I’ve been floored by the number of you who subscribed. What started as a temporary project to “get something up right now, Brian” has grown beyond any expectations. I am deeply grateful for your support.

In the last few weeks, I’ve had conversations with veteran journalists, editors, media consultants and owners. I’ve been fascinated by how leverage has influenced their career decisions, and I think most everyday readers (like me) have no idea what this means for the journalists they trust.

Most community journalists are content with small markets. They believe that only if the market supports them do they deserve to continue reaching that audience. It’s a marketplace they want to compete in fairly and win.

However, I’ve yet to meet one who would choose their financial compensation package if it had been offered at the start of their career. Why? Because it’s unchecked leverage, wielded with outdated thinking and abusive tactics from the publications.

Subscribe now

Control Points in Media

Today, let’s zero in on leverage - specifically, how it's wielded. Think of leverage as the sneaky cousin of brute force, where you hint, nudge, or outright threaten to make someone do what you want. It’s not the friendly persuasion kind; it’s the “I’ve got the power, and you’re going to feel it” kind. Power, resources, influence - basically, the big guns to get others to fall in line.

Let’s break down a few leverage points driving the decline of legacy media:

1. Guarding the Audience: Community journalists often serve smaller markets and are more vulnerable to “only-show-in-town” power move. They’ve been told for years that they can’t reach their audience without the institution – a classic monopoly tactic. This tactic has led to declining pay and deteriorating behavior, as monopolies prioritize their own safety and convenience. They entrench, absorb, or crush competitors, compromising product quality. If you’re the only show in town, how hard do you really need to work to keep the lights on?

2. Control of Technology or the Channel: If you control the only megaphone in town, you decide who gets to use it. If the megaphone costs a million bucks, competition isn’t a concern. Ironically, technology promised lower costs and more options - everyone could have a megaphone. Instead, legacy media options are more limited. As the "local paper," products get thinner, editing resources shrink, interesting features fade, and control weakens as the audience dwindles.

3. Abuse of the Mission: After appearing on Bill Buchanan’s “Davisville” show on KDRT Radio, we discussed how history is a “race between heroes and idiots.” The danger arises when the supposed heroes are actually the idiots, using their cause to justify control. Local papers are vulnerable to this, often wielding the “we’re good for democracy” argument to maintain power. As the only show in town, they use this mission to pressure subscribers into compliance, excusing questionable choices. Why lose a popular feature? "We're saving democracy." Why is the product hollowed out? "Because, democracy." What a leap.

4. Influence of Advertising Money: Advertising money is a tricky beast because it conflicts with honest journalism. You end up serving two masters—the subscriber and the advertiser. Nationally, does anyone believe that massive pharmaceutical ads don’t influence CNN? Could they honestly cover a deep dive into Ozempic? Locally, it’s subtler. Maybe a business column avoids mentioning prices because that’s ad territory. But what if the price is crucial to the story? The piece loses a bit of its honesty.

5. Control of Subscriber Income: The biggest trust breach? Mishandling subscriber funds. Even ad-funded journalism has a deal with subscribers, who still pay fees. They don’t have to do that. In local media, where the money often detours from the mission. Owners might cut news room staff expenses but keep their income. "After all, it’s our company." This leads to a doom spiral. Subscribers aren’t fooled and will stop paying. Lose subscribers, lose ad revenue. The spiral continues.

Corrective Measures

The most powerful corrective measure is the subscriber's choice to buy. It’s a crude instrument - “buy” or “don’t buy.” In a market with no alternatives, it doesn’t signal how to correct and regain a subscriber. Once trust is lost, or too many promises are broken, the subscriber may never return. Fool me once.

Substack’s adaptability offers a more nuanced tool. Subscribers choose, one by one, who they will fund. The platform’s low switching cost makes it almost effortless, offering abundant choices compared to one option.

Advertising will never fully stop, but it can be contained. It belongs on platforms like YouTube, Meta, or TikTok. Advertising’s goal is to suck up your time so you see the ads. If that deal is worth it to you, watch the ads there. In the pursuit of truth, remember that any funding source (ads, government funding, philanthropy) comes with strings attached. They aren’t funding you for clear, efficient truth.

From the death and rebirth of publications, a new structure can emerge, with a solid commitment between publication and subscriber. Solo publications are booming on Substack. More will come. Additional teams will form, trying techniques to ensure fair funding or face subscriber decline. Some will become new tyrants. Most will barely make any money, but it may be enough to get by.

Consequences for Companies

Good luck to any media company that blames its audience or tries to coerce them into staying. Subscribers will see through the tricks. You’ll run out of ways to blame the audience as you run out of money. Neglecting their needs will be your undoing.

If that publication thinks it can coerce a writer to stay, they’ll be mistaken if that writer can make more money quickly on Substack. Then the audience punishes the publication, and you’re down the doom spiral.

Remember Blockbuster? The place where movie night dreams were crushed by late fees. In my Stanford financial accounting class in 1997, it was hailed as the gold standard for strong financials, surely boosted by my numerous late returns of “The Last Starfighter”. Netflix, spotting the flaw, offered subscriptions without late fees. Customers, fed up with Blockbuster’s heavy-handed tactics, flocked to Netflix and Redbox. What started as Blockbuster’s competitive edge became their downfall due to complacency and exploitation.

Leverage Isn’t Inherently Evil

Leverage isn’t inherently evil, but it's a slippery slope greased with ego and entitlement. Let’s be clear: leverage is not leadership. Not in media, not really anywhere.

As subscribers, we’ve got to be the watchdogs. If we’ve been too trusting, it’s time to put on our detective hats and demand a fresh commitment to fairness. Are we funding high school students paid way below minimum wage? If our subscription dollars aren’t going to quality journalism, what are we funding? Are we boosting democracy or buying a bill of goods? Can the community journalist afford to live in that community?

Positive, ethical leadership can transform this dynamic. Leaders who prioritize transparency, fairness, and accountability can harness leverage to drive meaningful change. They can inspire creativity, foster trust and build sustainable models that serve both creators and the community.

If we don't demand accountability, we might as well be funding the next Blockbuster: a company that rises, exploits us, and leaves us with nothing but late fees and disillusionment. And maybe one lonely location in Bend, Oregon, where you can still rent "Prince Caspian" for the price of a small car, after late fees.

A bit of consumer therapy hit the spot. Click, click, and credit card info entered. Democracy bolstered, if only slightly. I was sending small amounts of money to enough places that I thought if enough of us did it, it would matter.

In addition to my high-minded act of civic service, I also gained access to Wendy Weitzel’s column, Comings & Goings. Frankly, it was always the most useful and information-packed column in The Enterprise.

If you had told me that Wendy was paid a couple hundred per column as a contractor, I wouldn’t have believed you. I naively thought my $15 monthly subscription was helping her get paid. I assumed Wendy was full-time and paid respectably because her reporting seemed like a lot of work to me. I certainly didn’t want to do it, not that I even knew how. So it seemed fair.

My understanding of the deal was incorrect. In an interview with Bill Buchanan, veteran journalist, editor and radio host, about these transitions, Bill explained that the subscription used to pay for the ink, the paper and the delivery. That’s it. The advertisers paid for everything else.

So, the columnist or reporter doing the work you really want? Your subscription does not help them. Hold on - I thought I was doing my part with my subscriptions (bolstering democracy even). That journalist you think you’re supporting? You’re not. Who are you supporting then? The institution? Right.

Speaking of institutions, contrast Bob Dunning’s legendary column The Wary I at The Enterprise. Bob knew his column was the leading feature in print. Wendy knew hers was the most popular online. In conversations, I asked, “Do you have stats? Do you know the data?” I got head shakes. There was a “most popular” list Wendy monitored daily, but it would shift throughout the day.

This provided an intuitive sense that she was up there. Bob had decades of readers telling him they were reading him in print. So, they had indirect indicators of their success. But did they actually know? Who knew?

“The editor confirmed my numbers were amazing,” Wendy recalls, though she doesn't remember his exact wording. He acknowledged her impact.

It would be like assessing my teenage son’s hygiene by how many Tide pods are left. If the Tide pods are gone, I guess he did laundry, wore clean clothes and was probably clean at school. There’s a big leap from the data you have to knowing what is actually happening.

Now on Substack, Wendy gets information that looks like this. She can see how many emails were opened and how many subscribers joined from that particular column. She has a dashboard of key facts and figures about her column’s performance.

Hundreds of reader’s comments are now available to her.  Here are a few:

It's oddly comforting to see other readers echoing exactly what I was thinking.

Wendy had to fight for her column, taking concessions and pay cuts along the way. She persevered through a layoff, continuing to write even when told there was less money to pay her. For a day’s work, this often translated to maybe $25 per hour, depending on the workload. As an independent contractor, she received no benefits, and her tax burden came out of the couple of hundred bucks. Every extra hour of effort lowered her effective hourly rate.

During COVID, Wendy’s column became a lifeline for many readers - practically a full-time job. Recognizing its importance, she negotiated a raise and returned to writing weekly instead of biweekly. “I told them they were going to pay me,” Wendy recalled, “and the editor didn’t wince.” To manage the increased workload during COVID, Wendy maintained a detailed spreadsheet. Her determination paid off, and she won two California Journalism Awards for business coverage and column writing during this period.

Wendy’s fee-per-column model meant she bore all the risk and costs. If a column took longer than expected, she didn’t earn more; she simply absorbed the additional time and effort. The paper, however, reaped the benefits. No matter how valuable or popular her column was, Wendy’s pay remained the same. The burden for the risks and costs of the work shifted entirely to her, making each column a gamble that primarily benefited the publication.

When she and I discussed what her numbers might look like when she started her Substack, we figured she needed about 230 paid subscribers at $5 a month to match her previous pay. We didn’t know if 230 was a lot. Maybe we would get 50. We decided to see what happens and work with what comes in.

She had 285 paid subscribers on her launch day.

Here she is three weeks later. The support has been so strong from subscribers that Wendy has had the time to write an additional piece about her experience at UC Davis talking to a communication class. She’s planned a party.

She’s written her column three times, just as she did before. It’s inadequate to say it’s not different - it’s better. I see Bob and Wendy inspired and fresh with their work. The readers are complimenting her format. The photos look great. The emails look great.

The co-founder of Substack, Hamish McKenzie, who Bob and I met earlier, is rooting for her.

She’s listed 44th (yes, 44th!) on the business best sellers list at Substack, while Bob is ranked 45th on the culture leaderboard.

That’s ranked worldwide. These publications didn't exist a month ago. How does this town now have two top 50 Substack best sellers?

Seriously, that’s a question I’d like answers to.

Comings & Goings

Why I said goodbye to the newspaper I loved

Note: This is a revised piece of my farewell column that ran in the Sunday, May 19, 2024, print edition of The Davis Enterprise. Even if you already read that, read on for several new nuggets. The original column has since been removed from The Enterprise’s website…

Read more

2 years ago · 68 likes · 7 comments · Wendy Weitzel

Comings & Goings

Catch all the latest business buzz in Davis and beyond. From upcoming openings to sad goodbyes, I bring you the scoop on local merchants, restaurants and other businesses that come, go or move.

By Wendy Weitzel

The Wary One

A sad ending, but a tremendous new beginning

[Bob originally posted this column on Facebook. It is now his first post in the new business, which launches today…

Read more

2 years ago · 233 likes · 157 comments · Bob Dunning

The Wary One

Join Bob Dunning, a highly opinionated columnist with over 50 years of experience, as he dives into a variety of topics with insight, humor and irony. From everyday happenings to family and community issues, Bob discusses the nuances of life.

By Bob Dunning

Hamish McKenzie, co-founder of Substack, monitors that dashboard. His curiosity piqued, he read Bob’s debut column and reached out, congratulating him and offering his best wishes for success on May 14. With that connection made, I jumped at the chance for a meeting. “Bob, we’re going to San Francisco. I’m driving. No Zoom for this one.”

Bob invited Hamish to the launch party we held on May 15, 2024. He couldn’t make it, but I made sure he saw the video of Bob’s heartfelt gratitude for the support and initial success. We had lunch with Hamish on May 22, at the Substack office on Sutter Street in San Francisco. Hamish seemed a bit sheepish about the empty office, explaining that it was acquired pre-COVID and now many work remotely. But this office wasn’t a mausoleum; it buzzed with the energy of early birds setting up for a bustling day. There were also many, many plants.

Seeing Bob and Hamish meet warmed my heart.

Over the last few weeks, amid the whirlwind of transitions, learnings, mistakes and excitement with the successful launches of The Wary One and Comings & Goings, I’ve learned a lot.

I’ve been asked dozens of times what Substack is. Someone even asked me what “slip stack” was. I have many ideas swirling around on numerous topics, but for now, let’s start with explaining what a Substack "publication" is and some basics of how self-publishing works on Substack.

What is Substack?

Substack is a powerful tool for anyone who wants to publish their writing, podcasts or videos. With just a few clicks, you can have the standard Substack business model at your fingertips. It’s so easy that I’ve accidentally created publications a few times and had to delete them. Many of Bob and Wendy’s subscribers also created their own publications, though I suspect not intentionally.

This tool transforms you into a publisher. You can self-publish and run your own publication, running everything on your own terms.

Self-Publishing on Substack

For the solo creator, self-publishing means creating a publication that you own as a sole proprietor, delivered to your subscribers via Substack. You’re now running a business, and your customers are your subscribers. Their subscription to your publication is a perpetual agreement that either party can cancel at any time, whether monthly or annually. Annual subscribers expect a year’s worth of your work—they’ve paid for it, and you’ve received the money.

Stripe and Substack

That subscription resides in Stripe. Stripe handles the agreement, providing credit card information and ratifying terms. Stripe takes a percentage of your incoming funds, and Substack makes all the payment processing magic happen. Talking about the nuances of payment processing can be sleep-inducing, so here’s the essential detail: there are numerous rules, conventions, and policies governing your payment mechanism. You and Substack conform to these rules. You can’t change or negotiate them; if you want something changed, you’d better email your congressman or take on the payment industry cabal. But accepting these rules helps you avoid payment processing pitfalls.

You can move your Stripe subscription list to another competitor at any time. Competitors make it easy, but Substack only works with Stripe.

Your Agreement with Substack

Substack takes 10% of your subscription payments based on actual receipts in real time. These are the only essential financial terms. You could stop using Substack with a few clicks by removing their access to your Stripe account.

I can’t stress how fascinating that decision is. Substack is so confident you won’t pull the trigger on ditching them that they literally rely on your desire to remain in business with them. That’s it. Do you want to work with Substack? Then you do. Do you want to leave Substack? Click a few buttons, and they’re gone.

If you do make that high-stakes click, you’ve ended your association with Substack. What about your publishing platform? You’ve just lost it. Where are you going to go with your subscriptions? Your subscribers expect you to deliver your creations—they’ve paid you. You need a platform to fulfill your end of the bargain.

The Confidence of Substack

There are options, but are they better than Substack? No. You’re not going anywhere unless Substack violates the bargain in a way that drives you away. Substack has designed its business to incentivize themselves to never violate that bargain.

I see almost no platforms as confident in maintaining that desire. Many look for ways to lock you in. The obvious contrast is the legacy media formats, particularly newspapers. I think I’ll do a follow-up post exploring that question since it’s potentially huge. The consequences appear so dramatic that destabilizing doesn’t seem like a big enough word.

Substack’s No-Ads Policy

After Hamish explained the model’s characteristics to us for maybe the fifth time, it finally clicked for me. Substack will never do ads. To do so would betray the creator and the reader. They appear so wildly successful in growing their business that they will never risk that relationship. The creator would just leave. Later that week, Hamish published a piece on the sovereignty of the creator on Substack’s own publication, describing the potential effects he’s already seeing and anticipating.

Sovereign Creators

Both Bob and Wendy are now sovereign creators. Bob shared a ‘state of the column’ post, confirming his publication is viable. The crisis of Bob’s job disappearing is over. He now has a job he gave himself, supported financially by his readers.

Wendy shared a similar message yesterday, where she recapped her invitation to meet a UCD Communications class taught by Professor Narine Yegiyan on May 20. Wendy is replacing her 10-year-old MacBook with funds from her readers. Bob will never again need to use a laptop with a broken L key while covering UCD sports.

The readers showed up overnight and supported them in droves. Just fascinating.

By Shelley Dunning

Decades before I would ever know him, Bob Dunning was touring the streets of Davis and the highways and byways of Northern California in a 1972 Ford LTD.

Lovingly referred to as “The Green Ford”, it was new(ish), olive green with bench seats and brocade trim. It was the preferred mode of transportation for Bob and his two babies,Ted and Erin, to make late-night trips to the Davis Enterprise newsroom to lay out the sports page, to get an after-school soft-serve ice cream cone at Dairy Queen and to travel to Chico and Humboldt, San Francisco and Santa Clara for Aggie football and basketball games.

Bob loved The Green Ford and the memories it held. Over the years, our four kids and I have heard countless stories of the adventures Bob and his two oldest kids had traveling together. Long before seat belts and car seat laws, Bob would bundle his two little ones into the front seat and off they would go to tour the Redwoods, report on Aggie football and explore all the little towns between Modesto and Mount Shasta.

Eventually, as time and highway miles took their toll and as repairs became more expensive and parts harder to find, that sweet carriage would be replaced by a more efficient, less expensive and, according to the world, “more progressive” vehicle.

Bob, Ted and Erin loved that green Ford. They loved it so much that, rather than selling it to someone who might not love it enough or hauling it off to a junkyard, they retired it to a storage lot on the edge of Davis where it gathered dust and deteriorated in the sun. As the years went by, the monthly storage fee was paid on time in the hope that someday that car might be restored to its original glory and once again grace the streets of Davis.

This week, Bob and our family got some sad news and it has me thinking about that car and everything it meant to Bob.

Last week, the editor of the Davis Enterprise called our home to tell Bob that he was being “let go.”

Now, we all know that change is inevitable and that all good things eventually come to an end. But some endings are harder - sadder, more sudden, more painful, more unkind - than others. 

This is that kind of ending.

Since he was 23 years old, the center of Bob’s life, and subsequently, the center of our lives, has been the Davis Enterprise. If there was a story to be told, happy or sad, good or bad, funny, weird, perplexing, you would find it on page two of the Enterprise next to Bob’s photo. If it was important to our town, Bob would make sure you knew about it and what he thought about it. 

Tens of thousands of columns over 55 years. The snoring lady and the toad tunnel; the murder of an immigrant student at Davis High; pepper spray on young protesters; the tragic loss of a young police officer…

Thanksgiving week in 2015, our family was in Seaside, Oregon on vacation. One morning,  Bob’s cell phone rang. Davis had lost a special and very important person and the people of Davis and beyond needed to know. 

Bob spent that day and night making and taking phone calls from all over the country. He asked questions, listened to stories, took notes. He stayed up all night writing a story that would recognize and honor Jim Sochor, one of the most influential people Davis had ever produced. And he did it in a tiny seaside motel room with four little kids in sleeping bags on the floor, falling asleep to the Disney Channel. I realize as I write this today, he did it in spite of his own sense of loss and sadness. He wrote the story and it was beautiful.

Remember that unkind ending I mentioned earlier? It came out of the blue. There was no warning and very little explanation. No gold watch. No “thank you” and zero communication from the owners he’d worked for his entire life. No goodbye luncheon. No “Thanks for loving this newspaper and making it your life’s work.” Simply the words, “We’re letting you go.” 

It was careless and cruel. 

To say that this time has been difficult would be an understatement. We keep telling Bob during this surreal and devastating time, “Your column isn’t ending. Your column isn’t going away. It’s like that time you had to give up your 1972 Ford; or the time you took Erin to college in Arizona; or when they tore down the stadium at Toomey Field. Loss. Sadness. Unimaginable change. And then you move on, sometimes to bigger and better things.

I will tell you that Bob never planned to retire from the Enterprise. No matter how bad things might get or have gotten, Bob was committed to staying - taking on more responsibilities, writing more, writing better and rolling with a lot of painful punches. Whatever The Davis Enterprise needed or wanted, Bob was there.

Bob won’t be writing for the Davis Enterprise anymore. Today that feels awful.

As a family, we’ve decided to make this the best thing that’s ever happened to us. If the former vehicle for The Wary I was an outdated, clunky, unresponsive-to-all-the-love-and-time-and-devotion-put-into-it-jalopy, then his new vehicle is a state-of-the-art, self-driven, smooth-ridin’, corners-like-it’s-on-rails Rolls Royce in the form of a new website and home on Substack.

As Bob, with a tremendously heavy heart, trades that Green Ford in for a shiny new car with fancy gadgets and controls he has yet to understand, we hope you’ll join him for the ride. We hope you’ll continue to read his thoughtful coverage of this town we love, disagree with his opinions on important issues and applaud him when you agree. We hope you bet on college football games based on his expert “picks” and fall in love with our Aggies at the beginning of every new season.

As Dr. Seuss said, “Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened.” Today in the Dunning house, we’re smiling through our tears. With a career spanning 55 years, Bob was the longest running newspaper columnist in the country. Even more notable is the fact that he loved every single day of that career. Not many people can say that. 

And now, he has a fancy new ride waiting for him. It feels scary and we can’t guarantee that there won’t be bumps in the road. But Bob will continue to write his column and he will continue to keep Davis honest and unique. 

Bob doesn’t have the Enterprise anymore. But he has you. And really, that’s what always mattered—and still matters —the most. 

I hope you’ll join him for this next leg of the ride. I can’t wait to see where he takes us.

Bob’s new email address is: bobdunning@thewaryone.com

Read his column and sports coverage at thewaryone.com

Yes, I literally mean overnight. Who has the patience for a slow climb? I want that marshmallow right now.  Don’t you?

Why should you believe me? What are my credentials? Well, I didn't call myself a guru, but I appreciate the sentiment. Believe me because I've done it. Twice. In one week. I did it yesterday. Two points form a line—imagine where this could go with more time.  

Here’s Bob Dunning’s thewaryone.com:

Here’s Wendy Weitzel’s comingsandgoings.news:

I've simplified our steps into an easy-to-follow process.

First, find an award-winning journalist with decades of experience. Ideally, this person is a hardworking producer, deeply loved by their community, and has a massive audience. They should be expertly trained, have honed their skills over the years, and be deeply committed to their profession. Their dedication to upholding the principles of journalism, developed over decades, is crucial.

This journalist will likely be minimally compensated, perhaps even volunteering their work for an institution that claims it can no longer pay them. They might be emotionally resigned, not focused on growth or building readership, yet they continue to deliver every week, driven by a mission to serve their audience and community. They might have been pushed into early retirement or laid off, but still, they continue to serve.

Do they have over 20, 30, or even 50 years of experience? They’re almost certainly underpaid and undervalued. They've probably given up hope for a better way after years, if not decades, of being told their industry is collapsing and the money's gone.

Second, their last token of compensation is removed. The older generation of institutions still mourns the loss of retail and advertising revenue, leading them to believe they can't fund writers anymore. The same institutional momentum that once kept these organizations healthy now prevents them from adapting to change.

Few people want to start companies; most prefer the security of a paycheck. Even those with business aspirations are often reluctant to take risks. This journalist will likely need to be completely pushed out, either through an unceremonious layoff, like Bob, or by becoming so frustrated with the situation that they choose to leave, like Wendy.

Third, this part is about you. You've been following Substack from the start, connecting with writers, authors, journalists, and "content creators" who feel like friends, even though they've never met you. This is known as a parasocial relationship. These authors have shared their experiences of branching out from legacy media into new formats. They’ve tried various platforms, built audiences, and relied on their followers to fund their work. You’re one of those followers.

Much like previous generations looked forward to the morning paper, you eagerly anticipate your TGIF Substack post from Nellie Bowles of The Free Press, of which you are a founding subscriber. If she launches a book and takes a week off, you feel personally insulted. Her column provides an honest take on national events, complete with links to her sources, videos she's watched, and articles she's read. You can hear her voice as you read.

You think, “This is what journalism used to be about, right? Is this why my dad read the paper every day? Why is that paper now empty or preachy? Why is it still on paper?” No one wants a paper without content or to be told how to feel without being informed. Where did the good journalism go? Your values align with those of an informed electorate, striving to stay informed in the spirit of classic liberal values. A voter relies on a free press to participate effectively in democracy, which is the essence of America, right?

You should be horrified by the collapse of journalists and news outlets and be willing to work hard to reverse this trend.

In addition to being a media consumer, you need to be an entrepreneur with about 20 years of experience building businesses and products, experiencing both successes and failures. You were an early fan of Guy Kawasaki’s "The Art of the Start" and have given it to almost everyone you’ve worked with as part of their onboarding process. You’ve tried to teach them the language of “the start” so they understand your approach.

You've reached a point where you prioritize achieving successful objectives, like creating a Substack bestseller, over extracting commercial success for yourself. You focus on what is needed and how to achieve it, rather than on getting paid upfront or minimizing your risks.

You’ve learned that the power of consumer choice is incredibly influential. When a choice that affects many people is denied, you see it as an opportunity to meet a need.

Is there a centralized solution that might someday deliver? One paper? A single public organization? These have nothing to do with a consumer's choice to buy. We need an ecosystem of choices.

Are people spending their money monthly out of duty, obligation, or civic-mindedness? Are they satisfied with the result? If not, you see an opportunity. If an institution serves advertisers instead of readers, it will eventually collapse. Its mission shifts from providing valuable content to chasing advertisements, failing to deliver what readers want to pay for.

You take this perspective and integrate it with a journalist’s momentum—momentum they may not even realize they have. You channel that into the aspiration of creating a lasting legacy. There is another generation of readers that will follow, and we need institutions to provide an essential ingredient for our democracy. Is anyone else going to do that? No, it’s up to you. You’re going to do that.

We then combine these three ingredients: a journalist with a proven, dedicated audience; a need for change; and your willingness to take initiative, take a risk, and put your personal resources on the line. This combination aims to build an institution that lasts beyond a single individual’s success. You discover that journalists are also hungry for this vision because it aligns with why they stayed with the previous institutions for so long.

You invest in this vision both individually and personally, generously supporting the risks to offset the potential that a lasting institution might not yet exist. But you believe it can. With this moral framing and aspirational vision, you overcome hurdles and get launched.

Consumers, the readers, are finally being offered a product they want to pay for. They couldn’t before because it wasn’t valued financially. Consumers react with joy, appreciation, and, yes, some anger at broken bargains. But they engage, they subscribe, and they send their money where they want it to go. They don’t care about advertisers. They want to buy a product they feel is necessary for their lives. And you are now providing that product.

The last step, though optional, is to broadly explain what you’ve done and hope that others join you on the journey. It’s more than just a platform, though I’m incredibly grateful for Substack. It’s about people who want to create an institution and leave a legacy that will grow into sustained commercial success. An institution that provides a career track, allowing new generations to learn from the seasoned pros about the critical role of journalism.

So, is this you? Are you in your mid-forties? Do you have a family and a bunch of people relying on you, like employees and their families? Are you in a financial position to wait until this venture succeeds before seeing any return? Are you okay with the likelihood of failure? If so, you're probably a lot like me—right down to the red hair! (Okay, maybe not the red hair, but you get the idea.)

It’s more likely that you won’t see any return. If you answered ‘yes’ to all these questions, congratulations! You meet the criteria and are probably already running a company that isn’t in journalism. And we should definitely hang out.

But, the odds are that this entrepreneur I describe isn’t you (though, it is indeed me). A small portion of the population fits this mold, and even fewer do so voluntarily.

Unless you’re one of the journalists I’ve described (and please contact me if you are), you fall into what I affectionately call the ‘Exhausted Majority.’ I prefer this term over ‘Silent Majority,’ which I believe Nixon coined. The ‘Exhausted Majority’ refers to the 90-95% of you who aren’t activists. But you do care. You care intensely. And while you may be silent, you’re not always silent.

You’re busy living the life you’re already committed to. Your business is demanding. Your family is demanding. You’re caring for your grandchildren or children. You’re figuring out your career. Maybe you’re focused on your marriage and your home. Or perhaps you’re just starting out in your work life and already have plenty on your plate. Sometimes, you just need a minute to rest before work starts tomorrow.

You count on journalism to respect your time and honor how valuable your attention is. You rely on a commitment to the pursuit of truth. You absorb a lot of information but rarely act on a topic or issue because you’re doing all the things I mentioned. You’ve never bought or subscribed to a newspaper because you wanted the ads. You act when it aligns with your values or goals. You don’t want to be told to get into conflict or be angry. You don’t care which article gets the most clicks. You hate clickbait because it wastes your time.

You want a fair bargain with the sources of information you choose to fund.

You can have that fair bargain again, if you help us.

Here’s the bargain we’re proposing:

We’re committed to the role of the free press in the classic sense by bringing you quality journalism: honesty, independence, and engagement. No algorithms. Just well-written words by real people.

Job one is to fund the writers (well, after Substack anyway). They are so used to being underpaid. I want that to end. We believe we have enough subscriber funding to make this happen. None of the writers I’ve spoken with have excessive expectations. They just want respect and fair rates, provided the subscribers (not the advertisers) support it.

Next, we plan and fund for longevity. Like Wendy said, we need to consider where the next Bobs and Wendys are going to come from. We will hire and train them to take the baton when senior journalists are ready to hand it over. We will set a high bar for quality writing. They want to mentor, train, and see folks grow in the profession. That doesn’t happen enough now.

What’s Your Part of the Bargain?

First and foremost, be a savvy media consumer. Support quality journalism wherever you find it, even if it’s not us.

The best way to help us directly? Subscribe.

Most of you who’ve already subscribed chose to pay for a year upfront. That’s perfect for a young venture like ours. It provides income security for our writers and helps us grow our subscriber base. It gives us the stability to plan for the future.

If you can afford to go beyond, consider a founder-level subscription. We’re incredibly efficient at putting those funds to good use, creating the future we all hope for. This approach is much better than raising fees for a declining product, which you’re probably seeing at other outlets. Support those outlets too if you are willing, but also demand a good product from them or us.

Are you willing to donate even more? Many of you already have. Bob and Wendy’s hearts swell with gratitude as they see the support and goodwill you’re providing.

Even if our larger collective doesn’t fully succeed, you’ve already given Bob and Wendy a better home for their work. Your funding ensures they can keep writing as long as you keep subscribing. If that’s the least we achieve, it’s worth it. And I’m honored to have helped make it happen.

Are you ready to invest in a vision of quality journalism, honesty, and engagement?  Subscribe, support, and become a part of this remarkable journey.

Subscribe to Quality Journalism

• Support where you find quality, even if it's not us.

• Consider a founder-level subscription for greater impact.

• Donate more if you can. Your support makes a difference.

By subscribing, you're not just supporting journalism; you're becoming a part of it. Let’s create something remarkable together.

Brian is distributing this update on Substack through the ‘Hope for the Exhausted Majority’, which may become a feed for updates on the new chapters starting with The Wary One and Comings and Goings. Please subscribe to this free newsletter if you’re interested in occasional behind the scenes updates.

Reach Brian at brian@beehively.com

Share

Support Bob and Wendy directly at:

The Wary One

Join Bob Dunning, a highly opinionated columnist with over 50 years of experience, as he dives into a variety of topics with insight, humor and irony. From everyday happenings to family and community issues, Bob discusses the nuances of life.

By Media Administrator

Comings & Goings

Catch all the latest business buzz in Davis. From fresh openings to heartfelt goodbyes, I bring you the inside scoop on the dynamic local commerce scene. Stay informed and connected with the pulse of our vibrant community.

By Media Administrator