Yesterday’s news had me crying on my couch. Today, I woke up wanting to write something on it. I have no solution … no real outline to a point … but just a feeling that I’m sure all journalists around the world have right now. Our fellows have been murdered. The sadness I carry for that is immense.
The world is not a scary place. I say that constantly. And that’s what my field of journalism aims to illustrate. As travel writers, we work to inspire people to leave what they know behind … to go out and make connections. Travel should not only change the traveler, but the lives of those one comes in contact with while roaming.
In my field of journalism, we sell “far far away.” We pedal beauty, romance and a firm line that the world is not a scary place. I still believe that this morning. My work remains devoted to my desire to create friends out of strangers and to inspire others to cast off for faraway places.
In those offices at Charlie Hebdo, they pedaled in humor, in politics, in satire. They fused sketched lines with biting snark … a flourish of ink with the power of laughter, absurdity and vulgarity. They convinced people to smirk instead of scream at the frustrating things in life. To take the very, very serious … well … way less seriously. When threatened, they pressed on. They are incredible heroes, and we lost some of the world’s best journalists and some of our best humans yesterday.
The Charlie Hebdo assault effects all journalists, everywhere. It’s clear that those of us working in safe regions, in softer journalism fields – who’ve always considered ourselves cowards in comparison to the field reporters – are now being targeted.
Journalism demands some level of bravery no matter what field you work in. You have to be willing to put yourself out there for the masses. People spew hate at you in comment boxes, even if you’re only talking about hot dogs. I know. It’s happened to me plenty.
But the scariest truth is, we are living in time where lives are being snuffed out in democratic countries. At their desks. Those quirky, intelligent, peace-loving humans were surrounded on a Wednesday, not by bombs and tanks, but by coffee cups and friends. They were gunned down all the same.
There is no simple solution to this fundamentalist, religion-gone-awry crisis that we face.
To stop this type of hatred, this attempt to silence free speech and free thought, we are all going to have to get involved. You can’t send an army to effectively fight this. You can’t even pray for peace, because it’s just too damn ironic. Prayer has largely gotten us into this mess in the first place.
We are all Charlie. We are. We are all capable of holding up a pen in some way … of creating words, art, music, and expressions that unite, heal and inspire amity. That’s how we need to fight. To retaliate. I hope the leaders will take this avenue to heart, instead of answering with more bloodshed.
The pen is mightier than the sword, but will we all remember this as 12 journalists and two policemen go to ground and the months pass on? Will we pick up sharp instruments, hateful hearts, and bids for retribution? Or will we live by that singular point that Charlie Hebdo excelled at so well.
My wish for the world this morning is Charlie Hebdo’s wish. That we can stop taking religion and politics so seriously that our need to be right clouds our vision, leaving everyone blind.
Mark Twain once wrote, “Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the Earth all one’s lifetime.”
I’ve always believed that. I’m proud to be a journalist this morning. Travel writing isn’t brave, but, perhaps, it’s powerful. I’m going to marinate on that tomorrow as I fly over to Southeast Asia to meet lovely people, who live lives very different from my own. I will see you in a few months, America.
In my heart … Je Suis Charlie. 
Well put! Explore, enlighten, fight bigotry and ignorance and most of all over-seriousness! There is nothing serious about this world, it is a farce, with farcical people in it who think they are overly important. But it is still a lovely and beautiful farcical world. Pen away the fear out of peoples heart, one article at a time! We will make them see how serious we are about not being serious!
Amen. I think life should be taken less seriously whenever possible. The point is to smile, to make others smile, to leave a legacy that will continue happiness, learning and understanding. It’s why i cover travel and not the AIDS epidemic or the ebola crisis, I suppose
Miss you ralf!
Jenny, your thoughts about travel and openness and tolerance are beautiful and inspired. Your observations about the horrible event in France are suffused with the righteous indignation all journalists have to feel after they have been targeted directly or indirectly. (And, really, all of us who treasure the right to explore and analyze and say what we think.)
Thanks so much, Nan. I think we all consider ourselves a clan – no matter what type of writing we do … it’s just hard to write for a living. It links us all together like a band of struggling introverts, from war reporters to bloggers who cover cocktails. And I felt this attack differently than many of the others. In reality, 30 soliders died in yemen on the same day trying to cross a border. Which is 30 lives lost compared to 12. Learning that it made me stop and think about why this Paris attack was effecting me so much … and for me, at the heart of it, all journalists carry words like weapons. We love them like our kids and to not be able to use them freely is a horrifying thought. Struck a cord, i guess. I felt like my co-workers in a larger sense had been targeted. Hard times we live in but also exciting. Thanks for your comments.