The seminar was called Community Journalism and Narrative. At the table up at the front of the room were Charlotte Observer editor Cheryl Carpenter, Boston Globe columnist Derrick Jackson and Southern Minnesota blogger guy Doug McGill. And what we learned from these people, long, maddening story short, is that “community journalism” means small weeklies, something you do before you do stuff that matters, “a little write-up,” “a slice of life,” Little Fucking Johnny kicking a fucking soccer ball in a zoned “neighborhood” section – or, at this point, more and more, “citizen journalism,” which, so far as I can tell, is what is done when Little Fucking Johnny’s fucking mother logs on to the Internet.
Makes me sad.
Makes me mad.
Makes me drop my notebook onto the floor in front of my chair.
People. No. Community journalism should mean – IS, IS, IS – the stories … the STORIES … about the way we live that are able to be told because we also live that way and see others doing it too and are therefore PART of that community and can therefore tell those stories from the ground up rather that the sky down, and they’re told by professionals, US, not Little Fucking Johnny’s fucking mother blogging her little head off and sending digital-camera snap shots to neighborhood editors sitting all cubicle-catatonic.
So.
Fuck the term “community journalism.” It’s not working. It makes people think stupid things which makes editors make stupid decisions which makes readers go away.
Right here, right now, on Gangrey.com. New word. What’s it gonna be?
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