I recently had to give up a New York Times assignment on politics in my town because, after conferring with my editor, I realized that by the Times’ standards and my own, I could not be 100 percent perfectly absolutely objective in my reporting. (Fortunately, I did not get Albo’ed.) The more I learned through my reporting, the less I felt I could present the facts without my opinion coming through.  That - along with news of the arrests of journalists covering and demonstrating with the Occupy Wall Street movement - has me thinking hard lately about whether true objectivity is ever achievable, and also about the merits of opinion journalism and journalism as activism. I’m planning on writing a wider-ranging long read, and hope to publish it, obviously, somewhere other than the Times. My reporting will be rigorous, but I will be out front with my take on things. In the mean time, suffice it to say that there has been some hijacking of the political system here by a corporation with deep pockets. In ways, what has happened in this little town feels like what’s been happening in the country, writ small. There have already been a few cries of “Occupy Rosendale!” and I wouldn’t be surprised it that came to fruition. Would I have the balls to join the movement? Would it be wise for me to do so? I’ve worked so hard to remain conflict-free here for the sake of maintaining my status with The Paper of Record, even though I have so few opportunities to publish articles there. I never join organizations or committees. I keep myself wholly unaffiliated. But I’m beginning to wonder about the value - and honesty - of that. (Also, it turns out that unless my husband keeps himself entirely out of the political fray - which he has not - I am no longer considered free of conflicts.) I’m in awe of the reporters and writers who have been willing to not just cover the Occupy Wall Street movement, but take a stand on it. I appreciate what they’re doing, especially as someone who is frankly too afraid of being arrested, and also, honestly, reluctant to be uncomfortable. This is going to sound incredibly lame, but it’s the truth: I don’t want to have to worry about where I’d sleep, pee, get gluten-free food, if I so much as attended the demonstration, let alone found myself sitting on a bus full of other arrested journalists/protesters with a full bladder, low-blood sugar, and my hands cuffed behind my back. I once came close to risking such discomfort. In 1995, I was writing an article for the Times on the Wetlands Preserve, a hippie night club in Tribeca whose owners, staff and patrons engaged regularly in political and social activism. (I can’t put a link to the article because, thanks to a dispute between the Times and The Author’s Guild, of which I am a member, all the articles I wrote for the Times between 1994 and 2002 have been wiped from the archive.) As part of my reporting, I traveled with Wetlands’ founding owner, Larry Bloch, and others, on Black Friday to a Buy Nothing Day demonstration they were staging at a mall in New Jersey. While I did have an official assignment from the City Section (I miss the City Section!), I did not have police press credentials - or any credentials, other than an only-so-convincing business card of my own making with a photograph of 1960s era Smith Corona on it. I worried the whole time about getting arrested, even though I wasn’t demonstrating myself (and also about how I’d get home if I was the only one who didn’t get arrested). As Larry and the others walked around with signs - and went up to people asking them to send a message to manufacturers and retailers that they were liberating themselves from consumerist compulsions by leaving the mall empty-handed - I stood to the side, took notes, and interviewed a few people.  This went on, incredibly peacefully, for a couple of hours. I was relieved the cops never showed, and happy when Larry wanted to head back to the city. But deep down I also felt like a coward who is shamefully attached to certain comforts, and I suppose, in many ways, I still am one.

I recently had to give up a New York Times assignment on politics in my town because, after conferring with my editor, I realized that by the Times’ standards and my own, I could not be 100 percent perfectly absolutely objective in my reporting. (Fortunately, I did not get Albo’ed.) The more I learned through my reporting, the less I felt I could present the facts without my opinion coming through. 

That - along with news of the arrests of journalists covering and demonstrating with the Occupy Wall Street movement - has me thinking hard lately about whether true objectivity is ever achievable, and also about the merits of opinion journalism and journalism as activism. I’m planning on writing a wider-ranging long read, and hope to publish it, obviously, somewhere other than the Times. My reporting will be rigorous, but I will be out front with my take on things. In the mean time, suffice it to say that there has been some hijacking of the political system here by a corporation with deep pockets. In ways, what has happened in this little town feels like what’s been happening in the country, writ small. There have already been a few cries of “Occupy Rosendale!” and I wouldn’t be surprised it that came to fruition.

Would I have the balls to join the movement? Would it be wise for me to do so? I’ve worked so hard to remain conflict-free here for the sake of maintaining my status with The Paper of Record, even though I have so few opportunities to publish articles there. I never join organizations or committees. I keep myself wholly unaffiliated. But I’m beginning to wonder about the value - and honesty - of that. (Also, it turns out that unless my husband keeps himself entirely out of the political fray - which he has not - I am no longer considered free of conflicts.)

I’m in awe of the reporters and writers who have been willing to not just cover the Occupy Wall Street movement, but take a stand on it. I appreciate what they’re doing, especially as someone who is frankly too afraid of being arrested, and also, honestly, reluctant to be uncomfortable. This is going to sound incredibly lame, but it’s the truth: I don’t want to have to worry about where I’d sleep, pee, get gluten-free food, if I so much as attended the demonstration, let alone found myself sitting on a bus full of other arrested journalists/protesters with a full bladder, low-blood sugar, and my hands cuffed behind my back.

I once came close to risking such discomfort. In 1995, I was writing an article for the Times on the Wetlands Preserve, a hippie night club in Tribeca whose owners, staff and patrons engaged regularly in political and social activism. (I can’t put a link to the article because, thanks to a dispute between the Times and The Author’s Guild, of which I am a member, all the articles I wrote for the Times between 1994 and 2002 have been wiped from the archive.) As part of my reporting, I traveled with Wetlands’ founding owner, Larry Bloch, and others, on Black Friday to a Buy Nothing Day demonstration they were staging at a mall in New Jersey.

While I did have an official assignment from the City Section (I miss the City Section!), I did not have police press credentials - or any credentials, other than an only-so-convincing business card of my own making with a photograph of 1960s era Smith Corona on it.

I worried the whole time about getting arrested, even though I wasn’t demonstrating myself (and also about how I’d get home if I was the only one who didn’t get arrested). As Larry and the others walked around with signs - and went up to people asking them to send a message to manufacturers and retailers that they were liberating themselves from consumerist compulsions by leaving the mall empty-handed - I stood to the side, took notes, and interviewed a few people. 

This went on, incredibly peacefully, for a couple of hours. I was relieved the cops never showed, and happy when Larry wanted to head back to the city. But deep down I also felt like a coward who is shamefully attached to certain comforts, and I suppose, in many ways, I still am one.

Tags: Buy Nothing Day Wetlands Preserve Occupy Wall Street