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The post-Trump news era begins [View this email online]( [NPR Public Editor by Poynter's Kelly McBride]( Many people have asked us if things feel different now that we write the word “former” in front of President Donald Trump. The answer is: a little, but not a lot. We noticed a distinct change in the tone and spirit of the Public Editor inbox the moment the inauguration was complete. Audience members were curious about a wider diversity of topics, there was less of a sharp edge to the criticism, and definitely more humor. And yet … the pandemic rages on, an impeachment trial looms, and our nation struggles with all of the raw and systemic inequalities that have been laid bare. So, yes, things feel different, but also the same. While the current commander-in-chief is not actively campaigning against the legitimacy of professional journalists and their news organizations as his predecessor did, the relentless news cycle continues to be a challenge to delivering a comprehensive and well-rounded daily news report. While that’s not going to go away, other issues are breaking through. For instance, we heard a familiar critique about using the right language for geographic descriptors. And the issue in the inbox that garnered critical mass from last week was an objection to a chicken joke on Wait Wait… Don’t Tell Me! In researching our response, we learned a lot about how NPR hears and prioritizes audience complaints. [Backyard chickens]( Emma Baker/Getty Images From the Inbox Here are a few quotes from the Public Editor's inbox that resonated with us. You can share your questions and concerns with us through the [NPR Contact page](. Where is ‘upstate’? Elisabeth L. Daley writes: I am writing to beg NPR to set a new standard that will lead journalists from every news source in the U.S. in providing more diverse and accurate geographical descriptions of the many locations in New York State. [I heard it again on the radio today]( describing Westport, NY as being in "upstate" New York. (I actually happen to know, generally, where Westport is, but I wasn't sure if the journalist might better have said in the North Country/Adirondacks, or in a rural part of the Capitol Region.) Anyway, I am really sick of every geographical point that is not New York City or on Long Island being consistently described as "upstate." Will you provide the NPR journalists with the map ([and related article]( that I have found on Governor Cuomo's website and ask them to try to think like someone who isn't totally prejudiced toward the Big Apple, and use some more varied — and BTW more accurate — geographical references when they tell a story about the Empire State? I live in MA now, but I grew up in Central New York. :-) Thank you for your consideration of this matter. Brian Mann, the NPR National Desk correspondent based in New York who’s got the byline on the All Things Considered story you reference, understands how you feel. [New York is big and has many chunks]( he said via email. “There’s New York City, the Five Boroughs, the Catskills, Long Island, Upstate, Central New York, the Finger Lakes, the Southern Tier, Western New York, the North Country, the Hudson Valley, the Capital District, the Champlain Valley, the Adirondacks, the Thousand Islands and on and on,” and “people rarely agree on the boundaries for those places.” But, generally, for non-New Yorkers and New Yorkers alike, Mann thinks it’s sufficient to say that the widely accepted definition of upstate New York is anything north of the New York metropolitan area, though, yes, it “drives some New Yorkers nuts.” Mann said he’s careful to add more specific geographic detail as necessary. — Kayla Randall No chickens were harmed in the making of this humor segment For a [Jan. 16 “Bluff the Listener” segment]( of Wait Wait... Don’t Tell Me! (produced by WBEZ and NPR in Chicago), panelists read three stories about chickens in the news, two of them fake. The true story was about a physicist [who theorized]( that you could slap a chicken at a speed of 3,725 miles per hour to cook it, because kinetic energy converts into thermal energy. In response to this real news story, listeners flocked to our inbox with anger. Here’s just a small sample: Jessica Stovall wrote, “This horrified me as I adore my flock of 17 birds.” Kip Bellairs, a longtime listener and vegan, wrote: “I was saddened to hear talk of slapping chickens in an attempt to get a laugh.” Andrea Martin wrote: “The offensive and shockingly callous comments concerning the abuse of animals (chickens) was far below the quality of programming I expect from NPR.” By the time we reached out to Mike Danforth, executive producer of Wait Wait... Don’t Tell Me!, [an apology]( had already been issued. Like the show, the apology was irreverent. “It’s an apology in the voice and tone of the show,” Danforth said. The group that encouraged the objections, [United Poultry Concerns]( explained its position on its website, “smirking ‘advice’ about slapping [chicken] corpses is inappropriate entertainment.” And later, “Thank you for sticking up for chickens and the ethical media treatment of all animals.” Was it all that bad? This is a humor show, after all. We listened to the segment, and it’s understandable that some listeners thought the story could have been about slapping live chickens. After all, the first two (fake) stories involved live chickens. And the real story withheld the fact that the physicist’s theory involved a frozen chicken until two thirds of the way through. So you can forgive chicken lovers for being horrified at the thought. (Full disclosure here: Kelly owns a small flock of pandemic chickens, and that influences her judgment.) For the record, we did confirm with Danforth that the hypothetical chickens in question were supposed to be frozen. He doesn’t believe the segment crossed the boundaries of good taste. He knows from experience that when the show’s humor crosses the line from absurd to offensive, listeners immediately call into their local stations, who in turn call him. That didn’t happen. But “in this case, we did decide, hey, let's get ahead of this. Let's have fun with it,” Danforth said. “I think they know that our show is a comedy show, right?” — Kelly McBride and Amaris Castillo Spotlight On The Public Editor spends a lot of time examining moments where NPR fell short. Yet we also learn a lot about NPR by looking at work that we find to be compelling and excellent journalism. Here we share a line or two about the pieces where NPR shines. One lucky calico cat [Patches is reunited with Norm Borgatello, her late owner's partner, at the Animal Shelter Assistance Program in Santa Barbara County, Calif., on Dec. 31.]( Jillian Title/Animal Shelter Assistance Program via AP MORNING EDITION [Patches The Miracle Cat: Shows Up 3 Years After Tragic Mudslide]( After years since the [tragic 2018 Santa Barbara mudslides]( Morning Edition [provided a heartstring-pulling follow-up piece](. This story reminds us that every natural disaster or devastating event has an aftermath that journalists should continue to follow, and we can’t forget about all the people who have been impacted. Briana Haigh lost her mother, Josie Gower, in the mudslides. Her mother’s cat, Patches, was thought to be dead, too. [But nearly three years later]( in December, a local shelter found Patches, who was microchipped under Gower’s name. The shelter called Haigh, and later, Norm Borgatello, Gower’s partner who survived the mudslides, reunited with Patches. The cat now likes to stay inside and nuzzle him. “I know my mom would be really happy,” Haigh said. — Kayla Randall A different big lie [Plastic piles up at Garten Services in Salem, Oregon.]( Laura Sullivan/NPR PLANET MONEY [Waste Land]( Planet Money re-aired an investigation this week that documents a different “big lie,” this one about [recycling plastic](. Turns out only 10% of all plastics actually get recycled — mostly milk jugs and soda bottles. The rest gets buried or burned, even if you put it into the recycling bin. Right there on my recycling service brochure, it says I can recycle plastics labeled 1-7. Not only does Planet Money tell us that’s not really what’s happening, but it tracks down the plastics industry lobbyist (Larry Thomas) who crafted the original campaign (and now has his regrets). It’s a sweet investigative spot for NPR. Reporter Laura Sullivan digs up original documents and definitively answers a big question (Why does everyone think you can recycle most plastics?) with new information that no other journalist has uncovered. I feel smarter, if a bit disillusioned. — Kelly McBride One question We ask NPR journalists one question about how their work came together. What makes a good story for ‘Strange News’ on Morning Edition? Have you ever noticed the short, quirky news read every morning by Morning Edition hosts? [On Tuesday]( for example, Host Rachel Martin told us about Nico, a 6-year-old boy in Ottawa, Canada, whose favorite toy was thrown down onto a frozen canal by his 2-year-old brother. “There were tears but not a lot of options for retrieving the little stuffed reindeer, so Nico's mom turned to Twitter,” Martin said. A group that cares for the canal ended up retrieving Rudolph and returning him to Nico. What we hear in 28 seconds is called “a return.” These tightly-packed stories are put together by a rotation of Morning Edition producers who work the overnight shift. There are two returns per show, one in each hour. “When our shift starts at about midnight, we all dig around for quirky news that we can write about,” Victoria Whitley-Berry, an assistant producer (and sometimes director) for Morning Edition, wrote me in an email. “The best returns are snappy and fun. Sometimes they have sound with it, music and stuff, in order to make it an enjoyable 28 seconds of air. They can be cheesy, but they’re fun too.” Avery Keatley, a production assistant for the show, told me in an email that ideal strange stories are ones that can be easily distilled. “It’s a really great mini writing exercise actually, to boil these stories down to just a few sentences and come up with a punchline,” Keatley wrote. “It’s a chance to be creative and get a little silly – some of my favorite returns are the ones with the most ridiculous lines, like ‘The intrepid little snack didn’t quite make it into orbit,’ about a [space-bound samosa](. Or when I got Rachel Martin to say ‘[woolly bullies]( on air.” Recently, Morning Edition listeners [heard about a squirrel]( twirling a paring knife in its front paws (it wasn’t hurt), [Bernie Sanders’ mittens moment]( taking the internet by storm, and of archeologists in Pompeii [finding a 2,000-year-old hot food and drink shop]( with traces of goat, duck, pig and even snails. It’s a small gift, every morning. — Amaris Castillo The Office of the Public Editor is a team. Researchers Amaris Castillo and Kayla Randall make this newsletter possible. We are still reading all of your messages on [Facebook]( [Twitter]( and [from our inbox](. As always, keep them coming. Kelly McBride NPR Public Editor Chair, [Craig Newmark Center for Ethics & Leadership at the Poynter Institute]( Kelly McBride, Public Editor Kayla Randall, NPR Amaris Castillo, Poynter Institute The Public Editor stands as a source of independent accountability. Created by NPR's board of directors, the Public Editor serves as a bridge between the newsroom and the audience, striving to both listen to the audience's concerns and explain the newsroom's work and ambitions. The office ensures NPR remains steadfast in its mission to present fair, accurate and comprehensive information in service of democracy. [Read more]( from the NPR Public Editor, [contact us]( or follow us on [Twitter](. 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