When enough people congregate in a defined geographical space, a community finds its larger, formal voice, traditionally around a newspaper—a weekly or daily journal that encapsulates the life of the society in its pages. Dating from Thomas Jefferson’s time, newspapers have been the watchdogs of a democratic society, and were able to make money as well. Not only did they embody the first draft of a community’s history, but also by forging community where perhaps none had previously existed, they created identity, social capital, and a sense of belonging. Especially in the sprawling lands of the West like California, where new tentacles of restless suburban growth became the quintessential expressions of postwar American prosperity, the newspaper created a sense of place among the thousands of newcomers who descended on the agricultural lands around San Jose, Riverside, Fresno, or the San Fernando Valley, transforming their surroundings in the quest for a new and better life

If the mass audience shears and fractures and tears apart, what shared information, experiences, and perceptions will we use to create the social and emotional connections that actually create community?

The effort to weave together common interests and forge a shared sense of physical—as well as psychological—community also made the owners of newspapers rich and powerful, the ultimate community boosters. After all, it was in the publisher’s interest, too, to cobble together the "mass" in "mass media" and create a sales tool for advertisers. As their towns grew richer, so did the publishers. Newspapers were an effective monopoly, because presses were costly, and building intricate infrastructures to deliver papers to individual doorsteps made it difficult for competitors to enter the market. The normal return on income for most newspaper companies commonly exceeded 20 percent—more than twice what a manufacturer of auto parts or air conditioners might expect.

The Internet has shattered this tidy tradition. A disruptive technology that slices and dices data—and disconnects us from the things that once linked us with neighbors and coworkers—the Internet is displacing a medium that built community in a defined locale. The "mass" has now been splintered into millions of personal preferences, and these preferences have replaced common places, which only we ourselves can piece together on our own. And while search engines and downloads have empowered each of us to engineer our own, highly individual media experience, it also now divides and distinguishes us from those all around us. I listen to the music I download onto my iPod; in the car, I listen only to the music I select from my XM satellite radio link; I pick the political commentary that matches mine to download onto my podcast network; I order my movies from Netflix to view at home whenever it’s convenient; and I can select and scan as many blogs, foreign newspapers, and net agglomerators as my eyeballs can handle. That means every digital bit of information and entertainment that I sop up is exactly and only what I have picked for myself. This is becoming the model for everyone.

It all sounds empowering, this ultimate expression of "me-ness." There is choice, there is depth, there are no real limits—and it’s always on. We’re just one click from our personal nirvana. And our credit cards are already logged into our computer to instantly gratify our next impulse purchase.

	page 1	|	4