I see a lot of variety in how folks anticipate our upcoming Election Day Nov. 5.
If facial expressions are toppings on a pizza, someone’s ordered the pineapple and anchovies.
This curious combination of dread and excitement exacts a toll in the run-up, especially if it leads to feelings of helplessness.
I feel like the luckiest person in the world, with the very best job in the world, because — even though there are downsides to this work — helplessness isn’t one of them.
Thinking like a journalist is a moving, active thing. There is always something to learn, something to observe, something to ask, something to record.
The activity of reporting relies not on one outcome or the other, only in setting down the record of whatever may happen. When you’re a journalist, every big moment is as worthy as the next. The sense of duty and responsibility is not tied to outcome, but connected instead by powerful bonds to the community, and a promise to report what is.
Just getting a fix on “what is” is no easy feat. It requires a commitment to seeing what is there, no matter the feelings about it. This can be incredibly hard because we all have feelings. But each journalist commits to recognizing those feelings, and looking for their reflections and echoes in how we relay information.
“What is” also means doing a lot of critical thinking, research, fact-checking, and having a reliable contacts list of people with institutional and situational knowledge of whatever we’re wondering about.
We’re wondering if you’re wondering about those topics, too.
To that end, we are reaching out to our readers and region in several ways.
On Saturday, we participated in a forum at the Traverse Area District Library on how we cover elections, especially in an age of polarization and misinformation.
We also are gauging interest in creating a “Citizen Journalist Corps.” This would be a regional group of observers and recorders who are interested in capturing our community history, learning more about journalistic ethics and principles, and who are responsive and kind. If this sounds like you, let me know at abatdorff@record-eagle.com
But before you do that, I’d better tell you what Election Day night is like at the Record-Eagle. It’s rough-cut wires, sparking and popping. It’s long, slow moments that sludge by, hearing pundits drone on and on while waiting for results. It’s “refresh” and “refresh” and “refresh.”
Then all hell breaks loose.
But, first, there’s pizza.
Election Night pizza is a time-honored tradition of fellowship and calm before the reality of “let’s-write-17-stories-on-deadline.” It’s jokes and learning fascinating tidbits from staffers that only seem to surface with pizza. It’s the pleasant, greasy-napkin calm before the storm.
Later, the pizza, though cold, will continue to vanish — but now in thoughtless chomps spurred by stress or boredom. No matter.
There’s always the one with pineapples.