Category Archives: Rants

The Dignity of Student Journalism(?)

The life of a student journalist or photojournalist is not a particularly easy one. There’s the difficulty in obtaining credentials to events, the ever-present down-the-nose looks from those whom you’re photographing or interviewing that seems to say, “you’re only a student, what I tell you doesn’t matter.” Then there’s the lesser issue of working as hard as a professional and getting paid virtually nothing. Hell, I get paid very little and I count my blessings every time I get a paycheck from Gannett. [But come on — we really don't do it for the money. We love it.]

But something that I will not stand for is when my media organization, or an individual therein, demands that I forfeit the copyrights to my photos and articles when I work for virtually nothing. And that’s exactly what I, along with the rest of the staff photographers and journalists who work alongside me, have been asked to do.

Don’t get me wrong: this isn’t some spoiled-brat rant about wanting money. If I wanted lots of money, I wouldn’t work as a student journalist. I get paid for shit, and that’s a miracle at a student publication. I do what I do because I love my job, and the people I work with, and the people I work for. The fact that I get paid anything is amazing and a fact to which I am eternally grateful, but it’s not the reason I work at a college paper: I do it because I love it.

No. This isn’t about that. This is about taking the very rights to my images and writings, the sole thing that keeps food on the table for professional photographers and journalists, and demanding that I give them up for one-tenth of the pay that a staff photographer at a local paper gets paid. I refuse to do it.

Who the hell thought of something like this? Really? Not only thought of it, but thought that it was acceptable and morally justified, let alone not twisted and not degrading? It’s shit.

Here’s my point: to insist that a bunch of students give up the rights to their work for so little pay is a bit like how Wal-Mart tells manufacturers what they are going to buy a product for, and if the manufacturer disagrees then he loses virtually all of his business. It’s not right.

I’m not demanding higher pay, not by far. Actually, the idea of being a starving journalist is rather romantic to me. On the contrary, I’m just demanding that I keep the rights to my work, unless you feel like paying me more. Since the budget for that isn’t there, then I wish simply to retain my own copyrights.

There is hope in our case, however. A glimmering ray of sunshine through this cloud. Because of the work of a few amazing colleagues who have ties to the legal world, the contract that we are being told to sign is in the process of being revised to allow us the right to sell and distribute our work freely on our websites and social media pages. This, to me, is a fair compromise.

But I’m not sitting here writing about a fair compromise: I’m writing about the fact that someone actually thought that it was okay to force us to virtually give up our rights to our work for so little. It’s shameful. And if the contract does not get revised and I cannot retain my rights, it will be time for a very tough decision: to give up my dignity as a working photojournalist, or to give up my job.

I’m okay with having a contract that outlines some basic rules and guidelines of working for a news association. In fact, I think it would be foolish to dive into such a situation without one, and in that respect I am glad that it’s there. But unless you’re able to give me pay that can actually put a real dent in my rent or my tuition, I don’t ever want to hear an individual demoralize me and ask me to give you the rights to my work. It’s not fair, it’s not right, and it’s not something that I’m going to give up on without a fight.

Documenting BP’s Oil: Photos from the Panhandle.

There is so much information I obtained from this past weekend that I don’t even know how to express it all right now. I will be writing an article shortly to detail what I found in relation to BP’s operations; suffice it for now to say that transparency is not high on the list of BP’s objectives. However, I couldn’t wait any longer to publish the photos that I took there, so I decided to share them before I wrote the article.

Some of these photos, and some of the ones I wish I had been authorized to take, are the result of a large amount of very obnoxious bureaucratic media handling. BP might call it Public Relations. I’d call it Media Control, as there’s no relationship whatsoever, other than journalists eating up what BP says because there’s no alternative. BP is being far too totalitarian of what is photographed and released about this incident, and in the long run their lack of transparency is only going to damage their image more than it’s already hurt. In the mean time, and while I craft this piece based on some interviews that I was fortunate to get, enjoy the photos I was lucky enough to take.

There is more on the way. And I am angry, and I am ready to share.

A dead fish floats in froth created by oil sheen in Pensacola Bay, Florida.

An offshore platform near Fort Morgan, Alabama.

FSU student Bridgette Balderson holds a cup of petroleum tar found on the beach of Dauphin Island, Alabama. Tar balls reached the Alabama coast several weeks ago, prompting cleanup efforts by BP along the coastline.

Hay barriers on the shoreline near Fort Gaines, Alabama.

Bales of hay put into place by BP cleanup crews. The hay barriers will inhibit the spread of oil when it washes ashore in liquid form.

A national guard chopper flys out of a restricted beach area on Dauphin Island, Alabama.

BP cleanup crews construct large earthen berms on Dauphin Island, Alabama. As Dauphin Island acts as a natural partial barrier to the mouth of Mobile Bay, these will help to stop the flow of oil inland during high tide or hurricane season.

Crews managed by CleanHarbour, a company contracted by BP to man the skimming and monitor vessels, prepare to board boats searching for offshore oil slicks.

My escort for the duration of the photo opportunity I was granted inside the compound. While inside, I was allowed only to walk the length of the main concourse, once, and take photos. Additionally, "You are to speak to nobody. You may not ask questions, even of me. No questions will be answered."

Booms ready for deployment when oil is sighted near the shoreline of Dauphin Island. "We are getting 4000 feet of boom every other day," says a head BP cleanup executive to me during an interview.

A BP-contracted worker poses during my tour inside the cleanup compound.

Workers help each other put on protective shoe covers before tackling oil and tar balls on Dauphin Island beach. When asked how long they had been there, "We can't talk to you. We were told to tell you to contact our supervisor."

A tar ball found on Dauphin Island beach

BP cleanup crews remove oil and tar balls from Dauphin Island beach, Alabama.

A local kitesurfer enjoys one last run before the oil makes the beach unusable. Many local residents are taking advantage of the so-far little oil to take 'last swims' and enjoy the still-white sand.

Unnamed FSU students working for BP remove tar balls from Pensacola Beach, Florida. When asked their employer, "Sorry, we can't talk to you."

A bag of oil-drenched sand from Pensacola Beach, Florida.

A worker hauls a bag of oil to the disposal point at Navarre Beach, Florida.

Tar balls strewn on the shoreline at Navarre Beach, Florida. An oncoming storm forced crews to cut cleaning work until the rain and wind passed.

In the path of an oncoming thunderstorm, BP cleanup crews pack up operations into vans until the storm passes over.

The sign at Pensacola Beach, Florida, warning tourists not to take cleanup into their own hands.

Documenting BP’s Oil: A Trip to Pensacola.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Five Seconds. In that time, enough crude has leaked from the BP Deepwater Horizon spill to fill your Suburban. Two and a half times. Tick. Tick.

As a proud native Floridian, I was and continue to be devastated by the unravelling events of the BP oil spill. So when the idea came up that I should travel to the Gulf Coast and photograph the worst environmental disaster in US history, coupled by the fact that oil’s been sighted just off the coast of Pensacola Beach, it didn’t take very much convincing to get a plan into action. So, tomorrow, as early as I can get everything I need together, I’m hopping on I-10 and making my way to the Panhandle to document the events as the unfold.

What’s been gnawing at the back of my mind, however, is that BP is being exceptionally restrictive to the media in allowing their precious oil to have its picture taken. What is even more disturbing is that local authorities are working with them to prevent the devastation from being documented. Are you kidding me? Think about it: the local authorities, whose beaches are tainted with grimy oil and whose air reeks of acrid crude, are stopping the documentation of this tragedy, not at the orders from the federal government, but from the orders of the company that caused the damage to begin with. What authority does BP have? It’s a private company: it doesn’t need to be in charge of the media, it needs to be embarrassed and humiliated. It makes my blood boil, folks.

I am still trying to decide what route, be it a photojournalist college student, or a freelancer, or an ignorant tourist, or an angry local, is going to get me the largest chance of getting onto that oil-soaked beach and taking photos. Hell, It might even involve sneaking through the woods or a swamp. I’m not above that.

I feel a huge obligation to document this. I want to show current and future generations how important it is that we hold accountable the large corporations that are defiling our natural resources, and how integral to the future of our society alternative energy needs to be. I want to show that there are faces behind the oil on those beaches, faces that belong to people whose ways of life have been ruined. I want to show people that this is the stuff that our cars and trucks guzzle, and when it’s handled irresponsibly, this is what happens.

As things evolve, I’ll keep posting. Wish me luck against the BP Media Machine.

the change is here! …

…in the form of new ketchup packets. thank you heinz.

I am genuinely curious to know what most people think of these things. They supposedly hold about three times as much ketchup as the previous versions. Additionally, they make dispensing that oh-so-glorious red goop onto your processed, chemically flavored fries as you fly down the interstate going 93 miles an hour (while juggling your iPhone and nursing a coke shoved between your nads, of course) a breeze.

What’s going to happen with this +∆ : K/Pq (scientific expression for increase in Ketchup per Packet)? Here’s my prediction: Americans will overconsume ketchup like never before, and due to the heightened levels of high fructose corn syrup consumption, the country will soon suffer obesity levels so high that they will be considered an epidemic.

Wait. I feel like I’ve overlooked an important fact. What could I be missing?

Try this.

Haha yes, yes, I know that these two things are almost completely unrelated. But do I care? Not really. The thought gave me a chuckle and that’s why I shared it with you.

worst party foul ever.

oops. someone needs some more training when it comes to driving around five-hundred cases of beer.

crunch.

Dear god… first snuggies, now THIS?

Disclaimer: this is a non-creative post.

I came across this article (http://www.blogaboutbeer.com/2009/02/21/its-easier-to-reach-your-beer-when-your-blanket-has-sleeves/) talking about one of the most horrific things that could be known to man: a pub crawl. In snuggies.

These people have got to be shitting me. Perhaps you enjoy the economic and fuzzy warmth of the snuggie in your own home. But I don’t understand the appeal of stumbling about drunkenly in a major city looking like a klan member who sent their robes to a dyeing facility instead of the cleaners. Wtf, really? Fail.

Click here for my personal opinion on snuggies.