A short history of newspapers in Canada (as told by the cockroach) Embed from Getty Images I started out my journalism career as a scab, and now I am a cockroach. While all the successful journos are either retired, packaged or punted out of the newsrooms, I survive. I don't have a nice house, or a pension, I exist on crumbs thrown at me by the rich and powerful who have systematically dismantled the media landscape and rewarded themselves with big bonuses. I make $200 here, $50 there. I don't have a legacy or a career; I have a drawer full of clippings. And a blog. I was a scab when I started because that was the only way I could get work. I crossed picket lines, watched other scabs get their tires flattened by irate pressmen, the ones with the unions, the ones with a promise of a pension. I was little, I was small, I got in through the cracks to make my living. That newspaper died in 1980 when the giant head decided to consume its tail in search of m...
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