Let’s just say, I didn’t see it coming.
Sure, the newspaper editors in the films I loved as a kid always had their lives threatened. Be it by a mob boss, corrupt politician or crooked cop, the threat would force the editor to choose between his personal well-being and printing The Truth. The latter would always triumph, as the former, through the miracle of cinema, seemingly took care of itself.
So when I became an editor later in life, I knew (perhaps even hoped) my day would come. I just didn’t know it would be over Charlie Brown.
One day after I canceled the Peanuts comic strip in my newspaper, I received a call from an elderly woman complaining about the move. I explained creator Charles Schultz had been dead for five-plus years, and as the paper had been rerunning old comics since, I thought it best to give some new comics a chance.
“He may be dead,” she told me, “but you will be too if you don’t put it back in the paper.”
Now, don’t let any journalist fool you. The five most-read items in any newspaper are, in order, obituaries, comics, horoscopes, letters to the editor and, should the reader have time, news.
It’s not the importance, mind you, as most readers will admit to the silliness of the content they crave. But it’s the routine. When you mess with routine, you can ruin a whole day. And when you ruin a whole day, people can feel compelled to threaten your life over it.
Admittedly, things weren’t that bad at Western last week. But university administrators did get an earful when the institution rolled out its new branding – some positive, some constructive, some predictably over-the-top.
Most folks I spoke with directly seemed supportive of the new logo, but reactions were mixed over the use of Western or Western University as the go-to name of the institution. Remember, the official name remains The University of Western Ontario. But that didn’t matter.
I am amazed, and somewhat concerned, at the inability of university graduates to process information beyond 140 characters in length. Many of their concerns could have been assuaged by simply reading another sentence, at most the next paragraph.
But gut reactions have no time for context.
I have seen a small sliver of the information evolution from the editor’s chair. Letters to the editor once required a piece of paper and stamp (or, at least, the manual dexterity to cut words and phrases from a magazine). That evolved into e-mail, which required typing skills, even with the caps lock button on. And now, Tweets.
Really cool stuff. Each step brought greater speed and relevance to the conversation, but oftentimes it came at the expense of context and depth of thought.
Last year, New York Times editor Bill Keller lit a match under the Twitterverse when he penned The Twitter Trap, a delightfully ignorant ode to Luddites which asked the question “Is Twitter making us stupid?” It was a silly column, one you would expect from the head of The Grey Lady, a newspaper who refused to run colour pictures until 1997.
But one line from that column still sticks with me. He expressed concern these mechanisms for instant reactions compromised “our ability to reflect, our pursuit of meaning, genuine empathy, a sense of community connected by something deeper than snark or political affinity.”
Rolling out something new in today’s social media environment is tricky stuff. Ask Mayor Joe Fontana and his City of Opportunity ditty. But it’s also great fun.
Yes, we have created a trigger-happy punditry class requiring thumbs as its only barrier to entry. Combine that with a passionate topic, and you get a loud, but fast-burning, mob.
All said, I understand the reactions to the university’s changes. Although most are dead wrong to my mind, I see the need to react.
We preach loyalty and connection to this institution, and that builds emotions and routine. They expect the university – their university – to stay as they remember it during their time on campus. Unrealistic? Absolutely. But we created the monster intentionally. So we need to suck it up when it goes on an occasional rampage in the village.
And just like Charlie Brown, woe be unto those who mess with it. Trust me, I know.