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Arriving in the green sprawl of Stanford University, the Virginia Tech of the West, I was greeted by Frisbee-tossing SEJers high on the beat's new relevance amidst growing public concern over rapid climate change and fear about the kind of world Anna Nichole Smith's baby will grow up in.
Many signs suggest that environmental topics – not just environmental news, in the strict sense – are assuming a bigger place in the journalistic universe, perhaps becoming an enduring Big Deal for editors, news directors, network executives and other media decision-makers.
(Historical note for newcomers to environmental journalism: The prospects for wide-ranging Big Deal status for the beat have waxed and waned in the past.)
A reader sent me an email recently asking why my newspaper so often seemed to take a "negative slant" on the day's news. "All we hear is crime, the death of real estate, toxins, and maybe if someone is in a good mood something about how much fun this place is," the frustrated reader lamented.
In a time of ever-accelerating change in American journalism, it probably shouldn't have come as that much of a surprise that one of the big winners in SEJ's 6th Annual Awards for Reporting on the Environment was a documentary with the trappings of a cheesy horror movie.
The Society of Environmental Journalists broke major ground at this year's national conference in attracting 18 news executives to day-long dialogues with experts on global warming, one of the biggest and most difficult-to-tell stories of our time.
Sacred Sea: A Journey to Lake Baikal
By Peter Thomson
Reviewed by Krestia DeGeorge
Sometimes, being the biggest, the oldest and the deepest thing can define its fundamental nature.
A case in point: Russia's Lake Baikal. In his new book, "Sacred Sea: A Journey to Lake Baikal," SEJ member Peter Thomson makes a strong case that the lake's superlative features set it apart from the rest of the world's large freshwater seas.
When I heard the anchor in my earpiece introducing me reporting live from an undersea research lab, I could hardly believe all the technical aspects were working.
But they were. So I figured I'd better stop being amazed and actually start talking. On Sept. 20, I was the first reporter ever to broadcast live from Aquarius, the world's only undersea lab, nine miles off Key Largo, Fla. next to a coral reef about 60 feet deep. Don't screw it up, I told myself.
America's television network news operations are increasing their coverage of environmental issues, reflecting a pendulum swing of interest among Americans in general.
Many if not most environmental stories have their roots in rural places. Those are the places where extractive industries do almost all their extracting, where America ultimately puts much of its solid waste, where farm fields get the fertilizers that create dead zones in the sea.