Hyvä ystävä, toivottavasti sinulla on kaikki hyvin; tarpeeksi ruokaa, katto pään päällä ja ihmisiä, jotka välittävät sinusta. Näin pikkujoulukauden aikaan, on hyvä pysähtyä kuitenkin hetkeksi miettimään. Jossain päin maailmaa ihmisiä kidutetaan, jossain lapset kuolevat nälkään, jossain valitsee ainainen pelko ja sota.

Joskus pohdin, miksen tee itse enempää maailman huono-osaisten eteen. Jos minulla on varaa juoda 4 tuoppia KESKELLÄ VIIKKOA, minulla on varaa myös auttaa lähimmäisiäni. Jos minulla on aikaa käyttää keskimäärin 8 tuntia päivässä Facebookissa, minulla on aikaa myös tehdä jotain konkreettista.

Miksi me emme sitten tee enempää? Koska meitä ei yksinkertaisesti kiinnosta. Nälänhätä, absoluuttinen köyhyys ja kuolema ovat kaukaisia asioita suomalaiselle. On helpompaa murehtia pientä opintotukea, sydänsuruja ja rikkoutunutta Ipodia.

Kevin Carter oli eteläafrikkalainen journalisti-valokuvaaja, joka ei pelännyt lähestyä vaikeita aiheita. Vuonna 1993 Carter matkusti Sudaniin kuvaamaan nälänhätää ja levottomuuksia. Maaliskuussa hän törmäsi pieneen tyttöön, joka oli pysähtynyt lepäämään matkallaan ruoka-apukeskukseen. Kyse ei ollut laiskuudesta vaan voimien ehtymisestä. Tilanteen hirveyttä lisäsi taustalla kärkkäästi odotellut korppikotka. Carter odotteli 20 minuuttia odottaen korppikotkan levittävän siipiään, mutta näin ei koskaan tapahtunut. Carter otti tilanteesta valokuvan, poistui paikalta ja voitti kuvastaan Pulitzer-palkinnon. Reilu vuosi myöhemmin hän teki itsemurhan.

Kotkat eivät hyväksy tällaista toimintaa. Kirotut korppikotkat!

Minulla on 8-vuotias kummilapsi Keniassa (Afrikka).  Hän pärjäilee, koska on päässyt ”kotkan siipien suojaan” (eri tavalla kuin tyttö kuvassa ylhäällä), mutta kaikilla Kenian lapsilla ei mene yhtä onnellisesti. Puolet kenialaisista elää äärimmäisessä köyhyydessä (alle 1,25 $ päivässä). Sillä ei saa edes yhtä olutta yliopisto-opiskelijoiden hassuttelubileissä.

Hassuttelubileistä tulikin mieleeni, että tänään on Kannunvalajien pikkujoulusitsit! Ajattelin böntöttää oikein kunnolla! Ei vitsi, odotan sitä ihan mielettömästi! Paikalla on kaikki just hyvät kamut, kreisibailausmeininkiä ja ehkä jopa JOULUPUKKI! Kuin siistii tää on!

Vu-huu, tänään kreisibailataan!

In winter time, creature comforts are particularly important. Small treasures like a hot cup of cocoa or curling up with a novel and a warm electric blanket are priceless. Blankets are more than just a necessity, they’re a private choice. The type of fabric, the weight and the style can make the difference between tossing and turning or sleeping like a baby the whole night through. Moreover, the colors and patterns will accent a room to make a certain mood. There are lots of choices, but essentially you will need to consider stuff like material, type, color and sturdiness.

There are many sorts of coverlets and bedspreads to select from. Plush bedding, like the type at the hilton hotel, is often referred to as’heavenly’ or’fit for a king.’ the truth is, you do not have to be royalty to enjoy a good night’s sleep.

Luxury sets include items like satin sheets, down comforters, pillow-top mattresses, memory foam, high thread count Egyptian cotton sheets, damask pattern sheets and hand-embroidery. This kind of bedding is commended if you require maximum comfort and durability or if your decorating scheme is upscale modern. Frette, Bellino Fine Linens, Anichini, Peacock street, Pratesi and Yves Delorme are just a couple of the manufacturers that offer luxury bedding.

Fashion bedding offers blankets from designer major brands. If you’re living the high life, in a whirlwind of style, culture and good fortune, then you will need to affect guests with your sense of taste. The trick with designer bedding is that it does not always have to cost a fortune to look swish and stylish.

You can browse big name brands like Roberto Cavalli, Oscar de la Renta, Kate Spade, Lilly Pulitzer Bedding Missoni, Donna Karan, Ralph Lauren, Calvin Klein and Signoria de Firenze for the most cutting edge and noteworthy products. Colours, prints and fabrics from these designers will be exclusive, so you will be a cut above the rest.

once you decide upon a style for your blankets, you’ll need to choose a fabric. Egyptian cotton with a high thread count is thought to be one of the best materials you can purchase. It’s made from the soft fibers of Gossypium barbadense plants grown along the Nile and can be bought through’Sferra Linens’ for $215.

in a similar way, Pima cotton sheets by Thomas Lee come from the same plant material but are homegrown in the Southwest, retailing at $265 at’Thomas Leeltd’. Flannel cotton is another kind of fabric to consider, that has super soft fibers and can be bought thru’Llbean’ for $32. Silk sheets by Kumi Kookoon offer high class luxury bedding for $338 at’Kumikoon’. Another reliable blanket to consider is the’Under the Nile Cotton Blanket,’ which is made by the makers of soft baby garments and sells for $190 at’Under The Nile’.

lilly pulitzer comforter

Iata despre ce este vorba:

Fotografia a castigat premiul Pulitzer in anul 1994, si a fost facuta in timpul foametei din Sudan. In ea poate fi vazut un baietel care se taraste spre o tabara cu alimente a Natiunilor Unite, plasata la un kilometru distanta.
Vulturul asteapta ca baietelul sa moara, ca sa-l manance. Aceasta poza a socat o lume intreaga. Nimeni nu stie ce s-a intamplat cu baietelul, nici macar Kevin Carter, fotograful, care a plecat de indata ce a facut poza. Trei luni mai tarziu s-a sinucis in urma unei depresii.

Iata ce s-a gasit in jurnalul sau,

Draga Dumnezeule, iti promit ca nu voi risipi mancarea, oricat de rau i-ar fi gustul si oricat de satul as fi. Te rog, Doamne, sa protejezi acest baietel, sa-l indrumi si sa-l scoti din nefericire. Te rog sa ne faci mai sensibili fata de lumea din jurul nostru si sa ne ajuti sa nu mai fim orbiti de egoismul si de interesele noastre.
Sper ca aceasta fotografie sa serveasca intotdeauna ca un memento care sa ne spuna cat suntem de norocosi si ca nu trebuie sa consideram niciodata ca totul ni se cuvine de drept.
Va rog sa trimiteti forografia prietenilor vostri. Sa ne rugam pentru indepartarea suferintei care se gaseste oriunde, in orice loc de pe glob si sa le trimitem si altora asemenea memento-uri pline de prietenie. Ganditi-va si priviti forografia, ori de cate ori va plangeti in legatura cu mancarea pe care o aveti, sau cand vedeti cata mancare se iroseste zilnic.
Aceasta este lumea reala in care traim. M-am gandit sa o impart cu voi.

So, it’s been almost four months since my family relocation, and I’m still unemployed. I have, however, managed to stay busy by:

1. Boning up on my housewifey skills. I cook, I clean, I dust. Occasionally, I launder (clothes, that is–not money) and I arrange things in my apartment, at which point I become displeased and then, I rearrange. I iron–badly. I grocery shop, studiously avoiding Wednesday Senior Citizen Discount Day (because few things are scarier than frenzied seniors with busted shopping carts). And I hate all of it and suck at all of it in direct proportion to my hate.
2. Watching soap operas. Or, at the very least, keeping them on the TeeVee in the background while I engage in most of the housewifey activities mentioned in #1. I’m proud  (or as proud as one can be about such things) that I tuned in for the demise of Guiding Light even though I hadn’t watched it since sometime in the late 1970s at my babysitter’s house and, therefore, I had no idea who the hell any of the characters were. And unless something changes drastically and quickly with regards to my employment situation, I will have my ass firmly glued to my couch when James Franco makes his debut on General Hospital. Neither activity makes me feel particularly good about myself.
3. Not blogging. I have a good excuse for that (really), which I’ll get to below. But let me assure my five readers that I’m so embarrassed about my lack of activity that I took the calendar off the sidebar of Aimsterville. I don’t need any more reminders of my lack of productivity.
4. Showering. I still do that occasionally.
5. Online freelancing. This is my excuse for #3.

I’ve always dreamed of supporting myself through my writing, but online freelancing wasn’t quite what I had in mind. My dreams were always of the “write some best-selling novels and retire to the hills with my Pulitzer” variety. Truth be told, I wasn’t aware that there was such a thing as online freelancing until, in the depths of my unemployment depression, I started researching stay-at-home job options that didn’t involve sending my money to a Nigerian prince or jumping on the promise of making a zillion dollars a day for one hour of work processing online rebates. And I’ve found that there are some legitimate ways to write online and earn money, although at first, you won’t earn very much (My agreements with these sites prohibit me from sharing information about my earnings publicly. But let’s just say that after a month, I haven’t yet earned enough to buy a beer. Not even a really, really cheap one).

Online freelancing, I’ve learned so far, isn’t anything like freelancing for a traditional print publication. And I have experience with neither. One of my dreams as a child was to be a newspaper/TV journalist, but seeing the screaming, biased, no-talent ass clowns who pass as journalists these days has made me thankful that I’ve chosen another path (that path being, apparently, abject unemployment). And I had nowhere to obtain training as a journalist, as my high school didn’t have a school newspaper during the time I was there (one of my teachers tried to revive it, and we printed one edition) and my college didn’t, at the time, have journalism courses, so I focused my meager writing talents on more creative pursuits.

But while not just anyone can send a successful query to a magazine or newspaper and ultimately see her name in print, just about anyone can be an online freelancer to some degree. The trick, apparently, is learning how to do it well. And so I’m writing like hell and immersing myself in learning all sorts of new things like “search engine optimization” and “click-through rates,” and I’m toying with expanding my social networking capabilities beyond Facebook and this blog for the express purpose of promoting my writing. And technically, it’s not even promoting my writing as I don’t make money off my writing per se but rather off the ads on the page. But I guess if I weren’t writing to begin with, then there would be no ads from which to earn revenue, so I guess I am, technically, making money from my writing. This is what I tell myself when I want to sleep at night.

In my next post, I’ll talk about some of the freelancing sites I’ve explored so far and my experiences with them. And I promise this post will be sooner rather than later. Really.

             Hace exactamente una semana, unas extrañas e inéditas ganas por poner orden a un closet confuso y sin lógica me atacaron de un segundo a otro. Creo que desde que esta habitación se convirtió en mi refugio, jamás puse orden a ese armario. Libros amontonándose, revistas, fotocopias, juguetes, baratijas y vinilos se acomodaban como el espacio les permitiera. Pero ya no más. Con un dinamismo que ya me quisiera todos los días, puse orden a ese closet que, para mi gusto, quedó bastante armonioso en sólo unos minutos. Muchas cosas que en su momento guardé como valiosas, lamentablemente terminaron en la basura. Un trabajo sucio pero alguien tenía que hacerlo.

William Randolph Hearst

  Lo urgente de la tarea se debió más que nada a una serie de libros que estaban dando vueltas por varios rincones de mi dormitorio y que era necesario acomodar para por fin tener una biblioteca (bastante timorata comparada con otras que sí son bibliotecas, pero con una muy buena selección, según yo). Así, mezclé viejos títulos como “Mujercitas”, “Oliver Twist” o una selección de Molière, con obras más contemporáneas como “El Libro de los Abrazos”, “La Historia Oculta de la Transición” o “Crónicas Marcianas”. Y para mi regocijo, fueron apareciendo entrañables escritos, que creía olvidados, sobre periodismo y de periodistas: “Memorias de un Reporter”, una selección de enviciantes crónicas de Tito Mundt, Premio Nacional de Periodismo en 1956, un hombre demasiado aventurero (si es que se puede ser demasiado aventurero) que tuvo envidiables tertulias con muchos de los más pulentitos de la historia reciente; también “Crímenes bajo Sospecha”, el trabajo de un queridísimo amigo, que se inmiscuyó en las interrogantes que quedaron dando vueltas en los casos policiales quizás más emblemáticos de la Quinta Región (sí, sí. Crónica roja. ¿Y?); además, un imponente libro con las mejores instantáneas del siglo XX tomadas por la Associated Press, un regalo que otros dos queridísimos amigos me hicieron cuando me entregaron ese cartón al que llaman “título” (“Supongo que, cuando vaya al más allá y me detenga ante la puerta dorada, la primera persona que encuentre será un corresponsal de Associated Press”, dijo alguna vez Gandhi).

            Y entre fotocopias y textos sobre cazadores de noticias, teóricos de la información y filósofos de las comunicaciones, además de trabajos universitarios (para los que saben, apareció “¡Por las barbas de Neptuno!, un clásico), me topé con una anécdota que siempre encendió mi jocosidad, aunque entre líneas mostraba lo crudo que puede llegar a ser la batalla entre los medios y el poco escrupuloso ejercicio del periodismo en tiempos de guerra, contexto en el que a muchos les crecen los colmillos cual jote tras su presa. Además, sus protagonistas fueron unos verdaderos niños taimados, de esos a los que dan ganas de pegarles una buena patada en el culo. Metafóricamente hablando, claro. Y dice:

Joseph Pulitzer

  Cuando en 1898 estalló la guerra entre Estados Unidos y España por la independencia de Cuba, el New York Journal y el New York World, ambos diarios de las tierras del Tío Sam, se peleaban la supremacía por la circulación en el país. El primero, pertenecía a William Randolph Hearst, el magnate de las comunicaciones en el cual está inspirado “El Ciudadano Kane”, y que se mandó la frasesita “usted provea las fotos, que yo proveeré la guerra” cuando uno de sus fotógrafos apostados en La Habana le escribió diciéndole que era bastante improbable que la guerra se desatara. El segundo, era de Joseph Pulitzer que, hasta donde sé, no se mandó una frasesita como ésa para el bronce, pero su encarnizada lucha con Hearst creó lo que se llama la “Prensa Amarilla”, y para muchos, la guerra hispano-estadounidense fue producto del uso de fuentes fraudulentas y de hechos ficticios de estas dos maravillas. Irónicamente, después de la muerte de Pulitzer se crearon los premios que llevan su nombre para premiar las obras de más alta distinción. ¿Qué tal?

            El asunto es que el Journal sospechaba que el World estaba robando sus noticias. Y no encontraron nada mejor que jugarles una pequeña triquiñuela. Inventaron a un oficial español muerto en un bombardeo de nombre Reflipe W. Theneuz. Y como el diario de Hearst no andaba tan perdido, el World obviamente publicó la noticia. Y afírmate los chitecos: el Journal reveló que Reflipe W. leído al revés era “we pilfer” (o sea, “nosotros hurtamos”) y Theneuz vendría siendo “the news” (“las noticias”). Y cual prepúber con su virilidad puesta en duda, Pulitzer devolvió la mano. El World publicó el nombre de otro fiambre ficticio: Lister A. Raah. Como era lógico, el Journal metió mano y también lo público. ¿Quién era ese loquito? Sólo un anagrama para “Hearst a liar” (“Hearst es un mentiroso”).

           Y entre medio, la credulidad de la gente mientras espera ser informada. Qué bonito, ¿no?

El 19 de septiembre de 2004 murió Eddie Adams a los 71 años de edad, un hombre que vivió por y para el fotoperiodismo. Durante la Guerra de Corea (1950-1953), Adams trabajó para el Cuerpo de Marines de los Estados Unidos como fotógrafo de guerra. Una de sus tareas fue la de fotografiar toda la zona desmilitarizada de Corea (238 kilómetros de longitud). Obtuvo más de 500 premios, incluyendo el Pulitzer y el World Press Photo.

Cubrió 13 guerras, incluyendo la guerra de Vietnam. Fue durante esta guerra, mientras trabajaba para Associated Press, cuando capturó una instantánea histórica: un general vietnamita, Nguyen Ngoc Loan, asesinaba un prisionero del Vietcong, Nguyen Van Lem. Esta foto se tomó en una calle de Saigon el 1 de febrero de 1968. El fotógrafo estadounidense obtuvo el Premio Pulitzer en la categoría de Spot News Photography en 1969, año en el que también ganó el World Press Photo por la misma instantánea.

Eddie Adams comentó años después en la revista Time que “el general asesinó al preso con su pistola, pero yo asesiné al general con mi cámara ya que la foto ha dado la vuelta al mundo”.

Esta foto fue un símbolo contra la Guerra de Vietnam y fue utilizada por los grupos pacifistas. Para Eddie Adams, la fotografía adquirió un valor como símbolo que estaba muy alejada de sus intenciones. El fotógrafo no justificaba la acción del militar, pero opinaba que las circunstancias personales del verdugo y su víctima no permitían juicios de valor simples. Según comentó, el ejecutado había asesinado a un amigo del general, a la esposa del amigo y a sus seis hijos. Adams dijo después de conocer personalmente al general: “este tipo es un héroe”.

Eddie Adams se disculpó en persona al general y su familia por el “daño irreparable” que causó a su honor. Años después, el fotógrafo visitó a Loan y éste le dijo: “usted estaba haciendo su trabajo y yo, el mío”.

Este fotógrafo americano realizó muchas fotografías a lo largo de su extensa carrera, dignas de observar con todo lujo de detalle. He aquí un par de fotos que no tienen desperdicio.

So today I go to work at the camera store, like I do 5 days a week, but today was a bit different. First of all, we’re in the middle of our 70th Anniversary Sale right now, so there are vendors in the store, to present their product lines to our customers. (And to train us when the store isn’t packed full of customers.) When I arrived today, I went over to talk to the Leica rep who I already knew, and introduced myself to the Think Tank rep. When I was done talking to the Leica rep the woman from Think Tank (who makes camera bags, designed by photographers) asked if she could go through the Think Tank product line with me. Any time I get a chance for training, I take it, so of course I said yes. Through the conversation, I realize that her photo is the one that’s on every Think Tank bag you purchase, and that she is a co-founder of Think Tank Photo. I finish my training and go back to work. Later I ask her for her business card, which says she’s a Pulitzer Prize winning photojournalist! What?! I just met a Pulitzer Prize winning photographer?!?!

Her name is Deanne Fitzmaurice, and in 2005, she won the Pulitzer for a photo essay about a 9 year old Iraqi boy who was nearly killed in an explosion, and his battle to survive as doctors in California tried to restore him to health as he got used to life in the United States. (click here to see the photo essay)

Later in the day, when the crowd had thinned a little in the store, I got to go talk to her again, and asked her about photojournalism. Something I’ve been interested in ever since I saw the webpage of a young photojournalist (a customer at the camera store) who does weddings throughout the summer months, to fund her trips to 3rd world countries for her passion, photojournalism. She had some amazing images, the likes of which I had never seen before. Which of course got me interested in that type of photography, but it’s something I still don’t quite understand yet. So to be able to talk to a Pulitzer Prize winning photojournalist was a treat to say the least.

So tommorrow will hopefully be another enjoyable day at work, as I’m suppose to get to sit in on a class with National Geographic photographer Todd Gustafson, as his assistant. That is if the boss doesn’t renig on the deal. Wish me luck!

www.nightowlphotography.com

Existen rostros que, al verlos, nos traen a la cabeza una vida. El rostro ante el que nos encontramos tal vez no sea conocido, pero tiene una gran historia a sus espaldas.

Se trata de Kevin Carter (1960-1994), un reportero gráfico sudafricano. Carter se ocupó, junto con sus compañeros del Bang Bang Club, de denunciar las violentas acciones cometidas por la segregación racial en Sudáfrica, durante el violento final del apartheid.

En marzo de 1993, Carter viajó hasta Sudán para cubrir el movimiento rebelde local. Allí, realizó uno de sus trabajos más importantes, publicado por primera vez en el New York Times.

En la fotografía, se observa una niña desnutrida que se dirigía a un centro de ayuda alimentaria de la ONU, tras la cual se encontraba un buitre al acecho. Carter esperó durante 20 minutos a que el buitre extendiera sus alas para captar una escena aún más dramática, pero el animal no lo hizo y el fotógrafo lo ahuyentó.

Por esta imagen, Carter fue premiado con el Premio Pulitzer en la categoría Featured Photography el 23 de mayo de 1994. Poco después, se puso en duda su integridad moral y hubo una gran polémica. También se dijo que junto a esta niña había otras tantas y que él no podía ayudarlas a todas. El 27 de julio de 1994, Carter se suicidó, dos meses más tarde de la muerte de su compañero del Bang Bang Club, Ken Oosterbroek.

Cuando ganó el Pulitzer, Carter dijo: “es la foto más importante de mi carrera, pero no estoy orgulloso de ella. No quiero ni verla. La odio. Todavía estoy arrepentido de no haber ayudado a la niña”. Sin embargo, la condena global del fenómeno no se hubiese producido, sin fotografías como ésta.

En marzo de 1993 Kevin Carter se encontraba en Sudán, donde capturó la famosa imagen que le valió un premio Pulitzer de fotografía: una niña famélica cae al suelo exhausta ante la mirada expectante de un ave carroñera. Carter fotografió la escena durante minutos, esperando sin  éxito a que el animal extendiese sus alas y conseguir así una impactante metáfora visual de la muerte. Una de las imágenes tomadas ese día sería posteriormente publicada por The New York Times sin pasar desapercibida, los lectores se preguntaron qué fue de la niña. La realidad es que fue abandonada a su suerte como miles de hambrientos antes y después de que fuese tomada la instantánea. Dos meses después de lograr el premio, Carter se suicidó.

Había nacido en Sudáfrica en 1960, un par de años antes de que a Nelson Mandela le metieran en prisión. Cuentan que a pesar de pertenecer a la privilegiada minoría blanca, se sentía cómplice de una atroz injusticia, que con veinticuatro años descubrió en el periodismo la manera de luchar contra el apartheid. A principios de los noventa, cuando en Sudáfrica empezó el proceso de paz que condujo a la democracia, en Soweto y otros guetos negros se desató la violencia, murieron miles de personas. Carter estuvo allí, entre las piedras y los palos, los gases lacrimógenos, las balas de goma y las de verdad, entre los que mataban y los que morían. Junto a otros tres amigos fotógrafos, Ken Oosterbroek, Greg Marinovich y João Silva, integró lo que se dio en llamar el “Club Bang Bang”. Se situaban cada día en primera línea y captaban imágenes de una violencia desgarradora. Se podría pensar que la cámara hacía de barrera entre ellos y la espeluznante realidad que le rodeaba, pero en abril de 1994, Oosterbroek murió alcanzado por una bala. Seis días antes, Carter había recibido la noticia de ser galardonado con el Pulitzer.

El 27 de julio de 1994, tres meses después de que Mandela alcanzara la presidencia sudafricana e iniciase su labor de reconstrucción nacional, Carter aparcó su coche en la ribera del río donde había jugado siendo niño, conectó con un tubo de goma el tubo de escape con el interior del vehículo y murió antes de conseguir la paz que deseaba.

Vineshoot

Todos recordamos esas maravillosas fotografías que se han hecho en la máxima penuria, en la pobreza, en la guerra, en la muerte,… todos tenemos grabado en el cerebro a ‘La niña afgana‘ o aquella otra que se llevó un Pulitzer y su autor se suicidó.’ Son fotografías que bien valen un premio, pero ¿qué se puede sentir al estar fotografiando a un niño que se está muriendo y un buitre está detrás esperando su muerte y no hacer nada? ¿Qué le pudo llevar al suicidio?

Hoy he visto un cortometraje que explica muy bien esos sentimientos, se llama ‘One hundredth of a second’, o lo que viene a significar: ‘Una centésima de segundo’. Trata sobre la carga trágica que tiene que soportar un periodista de guerra. No está en español, pero no las hay casi, y las que hay son más que secundarias, sin más, aquí os lo dejo:

In preparation for the start of NaNoWriMo, I have listening to the audiobook of Cormac McCarthy’s The Road, to set the tone of my own story.

I listen to it while I commute to and from work. The first couple of days of listening to the story were rainy, cold and gloomy – just like in the story. Lemme tell ya, that really sets a tone in itself. It’s also not a great mindset to take to work in the morning, but a large cup of coffee usually helps with that.

This is one of the most emotionally heavy stories I’ve come across. The story gives you such a sense of hopelessness. You think, “What’s the use? What is the purpose?”

Stephen King’s The Stand is a unicorn and rainbow filled fairy tale of joy and happiness in comparison.

Of course The Road won a Pulitzer and another literary award. The literary community just loves stories about the hopelessness of life.

After I finish this – I was thinking of renting the movie Ironweed (another Pulitzer winner) to watch on a rainy afternoon. Then I think I’ll jump out of a basement window…

La domanda se l’opinione pubblica, indipendentemente dalla sua composizione e dal suo orientamento, sia sempre da rispettare e obbedire non può che ammettere un’unica ragionevole risposta. La teoria secondo la quale «la voce del popolo è la voce di Dio» può essere accettata soltanto con forti riserve, poiché la pubblica opinione è un’entità variabile, che spesso, come afferma Jefferson, «cambia alla velocità del pensiero», e che dunque non può aver sempre ragione. Era forse «la voce del popolo, voce di Dio» a sostenere la schiavitù umana in una Repubblica votata alla libertà?
È lampante che spesso il sommo dovere della stampa è contrastare l’opinione pubblica. James Bryce ha veridicamente affermato che «le democrazie avranno sempre demagoghi pronti ad alimentare le vanità, a solleticare le passioni e a enfatizzare i sentimenti del momento. Ciò di cui hanno bisogno sono uomini capaci di nuotare controcorrente, di denunciare gli errori commessi, di insistere con maggior forza su un problema quanto più risulta sgradito».

Joseph Pulitzer

(via wittgenstein)

Cormac McCarthy en route vers l’apocalypse

http://www.rue89.com/cabinet-de-lecture/cormac-mccarthy-en-route-vers-lapocalypse

Quelques mois après » Un homme » , de Philip Roth -autre géant vivant des lettres yankee-, Cormac McCarthy propose lui aussi une réflexion sur la mort. Et, un an après avoir revisité le western ( » Non, ce pays n’est pas pour le vieil homme » ), revisite le roman apocalyptique. Roman le plus étrange de son auteur, » La Route » obtint le Pulitzer 2007. Et est le premier coup de coeur du Cabinet de lecture en cette rentrée 2008.

Depuis la disparition de Norman Mailer, Philip Roth et Cormac McCarthy sont -avec Thomas Pynchon- les derniers géants de leur génération. Deux écrivains reclus, introuvables, quasi impossibles à interviewer. Aussi, en juin, quand le dernier accepta l’invitation télévisée d’Oprah Winfrey, ce fut le tonnerre. C’est que le roman venait de recevoir le Prix Pulitzer 2007. Quelques semaines auparavant, les frères Coen avaient projeté à Cannes l’adaptation de » Non, ce pays n’est pas pour le vieil homme » .

Ainsi, après une décennie de silence, l’auteur du capital » Méridien de sang » (1985) refaisait donc bel et bien surface. Et montrait à quel point ses fictions étaient utiles.

Le monde d’hier, le monde de demain : un roman de transition

» La Route » est un vrai roman de transition. Idéal pour passer d’un monde à l’autre. Les ombres y sont aussi vivantes que les hommes, et on ne sait pas où on est.

Nous voici dans un pays où les cendres fument encore, un pays que vient de traverser une tragédie (laquelle ? nous ne saurons jamais). Ne subsistent que des routes, des ruines, des palissades, des restes d’incendies.

Un homme et son petit garçon semblent être seuls survivants de la tragédie. En pleine apocalypse, ils marchent, avancent vers les côtes du Sud. Ils poussent un caddie orné d’un rétroviseur chromé, où est stocké le strict nécessaire. Ils croisent nombres de cadavres, de ruines, de carcasses. Tel un prédateur, le père quête les conserves pourries et les ramène comme nourriture à son fils. Le parcours est lent, très lent, dans la peur, la pluie, le vent, la neige, la nuit.

L’un comme l’autre vivent surtout la peur au ventre. Peur de la mort, certes, mais aussi peur d’eux-mêmes : quand l’adulte voit son reflet dans la glace, son premier réflexe est de pointer le revolver. Les dialogues sont rares. Ils matérialisent trop la peur. Et pour survivre ici, il faut marcher. Ils croiseront quelques » survivants » , êtres non-définis d’un monde en recomposition.

C’est que le couple est pisté. Sont-ils les derniers hommes du monde connu ? L’existence même de l’enfant devient une énigme : il est le futur incarné… Mais il reste quelques autres hommes qui ont survécu. Rares. Peut-être notre duo est-il, seulement, le dernier spécimen de » gentils » , de » ceux qui portent le feu » . Aussi doivent-ils échapper aux pillards.

Roman réaliste et new age

Dans » Le Méridien de sang » , dans » Non, ce pays n’est pas pour le vieil homme » -deux westerns-, comme dans ce dernier livre, McCarthy revisite des genres littéraires. Dans ces derniers -polar, western, SF-, il est souvent question de la fin d’un homme, de la fin d’un monde. D’une civilisation. Le genre a ceci de particulier qu’il angle, qu’il métaphorise. Qu’il offre la matière et l’anti-matière.

« La Route » est comme une métaphore plurielle. Globale. A l’heure où, allongement de la durée de vie et clonage faisant, l’homme a un rapport de moins en moins rationnel à sa vie et à sa mort, le livre de McCarthy agit comme le roman d’une autre rationalité. D’un monde où l’homme n’est plus seul, mais où il n’a pas conscience de ce qui l’accompagne. Il n’a plus conscience que de sa survie.

Ici, le père » ne savait qu’une chose, que l’enfant était son garant. Il dit : « S’il n’est pas la parole de Dieu, Dieu n’a jamais parlé’ » . Ici, les survivants sont » assis au bord de la route comme des aéronautes en détresse » .

McCarthy, dans son style toujours très resserré, allie roman réaliste et récit new age. Un livre narratif et puissamment philosophique. Qui unit le défini et l’indéfini : ici, peu de faits, peu d’histoire, seulement le souffle pur de ce qui fait survivre.

De McCarthy à Spielberg en passant par les Pink Floyd

Cela donne un livre où les deux garçons semblent fuir leur propre mort comme leur propre vie. Où tout ce qu’ils croisent (objet comme signe comme homme) semble symboliser la mort. En lisant » La Route » on pense beaucoup à  » Duel » , le premier téléfilm de Spielberg (1975), à cette course à la mort entre la voiture et le titanesque camion.

En lisant » La Route » , on se dit que » Wish you were here » , l’album de Pink Floyd sortit la même année que » Duel » -l’album de » Welcome to the Machine » et de » Shine on you Crazy Diamond » , l’hommage à Syd Barrett- a trouvé son histoire.

» La Route » se lira avec » Un homme » de Roth, paru en France à l’automne. Deux auteurs qui n’avaient jamais si profondément évoqué la mort. Roth est un urbain, et » Un homme » est un livre psychologique. McCarthy est un nomade, et ses romans sont des romans d’espaces.

Le souffle et la perspective qu’on trouve dans la dernière partie de » La Route » est titanesque. C’est le roman le plus dépouillé de McCarthy, un vrai roman car il est un espace-temps.

It occurred to me that nothing is more interesting than opinion when opinion is interesting, so I devised a method of cleaning off the page opposite the editorial, which became the most important in America … and thereon I decided to print opinions, ignoring facts

A frase acima, de acordo com a Wikipedia, é de autoria de Herbert Bayard Swope, jornalista norte-americano que viveu entre 1882 e 1958 e ganhou um Pulitzer em 1917 (o primeiro ano em que o prêmio foi entregue) por uma série de reportagens que fez sobre o império alemão.

Soa ousado, eu sei, mas acho que em tempos de internet – portanto bem depois da frase de Swope – nunca foi tão atual. Os jornais e os jornalistas mais e mais precisam entender que o papel que sai no dia seguinte ao fato, hoje, tem valor bem diferente daquele na época em que o Pulitzer foi criado. Notícia que já foi publicada na internet, comentada em blogs, retuitada e virou conversa de bar não tem razão de ser impressa, mais.

Mas não estou sugerindo a morte dos impressos, não. Mais e mais, jornais precisarão ignorar os fatos, e dar aos leitores a análise que falta na correria para dar o fato primeiro. E a opinião. A digestão que custa a muitos fazer. É a mistura do editorial com o tal do op-ed, que traduzimos erroneamente como opinião/ editorial, mas que se refere à pagina oposta à dos editoriais, opposite the editorial page.

Aliás, como conta a Wiki, o conceito do op-ed foi mesmo invenção do autor da frase que abre esse post. Nada é coincidência.

Flickr

My curiosity was peaked about this photo while reading an article for a mid-term assignment that centered around this image. The article focused on a journalist, Alysia Sofios, who decided to live with her sources and basically her whole decision was motivated by this photograph. The story goes that Sofios was in a media ethics class at university examining this photo during a discussion and was disturbed by the fact that none of her peers would’ve helped this child. So when an opportunity arose some years later to help some women who had been abused by a sadistic father figure, Sofios decided this was her moment to swoop in and rescue the child, so to speak.

Back to the photo: It was taken by photojournalist Kevin Carter in March of 1993 in Sudan and won the Pulitzer Prize for Feature Photography in 1994. The little girl in the photo would end up escaping death but her ultimate fate was unknown, and Carter would go on to take his own life a few months after winning the Pulitzer.

In his suicide note, Carter wrote, “I am haunted by the vivid memories of killings & corpses & anger & pain … of starving or wounded children, of trigger-happy madmen, often police, of killer executioners…”

I love my school. Really. In one day I got to discuss writing feature pieces with a Pulitzer Prize winner, and get advice on the Hermosillo project I’m working on from a former president of the National Press Photographers Association. Now it’s time to get the ball rolling…

P.S. the pages in my poor little Moleskine  planner are no longer big enough to contain my schedule (above).

“Just like gay people, we need journalist pride to save our business,” the Guardian’s Nick Davies told a Belgian crowd on Saturday 4 October 2009 at the writers’ conference Het Andere Boek in Antwerp. The former British journalist of the year wrote Flat Earth News a best-seller on falsehood, distortion and propaganda in the global media.

He claims that commercialism at the heart of the mass media creates trivial news consumers while killing professional journalism. The critical journalist named De Morgen as a Belgian example of a similar evolution to Great Britain. Is he right or just nostalgic about the good old days as critics like to point out.

Joseph Pulitzer once said: “A cynical, mercenary, demagogic, corrupt press will produce in time a people as itself.” Do you share his view?

Yes, he might be right. It is a more circular relationship though. There has been a great shift in the people of the developed world as to what they want from their newspapers. They are less political and see themselves more like consumers. They are looking for trivial news. The more that we give them trivial and untrue news, the more we create people with short attention spans. They have no interest in politics, in their countries and the great moral debates of their time. The media drag down their societies.

What exactly does Flat Earth News stand for?

In the Middle Ages people used to believe that the earth was flat. Everybody said so. Until someone checked. The mass media produce a lot of false news. There were no weapons of mass destruction in Iraq, the millennium bug turned out to be a big hype and Clinton’s affairs weren’t that spectacular at all.

Like gay people, we need journalist pride parades to save our business

What do you see as the main reason for this problem?

People tend to believe in conspiracy theories. Many think that it is the direct meddling of the owner of a newspaper or magazine into the daily business of a newsroom. Now this occasionally might happen, it is quite unusual. More important is the commercial logic of making the highest profits as possible by cutting production costs. Mass media produce falsehood, distortion and propaganda in order to sell. The essential job of a good journalist is finding and checking facts and telling the truth. Accurate and balanced reporting used to be the ground rules of real journalism.

A team of academics of the Cardiff University found out that only 12 percent of all news stories are factually checked. I am not talking of tabloids, but of serious newspapers like The Guardian, The Times, etc. The same rate could be identified when talking about the authenticity of the used information. About 80 percent comes from PR and wire agencies. De Morgen is a Belgian show case of a similar evolution in Great Britain.

Can you only imagine a dim future for journalism?

Making arrows once used to be an important profession. They are not around anymore. At the end journalists might die out as well. There is a great struggle going on about the future of journalism. The old way of funding by selling newspapers and advertisements doesn’t work anymore. The internet is taking further advertising away. Now there is the credit crisis.

We need a new business model, but nobody yet knows what precisely that is going to be. It could be that mini-media will replace the mass media. In the United States and to some extent in Europe foundations fund these projects. Production costs are a lot lower on the internet. There is no need for print, planes and trains. Public-private partnerships may point the way out. It is, however, unclear how this will evolve on a grand scale.

The media created trivial news consumers. We drag down our societies

Critics of your book say that you are suffering from nostalgia of the good old days?

In the nineties we had the dogma of dog doesn’t eat dog. Journalists could write about whatever they wanted, but not about journalism. In those days there was a lot of shouting and discussion in the newsrooms. Now that is gone and people write about celebrities, pop stars and family drama. The managing director used to walk one step behind the editor. This has been reversed. Infotainment and churnalism (recycling and copying stories) replaced journalism.

Author: Rafael Porto Carrero

(This article has been published on www.mediakritiek.be with the support of the Belgian Pascal Decroos Fund for investigative journalism)

NPPA/Carol Guzy

Carol Guzy, a photojournalist for The Washington Post and a 2009 finalist for the Pulitzer Prize for Feature Photography, took these riveting photographs depicting childbirth in Sierra Leone. This is a country whose infant mortality rate is the second highest in the world and one in eight women risk losing their lives during childbirth. The women end up bleeding to death or suffering under the poor conditions that are available medically. For comparison’s sake, 1 in 4,800 women will risk losing their lives during childbirth in the United States.

NPPA/Carol Guzy

Every minute, every hour, pregnant women die in Sierra Leone, and they will keep dying. It doesn’t matter how many horrific photographs are taken or stories are told, real action must happen.

NPPA/Carol Guzy

But for now, Sierra Leone will remain one of those places we all occasionally grimace at for being so barbaric. We’ll continue to ponder whether our efforts in Iraq and Afghanistan are going anywhere, along with how the economic crisis will affect our Christmas season this year. I’m no different. Sitting back, detached, comfortably numb.

Award-winning photo journalist Monica Lopossay has spent time giving back since being laid off from the Baltimore Sun. She’s been nominated for three Pulitzers and has inspired societal change through her photography. She was at The Sun for eight years before being one of six photographers who left the newsroom in April. Currently she teaches photo journalism at Towson University and is spending time trying to figure out her next step.

Can you discuss the reasons why you left The Sun?

“I was laid off at the end of April 2009. I had been there for eight years and I was

laid off with 61 other people in the two day sequence. Since then, I’ve been going through a large amount of shock and dismay. I had a great job and I loved it and I know that if they could’ve kept me they would have. Moving forward from that, I’ve been spending a lot of time trying to figure out what it is I want to do now because I’m sort of free at this point. I’m free to explore all kinds of different avenues and we’re obviously living in a time now, more so than ever, where the media is changing so fast toward to its demise and its growth. So there are all kinds of different outlets that will be happening, that are being created and explored each and every single day. So there’s that to be excited about and that’s what I try tell to me students who are concerned about getting jobs.”

What was your initial reaction to the news?

“It was a long time coming. I knew they were going to be having the layoffs at some point, but you’re still in denial.

Why did you get into teaching?

“I started teaching at Towson going on four years now. It’s something that I feel so passionately about and that I love so much. When this opportunity came up I thought it would be not only an awesome chance to share what I was doing, but it would keep me reverent about what I do and why I do it. It’s great when you get out there and you do a job every single day but then to come to a class and have to explain it to other people … it helps you and it sharpens my skills as a photojournalist.”

What have you been doing since , other than teaching?

“I’ve had a couple of freelance jobs, but I’m not really freelancing. I’m more trying to figure things out and I’ve done a lot of charity work, which has been really fulfilling … My work has been auctioned off for charities … I’m starting to teach a class for refugees that have suffered torture and trauma situations in their home countries and now they’re here and we teach them photography and we take their work and we use it as therapy to help them to work through their issues. I’m very excited about that class. I’ve got time now to do things that I love to do. I like to give back, that’s why I was a photo journalist. We try to make a difference through photography. I think it’s one of the most impacting ways you can affect people quickly … I’m also doing workshops. I have the Eddie Adams Workshop. This is my fourth year as an editor and facilitator … It’s a cool experience to work there and do that.

Check back for Part 2 of Monica Lopossay’s interview.

Daily front pages from around the world line the outside of the Newseum in Washington D.C. What one journalist friend called ” a shrine to a dying art,” Newseum is a bit of a temple, complete with propaganda.  It sings the song of a dying hero, a journalist. The museum chronicles some of the great exploits of journalism from spy cases to presidential elections to 911.

One of Today's Headlines

While the cynical part of me would write this museum of to a Disney Land version of journalism, the museum held my interest for several hours. Though certainly not without a bias, this dynamically designed building showcases some of the earliest newspapers, rooms dedicated to Pulitzers and the biggest stories of the last several hundred years.

Unlike a history museum, the Newseum is not so much a record of scholarly work, but rather a glimpse of public memory. Whether the newspapers in front of me were liberal or conservative, corrupt or honest, idealistic or sarcastic, when I saw newspapers covering an entire wall dedicated to 911, I was immediately brought back to that morning over eight years ago.

I would recommend this museum not because I count journalist among the gods, but because it reminds us of the importance of public opinion and memory.

Kavalier & Clay -> Book inspired on comics -> transformed into comics itself.

Livro inspirado em quadrinhos, ganha o Pulitzer e vira uma história em quadrinho…

Los Angeles Times/Luis Sinco

The first time I saw this image was in RollingStone magazine last year. They were profiling the soldier, Marine Lance Cpl. James Blake Miller, and his life after the cameras went away. This photo instantly stood out to me because it’s absolutely jarring to look at when you consider all the meaning it holds. First of all, he looks like a leading man in a war movie or more likely an anti-hero in a Quentin Tarantino extravaganza of blood and violence.

This photo was taken by photojournalist Luis Sinco at the height of the Iraq War in Fallouja on November 8, 2004. The next day the photo appeared in more than 150 publications and was nominated for a Pulitzer Prize. Miller was dubbed ‘Marlboro Marine’ for the way his cigarette coolly hung out of his mouth. He became a symbol of war, of winning; covered in blood and soot, he was the image Americans wanted to believe would conquer all.

Still, as always, reality crept in and Miller returned to his hometown of Jonancy, Kentucky with a serious case of PTSD. Miller’s life back home would be a continual wave of disappointment with his divorce from his childhood sweetheart and the rejection he got on Capitol Hill waiting for someone to listen to his pleas for help. Like the young men who erected the flag at Iwo Jima, he served his purpose and was now meaningless. But for one moment in time he was an icon, when all he really wanted to be was a soldier.