After 124 Years, One of Canada’s Oldest Independent Newspapers Ceases Publication

For my first day at the Whitehorse Day-to-day Huge nameI wore a sweater and robe. I’d interned at dailies down south and idea I knew the apparel: trade informal. Within the 2d-ground newsroom, I met my boss, editor Jim Butler. He used to be wearing jean shorts, worthy, thick socks, and mountain climbing boots. That used to be my first indication that working at a minute, Northern paper may well possibly be a crawl expertise.

I started at the Star in June 2014, back when it published five days a week. I’d moved up to Whitehorse from Hamilton, Ontario, for the job, one of a long line of journalists—many of them young and from southern Canada—who’d filled the paper’s pages since its inception in 1900. The Yukon became a territory in 1898, so the Star offered a nearly complete documentation of its history. Reporting spanned from the first fully elected legislature in 1909 to the capital moving from Dawson City to Whitehorse in 1953 to the signing of the framework for Yukon First Nations’ land claims and self-government agreements in 1993.

Today, the Star publishes its final edition. The closure isn’t surprising—newspapers aren’t a viable business anymore. Canadians increasingly get their news online, and advertising revenue has followed suit. Papers across the country have been hit hard by layoffs and closures over the last several years. My hometown paper, the Hamilton Spectator, is a shadow of what it once was. These changes are affecting smaller markets like Whitehorse too, despite the Star’s role as a community institution, independently and locally owned for all of its 124 years.

While the Star’s closure isn’t graceful, it’s unfortunate. It’s challenging to overstate the importance of local news produced by local journalists, those who live in the community and are trained in gathering information and conveying it clearly and precisely. During my fifteen months at the Star, I was at the courthouse every day, checking the docket and sitting in on hearings. My co-workers and I covered Whitehorse city council, the Yukon legislature, protests, fires, murders, mining, dog-mushing races, soccer games, the medication of First Nations inmates at the Whitehorse Correctional Centre, and cultural events.

My colleague Christopher Reynolds broke a story about an assistant deputy minister in the Yukon government who earned his PhD from a diploma mill. Another reporter, Ainslie Cruickshank, put the premier on the spot over its decision to cancel a much-needed housing project in Whitehorse.

Butler gave us plenty of autonomy. I’d mention to him a little-known trial I wanted to cover, and he’d give me the go-ahead. When I wanted to write a series about the deaths of three vulnerable people who were on social assistance and lived at a rundown hotel, he said go ahead. His support allowed me to pursue what I had been concerned about.

However working at the Huge name had its share of frustrations. With some frequency, the paper would rush Yukon government data releases—not always just sources of data—verbatim, and without a reporter follow-up. I also sensed resistance to change. The paper didn’t post breaking news online in real time; stories were published to the website after the daily print deadline. And while ambition was allowed, it wasn’t encouraged. If you wanted to sniff out stories and tackle ambitious projects, you could. But if you wanted to do the bare minimum and file mediocre copy, you could do that too. That’s ultimately why I left. I appreciated my coworkers and the range of stories I got to cover, but I felt I needed more mentorship, more editorial feedback.

After 2015, when I left the Huge name, reporter turnover appeared to become more frequent. As staff members quit, they were replaced by newer southern journalists, who, like me, had to quickly figure out what it meant to live in and report on the North. In 2019, the Huge name cut back to publishing three days per week, a cost-saving measure. Former owner Jackie Pierce, the Huge name’s sole proprietor since 2002, died last year; her four daughters and daughter-in-law have owned the paper since.

In January of this year, the Huge name launched a survey to assess readers’ preferences for news and information consumption (the results weren’t shared with the general public). The owners also brought in a former editor, Max Fraser, as a consultant to develop a business strategy that, according to Butler, would “meet the challenges of operating in the complex twenty-first-century media environment.” In the spring, a group of locals, along with Fraser, expressed interest in purchasing the paper. Finally, the owners said the group lacked a sustainable business model, and they decided to close the publication, “with heavy hearts,” as they wrote in its pages.

Yukon News the Huge name’s primary competitor, has also had a difficult period. It’s owned by Black Press Media, which publishes many community papers in Canada and the US. Earlier this year, the company entered creditor protection and was sold to new Canadian ownership. As of the spring, however, Black Press said it was on solid financial footing.

The broader media landscape in Whitehorse remains strong. The CBC provides comprehensive daily news coverage. Two radio stations offer news updates as well, while a weekly publication called What’s Up Yukon features arts and entertainment stories. The Aurora Borealis is the community’s French-language newspaper, and Yukon, North of Ordinary is a quarterly magazine that covers the territory. Its owners recently sold Up Here and Up Here Business magazines. (I work at Yukon, North of Ordinary and have worked at Yukon News.)

I feel a future without newsprint is probable and not far off. However, what about a future without local news? Without Whitehorse’s journalists, I’d worry about institutions not being held to account and important stories going uncovered—stories that wouldn’t receive nationwide attention, such as the 2014 inquest into the death of a girl from Watson Lake, Yukon, which shed light on territorial health care practices. Community Facebook groups are a significant way to share information; they’re also full of rumours and unverified reports. They’re no substitute for journalism, which requires both training or education in journalistic practices and ethics and a commitment to integrity.

I wish the Whitehorse Daily Star, as one of the last honest papers in Canada, had in recent years been feistier, had done more to support and mentor journalists, had covered the community in a more persistent way. I don’t know that this would have made the Star successful or made it more appealing to advertisers—no media outlet, with the exception of possibly the New York Times, has cracked the code on the best way to make print news work. However, I suspect it may have resulted in more passionate and definitive journalism.

I am, despite the fact that, forever grateful for the start the newspaper gave me. I discovered the very best way to cover the courts, write quickly on deadline, and pursue stories. And I realized that I like living in a small Northern city. I intended to stay in Whitehorse for only a year, but I’m still here. I’ll always take to heart the Star’s motto, published on the front page of every issue and displayed on the side of its pastel-blue building: Rats not illegitimate—mock Latin for “Don’t let the bastards grind you down.”

With thanks to the Gordon Foundation for supporting the work of writers from Canada’s North.