Journalists Parachuted into Tumbler Ridge. What Counts as Decent Reporting in a Crisis?

The town of Tumbler Ridge, British Columbia, is still grieving after one of the worst mass shootings in Canadian history. An eighteen-year-old former student of Tumbler Ridge Secondary School shot and killed her mother and half-brother before killing an educational assistant and five students between the ages of twelve and thirteen. Two others were critically injured, and another twenty-five were reportedly taken to a local medical centre to be assessed.

Trent Ernst is the publisher and editor of the Tumbler RidgeLines newspaper. He was the first journalist to arrive at the high school where the shooting took place. In the days and weeks since then, he’s been updating the community on the newspaper’s website and on Facebook.

I spoke to him about what it’s been like to cover a story so close to home. When I called, he was driving around town delivering the latest issue of the paper.

How did your day unfold that Tuesday?

For the first day, I was the first person on the scene, and then my phone died. So, I went home and was reporting from there as the information was coming out, and I was getting more and more media requests. I started saying yes, not because I thought I had the right to tell this story, but mostly because I knew that reporters—or let’s say some reporters—have a tendency to not be sensitive in these situations. I felt, at the beginning, that part of my job was to get the story out there and basically be a bit of a firewall between the media and the town.

Reporters were being parachuted in from around the country. What is it like suddenly having all this attention on the community?

It’s weird. There were a couple of days there—Wednesday, Thursday, Friday—you would see people on the street, and everyone that you saw was a reporter. You can tell who the reporters are because they all have those puffy jackets. I wear personal protective equipment that you would wear in a mine—the orange vest with yellow stripes. It’s partially so I don’t get run over when I take my dogs out. But it’s also because I don’t want to seem like a sneaky guy lurking in the corner trying to overhear stuff.

Assuming the best of intentions, what do you hope that outside reporters and commentators keep in mind in situations like this?

One outlet sent me a note asking me “What qualifies as decent reporting?” Just be decent. I know you’re here for the story, but show some humanity. Most news outlets want to be first, and it doesn’t matter if they’re accurate. My hope would be for accuracy and humanity.

What was it like to report on a place that feels personal?

I spent three or four months working as a substitute teacher. That was years ago. But I’m basically a feature writer masquerading as a news reporter. So, one of the things I do is try to capture character, personality, and emotion. And one of the ways you do that is you put yourself in the situation.

On the other hand, you would think that I have this deep connection with the parents and that I would be trying to talk to them, but I’m giving them space to adjust. Some outlets have published interviews with parents who are devastated, and some would say, “Look that’s good media, that’s moving,” but I also look at that and say that’s exploitative.

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Can you talk about the history of Tumbler RidgeLines?

The newspaper I was working at a decade ago, the owner died. My wife said whatever you do, don’t get back into the news industry. I tried being a substitute teacher, and fortunately, I sucked at that. I couldn’t drive a truck at a mine. I wasn’t a heavy-duty mechanic. My skills didn’t fit into the demands of the town. So, I started a newspaper. It had to be as financially viable as possible. Instead of starting with a twenty-page paper and getting an office downtown, I pretty much run it out of my basement, and it’s eight pages.

I could have gone to a bigger place, but I like it here. I grew up in Saskatchewan, and most of the land has been planted, harvested, seeded, reseeded, whereas here, there are places where a human foot may not have ever tread. For me, that was a really heady experience.

What is it like running Tumbler RidgeLines? What’s a big story on a normal day?

The big story that has been going on since October is that a couple of the doctors who work here have decided to move on. We need four full-time doctors, and we have two. Northern Health said we can’t run the emergency room with just two doctors, so we’re going to close down the ER, and if you need emergency assistance, you can take an ambulance.

The weekend that they declared that somebody died—was it because there was no health care at the clinic, and they had to take an ambulance? You can’t guarantee that, but it’s a pretty compelling argument. A couple of weeks later, in December, when it was really snowy, I got a picture of an ambulance in a ditch because the roads were so icy.

Other stories are more community minded. You’re guaranteed to have a picture of a hockey game. There’s a story about a town councillor resigning, or a two-page spread about the winter carnival.

What do you hope happens now?

For me, it would be lovely if we could find ways to cover the holes in our health care system. People have been pointing fingers about the shooting, saying, “It’s the mom’s fault; it’s gun laws.” But one of the things people have been saying is that we need better access to mental health services. There’s no guarantee, of course. People still need to take advantage of them.

I’ve talked to someone who covered Fort McMurray, and he said you hope that the community comes back. There’s an assumption that the school could be torn down. But as soon as that came up, people started saying, “Well that’s a dumb idea; the kids are resilient, and they should face down their fears.” For some people, that response will work, and there are others who will say, “I cannot face this again.” We need a way to have conversations decently and with love.