By Connor Gibson
“We’ve got that taken care of for you,” they said on the other end of the line, “your paper will start arriving this Sunday.”
I have been paying for online access to a local publication because I liked their coverage, but like a sucker, a rube, the paper has never once been delivered to any of the four different locations I’ve lived since I moved to Houston..
I’ve been on the phone with their “service” department. Been put on hold and referred to a different department only to be put on hold again. They’re always apologetic but they are also confident the problem will be rectified.
And yet I still have no paper.
So they owe me money for services bought and paid for, but never rendered. If you buy a paper you should get a paper. It’s only fair.
The paper not being delivered might not seem like anything to you but to me its important…not just for me but for everybody. It is essential to have consistent reporting on local and regional affairs.It would be hard to ignore the two-time Pulitzer winner Lisa Falkenberg’s editorial section, or the reporting on the brashness of Gerald Goines and his criminal endeavors that have plagued HPD, and more importantly, Houston citizens, for decades. Journalism, although often forgotten, is an essential function. We need it to function as a society.
But not all Journalism is created equal. You can either embrace the illusion of objective reporting, or you can embrace the omnipotence of inherent bias. That is, an outlet can report ‘both sides’ by rattling off quotes and facts as they are stated, making no discernment between what’s true, what’s misleading, or what may be outright false, etc.
For example, the way marijuana has been presented in popular media for roughly the past century is reminiscent of tabloid journalism. Should the local paper ever decide to make good on the money they owe me, I should like to snap it open on the front porch and read it without misinformation and misdirection. Wouldn’t it be nice to become informed without doubt’s shadow hanging off every letter.
There are a lot of problems with modern day media. Some have been here since the introduction of the written word and some are brand new. It’s spite that causes me to continue to pay their price. But that’s just it, journalism and media in general isn’t readily available to average Americans at an affordable price. About $30 dollars a month isn’t affordable for the ⅓ of Americans who can’t afford basic necessities, or the 37.9 million Americans living below the poverty line. The one thing required to ensure the survival of our Republic, is increasingly becoming a privilege instead of a right, for more reasons than just cost.
Like many aspects of American life, the effect of corporate conglomerates not only leads to rising costs but a decline in quality as well. Companies like Sinclair, Tribune Media, or the Hearst Corporation carry no advantage for journalism or the truth than Jeff Bezos buying the New York Times or the Washington Post. Hell, sell it to Elon Musk so he can pretend to run a company like he did with Twitter. It all has the same effects: degradation of the media and manufactured consent.
Further, looking past the annoyance of paywalls for online journalism and writing, is putting essential information out of reach for a population already suffering from being Nickel-and-dimed at every turn of every facet of American society. Information isn’t free, but it should be, and until Aaron Swartz’s legacy is realized, his dream will continue to haunt us. Freedom comes with a lot of strings attached, including the freedom of information. As it stands, information isn’t free but speech is, so we find ourselves juxtaposed to each other, between what we feel and what is true. It’s the super-ironical rallying call of the modern right wing, and a giant projection of uncertainty and insecurity.
So why am I here? Why have I decided to pay the piper? Anything for the illusion of the American Dream and a Sunday Paper. So I pay this toll, mindlessly, in the hopes that one day I’ll walk off my hangover on a sleepy Sunday morning and wave around an in-print newspaper while I scream at neighborhood children to ‘get off my lawn.’
It’s the only reason I decided on the publication in the first place. It was supposed to be easy, delivered to my door. Like healthcare or home ownership, goals that have become increasingly doomed for my generation, are also becoming more essential for Peace in the American Dream. Am I doomed to miss out on the perks of growing old in America that our parents enjoyed?
I may be…I may not be. Who knows. But while I wait on either my money back or the arrival of the my Sunday edition, I might as well get out an occasional rant.
Signed,
My Old Man’s Old Man in Me
