Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Travelling to a developing country can be good for your ego and here’s why: just being a foreigner makes you an expert. You might not have a clue what you’re doing, but that’s OK; being foreign is good enough to get you chat with a senior politician, a star turn as a guest lecturer or a good party invitation.
I had that experience yesterday. One of my trainees works for a daily newspaper in Gaza. They have attractive headquarters a couple of blocks away from where I’m teaching. He asked if I might come over one day and talk to a few editors about how we do things at Canadian newspapers.
So after class we strolled over and I was ushered into a large boardroom. People started filing in. Before long, the entire senior management of the paper was there, along with most of the reporters, editors and administrative staff, waiting to hear my wisdom. Now, I haven’t worked in a daily newspaper for many years, and I do very little print writing these days. But, hey, I’m a foreigner, so it’s all good.
The session was actually a lot of fun. The questions ranged from how a Canadian paper might handle a big story like the prisoner exchange, to what hours Canadian reporters usually work and how can you get Canadians interested in what’s happening in Gaza.
The answer to the last one is the same answer I’ve been giving my trainees. The outside world responds to good human interest stories, stories that make readers see that there are real people living here, people who have families, who struggle to get by, who have hopes for their children. What doesn’t work is angry attacks, bitter or one-sided stories masquerading as journalism.
It’s about the best argument I can make to my skeptical students. They believe in the pillars of journalism, but they aren’t so sure that sticking to them will get them anywhere. But I think that it may be the best way to serve their home. A well-told story wins more respect than a poorly told one.
The course is going very well, mostly because of the trainees. I’ve spent a lot of time engaging them in conversation and weaving in the lessons as the opportunities present themselves. They are an intelligent and curious lot and while they’re not yet persuaded by everything I have to say, they’re clearly thinking about it. Today we talked about how the same story can have a very different impact, depending on the angle you take. As I told them, it’s a good way to make the point you want to make and still have a balanced and fair story and avoid giving your opinion. If you see an injustice, write about it by showing how that injustice is hurting one person or one family. All the other elements of the story would be there, but angle you choose sets the tone.
It’s a welcoming group, and I see that friendliness outside the classroom. People always seem ready to talk or to help me out if they can. Today after class, I was looking for a place to buy local crafts and got lost. I stopped at a small pharmacy where the woman behind the counter immediately started asking me about myself and trying to figure out how to get me back on track. At that point a drug company rep who spoke good English walked in. He knew of a shop shop. “I’ll drive you there,” he said. A few minutes later he dropped me at the shop door with a friendly wave goodbye.
I walked back to the hotel as the sun was setting, watching people rush about at the end of their day. I bought some delicious little cookies from a bakery, and some dates fresh from the tree from a roadside peddler. It’s hard to believe I’ll be leaving this place in just a couple of days.
For more on the course, see the Birzeit University Media Development Center blog at
Gaza notes
I thought there was something a bit odd about the water coming out of my shower when I first arrived. It felt slippery. It took a day or two to realize why. It’s salty. This is a problem at many places around Gaza. Heavy use of water has apparently lowered the water table and let salty sea water seep in. Some areas are worse than others. You get used to it for showers or washing. For drinking, people get by with bottled water and filters fixed under the faucet.
A Spanish soccer fan would feel right at home here. Gazans – most Palestinians for that matter – are mad about soccer. And the two favourite teams are both Spanish: Real Madrid and Barcelona. You can see their pennants and flags for sale in the shops and when either team is playing, it’s a good excuse to drop everything and watch TV for a while.
It didn’t take me long to learn the Gaza handshake. People don’t just shake your hand, at least not the men. There’s a wind-up to it. You start with your arm out to the side, elbow bent, hand open. Then you swing it in front of you, meeting the other person’s hand with a bit of a slap. It’s so common, even little boys I’ve met do it.
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