This I believe ...

“Death Valley? Are you serious?” my girlfriend asked. “What could there possibly be in Death Valley that you’d want to see?”

“I don’t know, but I want to find out.”

This was how my cross-country road trip from California to Minnesota began. I couldn’t have envisioned, at the time, what lie ahead, but I wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to find out.

The sun was rising as we drove into Death Valley that April morning, and in the slanted rays of dawn, the land was as pale as a corpse. Save the muted yellows and browns that color the hills, the land appeared bled of color. Tawny mountains surrounded the tabletop-flat valley, crouching on the horizon like enormous camels of rock, with myriad arms and legs emerging from the crags.

The early morning chill stilled the valley. Nothing stirred. The land was sucked free of sound. The growl of an approaching car could be heard for miles.

More wondrous than the absence of life on this scab of cracked earth, was the existence of it. The varieties were manifold: On a nearby hillside bighorn sheep, so emaciated and drawn that their ribs were visible through the snarl of matted fur, clacked across a field of sharp-edged rock. Finger-length fish wriggled about a scalding trickle of water snaking across the desert. More curious still were the wildflowers blooming across the desert floor. These brilliant, yellow survivors appeared so delicate that they might wither at the touch. In spite of the sun-scorched desert days, frigid night, winds that could bow an oak and a climate so arid it feels like inhaling cotton, they flourished.

Death Valley turned out to be the highlight of our trip across the West. The land was so magnificently bizarre that it was as if it had been plucked from one of Lewis Carroll’s reveries. The inscrutable mysteries of valley life and the absolute tranquility of the land stirred my imagination and my girlfriend’s as well.

“I would never have guessed Death Valley was so beautiful,” she said.

Few people do, I imagine. That’s a shame.

But that’s why I believe in exploring.

Prejudices and false impressions too often cause us to miss all the wonderful things the world has to offer. But when you open your mind to the possibilities and explore, you can discover some pretty magnificent things.

To hear the author reading his essay go to:

Gabcast! This I believe #1




To learn more about NPR’s This I Believe project go to: This I believe

This fish tells one heck of a story

Don't let this be the one that got away. Stanley Fish, a distinguished academic, dean emeritus of the College of Liberal Arts and Sciences at the University of Illinois at Chicago, and author of 10 books, writes a blog for the New York Times about politics and current events.

The blog, as it should, goes beyond the realm of typical mainstream media fare and provides thoughtful commentary on topical issues. His incisive blogs deftly blend the probing, analytical mind of an academic with the scintillating prose of an accomplished writer. His commentary is smart and clever and often employs cutting wit. Despite his lofty credentials, his style and voice is accessible. As a result his blog, I believe, caters to a wide and diverse readership.

The columns help readers deconstruct the politics and spin that pervade media today and help people put a frame on the issues of the day.

Take for instance his column on the Don Imus firing:

"Early on in the Don Imus firing controversy I took an abstinence pledge, vowing never to write anything about it. I now go back on that pledge, not because I have anything to say, but because there isn’t anything to say, although almost everybody in the world has been saying a great deal. What I mean is that there are no serious issues that might be appropriately – as opposed to opportunistically – attached to this incident. The story should not be filed under 'free speech' or 'racist speech' or 'the culture of indecency' or 'double standards'; it should be filed under 'blunders with unexpected consequences' ...

"In Mr. Imus’s case, what followed his disparaging of the Rutgers women basketball players was unanticipated not because he had intended no insult, but because intending insults has always been his line of work, and he had no reason to believe that this five-second instance of his ordinary practice would bring everything crashing down. Many commentators have said that Imus should have distinguished between his usual targets – Hollywood celebrities, politicians, sports icons – and 10 innocent and vulnerable young women. But this criticism assumes that behind what Imus said over the years was some kind of social or moral or philosophical calculation. There was nothing at all behind his daily performances; he was just occupying a professional niche – Don Rickles with a network – and doing exactly what he was paid to do."

I don't typically read many blogs during the day, but this one is a staple. Try reading it yourself and you'll get hooked too.

http://fish.blogs.nytimes.com/

A shortage of drummers

Is it true black people have an extra muscle in their calves?

Is it true you can tell the nationality of an Asian by the slant of their eyes?

What’s the typical night like in an African American home?

The questions sound conjured from a less-enlightened era, an era of ignorance and prejudice when Jim Crow was the law of the land and Separate but Equal was the country’s official creed. Sadly these are the curiosities of today’s enlightened society, having been posted on a race-related Web site. They are questions and sentiments that Leonard Pitts deals with on a daily basis.

Pitts, a Miami Herald Columnist who won the 2004 Pulitzer Prize for social commentary, delivered the University of Oregon’s annual Ruhl Lecture, speaking eloquently and effectively about America’s “great conundrum” – race. Racism and ignorance thrive even today, Pitts said. “You cannot know unless you’ve experienced it (racism) how frustrating it is,” he said.

Pitts, who regularly writes about race in his syndicated column, related today’s situation with the slavery-era drums of centuries past. “The drum was the thing that connected us to one another … the way we told the stories that reminded us of who we were …” he said. “In the United States, in 2007, the sound of those drums is brought to us by the media. That’s where our stories are told.”

As evidenced by the above questions, it appears the media is drumming quite softly. Pitts challenged the crowd, which included a large contingent of journalism school faculty and students, to take up the mantle of leadership on the issue.

“As journalists, we are privileged to be the gatekeepers,” Pitts said. “We determine who’s drums will be heard.”

As an institution, journalism must listen for and describe the drumbeat of the races if we hope to erase the intolerance and ignorance that pervades our society.

The moral courage to lead

Quick quiz:

Where is Darfur?

How many people have died in conflict to date?

Who is responsible for the killings?

Having trouble answering these? Sadly you’re not alone. The majority of Americans are largely ignorant of the daily horrors occurring in Darfur – massacres, mutilations, beheadings, burnings and gang rapes to name a few. It’s a tragedy in the fullest sense. One that, I think we all would agree, is deserving of front-page headlines. But when it comes to Africa, news isn’t really news. T.I.A. as they say in the recently released movie Blood Diamond. This is Africa. Death, disease, plague, famine – such horrific happenings are the perceived norm in Africa, not the exception. The world seems eager to ignore.

I don’t claim to be any different. Oh, I had done some cursory research on the issue and knew a few of the details about the crisis, but, like most, I was basically clueless. It was easier that way, I guess – more comfortable than investing my time in understanding the problem and trying to do something about it, certainly.

The news media, it seems, has abetted the world’s desire for ignorance: In 2004, CBS Evening News devoted three minutes to the crisis in Darfur. Three minutes for the entire year! The next year the network devoted two. According to New York Times columnist Nicholas Kristof, the total amount of coverage given last year to the genocide in Darfur was eclipsed by coverage of one incident – John Mark Karr’s confession to killing Jon Benet Ramsey, something that would later be proven untrue.

“You look at it and feel embarrassed as a journalist,” Kristof said Monday night to a capacity crowd of more than 700, who had filled an auditorium at the University of Oregon.

Kristof, who was the culminating speaker of a weekend-long conference on genocide, spoke for more than an hour about his travels through the country and his extensive reporting on the crisis, reporting which earned him a Pulitzer Prize in 2006. Kristof’s tales of young lives destroyed by the strife and accompanying photos of the victims were, in a word, haunting. In one of the stories Kristof told of a young woman who allowed herself to be captured by the Janjaweed militia so that her younger sister could escape. The woman later shared the story of her brutal rape and beating with Kristof as a way to fight back against the militia and bring attention to the crisis. “I hope we can learn to emulate that kind of moral courage,” Kristof said.

One photo in particular – a close-up of an elderly man, whose back had been set ablaze by the murderous militia – moved me in a profound way. It was the first time, for me, that the conflict was no longer an abstraction, but a human tragedy. No longer were the dead just statistics on a page or a collection of lurid anecdotes, they were sentient beings with lives and families and rich personal histories. Looking into the man’s eyes, I felt empathy for the man’s suffering and indignation at a world that could ignore such atrocity. Kristof’s columns have fomented these feeling across the country and helped raise awareness of this continuing tragedy, something which is badly needed. As Kristof said, the crisis won’t be solved by military intervention, but by turning the public spotlight on Darfur, with the ensuing political pressure engendering a peace agreement.

As I left the talk, I felt none of the sadness I had earlier expected. Instead I felt strangely inspired. Inspired by the passion and commitment, which so obviously inform Mr. Kristof’s every action. It helped reaffirm my faith in journalism, a faith that is consistently shaken by the tabloid nature of today’s news. As trite as it sounds, the speech confirmed for me that journalism does matter and that we as journalists can indeed make a difference. For most of us, it won’t be from covering genocide, wars or famine, but by reporting on the issues of importance in our own communities – poverty, health care, education, etc.

While it is paramount that we as media practitioners put the spotlight on the Darfur genocide, it is equally important that we raise more principled, passionate journalists like Kristof, journalists with the “moral courage” to champion issues the world would rather ignore.

It is because of people like Kristof that we can feel proud as journalists.


To read Nicholas Kristof's writing:
New York Times or
Pulitzer-Prize-winning commentary

Stories that live on

During the decade Adrian Nicole LeBlanc spent writing and researching her opus Random Family, she slept on cockroach-infested couches, spent time in some of New York’s most dangerous neighborhoods, filled hundreds of reporter’s notebooks with detail, and transcribed more than a thousand of hours of taped interviews. In the process, she lost her savings, her sanity and her relationships.

How did she persevere? It’s a question I’ve harbored since reading the book and one I was determined to ask during a recent workshop LeBlanc held at the University of Oregon.

During the three-day workshop, however, I got the answer without ever having to pose the question. LeBlanc is a dynamo. If life is measured on a scale of one to 10, she is at 25. Being around her is like plugging your body into an electrical outlet, you literally pulse with energy. That vitality comes, I believe, from something much stronger than hormones or coffee. It comes from passion.

If you’re in journalism for the money, you’re in the wrong business, LeBlanc told the workshoppers. The advance she earned for a decade’s worth of work on Random Family was a pittance. After subtracting taxes and her agent’s commission, it amounted to the equivalent of a year’s salary for an entry-level fast food worker. This work needs to be your passion. LeBlanc, who is the product of a labor activist father and a mother who worked at a drug treatment center, naturally gravitated toward stories of social injustice and inequity. “I was raised to think you should make use of yourself. So in my sense, something useful is to make things better,” she told me that weekend. It was that belief in her work, that passion for her project that wrote Random Family.

Even in this age of instant messages and 24-hour news, it’s the longer stories on which journalists labored intensely and invested of themselves emotionally that truly make a difference, that make things better.

“Take all the time you need to write the piece you care about because it will live on,” LeBlanc told an assembly of writers, students and faculty at the University of Oregon.

That is the true reward of a journalist’s work.


For more from Adrian Nicole LeBlanc, read the interview in this spring's Etude (etude.uoregon.edu).

Confessions of a chocoholic

My name is Michael and I am a chocoholic.

Hi Michael!

For breakfast I used to engorge myself on chocolate cereal drenched in chocolate milk and drizzled with chocolate syrup. I even experimented with chocolate chips. I knew I was in trouble when I added chocolate-chocolate chip ice cream to the mix. Oh, by the way, I also have a secret fancy for Will Ferrell movies and the enviable ability to grow facial hair in clumps.

What? Too much information? Well welcome to the blogosphere. OK, OK. Not all blogs adhere to the strict rules of decorum and taste set forth by the Jenny Jones Show. But this entry illustrates one of the big differences between blogs and mainstream media: the personal nature of the content.

While mainstream journalists primarily write in a detached, third-person voice, devoid of personal revelation and opinion, blogs are like an online diary, an intimate and sometimes too-personal accounting of the world as seen by the author. Bloggers often share freely of their personal stories and histories, perhaps in an effort to build a connection with readers. Journalists present cold fact and are trained to pen up their opinions and keep a professional distance from sources and readers.

Bloggers therefore are individuals in the eyes of the audience. Journalists, most of them anyway, are just anonymous cogs of a monolithic institution known collectively as the media. Does this personal relationship or lack thereof matter? Would mainstream media be better served if journalists were free to liberate their biases and opinions? One of the main benefits, as I see it, of this relationship is the candid and personal communication it engenders. The comments readers provide keep stories alive long after they’ve been published and help refine and shape the story in ways that are insightful and often unexpected.

My name is Michael and I'm a recovering newspaper journalist.

Hi Michael!

As a former member of the mainstream press, I craved feedback from the public, but rarely received it. Over my nearly seven-year career as a reporter, I am certain some of my stories hurt or upset sources, maybe even wronged them. I am equally certain some of my stories helped them in ways I couldn’t have imagined. But I’ll never know. It was as if my stories disappeared into the ether.

But in blogging I look forward to personally connecting with readers, stirring their passions, inspiring their curiosities, inciting indignation or eliciting their laughter.

My name is Michael and I'm a first-time blogger.

Hi Michael!

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(To learn some really insightful things about blogging check out:

What Journalists Can Learn from Bloggers

What Bloggers Can Learn from Journalists)

Backing into the blogosphere ... finally.

I love blogs ... about as much as I'd love a weekend spent watching a Best of Barney the Dinosaur marathon. Yes, those bloated and blusterous virtual forums of banality drive me to distress. I can't take another I'm-mad-as-hell-and-I'm-not-going-to-take-it-any-more rant from some hormone-addled freshman (Sorry Mark) or worse yet a look-at-my-obnoxiously-great-life post from some cloying-as-cotton-candy prepubescent.

I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore!!!

No! I'm going to do what any right-minded individual with an opinion, a computer and some spare time would do -- start a blog.

OK, a bit exaggerated, I admit. But I haven't been a fan of blogs. Why should I care what's on Joe Anybody's mind? I really haven't seen the point. But after witnessing the prominent role blogs have played in politics recently -- building up and tearing down politicians, disseminating lies or conversely dispelling myths, I've realized the power these instant editorials wield. I want in.

I've thought for several months about starting a blog, but it took a graduate school assignment to spur me to action. So here I am, creating a forum, which I hope will be beneficial and insightful. I see this blog as a nexus for ideas, a place where the seminal issues facing of the nation are freed from the circumscribed lens of the American media and put into their global context. In short, I hope it becomes a source for global information and perspective ... outWrite.