What would happen if we only focused on one piece of news per day?

Radical betrayal of the media algorithms that bind and divide us

This morning I awoke to news alerts that the Clintons and Obamas had been targeted by terrorist bomb threats. Not an hour later, my phone informed me that the Time Warner Center in New York City, which employs dozens of CNN journalists, had intercepted a suspicious package in its mail room. Many of my friends were evacuated. Another who lives in an apartment across the street was instructed to shelter in place with her infant daughter.

I quickly logged on Twitter and retweeted a statement from the Secret Service and a video clip showing the moment that CNN anchors Poppy Harlow and Jim Scuitto evacuated live on air. I posted a thoughtful but sorrow-filled message to my Instagram story in solidarity with the targets of these attempted acts of violence.

Then I started browsing other articles around the internet.

After I tweeted a couple of links unrelated to the terrorizing events of this morning, I felt an itchy shame. The algorithms had already turned my head to the next story that riled me up, the next shiny object. I was a fraud. I texted my friend, “I’m so glad you’re safe. You’re a warrior.”

Because the truth is, I’m still in shock over those bomb threats. My frantic consumption of unrelated content, of Twitter refreshing, was one way I was coping with feeling out of control and deeply, deeply sad about our divided country.

So, I decided to write out some questions that have been bothering me for awhile now. Spoiler: I don’t have the answers. If you do, for godsakes, share them! But maybe with some self-awareness that, heaven forbid, you might not know the easy solution either.

I wondered, as I pressed tweet on an article about the shareholder economy (which angers me but honestly could wait for a day where my friends weren’t evacuating their babies), what would Twitter (or any social media) be like if its users only focused on one news story per day? Could something this simple help reverse the impact of the algorithmic news cycle and our ever-shrinking attention spans? (After all, it’s this climate of (mis)information overload and media consumption that impacted the 2016 election.)

And as a result of focusing America’s collective attention, would that demand shift resources and capital to produce better reporting? Could we solve more problems if we focus intently on the ones that “really matter”?

An example: A couple of weeks ago, reporters clustered around a manic Kanye West in the Oval Office. His conversation with Trump trended worldwide. SNL’s cold open, arguably the reflection of whatever busted the social media virality charts any given week, made fun of a man that, political ideology aside, is experiencing a mental health crisis. That media coverage, that air time came at the expense of other stories.

So perhaps the most important question is: Who gets to decide what stories make the cut?

In part it’s the media — not just newspapers, but entertainment conglomerates like Netflix and Comcast — that decide what stories matter. But as we’ve seen from malicious election meddlers, our media diet is hugely determined by the digital algorithms that, ironically, the industry relies on for survival.

One way to change our media diet might just be to seek fewer sensational snacks and more hearty meals, a.k.a. important scoops, time-intensive longform, and developing stories. We, as reporters and as consumers, can break free from algorithm anarchy.

Unfortunately, the simple solution of covering stories more deeply (or as a reader, choosing which topics to dedicate one’s time and advocacy to, perhaps in the name of self-care) is so much easier said than done.

On a personal level, media tunnel-vision feels irresponsible at best, and dangerous at worst. I deeply feel we’re not covering enough stories, especially when it comes to representing marginalized communities. So to ask consumers to focus on only a few topics can be problematic, and in some cases privileged.

One crucial way to tackle that is to hire more diverse newsrooms, which at the very least forms a baseline for more nuanced approaches and layered perspectives in responsible storytelling. But also, we need newsrooms and media environments that welcome thoughtful and respectful dialogue, for instance, a SNL writer who could have asked, “Should we step back and examine how Kanye’s mental health factors into responsible comedy? Should we even do this skit? Why?”

I have to believe that digging in deeply with meaty stories (issues, if you will), staying with them, learning them, exploring them, feeling them, and even letting them hurt you a little bit, is a fierce act of resistance. A woman entrepreneur I admire deeply told me over coffee that a long time ago she picked two issues to which she would donate pro bono photography services: animal welfare and gender equality. She decided that until her business grew, she could only say yes to those philanthropic requests that resonated most deeply with her values. And now our local animal shelter looks forward to the annual holiday photo shoot this woman donates, free of charge, to encourage abandoned pet adoption.

Without this kind of approach — without focus, conviction, and dedicated time — the press wouldn’t have unearthed the Pentagon Papers, wouldn’t have outed Harvey Weinstein, wouldn’t still be reporting on the migrant incarceration and family separation in border towns otherwise abandoned by the contemporary Western attention span and unrewarded by the Facebooks and Googles of the world — unless or until they go viral.

For what it’s worth, the signs of deep-dive journalistic investment are still there, and in some cases even growing once again. (The Wall Street Journal is hiring a gambling reporter, so there’s a niche topic to float someone’s boat.) But until we uplift responsible storytelling, like we so easily drop $14 per month on Netflix, we risk getting distracted by the mediocre and briefly viral think pieces that crowd the algorithm superhighway one minute and disappear into the ether the next. Hell, this might be one of them. I’m humble enough to admit that.

Maybe this was all just a plea, dear reader, to invest in your American free press, to vote for smart, diverse newsrooms. That too is an act of resistance at this point in time. Or maybe I’m writing out of penance for my friends who evacuated today.

Friends, I’m sorry my attention was diverted by the algorithm-snatchers. I don’t know the perfect solution. But now I’m laser-focused.