Wednesday, November 20, 2019 // The Statement
2B
Managing Statement Editor
Andrea Pérez Balderrama
Deputy Editors
Matthew Harmon
Shannon Ors
Associate Editor
Eli Rallo
Designers
Liz Bigham
Kate Glad
Copy Editors
Silas Lee
Emily Stillman
Photo Editor
Danyel Tharakan
Editor in Chief
Maya Goldman
Managing Editor
Finntan Storer
statement
THE MICHIGAN DAILY | NOVEMBER 13, 2019
W
e left the farm to begin our
weekly climb up the hill to
the chapel. The cell reception
was better toward the top of the slope, so
we often went there before dusk to call fam-
ily and friends thousands of miles away. The
dogs barked ahead of us in excitement as we
used the sturdy walking sticks to support
our weight. Despite the fading colors and
chipped paint on its walls, the church’s green
columns and blue structure shined in the set-
ting sun’s gaze.
We entered the shadows under the bal-
cony to catch our breath and shield our-
selves from the intense sunlight. I pulled out
my phone to call my parents as usual. After
updating them with what I had been doing
that week, I swiped down to scan through
hundreds of push notifications, pausing to
glance at the headlines about the Democratic
presidential primary and Special Counsel
Robert Mueller’s testimony. I continued to
peruse through weeks of news until an email
with the words “Shootings” and “Kashmir”
caught my attention. I felt an ache in my
chest as I read the evening news briefing
from the New York Times.
Two mass shootings had occurred in
Dayton and El Paso two days before the
Aug. 5 briefing, which I was reading on the
ninth — almost a week after the violence
had occurred. I didn’t have time to process
that information since I also read the Indian
government revoked Kashmir’s semi-auton-
omous status and sent in its forces to occupy
the region.
I was silent on the walk back to the farm,
distressed by how much had happened
without me learning about it. What else did
I miss? What other events happened in the
world that just slipped right by me?
T
his past summer, I interned with
a small, family-run organization
in La Bolivarense, a rural sector in
northwest Ecuador. We came to document
the history of the region since many of the
original founders still live there, offering a
unique opportunity to foster community
engagement.
Though it was no doubt a rewarding expe-
rience to work within a community and to
cultivate a greater understanding of its ori-
gins, there was a certain irony in my being
there. For, while I was in Ecuador, I couldn’t
help but lament the sacrifice I had made in
losing access to news on global and domestic
events.
It should come as no surprise, coming from
a student journalist, I’m an avid consumer
of news. As a New York Times subscriber, I
check the newspaper’s online front page a
few times a day. Whenever a big event hap-
pens, I read an article about the subject from
every news outlet I can, and I watch at least
two or three videos of political analysis, too.
Following the news has essentially taken up
the mantle that television and movies once
held. Being caught in the 24-hour news cycle
means it’s hard to step back and slow down.
Going to a remote location in Ecuador
with essentially no access to the internet
meant I would have to put reading news
on hold. My discovery at the chapel
highlighted the anxiety I experienced
from distancing myself from a 24-hour
news cycle. I was so accustomed to the
rapid consumption and constant access
to information that its absence left me
a wide-eyed addict desperate for long-
form profiles and breaking news pieces.
The absence of news in my life
changed my behavior while living with
my host family. I repeatedly swiped
down to refresh my email, even when I
knew I’d be met with a “No connection”
message at the bottom of my screen. It
was equally frustrating when I did have
a connection and email briefings still
wouldn’t load properly. I even resorted
to crouching in the bathroom and peer-
ing at the newspapers written in Span-
ish along the floor, only to find that they
were three years old. I read them any-
way.
My hysteria subsided with time, and
as I focused on our project, I began to
see what kind of life I’d live if national
and global news wasn’t always at my
fingertips. We woke up at seven every
morning to help feed the guinea pigs
and chickens on the farm and clean
their cages. We walked for hours in
direct sunlight to meet with founders from
the community. The interviews themselves
ranged from 30-minute to hour-long conver-
sations. The work was grueling, yet there was
a greater intimacy in the moment-to-moment
routine of the days. We were engaged with-
out the opportunity for digital distractions or
pings from CNN to hijack our attention.
While I still talked about news with the
other interns and the host family, our con-
versations were intimate as we weaved per-
sonal narratives into our discussions and
talked about how natural disasters, politics
and significant events impacted our lives.
The internship gave me the opportunity to
see how reading the news nonstop with the
intent of being aware actually made me more
distant from issues that mattered to those
around me. Our history project was a work
of news, yes, but unlike national news, it was,
in a sense, a work of community journalism
made by and for La Bolivarense. It enhanced
connections within the town rather than
detracting from them as a national news
story might.
When I came back to Chicago in August,
I initially regressed back into my constant
digestion of domestic and international
news. So much continues to happen, and
being an informed citizen demands that we
engage with journalism. But every now and
then, when I get especially busy, I’m able to
take a step back from the news cycle and take
it in piecemeal through briefings rather than
my daily binge reading. I’m more attentive
in my own life and in the global news world
when I can take it slower. Now, I recognize
how some of the greatest “news stories”
in my life might appear right in front of me
rather than on a front page.
Disconnecting to connect: Thoughts on
the 24-hr news cycle
BY ARJUN THAKKAR, STATEMENT COLUMNIST
ILLUSTRATION BY CASEY TIN AND KATE GLAD