Newspapers and newsboys

If the fruit stand offers bananas, oranges, and avocados; if the fish stand sells sardines, grouper, and sea bass, why doesn't the newsstand have headlines, photos, or that column with a lead story on the front page anymore?

Two friends from Minas Gerais, both big names in Literature and Journalism, challenged me: "Someone needs to write a column about newsstands that don't sell newspapers."

They both lived through an exuberant era of newspapers and newsagents. Huge sales at super-newsstands. Abundant, brimming with culture, and even air-conditioned, some stands operated twenty-four hours a day.

Weekly or monthly magazines covering music, history, sports, literature, fashion, and general interest; all packed with interesting topics in superb writing on glossy paper, pleasant to the touch and the eye.

The newspapers arrived by the thousands in packed trucks in the early morning. They were immediately displayed, like rubies in a jewelry store. And, in moments, pedestrians were paralyzed before the front pages, everything there: the football results, the latest scandal from Brasília, the definitive photo, the black and white.

The information came early, even before the average meal with bread and butter at the bakery. Incidentally, the bakery offered the day's newspapers, which were also waiting for us at the barbershop, in doctors' offices, and in the back seat of the taxi.

Suddenly, it was over. And we don't even remember when we stopped buying the print editions.

My Vila Buarque neighborhood has everything. Absolutely everything, including a newsstand with newspapers. It's called Banca Paulo Afonso, in homage to the city of the same name in Bahia. Every day I stop in front of the front pages. I don't hesitate; if the headline is good or the photo is appealing, I grab my copy and read it at home.

The newsstand employee explains to me: “We don’t sell much, really. But people like to see the news, some buy it, and we do everything we can to please our customers. I receive about twenty a day and sell them all.”

With the profit from twenty newspapers, the newsstand would have already closed. That's why, just like its competitors, Paulo Afonso displays backpacks, nail clippers, tweezers, hair clips, combs, hairbrushes; and also chocolates, chewing gum, peanuts, marshmallows; there are also sticker albums, playing cards, envelopes, colored pens, crossword puzzle magazines and, believe it or not, foot moisturizer.

If before the newsstand sold news, today the news is that the newsstand is a store.

It's sad, painful even, but the newsstand vendor no longer needs the newspaper or journalism to make a living.

Many of these vendors improved their stalls, invested in new products, and bet on their own business. In my walks around the city, I see that few have closed, and most are still around, generating jobs and some prosperity. That's the newsstand vendor, generally a small business owner.

And what did the newspaper owners, the owners of the major magazines, the press barons, do in the face of the crisis?

Unlike the corner newsstand vendor, they didn't invest. Our major newspapers closed branch offices, fired respected correspondents, and laid off good professionals. How long has it been since we've seen a major scoop, a truly special report, or an investigative journalism series?

Newspapers not only failed to learn from news vendors, but they worsened their own product. They reduced the number of pages and increased the price. There's no shortage of advertising, even on the front page. Every other week, sponsored sections appear. Of course, there are still excellent professionals and very good options on the internet, but far short of what is desirable.

The reader, the main victim of fake news and low-quality journalism, hasn't moved from their place, remaining curious about good stories and eager for well-researched information. They just can't tolerate being deceived. Here, consider the example of a hypothetical bakery: if the bread gets smaller, the coffee is cold, and the price goes up, we give up.

That's what happened with most of our newspapers; the reader left and never came back.

It's a good thing the news vendors survived.