Community journalism is a foundation, not a fallback

Last week I found myself on the campus of Mount Royal University not as a student or a parent but as a working journalist invited to speak with the next generation. I was there representing the Alberta Weekly Newspaper Association at a career fair hosted by the communications faculty, and I walked away more energized than I have felt in a long time.

I met a room full of future reporters, editors, producers and storytellers, and I was genuinely impressed. These were not students drifting by for free swag. They were engaged, curious and thoughtful. They asked sharp questions about ethics, newsroom pressures, funding and what journalism actually looks like in small communities. Many of them already understood the stakes.

Then something unexpected happened. Several students told me they wanted to meet me specifically because I am part of their curriculum.

In their ethics class, they are studying the lawsuit brought forward by small and independent publishers against Google and Facebook. They knew the case. They knew the arguments. They understood why it mattered. They wanted to meet the person behind it and hear why someone running a weekly newspaper in a rural community would take on global tech giants.

That conversation alone made the trip worthwhile.

It also gave me the chance to talk about something I care deeply about and that often gets overlooked when students imagine their future careers. Community newspapers matter. Not as a stepping stone. Not as a fallback. As a foundation.

In city newsrooms, you are often assigned one beat and stay there. Education, court, crime, business. Important work, but narrow. In community journalism, you do everything. You cover council at night and a school play the next morning. You write breaking news, features, editorials and sports, sometimes all in the same week. You learn how decisions are made and how they land in real lives.

You also get something increasingly rare. Autonomy, responsibility and one-on-one mentorship. You are not a number. You sit across from an editor who reads every word you write and teaches you how to make it better. You learn ethics not as theory but as daily practice because the people you write about are your neighbours.

That message resonated. I could see it land.

During the day, I also had a small experience that stuck with me, and for a journalist, that usually means it is worth examining.

The closest bathroom to my booth was labelled gender-neutral. I was rushing and had to leave my computer with another group to watch my table. The space was very small, with two stalls and two urinals. I used a stall, and while I was washing my hands, a man came in, pulled his pants down and used the urinal beside me. It caught me off guard and made me uncomfortable.

What struck me is that this did not need to be the outcome.

I have used gender-neutral bathrooms in Europe and never once felt uncomfortable. They had solid doors, proper locks and real privacy. Shared space worked because design matched intent.

If the goal is inclusion, then privacy should come first. I honestly do not understand why a gender-neutral bathroom needs urinals. Design matters. Listening matters. Lived experience matters.

That moment tied directly back to the conversations I was having with students about journalism. Good reporting starts with noticing. It requires asking who is affected and whether the outcome matches the intention. It is about paying attention to the human impact, not just the policy or label.

By the end of the day, I walked out with a stack of resumes to share with member newspapers across Alberta. These students are ready. They want meaningful work. They want to make a difference. They want to tell stories that matter.

There is something deeply noble about community journalism. It is not glamorous, and it is rarely easy, but it is essential. Every week, we document the life of a place. We record decisions, debates, celebrations and losses. We become, by default, the written history of our communities.

I am keenly aware of how lucky I am to do this job. To carry the current news of the Crowsnest Pass week after week. To give people a place to see themselves reflected honestly and fairly.

Walking through that campus reminded me that the future of journalism is not lost. It is sitting in classrooms asking hard questions and paying attention to the details.

If we make room for them.