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‘Tis the season, right? Traditionally, this time of year celebrates spirituality and festivities – including Hanukkah, Christmas, and Kwanzaa.
In modern day America, however, the Winter Solstice signals the faithful to gather from afar in monumental temples to worship our nation’s supreme secular deity: Big Time Sports! Get ready for a non-stop frenzy of football, basketball, soccer, and more – with devout fans making tribal pilgrimages to their sacred stadiums and arenas.
But whatever the sport, the name of the game these days is the same: M-O-N-E-Y, for the people’s sport franchises are firmly in the grip of a self-regulating handful of secretive, überrich, autocratic, corporate owners. We might worship the team that actually plays the sport, but our money mostly goes to this ruling clique of billionaire barons.
Consider those gargantuan houses of worship where the games are played. We The People (including non-worshipers) paid for nearly all of them with tax dollars, usually with no chance to vote on the giveaway. Yet, a few dozen profiteering team owners are given control of the venues. They set and collect the outrageous ticket prices and are even allowed to gouge the faithful by charging $15 for one small beer!
Most insulting, these rich public welfare moochers pocket millions of extra dollars a year by turning these huge edifices (even those built with the people’s money) into private billboards by selling off the so-called “naming rights” to the highest corporate bidders. Thus, dozens of our major sports facilities don’t honor the cities they’re in, the citizenry, or even the team. Instead they’re gaudily plastered with brand names like FedEx Field, Minute Maid Park, RCA Dome, and Toyota Center – as though they’re corporate owned.
The money game is yet another corporate swindle, made even more corrupt by its expropriation of America’s sporting spirit for private greed.
Advertising has been characterized as rattling a stick in a bucket – a noisy cry for public attention.
One example of this crass hucksterism is the rush by top executives of multibillion-dollar corporations to splatter their corporate names on sports venues. Responding to a blatant scam by team owners, executives are spending absurd sums of their shareholders’ money to “win” temporary naming rights to local stadiums, arenas, etc. The come-on is that this billboarding will buy brand recognition, customer loyalty, and even public gratitude for the purchaser.
Seriously? Do you fly Delta, bank at Wachovia, or drive a Toyota because their names are on a big sports structure somewhere? And what do outfits like Ameriquest, Qualcomm, and FTX even sell – and where are they located? As for public gratitude, ask Houstonians how thankful they are that global energy giant Enron slapped its name on the Astro’s baseball park in 1999, just three years before the corporation was forced into bankruptcy for being guilty of massive fraud and squalid executive greed.
But the bucket-rattling name game keeps drawing new players. The latest entrants are purveyors of cryptocurrencies, the phantasmagoric, here-today-gone-tomorrow form of digital money. One of these, Crypto.com, has just laid out a ridiculous $700 million (presumably in real money, not “cryptos”) to put its occult brand name on the home arena of the Los Angeles Lakers. Why? The parties to the deal put it in grandiose terms – “a match made in heaven” exulted the arena’s giddy owner, even proclaiming that Crypto.com will “help us chart a course for the future of sports.”
Huh? I doubt that this cryptic, Singapore-based money dealer can even dribble a basketball, much less direct the sport’s future! Like Enron and the rest, all it’s doing is rattling the money bucket, turning sports into just another corporate money hustle.
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But there’d be a problem with filming at the Daily News now: Its owners have eliminated the newsroom, leaving reporters, editors, photographers, et al. with no shared workplace. Yes, today, it’s a newspaper without a newsroom.
This once proud publication is now owned and run by Alden Global Capital, a multibillion-dollar hedge fund with a long record of buying papers on the cheap, selling off their assets, and slashing pay and jobs. Media watchers have labeled these vulture capitalists the “ruthless corporate strip-miners” of local journalism. And sure enough, in the past couple of years Alden’s profiteers have steadily plundered the paper, eliminating half of its newsroom staff. Then, last August, they told the remaining journalists they would no longer have a physical place to work.
To be clear, this closure was not a temporary measure to protect staff from Covid-19. Nor was the newsroom abandoned in favor of relocation to a less expensive office (an increasingly common cost-saving decision). Indeed, real newspaper publishers realize that the collective hive vitality of a newsroom, with its camaraderie and reportorial cross-fertilization enrich the journalism.
But Alden is in the business of making money, not journalism. The Wall Street bosses emailed staff that they weren’t selling the offices–just leasing them to other businesses, creating a new revenue stream for fattening the profits of the fund’s investors.
Unfortunately, such crass corporate calculations are typical of the new model of a nationalized, conglomeratized, and financialized “local” journalism that has already taken over thousands of papers in big cities, suburbs, and rural areas across America.
The scale and speed of that transformation have been breathtaking:
The operational mandate of newspaper hedge funds is absolute: Sacrifice local newsgathering and community interest to squeeze out every bit ot profit and siphon it off to unknown investors in WhoKnowsWhereLand. The papers Alden acquired were reportedly profitable, with annual margins of around 10%. But the hedge fund sharpies demanded that all their papers deliver 20% or more–a level at which the squeeze becomes deadly to quality journalism.
Community life cannot thrive without community news, which in turn depends on reporters and editors who are of the community and have the know-how, time, and resources to investigate, educate, expose, inform, entertain, and generally enlighten the citizenry. But what does some obscure, aloof, money manipulator know or care about your community or its democratic vitality? Zilch, that’s what.
I live in a city with one of these dailies (Gannett owns the Austin American-Statesman) and in my travels I’ve read dozens of similar outlets and talked to their readers. Money managers have reduced most to mere remnants of real journalism. They have slashed reporting staff and consolidated even the editing, layout, printing, and other basic production work in remote, centralized hubs. Thus, most of the flavor and timeliness of the “local” paper is lost, replaced by chopped-up national material, two-day-old sports stories, product promotions, and other filler.
One especially revealing measure of hedge-fund journalism’s commitment to its dual responsibility of informing the public and inspiring civic action is failure to report on themselves. Their takeovers are done in the dark. BANG! Suddenly your local news is controlled by distant profit seekers who’ve never been to your town. What deal was struck? By whom? At what price? To whom do they answer? What say will you have in their coverage? These are basic questions that any investigative reporter worth their salt would ask of any transaction of such consequence to the community. But local reporters, mayors, community groups, et al. are not even given the names of–much less access to–the financial chieftains who secretly directed the buyout, control operations, and pocket the profits. And it would be worth their jobs if they tried. The most taboo topic in corporate journalism is corporate ownership.
The damage caused by impatient hedge fund speculators is especially harsh for small cities and rural areas. Forget the demand for profits north of 20%; even a 10% return is a stretch in markets with fewer than 100,000 people. So, with no personal ties to these communities and even less commitment to the civic mission of local journalism, the predators often just cash out the physical assets, pull the plug, and skip town.
Thus, hundreds of smaller papers have been shuttered in the last decade–some 300 in the last two years alone–and this winnowing has created “news deserts” (counties with no local news outlets at all) across large swaths of America. As for remaining corporate media, a new Pew survey found that 57% of folks in rural areas say that their “local” news media mostly cover some other area.
Playing the billionaires’ news game, mega-investor Warren Buffett once held a portfolio of 31 dailies and 49 weeklies, including such major city papers as the Buffalo News and the Omaha World Herald. He specialized in squeezing out competitors. Once he’d created monopoly papers, Buffett chopped staff and content to glean annual profit margins above 30%. Then along came the internet, allowing people to root around–for free!–to find local information missing from Buffett’s hollowed-out papers. Unsurprisingly, his newspapers soon began losing readers, advertisers, and profits, and, in 2020, Buffett bailed, selling off his entire portfolio. Rather than concede that maybe his slash-and-burn, profit-maximization approach had produced inferior products, “The Oracle of Omaha,” as Wall Street hails him, blasted the whole idea of local newspapers as dinosaurs, a doomed species beyond anyone’s ability to save them. They’re “toast,” he proclaimed.
Not so fast, your Oracleness.
Day by day, when they’re done right, timely local publications both chronicle and help shape a community’s story. And that’s a social benefit that is as valuable–and as marketable–as ever. It’s not that people have given up on local news, but that most of today’s papers are not really local, not very newsy, and not of, by, and for the workaday people in our multifaceted communities.
For example, nearly every corporate daily publishes a business section, chock-a-block with corporate press releases, meaningless syndicated filler (“CEOs optimistic about growth”), and puff pieces about yet another high-tech start-up. Does even 1% of the population read that stuff? Meanwhile, how about economic news of interest to the great majority of locals: workers? Where’s the regular section that digs into the area’s wages, job losses and openings, workplace conditions, commuting advice, affordable housing, worker safety, job discrimination, child care availability, abuse hotlines, unionizing efforts, and the myriad of other real-life issues that confront this majority on a daily basis? As I’ve long maintained, the relevant indicator of the wellbeing of nearly every American family is not the Dow Jones Average (which newspapers cover obsessively), but the Doug Jones Average. How are Doug and Donna doing? That’s news that would sell papers.
While investment syndicates aggressively merge, purge, shrink, and loot traditional businesses in my town and yours, a phoenix is rising in the spaces they’ve left behind. We don’t need to surrender to the local-papers-are-toast narrative, for imagination and grit are loose on the land. From big cities to rural counties, hundreds of determined efforts, often led by people of color, are underway to revive local newspaper journalism.
Take just one aspect with both a substantive and symbolic impact: The newsroom itself. Sparked by populist creativity, scrappy new community papers are moving into friendlier, more central, street-level newsrooms–set in public libraries, journalism schools, etc.–so that regular people can see and directly access them. The Ferndale (CA) Enterprise works from an old Victorian home and rents rooms to vacationers for additional income. The editor of the Sahan Journal in Minneapolis moves his weekly editorial meeting to the offices of various grassroots groups so their members can have input. And in Marfa, Texas, the new owners of the Big Bend Sentinel are truly serving the public, not only with a good weekly, but also with The Sentinel–a combo coffee shop, cozy bar, cafe, event space, and hangout for locals to meet and greet.
It was not so very long ago that dozens of scrappy, independent newsweeklies sprang up in city after city, town after town. By creating a viable alternative model of free tabloids, they outflanked the monopoly dailies in their markets, dramatically increasing coverage of ignored community issues and voices. Now come “paperless” city papers like Lookout (Santa Cruz), Billy Penn (Philadelphia), and DigBoston; special topic news sites like Daily Yonder (rural) and Circle of Blue (water); and hundreds of hardscrabble community papers like Flint Beat and Iowa’s Storm Lake Times.
In ways big and small, dedicated local journos are experimenting with funding, structures, staffing, etc., to produce the news that democracy requires:
Note to hedgefunders: These projects aren’t intended to “scale,” since–as Josh Stearns of the Democracy Fund says–it was corporate ambitions to cut costs by consolidating and “scaling” that got us into this mess. Instead, by sharing ideas, learning, and resources, these local projects help each other succeed. And unlike the hedge-fund papers, their success is not measured simply by financial return, but also by community benefit–how they help keep citizens informed and engaged.
These and so many more examples are glimmers of real journalistic hope across our land. Committed community journalists are determined democracy fighters, butting their heads against the money wall to bang out honest news for local residents, not windfalls for profiteers. Instead of bemoaning the decline of the free press, let’s join with these gutsy journalists and activists who’re actually working to “free” it! Subscribe, donate, volunteer, spread the word … and generate your own ways of helping them help us.
The callous shriveling of local people’s news coverage by Wall Streeters is sacrilege to hard-nosed newshounds like Evan Brandt, a proud 23-year veteran of The Mercury in Pottstown, PA, some 40 miles northwest of Philly. Until it was sold in 1998 to the Journal Register Company (known for gutting its newsrooms), The Mercury had a full-fledged staff covering Pottstown and surrounds. In 2011, though, Alden Global Capital swept in to grab The Mercury off the bargain table. Instead of investing in the paper’s potential, the hedge fund milked it for profits: It pocketed the subscription and ad revenue while making round after round of cuts to staff and coverage.
By 2019, Brandt was the only one left, serving as both editor and sole reporter for a publication responsible for covering vital local doings–from government action to corporate shenanigans, sports to elections, weather to protests. Impossible. Alden even sold off The Mercury‘s downtown office building, so Brandt’s “newsroom” is attic space in his home. And then last year, Alden pulled a whopping 30% profit from its Philadelphia- area properties, including the Pottstown paper. Brandt says that this “grilled my onions.” So, the portly, 55-year-old journalistic maverick did the unthinkable: He drove his Toyota Corolla 240 miles to New York so he could put a question to his boss–not the boss of Alden’s newspaper division, but the Big Boss, a guy named Heath Freeman, president of Alden Global Capital.
Heath lives in a waterfront mansion in Montauk, Long Island, one of the Wall Street power elites’ tony seaside villages. The rumpled reporter, in a black T-shirt proclaiming “#NEWS MATTERS,” went right up and knocked on Freeman’s door. As he later told the New York Times, when the door was opened onto the mansion’s foyer, Brandt caught a glimpse of the 40ish tycoon of vulture capitalism standing upstairs. The encounter lasted only a few seconds, but Brandt seized the moment, locking eyes with Freeman, and pointedly asking: “What value do you place on local news?”
The vulture just shook his head and fluttered away.
Help Lucas Kunce defeat Josh Hawley in November: https://LucasKunce.com/chip-in/ Josh Hawley has been a proud leader in the fight to ...