In the Year 2040

In the year 2040, I will be 49 years old. That year, I do not know where I will be. However, there are a few things I can assume about that seemingly far future. In the year 2040, I will most likely be plastering my face with cosmetics to fight off wrinkles. I will most likely be complaining about gray hairs and absolutely dreading my upcoming birthday. Or, if the Mayan calendar is right, I won’t have a birthday to celebrate that year along with the rest of humanity. If the earth is still here in 2040 and wrinkles are happily creasing my face, I wonder what will have become of those lovely, ambitious goals that preoccupied my childhood daydreams.

In my Communications 239 class, we watched a documentary entitled “Stop the Presses: The American Newspaper in Peril.” In the film, a journalism educator made a prediction regarding the year 2040. That year, he predicted, the last newspaper will be recycled. Well, I am glad to hear that recycling will still be alive and well in the year 2040. However, in the year 2040, I don’t think I will let the last newspaper fall into one of those green bins. If anything else, I plan to retrieve the last newspaper from the recycling bin and mount it on my wall.

Social media is increasingly pushing newspapers into recycling bins. As newspapers move over to the web, I am left standing, with my reporter’s notebook in hand, wondering what I am to do. When I am asked about what I would like to major in, my reply, is always “print journalism.” When my professor mentioned the new name for the major: “multi-media journalism,” I was taken back. In my childhood daydreams I imagined a newspaper under my arm. I imagined the black and white ink spelling out stories. I simply did not imagine scrolling through web pages to see the headlines.

While my fingers still linger on the newspaper, I acknowledge the need to utilize technology. With blogging and newspapers online, social media is affecting news in ways that are not without its advantages. Social media, as discussed in class, creates a way for citizens to communicate with one another. When I look at articles online, I scroll down after finishing the story because I am curious. I am curious to see the comments left by users. Below an article, there is a complicated conversation to consider. The ability for citizens to voice their opinions so directly to a journalist’s opinions or findings generates greater conversation and thought. I cannot ignore that great advantage.

Social media will, indeed, change the role of a reporter. A reporter will have to work on a web-based deadline. Stories will have to come in sooner to appease the 24/7 web world as mentioned in class. Some may argue that journalists will not be needed. Some wonder if bloggers will take over news delivery. I believe, however, that journalists will always be needed. I don’t say this just so I can happily pursue my goal of becoming a journalist. I say this because journalists are needed. More is expected of journalists than bloggers. I read blogs and take their news with a bit of skepticism. Bloggers have no editors and no pledge to the truth that they must stand beside. Journalists do.

Yes, even if in the year 2040 I am scrounging around in a recycling bin for the last newspaper, journalists will still be needed. Journalists are needed so that they can be a nation’s proclaimed and dedicated truth seekers.

In my childhood daydreams, I imagined that if I ever got the chance to say “stop the presses!” it would be a movie moment. I imagined that I would run in with windblown hair and a notebook in hand with the story solved, the interviewee finally found, and the truth uncovered. Then I would triumphantly say, “stop the presses!” But, now, as I see printing presses slowing down and the pages no longer churning from their belts, I feel like shouting, “Never mind! Keep the presses going!” I am not quite ready to see the printing presses stop. But I suppose that so long as journalism continues, even on the Web, my lovely, childhood daydreams will continue too.

The World in Newsprint

It was the kind of summer day that epitomizes the season. Yes, it was the kind of summer day that college students like to bask out in the warm, melting sun and sleep in the thick blades of grass. I, however, was not in the grass. And the sun could not penetrate into the school library to kiss my skin. No, I was in the cold, classical section of my school’s library. Being a bit of a stress case, I had hoped to finally set my heavy books down and get my homework done. After reading the several chapters assigned in my cooking class, I shut the textbook, stretched out my legs, and pulled out the paper by my backpack. It was time to read The New York Times, for my journalism class. After confusing myself with contemplations over carbohydrates, it was nice to pull out the news. I let my fingers linger on the familiar feel of the soft, grainy paper. I opened the pages tall and wide and began to read. Edging my way further into my chair, I forgot about the summer day outside.

I like the feeling of being able to hide behind a newspaper’s pages and yet still see the world.

One story, in particular, caught my attention in that Thursday, June 24, 2010 issue of The New York Times. I have no special connection to the article. I do not know anyone in the article and I have never been to that particular part of the world the article mentioned. But still, the article made me cry. Deborah Sontag wrote the article “Sexual Assaults Add to Miseries of Haiti’s Ruins”. In this article, the reporter told a story. The story was about Rose, a woman in Haiti, who had been kidnapped and raped. I do not know Rose. I have never met her. I do not know what she is going through right now. But as I read the article, I ached for her.

The reporter stated that Rose went to a Doctor’s Without Borders clinic after being released from her kidnappers and brought back home. At the clinic, Sontag says Rose was given packages of crackers and Rose “offered one of the packages to a Times reporter, who declined and left her to be examined privately.” In that simple statement, in that little fact, I met Rose. I saw a glimpse into Rose’s personality.

Again, I ached for her.

For this blog post, I have been asked to answer the question of what journalism is. To me, journalism is about publishing the stories that need to be told. To me, a journalist is the person who must find the stories that matter. What stories need to be heard? What stories will move readers to action? What stories will make readers think, move, smile, act, or cry? To me, a journalist needs to ask him or herself those questions.

I do not pretend to know everything about journalism. I am still learning. But what I do know is that journalism connects people. In that story about Rose, I felt like I had met someone. And I longed to help her. In that story, I learned about Haiti. Without some way to publish that story, the only way I would know about the condition in Haiti is if I went there. How many will resist acknowledging the presence of other nations by simply not picking up the paper?

Journalism publishes the world's struggles so that people cannot ignore one another. In that same issue of The New York Times, I was told about the condition of my own nation and as I read, I was forced to consider the struggles around the world. Yes, while I hide behind the paper, I was forced to face the world. In the basement of my university's library I still managed to step out into the world.

A dark world, yes.

But a world I need to face nonetheless.

When I pick up The New York Times, I trust that what I am reading is true. However, as taught in class, I understand the inevitable bias of writers. No matter how a journalist tries to smother their particular prejudices, they will still present themselves through the very word choice and writing style they use. I understand this inevitability. Yet I want to hear about their views of the world. I want to hear about the state of the world from someone who has researched it and who has reflected on it.

In the story regarding Rose, the journalist writing the story says that when police arrived at Rose’s home “a reporter from The New York Times happened upon the scene…” To that seemingly simple question of who is a journalist I believe that phrase provides the answer. A journalist is the person who happens “upon the scene.” A journalist is the person who understands the need for informed citizens. Indeed, a journalist is the person who will tell the world’s stories because he or she knows the world needs to hear them.

I know that journalists are not supposed to become personally involved in their stories. However, I still like to imagine that the reporter, who “happened upon the scene” in the article regarding Rose, cared about her. I like to imagine that the reporter held Rose’s hand and told her that he or she was now going to help write her story. And in the Thursday, June 24, 2010 issue of The New York Times a small part of Rose’s story was indeed told. And in that article, the journalist asked the world to consider Rose’s story. Indeed, at the end of every piece of journalism, at the end of every article, is the silent, unasked question journalists present: “Here are the facts,” they say, “at least, the facts that I could uncover. Now, what are we going to do about it?”