In March, after a month of deliberation by President Donald Trump to impose tariffs on numerous countries, a 25 percent tax was placed on goods entering the United States from Canada and Mexico. Canadians across the country remained uneasy as the days went on, fearing possible job cuts and even higher inflation.
Canadian journalists have long shouldered the responsibility of reporting on tragedies and distressing events, oftentimes at the expense of their own mental well-being. While many staff writers now have access to employer-funded mental health resources, the situation is different for freelancers, who are often left to navigate these challenges alone.
In 1994, Fred Vallance-Jones had been a journalist for 10 years, travelling across western Manitoba reporting stories for CBC Radio. Intrigued by a new and rapidly growing type of journalism called computer-assisted reporting, he flew to Ottawa to attend a training session organized by the Canadian Association of Journalists (CAJ). “They pulled out this mysterious database software called FoxPro, and I was amazed by what it could do,” he recalls.
Does Canada risk losing a vital platform for citizen journalism? Earlier this year, nearly all of Gen Z held its breath, waiting […]
If you’ve ever watched The Newsroom or The Morning Show and thought, “Wow, journalism looks thrilling,” you wouldn’t be alone. Fast-paced newsrooms, dramatic interviews, and high-stakes ethical dilemmas make for compelling television. But these depictions raise an important question: how much of this is real, and how much is entertainment?
As journalists we want to report the story, not become the story. Sometimes, though, it’s unavoidable. Back in December 1992, an investigation I did into drug trafficking and corruption with a team from CBC’s The Fifth Estate led to the shocking suicide of a senior RCMP inspector the day before we went to air. Then there are some famous cases when our own media companies become the story—like when Fifth Estate broadcast “The Unmaking of Jian Ghomeshi” in 2014, exposing how CBC mishandled sexual assault allegations against its former star radio host.
“The last time I flew, I was really disappointed at what I was seeing in terms of what the options were,” says Chris Radley, executive director of the national trade organization Magazines Canada.
It’s April 2024, and Shireen Ahmed is sitting in her parents’ home in Windsor, Ontario, her hijab draped loosely over her head. It’s a three-hour drive from Ahmed’s own home in Toronto, but these visits with her mother and father would be routine regardless of the distance. It’s a few months before the 2024 Olympics and Paralympics in Paris, for which Ahmed is to write and create video essays as part of CBC’s coverage, on top of her regular column. But a scheduled call with CBC Olympic executive producer Sherali Najak has Ahmed slightly apprehensive.
When that first story finally comes together, it’s not the masterpiece you imagined. You wince at the phrasing, obsess over the structure, and brace yourself for feedback. Then you see your name in print and realize that your voice can reach an audience. It ignites a hunger to tell more stories, refine your craft, and chase the next byline, because now you understand the power of being heard.
In the summer of 2024, thousands gather in downtown Toronto for Canada’s largest Pride celebration. The crowd surges forward, and for a moment I lose myself in the sea of colour, pressed shoulder to shoulder near Church-Wellesley Village. It’s then I see rainbow flags waving high in the air and hear the raucous cheers of spectators growing louder and louder. The parade has started. The air hums with excitement as performers in extravagant costumes twirl and dance on the floats. Food vendors and community booths line the streets, serving everything from rainbow popsicles to pamphlets on 2SLGBTQIA+ rights and resources.
