by gabriel hilty
edited by ellena lu and alloe mak
It was just another day in another week of school; that weird time of COVID-19 where every day felt the same. An overhang of gray clouds that didn’t move.
It wasn’t just any other day though, because it was time to apply to universities and colleges. The task was daunting enough to break through the monotony, kickstarting the “life after high-school” mindset.
I chose journalism because it had a nice ring to it and didn’t have much to do with numbers. I didn’t have a dream school, an Ivy League idol, or any type of clear career path. I just wanted to do something that meant something, something more substantial than a 9-to-5 of pushing paper in an office.
Looking back now, more than halfway through my second year, I’ve come to really love journalism.
The rush of hitting a deadline, the nervousness before reaching out to sources or approaching someone on the street for a story. It’s addicting, most of all, being able to inform and help others learn about the communities in their area and the world at large.
I’ve seen the numbers in the classes drop every semester; journalism isn’t for everyone. I get it. Tight deadlines and cold phone calls are an acquired taste.
Looking forward, I’m unsure about the future of journalism, and unsure of my future in it.
Layoffs in the thousands at almost every media company. The danger of working in the field with journalists around the world facing barriers and potential harm while reporting. A growing demonization of the media by politicians who don’t like criticism like Pierre Poilievre and Donald Trump. And, perhaps most critically, a disconnect with communities who rightfully have deep mistrust. Western journalism has been, and in many ways still is, an exploitative industry.
All my professors stress the minuscule pay and grueling hours. If you look at the figures, writing a big company’s sponsored article pays four times as much as doing a recherche on how that company is directly contradicting its environmental goals.
The funny thing, though, is that journalism survives, and it has for thousands of years. How it will in the future isn’t clear, but its underlying foundation of human connection is so deeply embedded in our nature that it won’t go away without a fight.
At its heart, journalism is what we’ve been doing since our inception; the act of storytelling. People are naturally curious beings, and we’re also instinctively communal and thrive from being around others. If you look at the bones, the early human in a cave drawing a scene of bison grazing is a form of journalism. It’s sharing with those around us, trying to satisfy that never-ending craving of having to know.
Despite all the warning signs from professors and the bad news from the industry, I still want to be in journalism. It’s part of bringing people together, and vitally important in a time of ever-increasing isolation through social media and technology.
Figuring out how to stay in the industry and make a living and how the whole model needs to be rethought, to empower community work rather than corporations—that’s something I’ll be working on for the next more than a while.
Maybe it’s like one of my profs observed, with so many journalists dating or married to lawyers. Gotta sustain yourself somehow, right?