What we learned from honest conversations about how to shift newsroom culture, to make equity a reality

Despite sincere efforts to cover the myriad ways that systemic racism has ravaged so many Black lives, journalism itself has long been a powerful force in shaping the historic record through a narrow lens. This is just as true, if not more so, in a Western state like Colorado, where the state’s history, relationship to white supremacy, and anti-Black bias are often overlooked because of the relatively small Black population.

But as a string of high-profile killings of unarmed Black men and women in the last few weeks have inspired outrage and protest from communities across the nation, journalists here have been forced to address the industry’s role in systemic racism, set against the backdrop of a global pandemic and high unemployment that disproportionately affect Black residents.

That’s why last week, the Colorado Media Project (CMP) partnered with the Colorado News Collaborative (COLab) and Rocky Mountain Public Media to host three separate small, peer-to-peer listening sessions with local journalists. The goal of our “Real Talk” sessions was to provide safe and confidential space for journalists to discuss the issues of race, diversity, institutional bias, and areas for growth within their newsrooms.

From the outset, we made clear that this was not diversity, equity, and inclusion training. Instead, we hoped to capture a moment of honest reflection on how Colorado’s media ecosystem — which is predominately white — reports on racial issues. We also hoped to assess the institutional changes needed to achieve newsroom equity, and how CMP and COLab partners might support this ongoing work. And we also hoped to provide individual journalists with strategies to sustain nuance, historic perspective, respect, and empathy in reporting on events and issues directly linked to forms of racial terror and state-sanctioned violence.

We expected broad recognition of the need to diversify Colorado’s journalist corps, even as the industry itself struggles to survive. But we wanted to push the conversation far into the “discomfort zone” to question the very nature of our work and its impact on the communities we serve.

Here’s what we heard. (Note that we are not attributing quotes because the sessions were held as a confidential space to ensure candid discussion.)

Long-standing recruitment practices and hiring pipelines are broken.

“Every news organization I’ve been in has tried to approach diversity the same way, which is go to such and such society, and get a resume. So if that’s how we hire, why are we still at less than 17% representation in media? That to me is a question that we collectively have to answer.”

Between 2012 and 2015, the American Society of News Editors estimated that newspaper employees were 87%-88% White, 63%-64% male, and 56%-57% White and male. Surveys by the Radio Television Digital News Association estimated that television newsroom staff were 77%-79% White and 56%-60% male, while radio newsroom staff were 87%-91% White and 61%-69% male.

The lack of diversity in management leads to recruitment practices that include sharing job listings with personal networks that lack diversity, sharing job listings with “ethnic media” enclaves like National Association of Black Journalists and National Association of Hispanic Journalists, and relying on word-of-mouth recruitment in a mostly White media bubble.

“I do think that there has to be a commitment to ongoing training and mentorship, and that we have to stop looking in the same places for the same people who check all the boxes. Because we don’t tick all the boxes — we just don’t. And we have to expand our pools, and we have to expand our views, and look in other places.”

Job descriptions often work to the detriment of new journalists of color, who are phased out of applicant pools because of narrow requirements that could be learned on the job. Hiring processes tend to recognize qualifications that are more accessible to people with privilege, while undervaluing the skills that come from other forms of life experience. This is a form of structural and implicit bias.

Tokenism and toxic newsroom culture is actively preventing journalists of color from thriving.

“My voice is trembling because I hate having to confront people about these things. But we can’t retain Black or Brown people at our places of business if they don’t see themselves reflected in leadership. That’s the problem.”

Participants spoke of a hiring culture that promotes tokenism and perpetuates an isolation phenomenon where many journalists of color end up being “the only one in the room.” As a result, they are often expected to be the spokespeople for their race. Or equally as taxing, their perspectives— including their lived experiences, opinions, professional skills — are overlooked or even disregarded as biased.

“I’m really struggling with how to support people in our newsroom who feel like their identity is politicized. How can we truly be unbiased? I mean, everyone brings a bias with them to everything that they do.”

Journalists in our sessions noted that the structural inequalities of unpaid or underpaid internships can impede people of color’s exploratory participation in newsrooms, and prevent them from gaining mentorship from seasoned journalists who often pave the way to entry-level hiring.

Some mentioned a newsroom industry bias toward boss vs. coach management styles, which can mean that new journalists of color don’t receive the leadership they need within newsrooms’ competitive, not-always-collaborative cultures. This odd-person-out feeling can breed isolation and affect retention.

They also noted that power dynamics within newsrooms — between management and reporters and other staff — can make it difficult to critique hiring practices and build support for greater diversity, equity, and inclusion.

To truly address these issues, newsrooms must hold institutional norms to scrutiny.

“We need to question the notion of objectivity — and whether there is such a thing as objectivity — and whether we’re striving for objectivity or fairness.”

Participants called for deeper conversation around the perils of journalistic objectivity. The idea that journalists should strive for neutrality (and avoid advocacy) by seeking out conflicting perspectives is a fundamental tenet of reporting. But this is also seen by some as a fatal flaw that perpetuates “both sides-ism”, false equivalency, and furthers distrust of the media within communities of color. Journalists in our groups called for new ways to practice objectivity — with a credibility and directness that also does not alienate or dehumanize.

“When White reporters cover issues involving race, they often fall back on traditional, passive practices of objectivity, such as deferring to official sources and remaining separate from communities. Using in-depth interviews and focus groups combined with textual analysis in a case study of one Midwestern city, we explore the ethical tensions between the commitment to neutrality and the need for trust building in communities.” — From When White Reporters Cover Race: News Media, Objectivity and Community (Dis)trust

The current frame of reporting on police violence in Black, Indigenous and people of color communities too often lacks historical perspective and context.

Police killings of Black men in the 21st century must be seen as a direct linkage to 400 years of systemic oppression that include 246 years of legal slavery, nearly 100 years of legal racial apartheid (Jim Crow), legal policies like the War on Drugs, and over policing in communities that has led to the disproportionate representation of Black men in the criminal justice system today.

“It’s just been going on forever and we find ourselves in yet another moment of anguish, of soul searching and self reflection about whether we’ve made any progress. The answer in my mind, in terms of diversity is no, we’ve gone backwards.”

Some White colleagues have an awareness of the toll this work is taking on Black, Indigenous and people of color colleagues. But participants called for deeper conversations that go beyond agreeing that people from historically underrepresented backgrounds are valuable and have a place in society and our industry.

White allies must actively call out racism and lead change among their peers.

“I feel like I am taking up space right now. As someone who is a white female running social media every day, I’m the voice behind our tweets and the voice on our Facebook posts. I don’t think that’s right.”

Journalists of color encouraged White allies to step outside of their comfort zone, seek training on how to be most effective, and use their voices to advocate for inclusion and amplify new ideas to support colleagues of color. Maintaining silence to prevent another White person racial discomfort when they do or say something problematic simply perpetuates racism.

“There are three types of people in the world. There are racists. There’s non-racists. And then there’s anti-racists. If you’re in the media, being a non-racist is just not good enough.”

Some White allies who are less familiar with diversity, equity, and inclusion need resources that explain White supremacy, White fragility, and the ‘polite racism’ of White liberals. There is a call and a need for reporting resources that address bias in language and coverage.

Finally, participants agreed that newsroom statements of solidarity should not be performative, and instead exhibit a commitment to address systemic racism and actively reduce harm that journalism has created in many communities of color.

These conversations are the necessary first steps towards shifting long-standing culture in newsrooms. We did not bring or walk away with easy answers, and we know that we cannot to “fix the problem” with diversity trainings or toolkits alone. These journalists came together — some with righteous indignation and some with halting uncertainty — to do the hard work of building deeper community.

We are committed to continuing that work with our partners to support newsrooms and individual journalists in moving forward. We’ve compiled a list of anti-racism resources for journalists here. We invite you to contact us with additional thoughts and feedback, and Colorado journalists can join the Real Talk network to help us plan COLab’s next steps.

While there’s a long road ahead, we are hopeful that together we’ve helped to establish a fragile solidarity that can be activated to challenge the status quo — not unlike the industry’s current efforts to “save” journalism in the digital age. Upending institutional racism in newsrooms goes hand-in-hand with that work. Let’s march forward together, with equal fortitude.

Philip Clapham is Project Manager for the Colorado Media Project, a grant-funded, community-led effort to increase civic participation in democracy by supporting innovations that make Colorado’s local news ecosystem more sustainable, collaborative, and accountable to the public it serves.

The Colorado News Collaborative (COLab) is a local media resource hub and ideas lab that serves all Coloradans, by strengthening high-quality local journalism, supporting civic engagement, and ensuring public accountability. COLab founding partners include: The Associated Press, Chalkbeat Colorado, Colorado Broadcasters Association, The Colorado Independent, Colorado Public Radio, The Colorado Sun, Colorado Freedom of Information Coalition, Colorado Media Project, Colorado Press Association, Institute for Nonprofit News, KGNU Boulder Community Radio, Open Media Foundation, Reporters Committee for Freedom of the Press, and Rocky Mountain Public Media.

Let’s Talk: Journalism’s Race Problem Is in Colorado Too was originally published in Colorado Media Project on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Pont Neuf, the oldest span of bridge across the Seine, sparkled with light. It was a traditional proposal, aside from our same-gender love, where he nervously lowered on one knee, professed his unyielding affection, pulled a ring from his jacket pocket, and popped the question.

I said yes, and afterward, between bottles of champagne at a swanky bar on Rive Gauche, made a lot of international calls back home to my family in Texas. Then we celebrated over a fancy meal by Alain Ducasse, all of which I vomited up later that night in our hotel room. I chalked that up to being a sign of good luck.

The rest of our visit was just as romantic and inspiring. We had (more) champagne atop the Eiffel Tower. Watched the sun set over L’arc de Triomphe. We traversed Le Marais with Parisian friends and I was endlessly enchanted each time I was introduced as his fiancé in the language of love from which the word stems.

Before leaving Europe, we made a brief excursion to Portugal, where a series of unfortunate events began to unfold. My fiancé twisted his ankle in Lisbon the night before our return to New York.

His pain was so severe he required a wheelchair and the assistance of airport personnel to navigate him through security checkpoints and gate terminals from Lisbon, back to Paris, and then JFK Airport. (Side note: traveling with your fiancé while he’s temporarily in a wheelchair means you get ushered to the front of every security line. So, savor the moment).

At our gate in New York, our last wheelchair attendant arrived. She was a middle-aged woman who made small talk on the way to customs and to baggage claim.

“Where did you and your friend just arrive from,” she asked in that benign way strangers make conversation to fill awkward silence.

“Paris. And he’s my fiancé,” answered my partner from the wheelchair.

The woman let out a chuckle that (in hindsight) I choose to attribute to a nervous acknowledgement of her gaffe. But in the moment it stung and the light of Paris that I had tucked away in my heart had slowly begun to fade.

Then the customs agent, staring at the three of us, tried his best to understand who I was in relation to my partner. Assuming I was an impatient traveler trying to usurp his place in line, he issued a stern directive.

“Sir please step back until you’re called,” he ordered. My partner’s physical pain and frustration with the agent registered in his voice when he confirmed that we were together.

The customs agent allowed us through.

We made it home and began planning the wedding, and more unfamiliar terrain was traversed when the license application presented us the option to change our names.

True, we had a number of options. We could keep our own last names, make a new name by combining our surnames or hyphenate.

Neither one of us was thrilled at the idea of a hyphenated name. My last name is ten letters long, and his is seven. In the end we were lazy left-handers too daunted by the tremendous wrist-work extra letters would require in our future signatures.

Blending a new name didn’t gain traction either. Maybe we weren’t creative enough. After using a few online algorithms to configure a mélange of our names, we agreed we didn’t love them.

So we revisited the notion of one of us taking the other’s surname. This was a touchy subject for me and for a number of reasons.

I demurred to the idea mostly because we’re an interracial couple. For many African-Americans, surnames have a troubled history. My ancestors were stolen and enslaved, and after receiving their freedom and (second-class) citizenship, they took the surnames of their former enslavers. So, my last name did not hold quite the same meaning for me as my fiancé’s name did for him. He held a sense of genealogical ownership and attachment that only went so far for me.

He’s Polish-German-Irish, and as legend has it, his surname derived from an Anglo-Saxon noble who was granted land outside of present-day London during the tenth century, which was ultimately lost when one of his descendants sided against William the Conqueror.

It was a good name with an interesting story. But I could not deny that, for all its historical pain, so was mine.

I was also afraid our decision would look less politically progressive to queer identified friends or colleagues or that my African-American family would register an unequal power dynamic between us in deciding to take another (white) man’s name. I didn’t want to be the poster boy for heteronormativity, or anyone else’s boy for that matter.

Straight women have experienced a long and misogynistic history with what this step has symbolized in society. It meant you were the property of your husband and until just a few decades ago, was required for women who wanted to retain a driver’s license or voter registration. Women have led a legal, social and economic charge to fight against such thinking. Would my decision be anti-queer, anti-black, and now anti-feminist too?

Gays and lesbian couples are relatively new to marriage. A slow trickle of access to this particular set of civil rights became the law of the land in the U.S. in 2015. The decision to affirm some of our relationships through an institution so historically steeped in patriarchy necessitates its reshaping through the creation of new traditions, while also allowing for the adoption of established norms but only as we see fit.

Ultimately, I kept going back to those moments in the airport. I kept replaying the bizarre looks and second glances at our passports as officials tried to label and identify our relationship. My decision to take my future husband’s name is a way for us to outwardly signify to the world that we were a unit beyond platonic friendship or travel companions. In the end, that was most important to me.

And by the way, please disregard the name in the byline. It’s probably changed since the publication of this article.

Follow Philip B. Richardson on Instagram and Twitter: @philipbrich

A version of this story was published on Huffington Post Queer Voices on March 21, 2016.