Los Banos, CA (January 27, 2026) — When I started working at the Los Banos Enterprise in 2024, it was clear something was missing. The paper was stagnant. Growth had stalled. The connection to the community was weak. I asked my business mentors what it would take to turn it around, and the answer kept coming back the same. The news is dead. It was said casually, like a settled fact, like an old man shaking his fist at change. But change is inevitable. Change can incubate growth, and I believe if you are not growing, you are dying.
The way we consume information has always changed. Around 3000 BCE, stories were carved into stone tablets with chisels. Later came scrolls. Paper followed in China around 105 CE. In 1440, the printing press reshaped how information moved through the world. Each shift was disruptive. Each one was criticized. And each one expanded access. What mattered was never the format. What mattered was the information and the people receiving it.
News is important. Trustworthy, credible news is important. It is our window to the world. It starts our mornings. It shapes our opinions. Today, our phones are often the first thing we see when we wake up. We scroll before we speak. We absorb headlines before coffee. That reality is not going away. Pretending otherwise is not principled. It is avoidance.
At some point, many people have had the experience of reading a headline about a major event and thinking, that is not what happened, or that is not the full story. I am not interested in making this political or choosing sides. Events and memories are often subjective, which is exactly why multiple perspectives matter. When information is controlled, filtered, or repeated without challenge, trust erodes. I realized that many large outlets are owned by the same parent companies, sponsored by the same interests, and often sending the same message. That realization did not make me cynical. It clarified my responsibility.
One advantage I have is true freedom of the press. With that comes obligation.
The content we consume is a mental diet. It can nourish us or it can poison us. Bad things happen and it is essential that we report them. History teaches us that ignoring harm or recording it improperly only guarantees it will be repeated. But how we report matters. Sensitivity matters. Accuracy matters. News meant to divide, inflame, or misinform is poison. My goal has always been to outweigh that poison with context, care, and when possible, light. Like Mr. Rogers said, look for the helpers. Darkness does not disappear when we ignore it, but neither does it need to be the only thing we feed people.
The quiet work happens every day. Learning how to make information visually clear. Writing headlines that are enticing. Studying the algorithm, not to chase attention for its own sake, but because distribution determines whether a story is seen at all. The algorithm is neither friend nor enemy. It is the governing force of modern distribution. If I want local news to reach people, I have to learn how to work within that reality.
There have been many failures. Posts that flopped. Formats that did not connect. Experiments that went nowhere. Weather reports, city hall recaps in different styles, calls for community input that were met with silence. Failure is part of the process. It teaches me what people actually engage with, not what I assume they will.
Some days are heavier than others. I sometimes tear up while writing obituaries. Every phone call from a grieving family stays with me. Stories of animal abuse. Stories of children dying on the streets of Merced. Stories of murder and injustice. They all hurt. I feel obligated to tell those stories correctly so families do not have to endure more pain than they already are. That obligation is not abstract. It is personal.
My responsibility is to report on what happens in and around Los Banos. Through that work, I have learned that Los Banos is a town worth covering. A town with history, with agriculture at its core, with streets named after families who built it. On a macro level, it is just another town. On a human level, it is a community.
If local news disappears, it will not register globally. But to the people who live here, it would mean losing a shared record, a shared voice, a shared understanding of what is happening around them. Silence cheats a town out of perspective. It replaces community with assumption.
We grew from 7,000 followers to 10,000. From about 60,000 monthly views to more than 2 million. That growth came from focusing on local stories and making them accessible. It came from treating readers like participants, not an audience.
This work does not function without the community. I need your stories. Your tips. Your corrections. Your emails when you disagree. This is not a one way broadcast. It is a conversation.
As we move into 2026, my goal is simple. More local stories. Better coverage. A platform that reflects the people who live here. Not national headlines you can find anywhere else, but the news that actually matters to this town.
The news is not dead. It evolved, and it lives in the stories we tell about the places we call home.
Questions? Comments? Thoughts? Email me at [email protected]
