NOTES FROM THE BUS

It’s early Saturday morning and I stagger onto a bus with about 40 journalists, most of whom are hung over. I’m not hung over, but I certainly look and feel like it.

We’re going to tour New Orleans’s 9th Ward and St. Bernard Parish. Both neighborhoods were devastated by floods following Hurricane Katrina in 2005. I’m uneasy about the tour. I interviewed countless evacuees when I was working for a television station in Texarkana. Some of their stories haunt me to this day. Now I’m on vacation, and I’m concerned their misery is being used for my entertainment.

Perhaps I’m making too much of this. After all, I’m a journalist. We’ve got a license to rubberneck. We pull over at horrific traffic accidents and start taking pictures. We walk up to people who have just lost a loved one and ask, “How do you feel?” Why should this be any different? Well, technically, I’m off duty. So that’s different. I feel guilty, but not so guilty that it keeps me from getting on the bus… with a camera.

Our bus eases down Canal Street, and an oppressively cheery tour guide explains how high the water hit various buildings. There are spray paint markings on various buildings left by National Guard troops, but the neighborhoods seem only a little worse for the wear.
Then we hit the 9th Ward. It is mostly deserted. Thick stands of weeds conceal the concrete slabs where homes once stood. I’m later told this represents progress. Not too long ago, the area was dotted with debris piles larger than most houses. Those have been cleaned up, and in their place is nothing. Whole blocks have been completely cleared of homes. Others have one or two homes looking fresh and rebuilt, dropped into a sea of weeds.
St. Bernard Parish is in slightly better shape, but that’s not saying much. Small community stores are open, but the area’s big box retailers still stand derelict in the middle of giant, empty parking lots.We stop at a high school and the principal tells us harrowing stories about the days that followed the flooding. Later the directors of the St. Bernard Project tell us about the army of volunteers who have rebuilt more than 100 homes in the parish.

They all begin and end their remarks by thanking us for coming to their neighborhood to view the destruction and rebuilding process. They’re worried they’re being forgotten as newer natural disasters grab the popular attention.
Implicit in their welcome is the understanding that we will go out and tell the world what we’ve seen. But it’s hard to know just what to say. By all accounts, things are much better than they were even a few months ago. More than half the population has returned to New Orleans and St. Bernard Parish. The work of the volunteers in these communities is substantial and helps restore my confidence in mankind.

But underneath it all is a lingering sense of despair and disbelief. Three years later, and this is all we could fix? Really? The country that brought you the Marshall Plan and the Berlin Airlift can’t get homes rebuilt on its own home turf? The country that can find 340 million dollars per day to fight the Iraq War can’t find the money to get New Orleans back on its feet?

I know it’s not that simple. Between private property rights and insurance and multiple layers of government, the scene I see outside of the bus as we head back to the hotel is a product of thousands of small individual choices that somehow add up to something larger. I know this. But that’s still no excuse for what’s happening, or more accurately, what’s not happening.

So what to make of this? What to say about this scene before me? There’s likely nothing I can add that hasn’t been stated more eloquently by the people who live in New Orleans and lived through the storm and its aftermath.

But I’ve still got an implicit promise to keep to the people I’ve seen and heard: the promise that I would write about them in whatever forum I write for (in my case, this little ol’ blog).

So I’ll post a few admittedly weak photos taken from a moving bus and pass along the message I’ve heard time and again down here. It’s a simple yet somewhat contradictory message.

First, New Orleans is back, please come visit. Second, New Orleans is nowhere close to being rebuilt and the trauma and sorrow continues three years later. Third, please don’t forget us.

After what I’ve seen, I doubt I ever will.

WHY I LOVE "THE ECONOMIST"

In an article on circumcision, the headline:

"Cutting the Competition"

Then the subhead:

"Mutilating male members may mar men's mischievous matings"

Brilliant. Just brilliant.

9/11 +6, TAKE 2

UPDATE: The video described in this post can now be found here.

All my snarky attempts at ironic Gen-X detachment this September 11th did me no good whatsoever.

I realized this while putting together a story at work today. I was out covering the annual September 11th commemoration in Medford. Each year, about a hundred firefighters put on full gear (which weighs about 50 pounds) and climb the stairs at Rogue Valley Manor, the tallest building in Medford (I think).

Once at the top, the firefighters hold a short memorial service, have a moment of silence, and head back downstairs for a barbecue. I covered the story last September 11th, so there weren’t any surprises, but I still found the ceremony a moving tribute to the firefighters who died in the Twin Towers six years ago.

Where things broke down was in the edit bay. I was looking over footage of the firefighters huddled together during their moment of silence. They were kneeling together with their heads bowed, then a bagpipe began playing “Amazing Grace.” When the music started, the firefighters stood up and began walking in various directions.

When I taped this moment (reporters shoot their own stories in small markets), I didn’t pay much attention to it. I was more worried about proper framing and holding my shot steady. But watching the footage in the edit bay, I noticed the pained expressions on the firefighter’s faces as they walked away. The last one to walk out of the frame was a large man, about 6’ 3”, 230 pounds. He was carrying an axe. (The video is online and can be seen here.)

I don’t know what it was about that image, but it moved me. In truth, I have no idea what that firefighter was thinking or feeling as I shot that video. But as I watched the footage of him walking away, it occurred to me that this guy devotes a large portion of his life to helping other people. If I was in a burning building, he’d be the kind of person who would run inside to try and save me.

Then it occurred to me that someone killed hundreds of people like that one terrible day six years ago. And the horror of that moment, the helpless feeling I had watching the whole thing unfold from a Prague hotel room, it all came flooding back. I closed the edit bay door and put my head in my hands and sorrowed over the wretchedness of humanity.

It’s six years later, and there’s still no “why.” And there’s still no healing. And I just want it to be over… to move on. But it’s still there, and it’s not going away any time soon. And all my pithy comments won’t change a thing.

EAT IT, BEAUMONT!

First, a little background. Nielsen Media generates ratings for TV stations across America. They send out diaries, people fill them out, and Nielsen determines how many people are watching your station. It's an imperfect system but, oh well.

They also carve up the nation into Designated Market Areas, or DMAs. There are 210 DMAs in the US. New York City is #1, Glendive, Montana is #210. If you work in TV, you generally want to work in the biggest DMA you can. The bigger the market, the more money you make.

Nielsen adjusts its DMA rankings each year to reflect population changes and the 2007 results are in and I'm pleased to announce that I no longer work in market #141. Medford is now market #140, replacing Beaumont, TX. And watch out, Topeka, Kansas, we're after you next.

And, on behalf of all my colleagues in the news business, allow me to request a retroactive pay increase. It only seems right that we start making market #140 money. 141 cash just won't due.

RADIO GA GA

I've really been nothing short of a selfish bastard for the last 5 months. Back in March, I stumbled upon the podcast of a program called Radio Lab, and I haven't shared it with you. I've listened to more than a dozen episodes now, and I firmly believe it is the best program ever broadcast on radio.

That's really saying something right now. While traditional over-the-air commercial radio is so awful I can't bring myself to listen to it, public radio has been creating some great programming. And with the advent of podcasting, anyone with an Internet hookup has access to great shows from all over the world. On my iPod right now I've got Australian shows on brain science and sound art, a music nerd talk show out of Chicago, weekly drum and bass mixes from the UK, and, of course, the biggest radio nerd show of them all, This American Life.

But Radio Lab stands out even among this distinguished company. The show is about science and builds on the basic This American Life storytelling platform. You could call it This Scientific American Life. But while TAL takes an abstract idea or notion and invites a variety of writers to do stories on that subject, Radio Lab takes things in a different direction.

Hosts Jad Abumrad and Martin Krulwich take a concept like time, or morality, or memory and then launch a one hour exploration on the subject. But the result is much deeper and richer than that simple explanation can provide. Abumrad and Krulwich have a talent for taking mind bogglingly complex subjects and making them interesting and accessible.

But Radio Lab is out for more than mere edutainment... they're out to solve all the mysteries of Life, the Universe, and Everything in the course of 60 minutes. And what's amazing is that they almost succeed. A program on zoos reveals insights on materialism and happiness. An exploration of space becomes a moving story about enduring love. Music is even found in a looped sample of an audio recording. Every episode contains a jaw-dropping, mind-bending, pull-your-car-off-the-side-of-the-road-and-listen-more-closely moment.

As a matter of fact, I wouldn't listen in your car at all. Instead, get out some headphones. The show is expertly edited and a good set of headphones helps bring out all the details.

My only complaint with the show is that there isn't enough of it. They make about 5 per year for reasons I don't understand. But there are about 15 episodes available either via iTunes or on the show's website, and they are all excellent examples of what can happen when radio is in the hands of intelligent, creative, and curious people. I recommend it as highly as I possibly can.

INDEPENCENCE DAY

About a week ago, I put a photo of Alan Johnston on my sidebar. I got the idea from another blog I read. The BBC reporter was kidnapped in Gaza four months ago. More than 200,000 people signed a petition calling for his release and bloggers all over the world included his picture on their pages.

Johnston was released yesterday. I feel a little foolish writing about this, because I was a little late to the game in paying attention to Johnston's fate. After the Daniel Pearl murder, stories of kidnapped journalists are more than I can stomach.

I can only imagine what Johnston's family has been going through for the last four months. Julie gets concerned if I stand out in the sun too long while reporting a story. When I drove a treacherous mountain road to cover the James Kim search, it made the woman I love very unhappy.

I don't want to draw too many parallels between myself and Mr. Johnston. Yes, we're both journalists, but I'm the equivalent of a McDonald's fry chef in the business, and Mr. Johnston is working at Spago. (But I make excellent fries, don't get me wrong.) My job isn't all that dangerous, although a guy did threaten to kill me and a photographer once. But Alan Johnston's job was extremely dangerous.

Gaza is probably the toughest beat for any western journalist. As a matter of fact, he was the only western journalist who was even trying to report full time from there. When an assignment is that difficult and that dangerous, a news director won't send you there unless you volunteer.

So I am glad to hear he's safe and free and heading for a reunion with his family. Even us lowly fry chefs have reason to be proud of him today.

MORE PROFILES IN COURAGE

An MSNBC anchor, who apparently reads this blog and does whatever I say, refuses to read a Paris Hilton story on air.

It feels a bit staged to me, but I give her credit for at least trying to comply with my wishes.

PROFILES IN COURAGE

I appears the editor of US Weekly reads this blog and took up my challenge to ignore Paris Hilton. She explains her decision in Slate Magazine, and she even stole my headline from more than a week ago... which I stole from a pretty forgettable Billy Crystal movie/NBA promo released 12 years ago.

Bravo, US Weekly, bravo.

HOLIDAY REMINDER

April 4th is "Hug a Newsman Day." I don't know who declared it or why, but I know it is the most important day on the calendar.

So please, within the next 24 hours, hug your favorite newsman. Or me.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU, IRAQ WAR!

First off, apologies for neglecting this space for the past two weeks. My schedule hasn’t permitted much writing lately, but there is “product in the pipeline” as the “industry types” “say.” For now, I offer up something I wrote on the eve of the Iraq war. I was in Washington DC interning at CNN when the war started. (At the time, I didn’t want to name the organization, for obvious reasons.)

With the war’s birthday just past, it seems a good time to revisit.

Originally printed March 12, 2003

Well, it’s final, we’re going to war. Technically, it’s not really final. The United Nations will do some voting and the French will stomp their feet and the protesters will do some marching, but it’s really a moot point. We’re going to war.

If you saw President Bush’s press conference last Thursday, he said the final decision had not yet been made about military action against Iraq. But he smirked every time he said it, so you knew he was lying. The decision has been made, the troops are in place, the news stations have their cameras in the best locations. We’re going to war.

At Unnamed News Organization (hereafter referred to as UNO), the 24-hour news channel where I’m interning, we’re in full war mode. After Thursday’s presidential news conference, (in which the Washington Post described Bush as appearing “medicated”), several UNO reporters were informed they were leaving for Kuwait. Plans were unveiled for elongated work schedules once the war begins. Somewhere, someone was composing the theme song for the new war.

Those who are to remain in Washington have been issued protective suits in case of chemical attack. We interns were not issued protective suits; we perform the important “canary in the coal mine” function. If the interns keep dropping dead, the reporters know it’s not safe to take off the chemical suits.

People in the newsroom disagree about just when the war will start. The U.N. vote on the second resolution is on March 17, and most expect the war will start shortly after that. A few reporters think the United States will try to “shock and awe” Iraq by striking a day or so before March 17. One guy actually thinks we’re just posturing and we’re not going to war at all. UNO is putting him on a plane to Kuwait next week.

Those of us in the prestigious UNO intern corps are divided about the war. Most interns at UNO are the kind of bleeding-heart lefty peaceniks you’d expect to find in journalism. As you can imagine, most of us oppose the war. But there’s one catch: Being a news intern during a war looks great on your resume, so we all have something to gain by the U.S. going to war. That’s right, if our government kills thousands of people on the other side of the world, it will help us advance professionally.

This, I’m learning, is one of the great dilemmas of journalism. The worse things are, the better your job is. When there is relative peace and there’s not much going on, journalists have to do stories on stupid things like El Nino or what the president does with his cigars. Journalists make their reputations covering war, disasters, and mass murders. The worse the story, the better it is professionally for the journalist, assuming the story doesn’t personally affect the reporter.

So the march to war is on, and the careers of many journalists may be made or ruined by what happens in the next month. Back in the UNO newsroom, we’re taking bets on what the war will be called. Some think it will be called the “Iraq War,” while others figure the war will spread and be named the “Middle East War.” I nose into the debate by saying it will be called “Gulf War II: Electric Boogaloo.”

After everyone stops laughing at that hilarious joke I’ve told 1,000 times before, someone offers another possible name: World War III.

We all get uncomfortable and go back to our desks.