Late in November of 2023, I saw on Instagram a post advertising the newscast editor position at The Good Five Cent Cigar. I thought to myself, “video editing for a student organization, I do that already! Might as well give it a try!” And I have to admit: it led to a great learning experience.
My time here, though brief, has given me a glimpse into the ways that campus culture and news function set against the backdrop of social media. It has deepened my appreciation for how a campus’ social currents are captured and maintained in something so simple as a paper or a weekly video series. Still, working the position has also made me pine for a time where our media landscape functioned quite differently from today.
My position involves videography, something I have been passionate about for a long time. This position is different from my past, though, because it involves finding the balance between stories that entertain and stories that inform. I have always been a fiction storyteller – so I was not fluent in AP style, or the format of typical evening news shows. But I came to realize that stories are all around us, even in the most innocuous situations. There are tales constantly being told at URI – at events, protests, clubs and more.
Earlier this year, I found a tale that was largely hidden. In the 193 Coffeehouse in the Memorial Union, a random assortment of yearbooks sits on a large bookshelf. Curious, I opened the yearbook from 1969 and found images of a campus that seemed so foreign. Between photographs of sports, and smiles on the quad, were sections that quoted Friedrich Engels and Karl Marx; beside articles praising staff members were scathing critiques of the responsibility the university holds in the modern world. In the 1970 yearbook, which features a gun on the cover pointed at the reader, the atmosphere was even more dire. “Contemporary University Is a Failure,” proclaims the heading of the first section. Trapped in the annals of time was this tale of revolution, recursion and inversion.
These yearbooks reflect on unanimous questions about the university experience: Who am I? Am I making the world a better place? Is my institution doing the same? While it possibly reflects the perspective of the yearbook staff over the diverse array of student beliefs, I detect this sense of unity that is not as present in our current social climate.
It’s cliche, sure, but I think I speak for many when I say that I wish we lived in a time where our attention was not so fragmented. We all know we are subject to the algorithm, but we do this for the convenience that it brings into our lives. We claim that it is necessary because it is contributing to our development, exposing us to realities we would never have considered, friends we never would have made. I am not claiming that this is not true. But we all know that this convenience comes with side effects: decreased attention span and overall satisfaction. So often do I hear the excuses “I used to read, but I can’t anymore,” or “I just don’t have time anymore.”
In essence, lightning-fast social media cultivates an attention sphere that is limited, despite its promises for broader horizons. While we are exposed to more than ever before, we are less invested in each topic. Depth is sacrificed for breadth. The yearbook and the Cigar both provide glimpses into a time with less noise, where we didn’t have to shout so loudly just to be heard in the cacophony of a “for you” page. Our collective social media addiction makes me fear that we will never be as focused and present as students in the past were – whether we’ll be trapped on our hamster-wheel-treads.
My position has given me the privilege to tell URI’s many tales in 2024, but I think this media climate has taught people to overlook what is close by. The Cigar was formed in 1971 during this period of tumult as a response by the student body to cover what students wanted to address. Its tagline, “Just what this country needs!” was intended to be received as a remedy. The newscast, regrettably, is not a cure-all, but I am proud to be continuing a long line of storytellers who want to tell the story about this university and its rich history. My coworkers, Lauren, Nathan, Maia, Ellie, Ryan, Aidan, Zack and Sully, especially, are bastions of that desire. We long to put a spotlight on what is important here at the university, whether anyone reads the paper or not. We want to document what is happening all around students, even if no one watches the videos.
While I long for this storied past, I recognize that the future is not set in stone, and exceptions abound. The pattern, pace or scale of human affairs is bound to keep changing, for better or worse. Nothing will ever encapsulate everything that happens at this university, no publication will ever tell every single story. But the Cigar has preserved a community which is being increasingly splintered by digital fragmentation. Ironically, although The Beacon, a previous URI newspaper, has been dissolved, The Cigar continues to act as a beacon for this effort to tell our stories. Though I am dismayed at these contemporary trends, I am confident that future Cigar staff will continue to recognize the importance of examining our lives more closely, and fight against the interests that keep us glued to our screens. This will not happen overnight, but I have faith in the Rhody Rams who keep trying. Godspeed, and good luck!