On Critical ("Attack") Journalism:

I sit in the middle of mounds of readings and homework and pressing responsibilities, graduate school research, applications and scholarship paperwork, and the extra, gleaming books which promise that to read them carefully is to make me sharper, make me more relevant in the institution that I love.

And then, when I begin to read and to work I fall inside the work and wake up and remember: it is the work that I love, it is this, these, these bright nuggets of insight and intuition, theory and opinion that make me light up inside, and it's no longer work, even when it makes me tired. It's a way of life.

Shall I share?...

"American television critic Jeff Greenfield has identified a sub-species of reporters that he calls the "killer" journalist, journalists who seek to enhance their own reputations by beating up on politicians..."

And in Canada:

"By imposing unrealistic expectations on government, journalists helped to enlarge the private sector and the values that went along with it. The private sector, of course, was not subject to the same scrutiny by the press.

It can also be argued that negative reporting has created a kind of self-fulfilling prophecy. Many good people are discouraged from entering public life because they don't want themselves or their families exposed to the harsh, unflattering glare of the spotlight. As better people stay away, the quality of public life is diminished...

One wonders how many people would go into journalism if journalists had to endure the same intense scrutiny that they put politicians under, where their financial affairs, medical history, and sexual relationships could become public knowledge, their physical characteristics and mannerisms open to ridicule and where every mistake is likely to be pounced upon. People with a sense of dignity and need for privacy would go elsewhere."


From David Taras' "Canadian Journalists: From Servants to Power Brokers." The Newsmakers: The Media's Influence on Canadian Politics. Calgary: Nelson Canada, 1990. p. 61-63.

Reasons to run


Maybe I'm nine in the open field--
the small brown scruff lining
bases of bales
brush my flipflopped feet. I laugh.
My head is filled with colour,
motion, found at the edges.
Glints of gold in the hay. Clover. Fireflies
Hinted-at, or hidden in the grass.
I put my hands out: the wind
takes a clover-flower out of them, moving it
over the grass, to disappear. Light.
From the sky come mixed emotions:
a fading sunlight, rushing cloud, a streak
of dark that could be night. I stop.
I let the silence or the wind
anchor me to the ground. Under my feet,
uncomfortable with hay
and under the field itself
lies the fixity of the land: a tether. Or
a reason to pick up and run. I run!
Over the clambering stubble and the
unplowed dirt, the lowering sky, and I
find my way out, letting the stable earth
push me away.



**Inspired by Gallagher's "Sudden Journey"