Earlier this month, This Land Press published the latest installment in its ongoing coverage of Bradley Manning, the army private accused of providing thousands of pages of classified documents to WikiLeaks. The story, by newly minted This Land staff reporter Denver Nicks, looks at a formative period of Manning’s life through the eyes of Jordan Davis, Manning’s best friend from elementary school. At that time, Manning had been kicked out of his father’s home and drifted on to live with Davis and his parents. The two young men worked at a restaurant/arcade in Tulsa, Oklahoma called Incredible Pizza, and among Manning’s few possessions was a copy of Immanuel Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason.
There’s a sad irony to the fact that most media coverage treats Manning as both the epicenter of and a footnote in the ongoing WikiLeaks saga. This Land, a not quite year-old print/web hybrid based in Tulsa, has produced some of the only exceptions to this rule worth noting. Founded in the spring of 2010 by journalist and native Oklahoman Michael Mason, the paper has quickly established itself as a rare example of literary journalism on the community level. A soon to be announced investment deal with Tulsa venture capitalist Vincent LaVoi will allow Mason to expand his publication significantly, making what has already proved to be a worthy experiment into an established Oklahoma media brand.
The significance of This Land’s expansion—and the fact that it’s being facilitated by a venture capitalist rather than the National Endowment for the Arts—can be best understood as a bet against some of the more demoralizing trends in recent media history. In an era when so much of journalistic ambition is dismissed as effete, indulgent, or just plain unrealistic, Mason speaks of long-form journalism from the perspective of an entrepreneur. To him, good narrative is at the heart of the human experience and all that, but it’s also a commodity that’s been absent from local markets for far too long. The Manning coverage is just one illustration of Mason’s larger mission to uncover what he sees as “a decade’s worth of surplus stories” about Tulsa and the rest of the state—stories that traditional media outlets, cramped for space or pressed for time, never got around to telling.
“There’s a lot of schadenfreude among the writers here in Oklahoma,” he says. “We feel like we’re sitting on top of a gold mine of incredible stories, and that newspapers are totally incapable of telling them because they’re married to the old media way of doing things.”
In many ways, This Land is reminiscent of fellow place-based publication the Oxford American, and Mason shares a number of traits with that publication’s fantastic editor, Marc Smirnoff. Both men manage to bundle risky editorial decisions into a highly refined finished product (call it the New Yorker with balls), and both have a talent for mixing anachronistically beautiful print content with web features that are equal to (rather than derivative of) their print counterparts. But while the OA is a literary journal that takes the entire American South as its purview, This Land’s narrower scope and more journalistic bent allow it to provide a unique blend of civic boosterism and edgy social commentary. (Take, for example, This Land’s feature Together in Tulsa, which juxtaposes a wholesome photograph of a married couple in the city with an often off-color narrative of their relationship.)
Despite its strong web presence, This Land has operated largely as a print-centric publication. The print version is mailed out to subscribers monthly, and content isn’t migrated onto the web until after the print subscribers have had a first look. Even then, not all of the content makes it online. Rather than have a paywall on the website, certain This Land content either exists in print form or not at all. Acknowledging the inevitable distinctions between print and web allows him to give each medium its due.