Fordham University English Major and First-place winner of the WMA Essay Contest, “Media as the Conscience of Society”

Introduction

Be Men and Women for Others

I grew up in newsrooms — The Times Picayune in New Orleans, The Statesman Journal in Oregon, and The Arizona Republic. My mother has been a newspaperwoman around the country since her first job as a farm reporter in Nebraska in the early 80s. The sound of the police monitor, hurried conversations and the constant hum of typing was normal to my ears. I grew up with gangly photographers, high-heeled businesswomen, mumbling writers and fast-talking sports reporters over to dinner every weekend. “Journalists are characters,” my mom always said about her co-workers. I just never thought that I would grow up to be one of them. I never thought I would turn out to be one of those semi-neurotic, working-on-a-deadline, wouldn't-really-fit-in-anywhere-but-a-newsroom kind of people. Turns out that's exactly the kind of person I am. In the process of writing this essay, I ended up making a connection between my own goals and my ideals. I convinced myself of the importance of what I was saying about journalism. College, especially at a Jesuit university like Fordham, teaches you nothing if it doesn't teach you this phrase: “Be men and women for others.” Now, I was never planning to be one to make millions in the stock market, but college has made me realize that whatever it is I do with my life, it will have to be “for others.”

I took a trip to Georgia last fall with my brother, a Jesuit priest, to protest at the School of the Americas and was exposed to an incredible number of causes and problems that need our attention and passion. So that's what this essay did for me; I realized that there is no more powerful tool than communication, than language, than journalism that I can use to be a woman for others. The problems of this world are great; sometimes it feels like my generation is stepping out of college and onto a battlefield of ideas, technology, cultures, money, and corruption. But with the weapons of peace — a responsible journalism as the gunfire of truth — I want to be a part of the process of understanding. And the only way to do that is through communication. I'm starting here with you. Thank you.

The walls of my house in Phoenix, Arizona, are covered with remnants of a place on the other side of the world, a country that is opposite from my quiet, suburban neighborhood in every way: Bangladesh. My mother's long journalism career was epitomized when she received a grant to travel there and teach its women the skills they need to rise farther in the male-dominated newsrooms of Dhaka, its capital city. Dhaka is the world's most densely populated city, and there my mother fell in love with the “smartest, strongest women” she had ever met. Remembrances of her trips are scattered throughout our southwestern home — clay sculptures of Buddha sit next to my grandmother's silver tea set and hand-stitched embroidery of people riding in rickshaws flank our 1920's player piano.

While the more charming aspects of their rich culture are what I see, the real danger that journalists, especially female journalists, find themselves in everyday in this poverty-stricken country is never far from my mind. There is also an array of stickers written in Bangla on our refrigerator — leftovers from a campaign to stop men from punishing women by throwing acid on their faces, disfiguring them for life so that no other man will want them.

It is extremely dangerous to report the news in countries like Bangladesh, with extreme political factions, shaky individual liberties, and uncertain freedom of the press. Along with Iraq, the Philippines, Colombia and Russia — in that order — Bangladesh is one of the most likely places for a journalist to be attacked or killed, according to Maya Taal of the non-profit organization Committee to Protect Journalists.

Last year alone, the media organization Reporters Without Borders reported that 81 journalists and 32 media assistants were killed. These victims were among 1,472 who were attacked or threatened and 871 who were arrested internationally.

In Dhaka , my mother interviewed one of these journalists, Sumi Kahn, who was pulled off a rickshaw, stabbed and left in the street in retaliation for a story she had written. After months of recuperation, she went back to reporting on politics, even though she knows that the men who attacked her will never be punished and that she could be attacked again. Sumi's belief in a journalist's right to keep her country's people informed, however, kept her going. “I'm not afraid of them,” she said, “They should be afraid of me.”

Her experience and those of too many other journalists teaches my generation of journalists-in-training the importance of what it is we are endeavoring to do. Journalism has the unique ability to communicate a cross-cultural understanding in a world that is divided a thousand times over. It has the power to work for peace by providing a forum for civil agreement – and for civil disagreement. It has the power to help us define what is important and to discover the values, morals and ethics we share. It is the most effective way of checking power and holding the powerful accountable. Jose Torres, editor-in-chief of one of the Philippines' largest broadcast networks, said, “Without a free press, few other human rights are attainable … these journalists make the ultimate sacrifice so that their publics can get information needed to function as a free society.”

The issue of journalists' safety, then, sheds light on the global nature of journalism and also its cross-cultural applications. It is easy to forget this in the United States where journalists still operate relatively unfettered. Despite some court actions against journalists, the United States remains a safe place for them – and for the rest of society – to speak out. And so our attention must be focused outward, to unstable countries where a journalist's work is not only more important, but infinitely more costly. It is in these countries that journalists are most needed, for they are working in the midst of the worst of the world's problems — where cultural, religious, economic and moral conflicts dissolve into violence and the suppression of individual rights. When neighbors cannot agree on even the most basic of facts, when almost all information is suspect or considered propaganda, it is a quick descent from negotiations to gunfire. The issues that face our world are not simple and the scope of conflict is no longer contained. Wars are international, politics is global and, for better or worse, people across the globe are more connected than ever before.

The role of a principled and professional press in this bleak global landscape is monumental. When there is a fundamental discrepancy between cultures, the gap is most commonly represented through language. Language, the tool of journalism, is powerful because it defines our human experience. In a world where language — inextricably linked to culture — more often achieves miscommunication than it does communication amongst diverse populations, the journalist and his words can become a bridge.

Journalism is unique in its ability to do this: to deliver facts, events, and actions without the cultural bias. The global landscape we face is contradictory; it is increasingly connected and torn apart. In the face of this paradox, journalism can be a tool of reconciliation and peace. An effective application of journalism in a free press is that it will act as the conscience of society, rectifying the implicit misunderstanding amongst languages and cultures and allowing for true communication.

For the journalists of countries like Bangladesh, these are not lofty ideals, but as my mother puts it, “the very definition of what they do each day and why they do it.” Every day, every time they file a story, they are acting on their own conscience. And in doing so, they become the conscience of their countries, and the conscience of us all everywhere who believe that journalism, when practiced with conviction and bravery, can change the world.