Here are some photos that recently came over the wire in which bright-eyed young journalists burst into the warm light of a new sun, liberated from the indignities of modern media, free to pursue a career in which they are not chained to the crushing imperatives of our platform monopolies.
Either that or they’re covering Tuesday’s verdict against Trump campaign chairman Paul Manafort.
Hooray, says this man, who is either cantering off in the direction of his new job at a nonprofit or doing the desperate bidding of a media company that wants to win the afternoon’s SEO lottery.
Whee, says this woman, who is either beginning her new career as a union organizer or sprinting in the direction of an internet-connected computer so that she can tweet a mild variation on what approximately 1,209 journalists are tweeting simultaneously.
Oh, no, I’m late for my first day of school, says this newly minted schoolteacher, or perhaps she is a wildly underpaid reporter hustling for an industry that will never love her as much as she loves the work.
I got into Boalt! I’m going to be a public interest lawyer! this woman cries into her phone. Or maybe she doesn’t say anything of the kind, because she’s still a fucking journalist. Shit.
Yippee! these three women say in unison, each beginning a new chapter in her life, untethered from the remorseless news cycle, each free to engage with the horrors unfolding in her country on her own terms and not those of her company’s corporate parent. Or, you know, not.