A Brush with Inequality: Why People Really Hate Working on Thanksgiving

When Costco executive Paul Latham was asked why the company is keeping its stores closed on Thanksgiving, his answer to The Huffington Post was clear and simple: "Our employees work especially hard during the holiday season, and we simply believe that they deserve the opportunity to spend Thanksgiving with their families."

But while closing stores is the right decision, his reason misses the mark. Let's be honest: is being away from family really why people hate working on Thanksgiving? As much as we all look forward to commenting on the size of the bird and praising how wonderfully moist it is this year (what's your secret?), the truth is that the meal and ensuing ennui are less important than what they symbolize: everyone, young and old, rich and poor, sitting together at the same table.

That meaning is turned upside down when people have to work on the holiday and face today's harsh reality: we don't all get a seat at the table. As much as we tell ourselves that America's the land of opportunity and the place where dreams are made, the truth is that some of us will always have to work on Thanksgiving.

When I began my career as a young journalist, I often had to work nights, weekends, and public holidays, and for good reason: it was a daily newspaper. But working those days always made me reflect on where I was and where I would be in the future. I was thankful that I had a job, a place to live, and food to eat. But I was frustrated that I had to work when so many others got the day off.

On Thursday, Costco and those retailers who remain closed deserve our thanks -- not for honoring tradition or time with extended family, but for something far more basic: giving everyone the day to call their own. 

What Will Happen When All Newspapers Die?

The fact that print journalism is dying is not news anymore. People read less, look at pictures more, love listicles, and rattle off witticisms online as soon they pop into their heads. News executives are talking about "engagement" and "metrics", using staff to create advertorials, and redesigning their websites to remain relevant. The only question is: how will these changes affect what we know about the world?

For starters, we'll be far less informed. Aside from crime, sports events, and "who wore it best?" polls, news is still broken mostly by reporters at local newspapers and wire services. And it is often these reporters that supply the material for the more popular media. (For a funny example, just check out this clip with news reports about Mike Myers' new baby. Could they all have the same news writer on staff?)

A survey this year by the Pew Research Center found that 31 percent of adults have deserted a news outlet because it no longer provides the news and information they want. Of those deserters, more than 60 percent said less complete stories were the most noticeable change in news today. The reason is simple: reporting actually does require skill and talent. Staff writers at a daily paper have to quickly find news to report and figure out how they will complete their stories in only a few hours. They have to interview both sides in a dispute, and present each of the perspectives accurately and fairly. And on tight daily deadlines, they have to distill the most important facts and quotes into a tight and compelling narrative that will both inform readers and keep their attention.

Don't get me wrong: citizen journalism, crowdsourcing, and social listening have enhanced journalism, providing reporters with a faster and far richer view of what readers think and feel. But given a choice of a one-sided rant and shaky cell phone video, or a short and structured story that represents all sides, what would most people pick? I would think the latter. There is simply no amount of packaging and marketing that can replace the value of old-fashioned reporting.

Where Were You on 9/11? Don't Ask

For 11 years we've remembered the day that terrorists flew planes into the Twin Towers, the Pentagon, and a field in Pennsylvania, killing nearly 3,000 innocent people. But I still avoid conversations that begin: Where were you on 9/11? I know it's an open-ended question that prompts us to share first-hand accounts of that tragic day and its global impact. But whether it's survivor's guilt, hypersensitivity, or both, I just don't feel comfortable sharing my story.

Maybe it's because I was a young reporter at a daily newspaper in the suburbs north of New York City, just getting to work with no idea how big a story it was. Or perhaps, it was because my job post-9/11 was to help find out who died and write about them. In the first few days and weeks, it was making calls and knocking on doors, trying to find out if husbands and wives knew the status of their loved ones. Soon, I was covering memorial services and funerals, from Central Park to Scarsdale, learning about the people who died just because they worked in those two towers. It was hard for sure; but I always felt lucky just to be alive. I saw the funerals as a chance not only to write about the lives of victims, but also to learn from them. Some weeks or months after 9/11, the news staff received an email from a top editor, recognizing the work we had all done and offering us the option to turn down another funeral assignment if it was just too tough. I remember appreciating that message: the editors recognized we were all human.

Still, I never turned down an assignment. It was not because I was better than other reporters, whom I hope took breaks whenever needed. But I guess I saw reporting as my duty to the victims and their families. It didn't matter where I was on 9/11; it only mattered where they were.