The good news

A few weeks ago, our own managing editor (and education reporter) moderated a joint town hall between members of the Board of Supervisors and the School Board. It had pretty much everything you expect from a town hall—thoughtful discussion, pointed questions, personal attacks masquerading behind question marks, at least one guy who everyone's just waiting for the day he turns violent.

The conversation got emotional a few times. In the past few months, Loudoun has been genuinely shaken by a series of high-profile suicides and violent episodes among its students, forcing the community to once again turn the spotlight on mental health among its young people.

And one of the most remarkable moments of the evening went completely unreported. The moderator, our managing editor, broke character for a moment and, visibly choking back tears, confessed:

“It’s been an issue that we’ve cried about in our newsroom. It’s been an issue that we really want to shine a spotlight on, so it clearly hits home. So know that we’re not just sitting there without souls typing. These are our neighbors too. So maybe tonight we say let’s keep shining a light on that and see what we can do.”

She also wrote our paper's article on that event, and she wasn't about to write about herself. Another paper's reporter did not see fit to report it, either.

An aside here: There are a lot of people who could make a good case for playing the role of a publication's (or even the community's) heart. But a person who does this very difficult job and never gives in to the very strong, self-preserving urge to become cynical—a person who instead refuses to back down from being sensitive and compassionate in the face of the long hours and heartbreaking stories—for my money, that's as credible a candidate for the job as any. It's not completely true that "we" have cried about this in the newsroom. I have not.

But enough about that. I'm not up for a raise anyway.

The other thing that struck me about this was that, despite breaking with the stereotype of the hard-nosed, dispassionate newsperson, it so exemplifies what I believe a reporter's job should be.

I always define a reporter first as an advocate for the community. A good reporter, to my mind, is not just a person watching for scandal (although that's part of it) or stonily reporting the facts (although that's part of it) or spending hours leafing through byzantine, inscrutable government documents (although that's part of it.) A reporter is a person who spends those long hours trying to lift up their community, in large part through the distinctively democratic belief that the better informed the public is, the better off the community will be.

This is why, the week before that town hall, the paper dedicated a package of stories to mental health. (Disclaimer: I didn't write anything for that package.) This is why education appears on the front page as much as any other topic. It's why we spend extra time critiquing each other's stories to make sure we're shying away from cheap thrills and lazy writing in the conviction that we can present actually important news in a way that is thoughtful, readable, and interesting. It's why I spend hours poring over budgets and bills and government jargon, trying to synthesize impactful, understandable stories from complex topics. It doesn't matter what you report if people don't want to or can't read it.

Anytime I need guidance, that's what I ask myself: Am I being a good advocate for my community? My only criterion for successful reporting is being able to say yes.

Loudoun View