There was a time in my life when I wanted to be a journalist. Through a lucky family connection I got an internship (unpaid!) at a paper in Lawrence, MA. I was twenty-two and had only ever written for our college paper; the sports-desk editor was responsible for me although I worked at the business-desk. The Sports Editor was a good guy, but chaperoning an intern wasn’t a plum assignment. “Thank god you can write,” he told me after the first day– I guess that’s not a given with journo-wannabes. It was a great internship; they published me regularly and the folks there gave me some of the best writing advice ever.
The day I left the paper a senior editor suggested the following: join the union and enroll in the Columbia University School of Journalism. He was connected to the school’s administration in some way that I can’t remember.
Needless to say, I didn’t get in. After paying to take their assessment exam– full of important questions like “Name New York City’s five boroughs”– they told me I didn’t have enough professional experience. I didn’t have much experience, few people do in their early twenties, but the industry was contracting and paid experience was hard to get. I needed money, I didn’t know the right ‘people’ to get a job, so that was the end of that. Well, sorta. I found other ways to write.
My point with this story is this: God works in mysterious ways. Had my gambit for a journalistic career paid off, I could’ve ended up part of this:
“Russia’s UN envoy Churkin replies to CNN anchor Amanpour”
But I wouldn’t be writing to you [Christiane Amanpour] if you did not also choose to personally attack my daughter – your younger colleague – a Russian TV journalist. I am very proud of her – not only is she a good journalist, but she strictly keeps her professional distance from me.
Incidentally, I recall you married the State Department Spokesman. How was your professional credibility in the course of your courtship?
Don’t bother to answer. I don’t really want to know.
Or, I could have got sucked up into this:
Brainwash level – ‘neocons’: Staged Liz Wahl Psy-Op exposure explodes on Twitter
(Note, Buzzfeed!!) And that little spat gets even better with…
New report reveals how ‘American neocons’ stage attacks against alternative media
Clearly, had I been successful in my journalism ‘career’, I would have had two choices: Camp Neo or Camp Rus. I doubt I would have flourished in either, considering my interests. I was hoping for a career like The Winnebago Man, but that, dear readers, is a thing of the past.
So I take solice where I can find it, which is getting easier by the day. For instance, an interesting note on Liz Wahl:
Wahl quit her job at Russia Today on air after interviewing Ron Paul/ a US media love-fest over Abby Martin’s comments which were critical of the Kremlin. Wahl says her reasons for quitting are that 1) RT gets Russian state funding and 2) they’re spinning the situation in the Ukraine in Putin’s favor.
I can’t believe that Wahl didn’t know who funded “RUSSIA Today” when she signed her first contract. Maybe her decision has more to do with her “military-base physician” husband– it’s gotta be a career-killer to have Russian income in today’s military. (Right?!?!) I say that tongue-in-cheek, because the US military is so weird right now who really knows.
Maybe, the roots of this problem go a little deeper. Wahl describes herself as– deep breath– “Filipina-Hungarian-American”, which caught my attention, because Hungarian immigrants in the 1950s were one of the groups which our CIA was eager to psychologically profile. (You can read all about that in the declassified MK-Ultra files.) The agency found émigré Hungarians’ anti-Communist (read anti-Russian) stance interesting and useful. Add on top of that Wahl’s family history in the military and you have a ‘heady’ combination! (Snark!)
So, call me crazy, but we may have something of a test-tube baby in the dear Mrs. Wahl. We may have someone who has grown up with a lot of special ‘conditioning’. If you haven’t had any experience with people like this, feel free to ignore these observations.
If, on the other hand, you know something of what I’m talking about, perhaps you’ll join me in thanking my lucky stars that I never got a job in journalism. Over and out.
