn't there to change their lives," he said, "I was there to help them decide what they wanted to do with their lives. The only thing I always encouraged them to do was to be prudent, whatever they did."
The last few years and what's next
Since the pandemic, SALT has maintained its weekly food deliveries to more than 700 people and distributes about 5,000 doses of naloxone per year. But for Colavito, the main challenge is to remain a neighbor, not an agency.“I don’t know how much longer I’ll be in my position at SALT,” he admitted. “I will always serve people, but I hope the group remains what it should be: a space guided by compassion, love, and care, not by grants. That’s a difficult balance.”
On November 19, the SYDA Foundation presented its annual community service award to Martin Colavito for his exceptional and enduring service to the Sullivan County community.
The phone continues to ring every day, weekends, holidays, at all hours. SALT cannot always offer money or housing, but it strives to ensure that every caller ends the conversation with dignity and direction. In other words, with a neighbor on the other end.
CONTACTS
saltcares.com, (845) 596-0075, [email protected]facebook.com/SullivanAlliesLeadingTogether
instagram.com/saltcares
sullivancce.org/agriculture/sullivan-fresh-community-cupboard
back to top
COPYRIGHT 2026
La Voz, Cultura y noticias hispanas del Valle de Hudson
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