He speaks in three-word messages: Build the wall, drain the swamp, lock her up. We have our own three words—feed the hungry. House the homeless. Heal the sick, healthcare is a human right. And welcome the stranger.
Without First Amendment crusaders to catch our backs, journalists—along with educators, activists, and anybody else whose career or passion often requires that they take unpopular public positions—would be no more useful than a Putin fan zine published by the Kremlin.
Don’t even think about leaving the arcade before you swipe a couple bucks away trying to wrap a claw that couldn’t lift a Lego around an anonymous L.O.L. Surprise! prize the size of a toddler.
My point is to draw a comparison between the horse-race repetition and robotic uniformity of the kind of trash commercial bigs, from putrid right-wing radio to elitist broadsheets like the Post, reported out of New Hampshire this week, and the unique features that our squad produced.
“Should a corporation poison your family for money?” Steyer asked the crowd. “Climate is the number one priority … not because we want it to be, but because it has to be.”
The reporters I roll with may not dress like the coifs on TV, or have as many cool lanyards in their credential collection as those who ride campaign buses, but I assure you we are much more serious than most of them.
A few weeks ago, I went there. I told family members who reside politically south of America’s metaphorical Mason-Dixon line that they were unqualified to wrestle with me on the subject of impeachment.
In this case pickleball is merely the vehicle through which I chose to weave this particular parable about finding unexpected prizes through patience and pain.
As the lone remaining leaf on the street in some neighborhoods and corners, we promise to take the responsibility that comes with that seriously.
I want to revisit the extent to which you, DigBoston readers, can help us in the reporting and also the news dissemination process.