Tag Archives: war correspondents

Chris Hedges: usually right, never cheery@truthdig

Gone With the Papers

Posted on Jun 27, 2011
AP / Joseph Kaczmarek
The newsroom of The Philadelphia Inquirer in 2009, the year the paper filed for bankruptcy.

By Chris Hedges

I visited the Hartford Courant as a high school student. It was the first time I was in a newsroom. The Connecticut paper’s newsroom, the size of a city block, was packed with rows of metal desks, most piled high with newspapers and notebooks. Reporters banged furiously on heavy typewriters set amid tangled phone cords, overflowing ashtrays, dirty coffee mugs and stacks of paper, many of which were in sloping piles on the floor. The din and clamor, the incessantly ringing phones, the haze of cigarette and cigar smoke that lay over the feverish hive, the hoarse shouts, the bustle and movement of reporters, most in disheveled coats and ties, made it seem an exotic, living organism. I was infatuated. I dreamed of entering this fraternity, which I eventually did, for more than two decades writing for The Dallas Morning News, The Washington Post, The Christian Science Monitor and, finally, The New York Times, where I spent most of my career as a foreign correspondent.

Newsrooms today are anemic and forlorn wastelands. I was recently in the newsroom at The Philadelphia Inquirer, and patches of the floor, also the size of a city block, were open space or given over to rows of empty desks. These institutions are going the way of the massive rotary presses that lurked like undersea monsters in the bowels of newspaper buildings, roaring to life at night. The heavily oiled behemoths, the ones that spat out sheets of newsprint at lightning speed, once empowered and enriched newspaper publishers who for a few lucrative decades held a monopoly on connecting sellers with buyers. Now that that monopoly is gone, now that the sellers no long need newsprint to reach buyers, the fortunes of newspapers are declining as fast as the page counts of daily news sheets.

The great newspapers sustained legendary reporters such as I.F. Stone, Murray Kempton and Homer Bigart who wrote stories that brought down embezzlers, cheats, crooks and liars, who covered wars and conflicts, who told us about famines in Africa and the peculiarities of the French or what it was like to be poor and forgotten in our urban slums or Appalachia. These presses churned out raw lists of data, from sports scores to stock prices. Newspapers took us into parts of the city or the world we would never otherwise have seen or visited. Reporters and critics reviewed movies, books, dance, theater and music and covered sporting events. Newspapers printed the text of presidential addresses, sent reporters to chronicle the inner workings of City Hall and followed the courts and the police. Photographers and reporters raced to cover the lurid and the macabre, from Mafia hits to crimes of passion.

We are losing a peculiar culture and an ethic. This loss is impoverishing our civil discourse and leaving us less and less connected to the city, the nation and the world around us. The death of newsprint represents the end of an era. And news gathering will not be replaced by the Internet. Journalism, at least on the large scale of old newsrooms, is no longer commercially viable. Reporting is time-consuming and labor-intensive. It requires going out and talking to people. It means doing this every day. It means looking constantly for sources, tips, leads, documents, informants, whistle-blowers, new facts and information, untold stories and news. Reporters often spend days finding little or nothing of significance. The work can be tedious and is expensive. And as the budgets of large metropolitan dailies shrink, the very trade of reporting declines. Most city papers at their zenith employed several hundred reporters and editors and had operating budgets in the hundreds of millions of dollars. The steady decline of the news business means we are plunging larger and larger parts of our society into dark holes and opening up greater opportunities for unchecked corruption, disinformation and the abuse of power.

A democracy survives when its citizens have access to trustworthy and impartial sources of information, when it can discern lies from truth, when civic discourse is grounded in verifiable fact. And with the decimation of reporting these sources of information are disappearing. The increasing fusion of news and entertainment, the rise of a class of celebrity journalists on television who define reporting by their access to the famous and the powerful, the retreat by many readers into the ideological ghettos of the Internet and the ruthless drive by corporations to destroy the traditional news business are leaving us deaf, dumb and blind. The relentless assault on the “liberal press” by right-wing propaganda outlets such as Fox News or by the Christian right is in fact an assault on a system of information grounded in verifiable fact. And once this bedrock of civil discourse is eradicated, people will be free, as many already are, to believe whatever they want to believe, to pick and choose what facts or opinions suit their world and what do not. In this new world lies will become true.

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Interview with Michael Herr on NPR

Through A Correspondent’s Eyes: Revisiting Vietnam

by JOHN BAXTER

Dispatches
Dispatches
By Michael Herr
Hardcover, 296 pages
Everyman’s Library
List Price: $24
Read An Excerpt
text size A A A
June 1, 2011

At the small Southern college where I taught in the 1970s, one of the grad students had flown a chopper in Vietnam. Instead of living on campus, he rented a cottage in the woods. He slept there alone, with a Colt .45 under his pillow.

He played me tapes of firefights in which friends had died. Out of the jabber and roar of bad recording, he teased monologues that were poisoned with the essence of terror and despair.

A few years later, Michael Herr published Dispatches, his collection of reports from Vietnam, written for EsquireReading its most famous line, “I think that Vietnam was what we had instead of happy childhoods,” I remembered those shouts and cries, and the sudden silences with which they ended.

Herr was 27 when he went to Vietnam as a reporter — only slightly older than the men about whom he wrote. That fact was crucial. He shared their world. The war he depicts is less a military event than a cultural and psychological one. An experience that marks these boy soldiers like a tattoo that penetrates to the bone.

“Boy” is the operative word.

Their perception of war alternates carnage with comic books. “Come on,” a captain announces to an assembled group, “we’ll take you out to play cowboys and Indians.” But always at one’s shoulder gibbers a sense that this fantasy can tip into madness. “Once I met a colonel,” writes Herr, “who had a plan to shorten the war by dropping piranha into the paddies of the North. He was talking fish but his dreamy eyes were full of mega-death.”

John Baxter is the author of The Most Beautiful Walk in the World.

Rudy GelenterJohn Baxter is the author ofThe Most Beautiful Walk in the World.

Herr survived, but his involvement, no less than for combatants, came at a price. “Home,” he writes. “Twenty-eight years old, feeling like Rip Van Winkle, with a heart like one of those little paper pills they make in China, you drop them into water and they open out to form a tiger or a flower or a pagoda. Mine opened out into war and loss.”

Though he wrote other books and collaborated on the screenplay of Stanley Kubrick’s Full Metal Jacket, Herr created nothing as vivid as Dispatches. No other event in his life would ever cut so deep. In the book, he records a conversation with a major returning for a second tour. “After the first tour, I’d have the goddamndest nightmares,” the officer tells him. “You know, the works. Bloody stuff, bad fights, guys dying, me dying.

“I thought they were the worst,” he says. “But I sort of miss them now.”

You Must Read This is produced and edited by Ellen Silva with production assistance from Rose Friedman and Lacey Mason.

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Filed under literature, memoir, Southeast Asia, Stuff, Vietnam, Vietnam War