Love’s Labour Lost?: Working for a sustainable alternative press

GENEVIEVE SIMMS

By Nicole Cohen

Briarpatch Magazine

June/July 2007

I don’t recall the exact moment I became skeptical of the term labour of love, but I do remember the day it began feeling like an inappropriate descriptor for Shameless, the independent, feminist magazine for teens I co-founded in 2003 and edited until recently.

It was a Sunday last fall, and I was lugging heavy boxes of magazines to a literary festival, where I would spend the next several hours selling back issues and explaining Shameless’ mandate to hundreds of people before packing everything up and hauling it home in the rain. I would then spend the evening replying to Shameless-related e-mail, working on the next issue, and neglecting other parts of my life that needed attending to. Working after-hours for no pay was becoming exhausting.

After four years of planning, launching, and producing nine issues of the magazine on a tiny budget, Shameless had begun to feel more like work than a hobby, activism, or even, as I had so often referred to the magazine, a “labour of love.”

I often recognize this overwork and exhaustion in other alternative media producers who juggle multiple jobs to work on projects they care deeply about. And since my co-editor and I decided to pass Shameless on to new editors with more energy and time to spare, I’ve been thinking about the concept of a “labour of love,” and the problems that such a romanticization of real, often difficult, work creates in our efforts to build a sustainable alternative media movement in Canada.

Labouring for love

By alternative media, I refer mainly to independent, small-circulation publications (primarily magazines) that depend heavily on volunteers and were self-started by people who want to provide an alternative to the mainstream, corporate-owned press.

The economics of producing this type of media have always relied on labouring for love. Most alternative and activist media projects are born out of big ideas rather than a desire for big profits, which, in most cases, means the editorial vision - and even the first issue - comes long before determining how the publication will be funded. Most people figure they’ll work for free until things are more established, and then factor in money for staff. This, unfortunately, is often much more difficult than it sounds, and wages for core staff get put off indefinitely.

While this reliance on dedicated volunteers is understandable, it presents structural challenges to building an alternative media movement. Squeezing media projects between paid work and other life commitments is not something one can sustain for long, and high staff turnovers are standard. In the most unfortunate cases, projects shut down when the founders are worn out or simply can’t afford to work for free anymore.

The problem is, of course, a persistent one, which publications dedicated to remaining independent and alternative have struggled with for years. Usually, alternative media producers are too busy putting out a magazine, website or journal to worry about budgeting for salaries. Some don’t understand finance, or are determined to work outside of capitalist modes of production as much as possible. Discussions of money usually centre on how to get enough to pay the printer. Rarely is money discussed as something alternative media workers need to materially survive.

As several assessments of grassroots media have noted, however, this lack of financial planning can undermine the whole project. Some observers have suggested, controversially, that the only way to make this media sustainable is to adopt mainstream economic and organizational planning to increase circulation - more mainstream content, the thinking goes, could attract a broader readership and, in turn, more advertising.

While it is critical for media activists to talk seriously about the business of producing alternative media and to find innovative ways to boost circulation, it is dangerous to believe that the only way to become commercially viable is to make content more mainstream. Alternative media exist to disseminate an oppositional or radical stance, and the development of creative, sustainable business models should centre on strengthening that goal, not abandoning it.

Whose alternative?

Since many alternative media projects in Canada are concerned with social justice, it is important to apply social justice principles to our own workplace environments. An ongoing reliance on a volunteer labour pool, for instance, can have the unintended result of limiting who is able to participate in production. In the current neo-liberal economic climate - the very climate many of our projects seek to challenge - most people are too busy working demanding jobs and taking care of families to have time to even read, let alone volunteer for, alternative media.

While starting Shameless, I had well-paid, somewhat cushy jobs at newspapers in Toronto that not only granted me time during paid working hours to devote to my project, but access to office supplies and, crucially, the social networks necessary to successfully launch the magazine. I had no kids to feed, nor was I dependent on demanding shift work. I could afford to work for free on the magazine, and the fact that I wasn’t being paid justified my requests for others to contribute for free. But I grew increasingly troubled asking writers for donated work, unable to reconcile my ability to participate in alternative media with my desire to prove that anyone could make media. (This was around the time The Walrus launched with the help of a $5 million grant from editor Ken Alexander’s family’s foundation).

Addressing this important class barrier is critical to remaining true to the raison d’être of alternative media: to wrest control over ideas and communication from corporate-owned media and to present critiques, challenges and alternate visions of the world. While incorporating volunteers into projects is an important way of involving a wide range of people in media production, relying solely (or even mostly) on unpaid or low-paid labour narrows the range of people who can steadily contribute, and thus the scope of ideas and issues covered.

Alternative to what?

Current trends in mainstream media make it even more urgent that media activists strive to present workable alternatives to the status quo. The neo-liberal logic driving the consolidation of media companies has resulted in fewer people doing more work for less money, and with less editorial freedom. Although freelance writing has historically been an insecure vocation, the current climate has intensified the situation.

Writers’ average earnings have shrunk to about $24,000 a year (before tax), and freelancers typically have no benefits or job security. Many depend on a partner and other work to supplement their income.

Those who can afford to participate are met with overwork, ongoing struggles over copyright and challenges to their ability to resist precarious conditions of work. As PWAC President Michael O’Reilly recently told a Senate committee reviewing the state of the media, “those who own our newspapers, our magazines and our airwaves . . . are demanding more work, more content and more rights; and they are paying less for it.”

Meanwhile, print publishing in Canada remains extremely profitable. While comprehensive financial data is unavailable, former newspaper publisher Clark Davey testified to the same committee that “newspapers are very profitable - 30 percent return on revenue for most of the big newspapers.”

If this is what it means to write for the largest Canadian media companies, it seems that “alternative” models must strive for something different. While independent or alternative publications offer writers space to explore creative and critical ideas and more involvement (ideally) in the production process, when it comes to wages, alternative media are no alternative at all.

Of course, there’s a big difference between working for reader-funded, non-profit, activist media and being exploited by powerful, profitable media conglomerates. Alternative media production is educational, empowering, and serves important functions for a healthy democracy. People who contribute to alternative media do so because they are committed to the political, artistic or intellectual goals of the publication, not because they want to get rich from it. But everyone must earn a living, and alternative media workers are often too eager to undervalue their own labour if it helps balance the books of a project they believe in.

On the other hand, in an article reflecting on the recent demise of the Ohio-based activist magazine Clamor, co-founder Jen Angel argues that while relying entirely on unpaid staff certainly hurt the magazine, activists should be wary of falling into the “non-profit industrial complex,” which can see “the priorities of the funders, not the project or the public, rule” (see “Seven Years of Clamor: Challenges, Successes, and Reflections,” available at www.clamormagazine.org). While Angel’s critique must be read in the context of the U.S.’s massive foundation sector, which underwrites progressive work of all stripes, she makes a strong case for maintaining editorial independence and preserving the principled autonomy that distinguishes alternative media from the mainstream. The bigger the budget, the greater the reliance on external funding sources - and activists should zealously guard their independence from even the most benevolent of funders.

And so the question remains: how can alternative media be committed to their political projects while fairly compensating producers for their labour? I don’t have an answer, only a few suggestions that I hope can point us in the right direction. The first, as I have argued, is to explicitly recognize that labour is at the root of many of the issues we face. If we conceptualize alternative media projects as more than volunteering and as something beyond activism without losing sight of our political goals, we may be able to come up with creative solutions to these persistent problems.

Getting organized

Angel’s wariness towards foundations and other external sources of funding raises the important role that consumers and supporters of alternative readers must play in developing a strong alternative media movement. One of Clamor’s challenges was its audience: predominantly young social justice activists who did not want to buy (or did not think they could afford) subscriptions. She suggests that alternative media can benefit from regular, substantial donations from readers and supporters. This is how several independent Canadian magazines survive, and the idea is being put into practice on a much larger scale with The Real News, a soon-to-be-launched, viewer-supported, independent broadcast network whose business model is based on a $10-per month subscription.

Currently, when independent and alternative media appeal to readers and supporters for donations, the appeal is rarely framed in terms of the work involved in producing the publication. Surprisingly, Shameless readers often assumed we had full-time, paid staff. Adopting more transparent business processes so that the community can see how much money comes in and what the true cost of each issue is may help generate support in areas where it’s needed most.

The labour movement can also play an important role in building a sustainable alternative. While many unions are already generous with their support for alternative media projects, media activists should work at building relationships with unions whenever we get the chance. Recent changes in electoral funding, which limit unions’ ability to directly donate to political parties, may help in this regard: activists need to argue convincingly that alternative media are a worthy investment in long-term political change.

Media activists also need to become better versed in the economics of media production and develop innovative funding models. Angel urges alternative media producers to invest time and money looking for or training someone to take on financial planning and accounting. Placing greater importance on this aspect of alternative media while bringing the broader community into the planning process may enable alternative media projects to develop innovative business models that can foster stable, sustainable organizations.

Journalism schools, often sites of privilege that train the next generation of corporate media workers, have potential to become incubators for the development of alternative media. During my four years at Ryerson University, there was very little discussion of alternative and independent media in the classroom, despite the fact that many of us would go on to produce and work for grassroots and activist media. While trained journalists can bring “professional” writing and editing skills to these projects, we have little to offer in the way of business development. Not only could alternative media and media economics be introduced into the curricula of more journalism programs (like the Alternative Media course offered at the University of Regina’s School of Journalism), but resources could be invested in developing student-community partnerships and setting up research centres for the development and support of alternative media.

At the very least, alternative media producers must create collaborative structures through which to exchange ideas, strategize and problem solve. We could share business plans, or pool our resources to hire someone to sell advertising for multiple publications. We could hold joint fundraisers, share office space and begin to put into action this independent media “community” of which we often speak.

Taking a page from Big Media, we could collectively lobby the government in our interests. We could start a newsletter or maintain a website for Canadian activist media. We could get involved with the organizing efforts of the Canadian Freelance Union, and ask how their struggles and goals are related to issues of work in alternative media. And we can - and must - include the community of readers and supporters in these conversations.

To be effective, alternative media need to be inclusive, rewarding and fulfilling for contributors and readers alike. Our projects must remain activist projects, and should continue to include volunteers from the community who are passionate and dedicated. But we must constantly strive for ways to maintain the momentum of these projects, to curb burnout and disillusionment, to prevent publications from folding, and to avoid letting working for alternative media become a privilege that few can afford. These are not easy problems to address, but challenging the notion of a “labour of love” may be a good place to start.

Nicole Cohen is a graduate student in Communication and Culture at York University.

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