This article by Barry Bearak on the front page of the New York Times yesterday, is the epitome of what great newspaper journalism is. A really damned fine story.
HARARE, Zimbabwe — I had never been arrested before and the prospect of prison in Zimbabwe, one of the poorest, most repressive places on earth, seemed especially forbidding: the squalor, the teeming cells, the possibility of beatings. But I told myself what I’d repeatedly taught my two children: Life is a collection of experiences. You savor the good, you learn from the bad.
I was being charged with the crime of “committing journalism.” One of my captors, Detective Inspector Dani Rangwani, described the offense to me as something despicable, almost hissing the words: “You’ve been gathering, processing and disseminating the news.” (more)
2 comments:
I loved that article, too! Brought back vague pinings I had myself to be a journalist back in the day, despite the fact that it sounded like a horrifying ordeal for him.
All the President's Men suckered all of my generation into journalism -- only to find it the victim of economics -- both the industries and your own paycheck ...
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