Which any print of goodness wilt not take,
Being capable of all ill! I pitied thee,
Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour
One thing or other: when thou didst not, savage,
Know thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble like
A thing most brutish, I endow’d thy purposes
With words that made them known. But thy vile race,
Though thou didst learn, had that in’t which
Could not abide to be with; therefore wast thou
Deservedly confined into this rock,
Who hadst deserved more than a prison.
You taught me language; and my profit on’t
Is, I know how to curse. The red plague rid you
For learning me your language!
(Shakespeare, The Tempest, I.ii.353-368)
Sometimes you try to write what’s assigned, and it just doesn’t work. The words are forced, artificially connected by too many conjunctions. When you’re a journalist, though, you’ve always got to write that story. Meet the deadline, even if the article is boring and you’d much rather be finishing up that investigative piece into which you’ve invested a semester’s worth of time. Meet the deadline, even if you’ve got a list-of-things-to-do afterward that will keep you up all night.
I’m sitting at my designated chair in the office at Jefferson City. In front of me, stacked legal pads scribbled with my notes, today’s New York Times, my planner which induces panic attacks when lost, a bottle of Diet Dr. Pepper Cherry that isn’t mine (although I tried it anyway, and then remembered how much I hate artificial sweeteners), a dictionary that probably weighs as much as I do, with yellowed pages, open to page 1027 which ends with the word “hand-minded.” I’m not sure why it’s in front of me. When I want to confirm that I’m using the right word, I’ll look it up on Merriam Webster online. That physical dictionary sits open, though, thousands of pages. An ancient relic.
There are no windows in this office—or there were, at one point, but they’ve since been “walled over,” apparently. The sports writers sit behind me. They are pretty fond of expletives.
Right now, it’s November and a cold front has made its dramatic entrance in Missouri. It’s cold inside the office, too. I’m wearing my red H&M coat to keep myself from freezing a terrible and avoidable death. I’m always cold.
This post isn’t written for anyone but myself. I don’t want to forget this space, not because it’s glamorous or exciting, but because it’s a physical place where I once worked and learned and avoided writing one story by writing another story and that means something, probably.
Gabriel Hackett/Getty Images
In journalism school, we like to talk a lot about reporters’ role in a democracy. Inform the public of affairs! Power to the people! Comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable!
Too bad there’s a lot of pre-election reporting that falls into the so-called Horse Race; rather than covering the issues, journalists pick up on the minute details of a politician’s behavior, or unflattering fashion choice, or accidental speech flub. When paired with the negative campaign ads that saturate the t.v., is it any wonder that voters get turned off from politics?
In fact, on Tuesday, only one-third of Missourians are expected to go out and vote.
Perhaps our election coverage should cover voting itself. We’ve come a long way since the new American nation considered land-owning white men as the only people worthy of voting. It’s important to remember that women and minorities had to fight for their right to vote. It’s also important to remember that laws continuing to disenfranchise minorities still exist.
I know that the upcoming elections are only the mid-terms. Maybe it’s not glamorous or exciting to vote on state amendments or local ballot issues, but they have direct implications for you. You’ve got a day left–that’s plenty of time to get educated about your state, district or town. (If you’re in Missouri, by the way, here’s a good place to get yourself up to speed.)
So in the end, it’s up to you. Power to the people! Go and vote!