Not everyone gets the opportunity to have a voice.
Especially a woman like me. I can have extreme views. Or at least views that aren’t shared or supported by mainstream media. I can upset people. A lot. I am emotional. I am unpredictable. I don’t write in a regular way. Sometimes I’m journalistic and factual. Other times I’m personal and reflective. I can be ironic or gross. Or offensive. I can be sincere one week and stupid the next. Sometimes it’s a moral rant, other times it’s a political one. Sometimes it’s both. I sometimes get it wrong. Not much. But sometimes. I’m a feminist. I’m irreverent. I swear. I’m overly self reflective. I’m woke. And sometimes I’m not.
And for the past 24 years I have been in a relationship with you. My precious, much-loved, magnificent reader. You have heard me. And I have listened in return, and tried to reflect on things you care about. Or might want to know about. Or found ways to talk about things we don’t talk about very well,or often, in the public space. I share my unfiltered thoughts with you. And I hope you appreciate the authenticity. It’s in short supply in mainstream media.
Nearly every day at least one of you stops me in the street, or sends me an email or a text, and sometimes even a letter to tell me that you love what I write. That you were moved, or enraged. That you cried. That I told your story. That you learnt something. That you laughed.
You tell me that you love this column and you thank me.
A few contact me to tell me they despise me. That I got it wrong. So wrong! Which makes me smile, because they read me too. A lot. I have found an audience who loves me and those who do not. Ironically – they both read me. It’s a wondrous and uncomfortable communion of writer and reader, made even more dynamic when your readers are people in your community. People who serve you in shops, or clean your teeth, or take your blood. It keeps you strangely accountable to this big broad agreement that we have here. With me as your voice. And you as my reader. And me committed to find our narrative. Every week.
It’s rare. And it exists because of this remarkable little paper called The Echo. This fiercely independent and quirky little publication who has let me have a voice that doesn’t always reflect its own. Who sometimes cop flack because of something I’ve said. Who have at times probably even lost advertisers, and were once threatened with legal action. This wouldn’t have happened anywhere else.
Have they called me into the office and told me not to write something? Never. Have they told me to be less feminist? Never. I appreciate that. Because in the world of publishing, that NEVER happens. Publishers ALWAYS tell you what to write. Except The Echo.
And when the letters come in to continue the conversation. They publish them too. Even the Mandy haters, they get a voice too. Because conversation is two way. And if I stir the pot, I’ve got to be prepared for a response. Good. And bad. And I respect that. That’s media freedom.
This June the The Echo turns 40. In a media landscape dominated by the big players, The Echo has survived what many would say is unsurvivable. The Echo has never taken an easy route. People like Mungo wrote pissed-off pieces not puff.
The Echo isn’t a normal news source. It’s grassroots. It’s family owned. It’s hairy. It’s difficult. It’s fallible. It’s brave. It’s relentless. And it’s still here. Love it or loathe it, The Echo is a big part of how we have told the story of ourselves. How we have rung the bell. How we have gathered. How we have rallied for the vulnerable, how we have protected precious wild spaces, how we have raised our voices on injustice.
The Echo isn’t billionaires. It’s not corporations. It’s independent.
It’s us.
Support The Echo, because without it we’re lost.
Mandy Nolan’s column has appeared in The Echo for almost 25 years. She is a writer, comedian and artist, and was the Greens candidate at the past two elections.
For four decades The Echo has printed the stories some people loved, some people hated, and some pretended not to read. If you want us to keep telling the truth, the real truth, not the sugar-coated version. We’ll need your support to keep the presses rolling. 
