David Michael Newstead's Blog, page 15

The Press Guardian #15

David Michael Newstead | The Philosophy of Shaving

Election day. Cynthia Blake could hardly sleep the night before. She had worked late and presented the plan for the next day to her team. Nathan Darms and Abner would be based out of opposition headquarters as the vote tallies came in. Perry Chase and Margaret would talk to people congregating in Capital Square, taking photos and capturing their reactions throughout the evening. And Cynthia would oversee operations at the newspaper itself, while Jack and Mort monitored social media channels and watched live TV for the latest updates. She should have just slept on the couch in her office, she thought, but Cynthia decided to go home on the eve of the election. She wanted to rest and clean up. The next few days, weeks, months were going to be a chaotic marathon no matter who won.

Except when she got home, Cynthia could only lay motionless in bed. It was like she was mentally preparing herself, meditating in the dark, but never really dozing off. At sunrise, her alarm rang and she leapt into action, dressed, and got ready. But as she was putting on her navy blue coat, Cynthia caught her own reflection in the mirror. Fear, anticipation, anxiety, and hope all mixed together across her face, hiding just below the surface. The election was finally here.

Perry Chase wasn’t answering his phone that morning. Cynthia called him again and again, but it kept going directly to voicemail. She tried for a fifth time as she was leaving her apartment building and heading to work. She stared down at her cell, frustrated. Again, Perry’s phone went to voicemail. Snow crunched loudly beneath her boots as she walked, then Cynthia looked up and realized there was someone in her way.

“Excuse me, Ms. Blake?” A man in a black suit said to her.

Cynthia stopped and was about to speak. Just then, a second and a third man appeared, hopping out of a black sedan parked beside her building.

“Ms. Blake, you need to come with us now,” The second man told her.

“Wait, what? What is this regarding?” she replied.

“I’m Agent Krasner and this is Agent Blotz. We’re with Special Office. We’d like to ask you some questions.” he told her, badge in hand.

Deep in the heart of the Ministry of Interior, Cynthia found herself confined to an interview room with an uncomfortable folding chair and a bland cup of coffee. It was freezing cold. For an hour, they had left her there alone, while her mind raced with every possible worst case scenario. Had they discovered the true identity of the Press Guardian? Were agents already interrogating poor Perry as she sat there drinking fucking coffee? They must have known everything, Cynthia thought. But when Krasner and Blotz finally returned, the men never asked anything about Perry Chase or the Press Guardian. Cynthia had overestimated their detective skills and severely underestimated their stupidity. These intelligence officers were morons!

“Make it easy on yourself, Ms. Blake. Just answer the questions,” Blotz said, lighting another cigarette.

“I’m trying to,” she told them, “I’m sorry. I’m just not clear on what you’re getting at.”

Cynthia’s brow furrowed and her lips twisted. She was completely annoyed.

“Do you support your country or not?” Agent Krasner interjected as he slowly paced the room.

“Oh god… We’ve going in circles for three fucking hours,” she sighed. “What are you even asking me?! Yes, I support my country. Can I go now?”

At last, it dawned on Cynthia what was really going on. This wasn’t an investigation. They didn’t know who the Press Guardian was. Special Office was now legally allowed to detained anyone for questioning for up to 24 hours, even if they weren’t suspected of a crime. These bastards, she realized, were just talking to her to fill time, to keep her from covering the election. They might be holding her entire staff in custody at this point, subjecting them to the exact same treatment. Agent Blotz, fat with a shaved head, would produce copies of random articles that Cynthia had written as supposed evidence of some misdeed and then he would question her about her “agenda” for thirty minutes straight before moving on to the next one. Or worse, Agent Krasner, with a horrific moustache and a combover, would read nonsense from some mystery file he had on hand and engage Cynthia in a ridiculous string of accusations and insinuations.

“Do you respect the flag?” he asked.

“Are you a patriot?”

“Are you a loyal patriot?!”

“Did you vote for the president in the last election?”

“Is it true that you had a Muslim roommate in university?”

“Are you a lesbian?”

“Are you an Islamic fundamentalist?”

“What party do you usually vote for?”

“Were your parents anarchists?”

She had never known until this instant how slow time passing could actually feel. Hours would grind by and Cynthia could feel her brain numbing from speaking to these men. Was stupidity contagious, she wondered at one point. Would death be preferable to this? She wasn’t certain.

When they did release her, it was nighttime. The whole day had been wasted. The election might already be over, she thought. The agents didn’t drive her home either. They just led her to their lobby and shoved her out. Had someone stolen her gloves? To Cynthia’s dismay, her screen was cracked now and absolutely no one she worked with was picking up their phones. That’s when she grew more concerned. The newspaper’s website was down. So was its mobile app. Cynthia ran across the city’s cobblestone streets and walkways. It was frigid outside and the wind felt like it was cutting her face apart, but she knew that she had to get to their headquarters. She had to locate her team, anyone, and find out what was happening. She ran until her lungs hurt from the cold and her fingertips were turning blue. Then, up ahead, she saw it and her heart constricted.

The Daily Review-Express was on fire. Columns of smoke bellowed out from the windows. Flames climbed high into the air. The Fire Department cornered off the block and tried their best, but it was already too far gone. Mort and a few interns huddled together nearby and yelled over to her to get Cynthia’s attention.

“I don’t know! I don’t know!” was Mort’s panicked response to most of her questions.

The majority of staff were unaccounted for, but they weren’t in the building, according to Mort. Jack never came into the office that day. Margaret had called Mort in the morning when Perry never show up. No one had heard from Abner or Nathan at all. Cynthia then tried to telephone Margaret, but that too went to voicemail. Within an hour, their newspaper’s home for half a century would be nothing but ashes. It didn’t matter, Cynthia immediately concluded. The people she worked with mattered and she needed to find them as soon as possible.

Suddenly, standing there, it all crystalized in her mind. Watching that inferno consume everything, she experienced a realization that was as clear as day. The hypocrisy, the cowardice. Their election, this election was only a show. The regime was just putting on a performance for the European Union and the rest of the international community. They were just going through the motions, but the election’s outcome had never really been in doubt. After that, Cynthia Blake could practically see a larger drama unfolding. Acknowledging democracy’s decline in the country would mean having to respond to it, but Brussels and London and Washington didn’t want to take any difficult actions or acknowledge the problem. They had other concerns and, in truth, always had. She let that dark feeling sink in and the expression on her face changed profoundly. Isolated. Abandoned. Under siege. Goddamn them, she thought as she watched the building burn.

Previous Installment

The Press Pool

David Michael Newstead | The Philosophy of Shaving

Attention, readers! Every so often, I drag myself away from the bullpen and sift through a chaotic pile of messages. Your messages! Well, today’s the day I finally answer your burning questions and scathing critiques. The Press Guardian certainly doesn’t shy away from the truth and neither do I. So, let’s get down to business. I’ve got writing to do. Ask away.

How’d you end up deciding to set it in Europe? Reason I ask is the idea of the press and freedom of the press is very different in this country vs. many others. I don’t know the European differences very well, but there may even be some democracies on the continent that require licensing of some sort — I’m not honestly sure. The other thing is that, at least in the UK, it’s a much more competitive national newspaper environment, and the national papers are much more clearly divided between class and party. The Guardian is the paper for the Labour Party, the Telegraph leans conservative, the Financial Times is for old money, the Sun is basically Fox News, etc. Meanwhile, the BBC is a massive news force, but one that’s government owned and supported by taxes (although it’s supposed to operate autonomously, I think). So the idea of freedom of the press and government involvement in news is very different from the American ideal. — Rick

I wanted to free the story from American references and dynamics and make the whole thing Orbán-like. Regarding difference between countries, that’s certainly true. I know libel laws are different in the UK, for example. I’m sure France and Germany and other democratic countries have their own unique legal frameworks for journalism as well. Aside from these kind of variations though, I wanted to highlight democratic backsliding, which can take place even in already restrictive countries like Russia. Because of that, I was envisioning an amalgamation of different illiberal populists as the real, ominous villain.

Does the Press Guardian have any super powers? — Bill

Just his integrity. Otherwise, no. He can’t fly or shoot lasers from his eyes. The Press Guardian is pretty good at hand-to-hand combat due to his alter ego’s time in the military, but that doesn’t rise to the level of a super power.

Do you write the Press Guardian? — Susie

I do! At least, I write this version of the Press Guardian. It’s based on a real comic book character from 1940 who is now in the public domain. But fear not! I’ve saved the Press Guardian from the clutches of oblivion. The artwork I sometimes include is from the original series drawn by Mort Meskin. I also write the numerous fictional articles and speeches within the story that are attributed to non-existent people and publications. So the only things I don’t write are the dialogue you might see in an old comic book panel and the real news articles I occasionally post in the Weekend Reader. Everything else comes from me.

I like it. The story and the format. Keep going please! — Sarah

Thanks, Sarah. I appreciate you saying that. There’s definitely more to come, but I don’t want to spoil anything! Will journalism help defeat tyranny? What will happen to the Daily Review-Express and its team of daring reporters? Can the Press Guardian win his fight against crime and corruption? You’ll have to read on to find out!

Have questions or comments? Reach out here

The Press Guardian #14

David Michael Newstead | The Philosophy of Shaving

“… ridiculous accusations! Absolutely unfounded. And frankly, it’s unpatriotic. It’s unpatriotic to undermine our democracy that way. Why on Earth would I ever need to repress anyone? The people love me!” President Krebtz exclaimed.

“They certainty do, Mr. President. That’s undeniable!” Andrew Andrewson smiled into the camera, “But just to be clear, where do you think the Belgian ambassador got these inaccurate notions about politics in our country?”

“Excellent question, Andrew. I really appreciate you asking that, because it’s high time that we draw more attention to irresponsible reporters out there who spread this kind of misinformation. We’re working hard everyday to solve serious problems affecting our country. Difficult problems. It’s hard work. And misinformation, what I’d call malicious journalism, just makes it even harder to get the truth to the Yaharzan people. Right now, we’re forging our own path with Brussels and some opponents of national independence evidently have a problem with that. So we’re seeing more of this kind of nonsense. And as election day gets closer, I wouldn’t be surprised if left-wing radicals in the news media try to spread more absurd lies. It’s dangerous! Our nation’s future is at stake in this election and there are people who will stop at nothing to weaken our values first agenda…”

Perry Chase turned to his editor, “Hey Cynthia, are you a good journalist or are you one of these super villains the president keeps talking about?” he asked sarcastically.

“Shut up!” Cynthia laughed, almost spitting out her coffee, “I’m trying to listen to this idiot.”

On the screen, Andrewson now looked directly at his viewers, trying to rally the president’s party, “This election is the most important of our lives!” he told them, “The president needs us. He needs you now! Only with your support can this country be saved from the clutches of foreigners and feminists, leftist lesbians and liberals! We must stop deviants from perverting our sacred homeland. Help President Krebtz fulfill his vision of national greatness.” Andrewson uttered in solemn tones, “We are a nation that’s finally standing up for itself! We are finding our place in a dangerous world. Our president is proudly leading us to that promised land called the future, but petty, divisive journalists dare to attack his efforts at every turn…”

His commentary went on and on like that for a while. Enterprise News, once a legitimate and nonpartisan channel, had fully transformed into pure propaganda feeding a personality cult. They switched off the television during the next commercial break.

In the short term, there was little left to be done. All the exposés had been written. All the shocking interviews published. Several years worth of headlines and videos and audio recordings had either grabbed readers’ attention by now or not at all. Had the reporters here changed enough people’s minds? As election day approached, Cynthia and Perry sat down after work, pontificating on that question over tall, frosty beers. Their profession mattered, Cynthia said. It was perhaps the last thing holding anyone in the whole country accountable for wrongdoing. This was the fragile thread that preserved the truth overtime. But eventually, beers later, difficult questions entered their conversation. What if they failed? What if the regime continued like an unstoppable freight train? Would it be too dangerous to stay in the country? Could the newspaper even operate for another six months? The answers, of course, hinged on the outcome, on millions of voters, on steadfast officials clinging to a genuine democracy. The Press Guardian could only play a part in that wider drama, Perry concluded, like the newspaper itself. That epic final showdown: bringing the Chessman to justice, avenging Richard and Baldwin, dislodging the New National Dream from power… All that was a problem for another day. For once, the two journalists allowed themselves a moment of peace and a few well-earned drinks. They clinked their glasses together and finally took the night off.

Hollow Man: How Krebtz’s Authoritarian Tendencies Threaten Decades of Grassroots Democracy

By Perry Chase | The Daily Review-Express

The New National Dream doesn’t have and, in fact, never possessed a real national majority. Instead, it has routinely presented its narrow provincial victories as a mandate from God. Among the general public, however, polls show that the party’s support ebbs and flows like anything else. But within its own ranks, the New National Dream and its leaders are increasingly brazen, radicalized, and unmoored from reality. According to some officials, they seek to insulate themselves from the very concept of elections. Ironically, they proclaim themselves to be the true representatives of a country they don’t seem to like very much. As a result, plenty of voters are inclined to reciprocate the hostility. In our largest urban centers, the party is rightly despised. And commanding this rogues’ gallery of far-right misfits is Alexander Krebtz: a short, balding, middle-aged lawyer who has somehow inspired the world’s least appealing personality cult. He is, it seems, an aspiring strongman devoid of personality and, if we’re being honest, without much real strength. He does, however, have a talent for deflecting criticism with whataboutisms and xenophobia. He also undermines civil society, demonizes a free press, and attacks members of the opposition whenever he has the opportunity. And while this behavior thrills his staunchest supporters, it damages and bastardizes all the tenets that the New National Dream supposedly stands for. President Krebtz does not care about people of faith or struggling family farms or traditional moral values. He has no principles. Instead, he has taken anything remotely admirable about right-wing philosophy and uses it as a shameless vehicle for self-promotion and as a weapon to divide and conquer the population. Now, after six years in office, the voting public has the chance to decide whether we truly wants more of Krebtz’s bankrupt leadership. I’ve never been much of a religious man, but I pray that as a country we can rise above this small, small man.

Previous Installment

The Press Guardian: Character Guide

The Press Guardian – Perry Chase is a reporter at the Daily Review-Express. He considered editor-in-chief, Richard Dayu, to be a mentor and father figure. Perry’s investigation into Richard’s murder prompts him to become the Press Guardian. Only Cynthia Blake and Nicholas Baldwin know his identity as Perry fights crime, corruption, and the menace of authoritarianism.

Richard Dayu – Richard Dayu was the longtime editor-in-chief of the Daily Review-Express who mentored many of the paper’s reporters early in their careers. Dayu was a dissident during the country’s dictatorship and had worked at the Daily Review-Express for decades. He is believed to have been murdered by the Yaharzan mafia for investigating government corruption, but the killing was made to look like a robbery. Richard’s death inspired Perry Chase to become the Press Guardian (See Issue #1).

Cynthia Blake – Cynthia Blake is an energetic and determined reporter at the Daily Review-Express who took on the mantle of editor-in-chief after Richard Dayu’s murder. She is one of the only people who knows the Press Guardian’s true identity.

Detective Nicholas Baldwin – Nicholas Baldwin was a senior detective in the Amtilica Police Department. He trusted Perry Chase due to the fact that they served in the army together years earlier. Because of that, Baldwin was a confidential source for Perry Chase regarding on-going police investigations and the capital’s criminal underworld. Although initially reluctant, Detective Baldwin proved to be instrumental in the arrest of the Chessman (See Issue #4). Unfortunately, the Yaharzan mafia retaliated against both Chase and Baldwin, resulting in Baldwin being killed by hitmen (See Issue #8).

Bartholomew Danor – Bartholomew Danor was a former army colonel who led a small, far-right faction in parliament called the Eternal Nation Party. Surprisingly, it was revealed that Danor was an opponent of President Krebtz, the New National Dream, and their vision for the country. In Issue #5, Danor was interviewed in secret by Cynthia Blake where he detailed the regime’s nefarious plans and provided the Daily Review-Express with troves of documents. Sometime later, Danor died of a supposed heart attack while vacationing in France, but the cause of his death was eventually ruled inconclusive and suspicious.

The Chessman – Although he appears to be just an old man playing chess in the park, the Chessman is actually the head of the Yaharzan mafia. A mysterious figure, he is believed to have brutally eliminated all rival bosses and to have entered into an arrangement with Alexander Krebtz a decade ago, while Krebtz was Interior Minister. In exchange for a monopoly over organized crime in the country, the Chessman acts as an enforcer for the regime, killing its opponents and exerting pressure to secure its rule indefinitely. (See Classified Files: The Chessman)

President Alexander Krebtz – Alexander Krebtz is an ambitious nationalist politician and an authoritarian populist who seeks to transform Yaharza into an autocracy under the control of himself and his political party, the New National Dream.

General Theodore Thurber – Theodore Thurber is a retired army officer and diplomat and the opposition’s candidate challenging President Alexander Krebtz in the upcoming election. He is an elder statesman and a political moderate. Among the public, he is predominantly known for having led several UN peacekeeping operations overseas. (See Issue #13)

David Yancy Felix – David Yancy Felix is a young, outspoken member of parliament and a rising star within the Yaharzan opposition. During the presidential primary election, he narrowly lost to General Theodore Thurber, but his performance in the contest impressed many observers. (See Issue #13)

Mr. Yon Windels – Yon Windels is the longtime owner of the Daily Review-Express. Windels was a dissident during the country’s dictatorship. He is now a wealthy investor and expat, living in London. Because he lives overseas, the Krebtz regime is attempting to invalidate his ownership of the newspaper.

Andrew Andrewson – Originally introduced as a newspaper columnist at the National City Bulletin, Andrew Andrewson eventually becomes a sycophantic on-air personality featured on Enterprise News TV after its parent company was taken over by friends of the Krebtz regime. Andrewson is handsome and enthusiastically supports the president, always distorting his coverage to either embellish or fabricate Krebtz’s accomplishments.

Nathan Darms – Nathan Darms is a reporter at the Daily Review-Express.

Jack – Jack is a reporter at the Daily Review-Express. He is a reference to the real-life creator of the Press Guardian, Jack Binder.

Abner – Abner is an editor at the Daily Review-Express. He is a reference to the editor of the Press Guardian, Abner Sundell.

Mort – Mort is a reporter at the Daily Review-Express. He is a reference to the original comic book artist behind the Press Guardian, Mort Meskin.

Margaret – Margaret is an editor at the Daily Review-Express. She is a reference to the journalist, Margaret Sullivan. Sullivan’s book, Ghosting the News: Local Journalism and the Crisis of American Democracy, helped inspire and inform the story.

Professor Gilbert Natatut – Professor Gilbert Natatut is a nationalist academic and a prominent member of the New National Dream who was featured in an overly flattering biographical docu-series from Enterprise News about President Krebtz.

Arnold Ryanyoth – Arynold Ryanyoth is a retired historian and a member of the New National Dream who was featured in an overly flattering biographical docu-series from Enterprise News about President Krebtz.

Thomas Tomsky – Thomas Tomsky is a reporter at the Rural Times-Tribune in Yabarma province.

Alistair Palmgré – Alistair Palmgré is a member of parliament and a leading figure within the New National Dream who was implicated in a massive corruption scandal exposed by the Daily Review-Express.

The Press Guardian #13

David Michael Newstead | The Philosophy of Shaving

“Gentlemen! Gentlemen! Please!” The moderator yelled, struggling to restore order during their heated exchange.

In front of her stood two presidential candidates in crisp suits, shouting over one another, while the audience looked on at the spectacle. At one podium was the incumbent, President Alexander Krebtz, leader and founder of the New National Dream. On the other side of the stage was his challenger, retired General Theodore Thurber, the consensus candidate of a dozen opposition parties united in their hatred of Krebtz. But tonight’s debate, like the entire campaign, had been anarchy from the start. Accusations flew back and forth. The two men barely stayed on the same topic for more than thirty seconds. And watching all of it unfold from the packed press pool was an anxious Perry Chase and Cynthia Blake.

“General Thurber’s globalist stance is extremist and elitist! It hurts our economy. It destroys our culture,” Krebtz declared, “And what would you have done, General?! You would turn our whole country into nothing but a refugee camp! You would tear down our great cathedrals and replace them with mosques! Our nation would be forever corrupted and the average Yaharzan would become jobless, a stranger in his own homeland! All while the immoral lifestyles that you promote undermine families and any hope of population growth!”

“That… that is ridiculous. No one is talking about tearing down cathedrals,” Thurber interjected, “This is exactly what I’ve been saying all evening. Spreading this kind of misinformation… these falsehoods… it’s irresponsible. It’s prejudiced!”

Krebtz was electrified in his response, “It’s no falsehood. It’s a fact. A fact! You, General Thurber, are part of a cosmopolitan conspiracy to dismantle our country. While you stood by doing nothing, there was an invasion at the border. Today, our towns are besieged by filthy migrants. And that is a dereliction of duty that the voters should never forgive!”

The president continued with wild hand gestures, bending his fingers in the air until he formed a fist. “You seek to emasculate the nation! To neuter us! Castrating Yaharzan manhood, leaving us weak and defenseless against an ever multiplying foreign horde!”

Amid the chaos, Perry Chase thought back to the last election. Six years earlier, Krebtz was a more modest figure, a supposedly conventional politician who promised law-and-order. Today, he was an angry, conspiracy spouting madman intent on staying in power at any cost. That transformation was hard to comprehend and even more difficult for Perry to witness firsthand. Yet, it was unmistakably happening. For a second, Cynthia and Perry traded concerned glances as Krebtz’s rhetoric drowned out the voice of the veteran statesman across from him.

“I’m not anti-anything…” Krebtz said, retorting to his opponent’s description, “I’m pro-native born citizen! Pro-western civilization! Pro-manhood! But above all, I am pro-nation! I support protecting our beautiful and pristine natural environment from the perverts and outsiders who are degrading it. Today, I’m proud of our work. My administration is building a strong bedrock of national values. And our prosperity depends on our success.”

General Thurber then launched into an impassioned indictment of Krebtz’s time in office: attacks on freedom of expression, religion, assembly, freedom of the press, freedoms online, and academic freedom, targeting LGBTQ people, attempts to disenfranchise minorities, rolling back protections for women and workers, the unending stream of corruption allegations, suspicious links to organized crime, spreading misinformation, inflammatory rhetoric, and increasingly repressive tactics.

“My opponent has a very old-fashioned idea of what freedom means and perhaps that’s what’s behind his unpatriotic remarks…” Krebtz replied, “I think it’s rather narrow-minded and frankly prejudiced of my critics to fixate on petty, self-absorbed, individual liberties like that’s the only consideration. Instead, I support something larger than myself. I support true freedom! The rights of families, of communities, and, most importantly, the rights of our great nation that has been under attack by radical degenerates! We declare independence from oppressive international organizations that seek to erase our traditions and to colonize us. To enslave us! We strive for freedom from the elites and the intellectuals, from foreign influence, and the immoral decadence eating away at the very foundations of our country. That is the freedom that I hold most dear and I will never stop fighting for it!”

Applause filled the auditorium from the floor to the highest rafters. And the debate soon ended where it began – with the most vocal members of the audience insulting each other until they were literally pulled apart. Police and members of Special Office guarded key sections of the building as the two candidates waved to their supporters, then quickly left. Cynthia was scrolling through social media on her phone when she realized that excerpts of Krebtz’s speech had almost instantly been converted into inspirational-style memes by his supporters. I support true freedom! I support the president! the pictures proclaimed.

Cynthia turned to show Perry. Just then, the pundit and former journalist Andrew Andrewson brushed passed the two of them with his camera crew.

“Excuse me,” he said, then got into position for live coverage, “That’s right, Michael. A very strong performance tonight by the president. The crowds here were energetic, enthusiastic, and I think President Krebtz won over a lot of viewers with his defense of values and national sovereignty…”

“Ugh,” Cynthia said to Perry, “This guy makes me fucking nauseous. Let’s go. We’ve got more work to do anyway.”

Fractured Opposition Parties Rally Around Retired General in the Upcoming Election

By Cynthia Blake | The Daily Review-Express

Amidst a diminished and divided opposition, the statesman Theodore Thurber has achieved a minor miracle. He’s corralled a dozen warring factions. He’s outmaneuvered prominent rivals and sidelined the rising star, David Yancy Felix, to become the contender who could unseat President Alexander Krebtz. Helped along by his decades of personal connections in business and government, Thurber has built an impressive coalition from across the political spectrum, rallying voters behind his vision of a different direction for the country. Congenial and certainly less divisive than President Krebtz, Thurber has accomplished one other feat that’s seemed unimaginable in recent years. He has revived hopes not only in the viability of Yaharza’s opposition, but in the promise of our democracy itself. FOLLOW LIVE ELECTION UPDATES

Previous Installment

The Press Guardian: Profile

David Michael Newstead | The Philosophy of Shaving

Real Name: Perry Chase.

Occupation: Journalist.

Identity: Secret.

Aliases: None.

Legal Status: Citizen of the Republic of Yaharza with no criminal record.

Place of Birth: Amtilica, Yaharza.

Martial Status: Single.

Education Level: University Graduate.

Known Relatives: None.

Known Associates: Cynthia Blake, Nicholas Baldwin, Richard Dayu, and Nathan Darns.

Group Affiliations: Current member of the Yaharzan Newspaper Guild and former conscript in the Yaharzan Army.

Enemies: The Chessman, the Yaharzan Mafia, President Alexander Krebtz, and the New National Dream.

Base of Operations: Amtilica, Yaharza.

First Appearance: Pep Comics #1 (1940).

Origin: The Press Guardian #1 (2023).

History: Newspaper reporter, Perry Chase, took on the mantle of the Press Guardian to fight corruption and authoritarianism in his home country of Yaharza after the brutal murder of his editor-in-chief, Richard Dayu. He now works with his new editor, Cynthia Blake, at the Daily Review-Express to expose the crimes of the tyrannical Krebtz regime before it’s too late!

Height: 1.8 meters.

Weight: 96 kilograms.

Eyes: Brown.

Hair: Black.

Superpowers: None.

Special Skills: Research, writing, editing, interviewing, investigatory journalism, hand-to-hand combat, and Parkour.

Source of Powers: Journalistic integrity, the pursuit of justice, and the search for truth.

Fighting Abilities: Above average.

Strength: Above average.

Intelligence: Above average.

Speed: Above average.

Stamina: Above average.

Agility: Above average.

Limitations: Normal human limits.

Costume: Red face mask, red gloves, and green jumpsuit.

Weaponry: While the Press Guardian usually only fights in hand-to-hand combat, he has occasionally been seen carrying two handguns and small knives. He also has some knowledge of explosives.

Notable Accessories: Bulletproof vest.

Transportation: None.

The Press Guardian #12

David Michael Newstead | The Philosophy of Shaving

By day, he was a newspaper reporter. By night, Perry Chase became the protector of the Fourth Estate: the Press Guardian! And with each adventure, his costume gradually evolved. It began with a simple red mask to hide his identity. Now, his new, enhanced face covering would shield him from debris and scramble facial recognition software. In street clothes, he could blend into a crowd or disguise himself, but beneath that layer of fabric was an advanced military jumpsuit to cushion his falls and absorb at least a portion of the attacks against him: attempted stabbings, gunshots, and dangerous blazes. He wore special gloves now that helped him to climb and punch with devastating effect. All the while, he had been building up his endurance and his fighting skills. Perry had the heart of an ox.

Every night, he patrolled the shadows, the city’s darkest corridors. Most of the time, he just observed and recorded, feeding critical information to what little free press remained in the country. On a quiet subway car or in an abandoned building, the Press Guardian captivated sources, brave men and women who shared files and rumors and firsthand accounts of the regime’s crimes. It was a never-ending list that he’d shepherd onto the pages of his newspaper, the Daily Review-Express.

Judge Exposed in Bribery Scheme to Free Dangerous Mafia Murder Suspect Kidnapping of Bank President’s Daughter Reveals Larger Pressure Campaign in the Finance SectorMP Alistair Palmgré of the New National Dream Implicated in Massive Corruption Scandal

Despite all their plots and threats, the Krebtz regime left a long trail of loose ends and shattered lives in its wake. That created a stench that couldn’t be covered up forever. Perry hoped to rake together so much muck that the regime would surely choke on the sewage of all its sins. The Press Guardian had located the frightened, young prostitute from Danor’s death the year before and he spoke at length with the widow of a murdered corporate attorney. There were so many others coming forward by then. Too many to count: disillusioned former party members, outraged government employees, and so many more. There were victims. There were witnesses. There were whistleblowers. These were parts of the puzzle that Perry Chase was trying desperately to understand. From the data he’d be given, the newspaper’s forensic accounting team was working around the clock to decipher a million spreadsheets that showed elaborate, purposeful, and widespread corruption. The public had a right to know!

With each headline and with every new scandal, the Press Guardian prayed that the regime grew a little weaker, that its grotesque, self-serving propaganda fractured piece by piece. He wanted to believe that the truth would win in the end. It must. Democracy wasn’t dead in Yaharza, Perry thought. Not yet! But his real work was slow and investigative. It was a process that was only interrupted by an occasional fight for survival. Months and months passed like this: cat and mouse games, evading nameless mafia hitmen and spineless agents of Special Office. And yet, they always failed. Every time, they failed to capture him or kill him, earning themselves some new scars along the way.

The capital city was really a labyrinth. New sections of it were built on top of and interlocked with centuries old infrastructure. Each decade of construction was a different story, another forgotten chapter in European history. By that point, the Press Guardian knew the layout better than most anyone: through narrow streets, on industrial rooftops, and the murky hell beneath everything. There were disused train tunnels, catacombs, and a network of bunkers from the Cold War. Thousands of places to discover. He knew where to run, how to hide, the best passageways, every nuance. This was his battlefield. His pursuers could barely keep up with him, but they tried. Meanwhile, everpresent in the back of Perry’s mind, there was a clock counting down the days and the hours until the presidential election. All the chatter he had been hearing recently pointed to something big. Would the regime postpone the vote? Or try to cancel it altogether? Would the president leave office if he lost? Or would his agents guarantee victory no matter how people voted? The Press Guardian knew he had to find out even if it killed him.

That night, a staffer from the election commission was chain-smoking in the alley behind an Italian restaurant, while she waited for him. He had watched her from behind a grimy shop window for twenty minutes, trying to ascertain if she was followed. When he finally did appear, the woman gasped and sighed in the same breath. Then, she went back to cradling the cigarette like it was a security blanket.

“I think I know what they’re planning…” she whispered.

“Tell me everything,” The Press Guardian replied.

CAN THE PRESS GUARDIAN SAVE JOURNALISM?! Will he stop the dangerous rise of authoritarianism? Or will this be the end of our intrepid hero? Find out in the next thrilling issue of the Press Guardian!

Previous Installment

The Press Guardian: Weekend Reader

NPR: Remember Reading the Paper

Vice: How the Far Right Feeds on Male Insecurity

PBS NewsHour: ‘Withering’ of Local News Landscapes is Dangerous for Democracy

The Atlantic: There’s No Substitute for Print

The New Yorker: Does Journalism Have a Future?

BBC: Russia’s State TV Hit by Stream of Resignations

PBS NewsHour: Growing Local News Deserts Endanger Democracy

The Atlantic: What Germany Can Teach America About Polarization

NPR: Public Libraries May Turn The Page For Colorado City’s News Desert

The Agenda: The Lost Art of Browsing

The Economist: What 1989 Can Teach Us About the Recent Protests in China

The Atlantic: Russia Is Co-opting Angry Young Men

The Press Guardian #11

David Michael Newstead | The Philosophy of Shaving

Cynthia Blake rubbed her eyes. Every muscle, bone, and cell in her body ached, she was so tired. She had been on the phone for hours, trying everything she could think of. To save the newspaper meant sacrificing more and more pieces of it, but what, if anything, would remain, she didn’t know. She kept reflecting back on her conversations with her former editor, Richard Dayu. It wasn’t until this moment that she realized how adeptly he had led the publication through difficult times: market downturns, layoffs, and unrest.

Today, the situation was far worse. That much was obvious. In the last year, they had gained more readers and wider recognition. Her team won a shelf’s worth of prestigious awards. Their journalists had written a dozen or more high-profile exposés showing illegality and corruption at the highest levels of government. Their work mattered more than ever to the country’s future. To Cynthia, those things felt like they should count for something, but the truth was that the Daily Review-Express was being squeezed from all sides. A few graphs on her computer screen summarized the harsh reality: revenue was declining every quarter. Their transition from print to digital was painful and, worse, less profitable. The paper was trapped in a vicious cycle that began with ads, clicks, and firewalls and ended with less money to pay fewer and fewer staff.

Now everything was on the chopping block: the weekly culture magazine, their arts and style blogs, podcast producers, freelance photographers, cartoonists, experienced data journalists, internships. Could more sponsored content help raise money? What if they devoted more time to the English language edition? Was there a more profitable way to balance their print editions with their digital platforms? Perhaps, they could do another round of layoffs. Even the building they operated out of was up for discussion, but should they really sell their historic, Art Deco headquarters downtown to stay afloat? These were the topics that now characterized Cynthia’s days and her nights and her early mornings with little else in-between.

Their soft-spoken owner, Mr. Yon Windels, was a proud Yaharzan expatriate living in London with enough money to pay for the battalion of lawyers that were holding the government at bay. The Regulatory Communications Authority (RCA) frequently leveled retaliatory fines at the paper and had rewritten regulations in an attempt to ban foreign ownership of news outlets even for dual citizens like Mr. Windels. At the same time, the Central Tax Office was starting their fifth audit of the paper this year. A week earlier, the regime ended a longstanding requirement that newspapers print public notices from government agencies. Overnight that shutoff a boring, but reliable source of their income. And this was just one of a dozen different strategies meant to break them and to send the newspaper into a financial death spiral. Cynthia Blake was fighting against the full weight of a regime determined to crush independent media nationwide and everyday she felt it.

She had started smoking again, not even bothering to go out onto the balcony anymore. Cynthia couldn’t get a good night’s sleep either, which caused one day to blur into the next. It all felt like one continuous meeting after that, a single unending conference call about journalism under attack. A revolving door of her reporters joined her on these calls to London, which often devolved into venting sessions or loud arguments. Under different circumstances, of course, ceasing publication of their daily print edition and switching over to a digital-only model would be a more academic conversation. But since the paper’s website and mobile app fended off constant hacking attempts, such a move actually made them more vulnerable to being shutdown and subject to an entirely separate and increasingly draconian set of regulations from the RCA governing internet publications. The newspaper had one foot in the past and the other in the future and was suffering terribly in both.

In the middle of those tough conversations, Cynthia Blake could practically hear Richard’s voice in her ear, sharing a sage piece of advice or a humorous anecdote that got them through the “bad old days” during the dictatorship. She tried to recall every key decision, the intense debates, and hard choices that kept this newspaper going for fifty years.

She was like a zombie by the time she finally trudged over to the coffee machine for a refill. She wasn’t even sure what day of the week it was anymore. God help us, she thought, what are we going to do?

“Cynthia!” Margaret called out, coming down the hall, “The meeting is starting. London’s on the line again.”

Cynthia paused and breathed deeply.

“I’ll be right there,” she said.

End of an Era: Rural Times-Tribune Newspaper Set to Close

Nathan Darms | The Daily Review-Express

It began in the 1930s as a pamphlet that helped farm workers organize against fascism. For decades, the newspaper was a pillar of journalistic excellence, telling the stories of the ordinary Yaharzans in every corner of the country. Today, however, the Rural Times-Tribune is a hollowed out relic at death’s door. Several years ago, the paper stopped producing much of its own content and eventually even these scaled back operations became too expensive for its new owners to stomach any longer. In its wake, the Rural Times-Tribune leaves a vast news desert of agricultural communities and small towns that are insignificant to TV anchors, but frequently a target for partisan demagogues and misinformation campaigns. And while the paper’s coverage typically focused on county fairs and youth sports, there was always a genuine quality to it, an authenticity that many publications could only aspire to. It was of the people and for the people. Perhaps, that’s why the Rural Times-Tribune connected with local readers for so long. And why it’s absence will be so profoundly felt. CLICK HERE TO THE READ FULL ARTICLE.

Previous Installment

Election Season