Perish the Thought, a World Without News

I awoke in the inky darkness with a jolt. My heart was wildly pumping, as if I’d just run a marathon. What could so terrify me? Ah, it was a dream, yes, that was it, a nightmare, but about what?
Why of course, that was it; that outlandish dream was blood chilling because it was about the last day of news.
I guess my brain was trying to sort through the events of recent days, trying to make sense of what, for people in the news profession, is a living nightmare, the closing of newspapers, reduction of news staffs, and the terrible, aching “what ifs” this nation would be like lacking newspapers and those who write them. Who will be left to sift the actions of great and average, noble and foul, wise and simple whose actions we chronicle?
To be sure, there are many among us who care less if the Fourth Estate falls into shambles like the Roman Empire. “Good riddance to that pack of scoundrels,” they may say. They write off newspapers in general as wastes of their precious time, as the turn on their televisions to get their daily news fix of sound bytes and “infotainment.” For those who looked and cannot find that last word in the dictionary, it is stuff that would not pass as second-rate feature material in a decent newspaper. Now it gets top billing.
All of that assorted schlock served up between ads for prescription pills and yogurt that regulates irregularity. This was part of the nightmare.
In my dream, I was standing on the steps of the U.S. Capitol. The entire Congress and Executive Branch were at the base of the steps cheering madly.
I asked a security guard what this was all about.
“Are you the last fool in the world who hasn’t heard? There are no more newspapers. Congress just passed a law, and the President signed it. There is no more news. Isn’t that great?” he said.
“No, no. That can’t be. This is the United States of America. We have a freedom of the press we can write whatever…” I voiced.
“Not any longer you don’t, bud. What happens in D.C. stays in D.C. Nobody cared anyway about what happened around here, so they just flat made news illegal,” he countered.
I reached for my camera to snap a photo of this mass of humanity cheering over the fact that there would no longer be news to read or hear or see.
“You can take all the picture you want, bud, but unless your mom or wife wants to see them, they won’t do you a bit of good,” he sneered.
I snapped away, disregarding what the guard had just told me.
Then, as can only happen in a dream, I was then on State Street in Trenton, and a pack of people were outside the state’s gold-domed Capitol, just like in D.C. There was the governor and the entire Legislature cheering wildly, having just heard the word that today was the last day for news.
Shenanigans of the high and mighty will never again be known, I realized. We will pay taxes, but never again learn how they are spent. That’s why the crowd was carrying on like Mardi Gras on State Street.
Press aides to government departments were to have their titles changed to Information Channelers. They will get more money for that, but no one will ever know about the raises, so their jobs will be secure.
When planes crash, fires burn houses and people perish, we will never again know it, since there won’t be any more newspapers, because none of those things will be news, and none will be reported.
Corporations, which I learned in my dream had lobbied hard to eradicate news from public view, were also in a celebratory mood. No longer would the public learn if corporate actions polluted rivers, streams, air or the food chain. They would be safe from public scrutiny, all because there was no longer news to worry about. No longer would they have to fear a call from some inquiring reporter about illicit actions on their part.
Instantly, in my dream, I was sitting across from my lovely wife at the breakfast table. Lacking a morning newspaper to read, there she was, staring at me.
“Can’t you read a book?” I asked. “No. Not this early. I want a newspaper,” she replied.
“Well, there won’t be any more newspapers, since there isn’t any more news,” I stated.
“Well, Aunt Jen said there was a big fire out in Belleplain last night. She went out to see it, so there has to be something, someone has to know,” she told me.
“That may be so, but there is no more news, so if you want to know about that fire, you better ask Aunt Jen to tell you about it. It’s the only way you will ever find out,” I said.
Then, I woke up in the dark, panting wildly. I crashed back onto the pillow. It was about 3:30 a.m., and I heard a car outside. It was the newspaper carrier stuffing the paper into the box out at the curb.
Thank goodness, life would go on with a newspaper. What a nightmare, a world without news or newspapers! May it never come to pass.