Introduction
I was in second grade when in an essay titled 'What I will do when I grow up', I wrote that I would become a journalist and a writer. This decision was reaffirmed when a couple of years later, a book by Oriana Fallaci about the Vietnam War came into my hands. The book was titled Nothing and So Be It, and on the cover was a black-and-white photo of Oriana in pigtails and a military helmet. 'I want to be that, I remember thinking, and I have not changed my mind since.
I devoured old movies and books on journalism and journalists, read everything that came my way, whether it was age-appropriate or not. Books, magazines and newspapers have been the best and most cherished companions of my childhood and teenage, when I was living in a small town in the South of Italy, dreaming only to leave and explore the world. Oddly enough, I was never interested in the "glamour" part of journalism, and I never thought for a moment about doing anything other than taking a plane or a train, going to a place and reporting-immersing myself in places where life and people were different from what I knew.
"The Elsewhere"-places unexplained or insufficiently explained. Places I longed to understand. Places where things were happening but were rarely spoken about, or when they were, it was poorly and superficially at least in Italy. Albert Londres' phrase that opens this book. "The only line that a journalist is required to follow is the railway line" has always been my mantra. So too, did Londres' reportage inspire me and continues to inspire me even today. It is so even now, when this line of work has become internationally something completely different, and for me, frankly, alien. When before reporting or writing you have to adhere to the social and political agenda of the editorial board, and to the now ubiquitous "political correctness". When your articles are scrutinised especially in most Anglo-Saxon newspapers-not just for factual accuracy, but for the appropriateness of language and expressed opinions. When prestigious prizes are awarded to news inventors because the scrutiny is not necessarily done on the truth of a story, but for how carefully the narratives are conveyed. All this means that there is a problem. In the modern world, a masterpiece like Truman Capote's In Cold Blood would never have been published or appreciated, just as the journalists who broke the Watergate scandal would not have passed the scrutiny of virtuous verifiers demanding impeccably cross-referenced sources.
Years ago, a colleague trying to insult me, told me that I had an "ethical conception" of journalism that was outdated and not in keeping with today's world. All these and more, stories and reflections that would have little to do with this book, however, came back to me when I published my articles on Balakot. The reactions triggered by the publication of my stories, taught me a lot. About the way this work is done nowadays.
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