Why I Left Journalism

I needed health insurance but that was just the beginning

When I was growing up, it was my small Michigan town that sparked my interest in journalism. I was working at a restaurant and started reading the copies of the Detroit newspaper that I was supposed to give to customers. Between seating guests and cleaning menus, I would glance at the newspaper and try to comprehend what was happening in the world. 

Photo by Bank Phrom on Unsplash

As I read the headlines and eventually, when I had time, the articles, I learned more and more. Suddenly, my world wasn’t so small anymore. As I was sneaking glances at the newspaper when I was supposed to be cleaning out the ice cream freezer or wiping down tables, I knew I wanted more. I wanted to write and a byline seemed like the ultimate symbol of success.

I graduated from college at the end of 2013 but even then, it was clear that the journalism I dreamed of doing was already far out of reach. Newspapers were failing and online ads still weren’t as profitable. At the end of my sophomore year I changed my major and made journalism my minor.

But months after I graduated I hit the jackpot: I was going to be a journalist for a Brooklyn newspaper. It was the hardest I’ve ever worked. Filing ten to fourteen stories a week was the norm. I wrote about the annual Coney Island hot dog eating contest, art exhibits, and other local news stories.

Photo by Daniel Bonilla on Unsplash

After work, I went to the community board meetings. Or the civic meetings. Or the police precinct meetings. I covered virtually all of Southern Brooklyn by myself.

When a story I wrote about a holiday drone mishap at a local TGI Friday’s went viral, I got no bonus, only reprimanded for not focusing on the cover story for the other newspaper I was also responsible for filling. I did a TV interview about the story from the hallway of my office since I wasn’t allowed to leave the building. Even if we reported on a story from in the field, we had to come back to the office and stay until nightfall.

I made $27,500 dollars a year, which equaled out to a little more than $800 dollars every two weeks. I couldn’t make my student loan payments. I held up the soles of my beat-up shoes by putting hair ties around them, though the unsecured edges still flapped when I walked. At one point, I was eligible for Medicaid.

The closing of local newspapers has been disastrous, not only for those who will lose quality, local reporting but because it sets a terrible precedent. If we want journalists to stick around and not leave the first chance they get for more lucrative gigs in public relations or a government job with great healthcare—something I’m guilty of—then we have to make sure they are paid well.

When journalists have fought for more, they haven’t always been lucky. When journalists at DNAInfo tried to unionize, the site was shut down. Retaliating against journalists for wanting to be in a union so they can have a standard of living that allows them to do their job—I refuse to call them “benefits”—encapsulates everything wrong with the journalism world.

There is this notion in the industry that a person should just be happy enough to have a byline, rack up clips in different publications, and get buzz from having a story go viral. Sometimes the best publications pay the worst, or nothing at all—an unfair tradeoff rationalized just because lots of eyes will see it. None of this can replace a living wage. (Just the other day, a very reputable publication informed me there would be no payment, only “exposure.”)

Many journalism professors help perpetuate these problems through their advice. J-schools too often pressure students to take unpaid internships—my college required one—or give away time-intensive work for nothing more than a link they can share on social media.

Instead of undervaluing these students’ work, colleges should show them how to freelance so they can be paid for their time, effort, and product. 

Not many people can afford to work for free, and requiring free work only widens the gap between those who can be subsidized by their parents and those who can’t. Journalism is already plagued by stark racial disparities, and this is only exacerbated by essentially forcing people out if they don’t have someone around who can bankroll their dream.

We need journalists who come from a variety of backgrounds. We need more voices, not less—especially now.

We’re told that our freedom of the press is the backbone of this county. We need competent reporters to be able to do their jobs. We need reporters who are able to live off what they earn. Journalists do us all a favor by being our watchdogs—but who is watching out for them?

I have been freelancing now for almost a year but I’ve been writing mostly essays, fiction, and poetry, I don’t consider myself a practicing journalist. The funny thing is I’ve had more success outside of the industry than in it. When I was a staff writer, I worked at a paper with a very specific style that I had to follow. It has only been now through my essays on class and environmental issues that I’ve been able to truly showcase my opinions, and provide commentary, including recently on CNN.

However, not everyone wants to have to build a brand and showcase their opinions. There should still be pathways for traditional journalists. We all know now, as much as ever, we desperately need them.