How Journalists Make News

"News is also what journalists make it. How journalists make news depends on their working environment. Their working environment is shaped by economic, social, political and technological factors, all of which form a dense inter-meshing of commercial, ethical, regulatory and cultural components."

(New Media, Old News: Journalism and Democracy in the Digital Age)

Ma insieme ad un miglioramento intellettuale, il giornalismo italiano subisce un'altra, e questa radicale trasformazione: da organo di partito, diventa organismo industriale; viene venduto a scapito, ma si rifà sugli annunzi; quindi le idee sono un accessorio, talvolta ingombrante; la notizia è la cosa principale; ma la notizia che non produca turbamento, che non obblighi a polemica, che non costringa a pensare. I giornali si complicano con imprese industriali d'altro genere, riviste d'amena lettura di grande diffusione e di reddito più grande. Essi non si preoccupano di muovere e di educare il pubblico, ma di assecondarlo nella sua pigrizia e di accontentarlo nei suoi piaceri. I vecchi giornali di partito, o debbono trasformarsi chiedendo non più al partito, ma a società industriali, a banche, a gruppi di finanzieri i mezzi costosi per sostenere la concorrenza: o si riducono a organi fatti delle persone già convinte, con scarsa diffusione e nessun potere nel pubblico. D'altra parte i finanzieri non concedono l'aiuto ai giornali, che a patto che sostengan campagne nel loro interesse, e si vedono giornali democratici adibiti a tesi magari clericali, e giornali conservatori che soffiano nel fuoco dell'anarchia e della illegalità. I giornalisti non sono di questo gran che responsabili; essi rispecchiano la vita del Paese, che ha perduto i partiti, che ha in testa e nel cuore una grande confusione, che non sa ritrovare se stesso se non nel momento della lotta nazionale. Ogni tesi, del resto, ogni campagna che veramente abbia un interesse profondo, trova sempre nel Paese una corrispondenza economica: i partiti che meritano un settimanale hanno soltanto un settimanale; il partito di quelli che non hanno partito, e sono oggi i milioni, ha molti quotidiani prudenti, calmi, che parlano di tutto, delitti e letteratura, teatri e sport, di tutto, salvo, si intende, di quello che può costringere a decidersi, a muoversi, a rifarsi un'anima ed una volontà. Ma la colpa non è dei giornali: è dei lettori.

(Giuseppe Prezzolini, Italia 1912)

Illiterate Wind

The wind can't read but turns the pages.

The Pope of Hope

. . . and the boat of Peter. [Here]

Venice, December

"Many moons ago the dollar was 870 lire and I was thirty-two. The globe, too, was lighter by two billion souls, and the bar at the stazione where I'd arrived on that cold December night was empty. I was standing there waiting for the only person I knew in that city to meet me. She was quite late."

(Joseph Brodsky, Watermark)

The Rebirth of Kirk Franklin

For those of you who think that gospel music has gone too far . . .

Kirk Franklin - Stomp

Kirk Franklin - Brighter Day

Kirk Franklin - Always

Kirk Franklin - Lean On Me

In the Publishing World

"Dear Mrs. Lessep,
Thanks for letting us read, once again, 'The Mistletoe's Little Shoes.' After careful consideration, we have concluded that this work still does not meet our needs. I am sorry you were misled by the phrase 'does not meet our needs at this time' into thinking that you should submit it again. In the publishing world, 'at this time' really means 'forever.'
Andrew Whittaker,
Editor at Soap"

(Sam Savage, The Cry of the Sloth)

Climbing Faith

R Kelly the great:

No mountain's too high for you to climb
All you have to do is have some climbing faith, oh yeah
No river's too wide for you to make it across
All you have to do is believe it when you pray

And then you will see the morning will come
And every day will be bright as the sun
All of your fears cast them on me
I just want you to see

I'll be your cloud up in the sky
I'll be your shoulder when you cry
I hear your voices when you call me
I am your angel

And when all hope is gone, I'm here
No matter how far you are, I'm near
It makes no difference who you are
I am your angel
I'm your angel

I saw your teardrops and I heard you cry
All you need is time
Seek me and you shall find
You have everything and you're still lonely
It don't have to be this way
Let me show you a better day

And then you will see the morning will come
And all of your days will be bright as the sun
So all of your fears just cast them on me
How can I make you see?

I'll be your cloud up in the sky
I'll be your shoulder when you cry
I hear your voices when you call me
I am your angel

And when all hope is gone, I'm here
No matter how far you are, I'm near
It makes no difference who you are
I am your angel
I'm your angel

And when it's time to face the storm
I'll be right by your side
Grace will keep us safe and warm
And I know we will survive
And when it seems as if your end is drawing near
Don't you dare give up the fight
Just put your trust beyond the skies . . .

R Kelly Ft Celine Dion - I'm Your Angel

Reporter Chaplin

Charlie Chaplin's last home in Switzerland will be turned into a permanent place of pilgrimage for fans of the actor. The mansion at Corsier-sur-Vevey by the shores of Lake Geneva was chosen over Los Angeles and London as the site of the first museum dedicated to the screen legend. (AP via Google)

Making a Living is the first film appearance of Charlie Chaplin, which premiered on February 2, 1914. Chaplin plays an out-of-work swindler who takes a job as a reporter.

After witnessing a car go over cliff, he grabs a rival reporter's camera and races to the newspaper office to enter the photo as his own. Then he follows the distribution of the paper containing his "scoop" around town.

And

And where beauty is, there are all things.

Of Bible and Paintbrushes

The works of art born in Europe in past centuries are incomprehensible if one does not take into account the religious soul that inspired them. Marc Chagall, an artist who has always given testimony of the encounter between aesthetics and faith, wrote that "for centuries painters have dyed their brush in that colored alphabet that is the Bible." (B16, Zenit)

To Each His Own

Leonardo Sciascia, Sicilian novelist
(January 8, 1921 – November 20, 1989)

Life After Journalism

Life after journalism? Get a paper round or work from home. [paidContent:UK]

Tolerance/Intolerance

Ah, the very famous intolerance of "tolerants"!

Feline Beat

Everybody wants to be a cat,
because a cat's the only cat
who knows where it's at;
while playin' jazz you always has a Welcome mat,
'cause everybody digs a swingin' cat . . .

Truth

I therefore define truth as the system of my limitations, and leave absolute truth for those who are better equipped. . . . Certitude is not the test of certainty. (Oliver Wendell Holmes. Quoted by Arthur Schlesinger, Jr., "The Opening of the American Mind," New York Times Book Review, July 23, 1959, 27)

"You do not have to wait to verify that you have found certain, absolute, unassailable truth before sharing the finding. If you have made a mistake and been open about the process that led you to it, someone else will discover it and publish, and the cause of truth will have been advanced another notch. Democratic pluralism, which lets truth emerge from the combat of many voices, is a good environment for both scientist and journalist."

(Philip Meyer, Precision Journalism: Reporter's Introduction to Social Science Methods)

Moon River

'Large amounts' of water on Moon. [NASA]

Moon River, wider than a mile,
I'm crossing you in style some day . . .

Wound

. . . Of the wound in the side of the Holy Church, which is the disunion of the bishops . . .

(Antonio Rosmini, Of the Five Wounds of the Holy Church)

Mammonism, Dilettantism

"But after all, the Gospel of Dilettantism, producing a Governing Class who do not govern, nor understand in the least that they are bound or expected to govern, is still mournfuler than that of Mammonism. Mammonism, as we said, at least works; this goes idle. Mammonism has seized some portion of the message of Nature to man; and seizing that, and following it, will seize and appropriate more and more of Nature's message: but Dilettantism has missed it wholly. 'Make money:' that will mean withal, 'Do work in order to make money.' But 'Go gracefully idle in Mayfair,' what does or can that mean?"

(Thomas Carlyle, Past and Present)

Carlyle, "my literary cousin." (Léon Bloy)

Please Read Carefully

In the ambiguous manner of the perfect cleric, a well-known vaticanista (Vatican analyst) accused me of dishonesty for having cited in a piece "sources near the Pope."

Oh, Vattie, I know you have the exclusive on them! The fact is that I never (never!) wrote that.

It is not the first time that some zealous crusader claims that I have written something I have not.

So, dear religious zealots, let me give you an (unrequested) advice: Make sure you know what you are talking about before open your mouth.

On Paper

"Our Father takes our poor world as it is, not like the charlatans who manufacture one on paper and keep on reforming it, still on paper."

(Georges Bernanos, The Diary of a Country Priest‎)

Leo Africanus

Islamic scholar (1485 - 1554). Italian Giovanni Leone, original Arabic al-Ḥasan ibn Muḥammad al-Wazzān al-Zayyātī or al-Fāsī. A gift to Pope Leo X . . . [Encyclopædia Britannica]

'Allahu Akbar'

If Nidal Hasan had been Christian, or even if he had yelled something with the word "God" or "Jesus" as he gunned fellow soldiers down, would his religion -- or his church attendance -- dominate headlines?
[Angie Chuang, Poynter]

The Fall of the Wall

The 20th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall . . . but what about other walls?

In the Land of the Blind

Beati monoculi in terra caecorum...
Blessed the one-eyed people in the land of the blind.

Cross in Blue

The Finnish flag . . . Oh my Pope Benny . . . The Finland-born mum, living in northern Italy, who has just won her eight-year battle to get crucifixes removed from classrooms, probably doesn't like it . . .

Thank You, Babe

A Parable

The European Court of Human Rights has ruled against the use of crucifixes in classrooms in Italy. [AP, BBC News, Reuters]

"I once knew a man like you, Lucifer," he said, with a maddening monotony and slowness of articulation. "He took this----"

"There is no man like me," cried Lucifer, with a violence that shook the ship.

"As I was observing," continued Michael, "this man also took the view that the symbol of Christianity was a symbol of savagery and all unreason. His history is rather amusing. It is also a perfect allegory of what happens to rationalists like yourself. He began, of course, by refusing to allow a crucifix in his house, or round his wife's neck, or even in a picture. He said, as you say, that it was an arbitrary and fantastic shape, that it was a monstrosity, loved because it was paradoxical. Then he began to grow fiercer and more eccentric; he would batter the crosses by the roadside; for he lived in a Roman Catholic country. Finally in a height of frenzy he climbed the steeple of the Parish Church and tore down the cross, waving it in the air, and uttering wild soliloquies up there under the stars. Then one still summer evening as he was wending his way homewards, along a lane, the devil of his madness came upon him with a violence and transfiguration which changes the world. He was standing smoking, for a moment, in the front of an interminable line of palings, when his eyes were opened. Not a light shifted, not a leaf stirred, but he saw as if by a sudden change in the eyesight that this paling was an army of innumerable crosses linked together over hill and dale. And he whirled up his heavy stick and went at it as if at an army. Mile after mile along his homeward path he broke it down and tore it up. For he hated the cross and every paling is a wall of crosses. When he returned to his house he was a literal madman. He sat upon a chair and then started up from it for the cross-bars of the carpentry repeated the intolerable image. He flung himself upon a bed only to remember that this, too, like all workmanlike things, was constructed on the accursed plan. He broke his furniture because it was made of crosses. He burnt his house because it was made of crosses. He was found in the river."

Lucifer was looking at him with a bitten lip.

"Is that story really true?" he asked.

"Oh, no," said Michael, airily. "It is a parable. It is a parable of you and all your rationalists. You begin by breaking up the Cross; but you end by breaking up the habitable world. We leave you saying that nobody ought to join the Church against his will. When we meet you again you are saying that no one has any will to join it with. We leave you saying that there is no such place as Eden. We find you saying that there is no such place as Ireland. You start by hating the irrational and you come to hate everything, for everything is irrational and so----"

(GK Chesterton, The Ball and the Cross)

Thuk Thuk Thuk Thuk Thuk

"Rows of diode-light computer terminals in putty-gray 2001 sci-fi casings lent the city room of The City Light a gloss of order and modernity. It never survived a second glance. The desks were covered in the usual litter of paper, plastic cups, books, manuals, almanacs, magazines and sooty ashtrays. The usual shell-backed young men and women sat at the keyboards. A numb dull clattering - thuk thuk thuk thuk thuk thuk thuk thuk thuk thuk thuk thuk thuk - rose from the keyboards, as if an immense mah-jongg tournament was in progress. The reporters, rewrite men, and copy editors were hunched over in the age-old way of journalists. Every few seconds a head would straighten up, as if coming up for air, and yell out something about slugs, headline counts, or story lengths. But not even the excitement of deadline pressure could survive for long. A rear door opened, and a Greek wearing a white uniform came staggering in carrying a prodigious tray full of coffee and soda containers, boxes of doughnuts, cheese Danishes, onion rolls, crullers, every variety of muck and lard known to the takeout food business, and half the room deserted the computer consoles and descended upon him, rooting about the tray like starving weevils."

(Tom Wolfe, The Bonfire of the Vanities)