words about words

The irony over the debate concerning what degree of free press and communication the government should tolerate in this country is that those that champion a short leash do so by expressing their opinions through that entity that they seek to diminish. However, despite the essential weakness of the argument for censorship, both sides of the dispute have influenced my opinion of media, shaping my interpretation of healthy communication. Experience and the act of growing up have fostered a desire to understand and act righteously in the profession of communication. Specifically, to come to terms with what “good” journalism means and whether one principle should overwhelm the rest.

The experiences that have most profoundly nurtured the principle that the press must be “free,” as the name implies, are my history classes. Over the years, my teachers at St. John’s Prep have shown me that in order for America to be, “a city upon a hill,” as John Winthrop had hoped, the transmission of language, whether via the internet or a newspaper, must exist and thrive. In contrast, experiences heightening my awareness of the trials of the outside world have forced me to consider the principle of regulation. In particular, one event, the release of troop positions by Geraldo Rivera, has impressed upon me an appreciation for the necessity of responsibility, especially when national security is concerned. Some might interpret this distinction, in which elements of both sides are important, as a conundrum. Rather, I advocate a degree of balance perpetuated by the individuals with the pen, not officials in Washington.

Many other experiences have led me to select communications as that area to which I desire to dedicate a significant portion of my energy. Besides those that have led me to an extremely basic interpretation of what good journalism is at heart, are those events that have led me to believe that the “good journalism” of which I speak finds itself tragically underrepresented within the world of words and professional interaction. For example, the book, War is a Force that Gives Us Meaning, by war correspondent Chris Hedges, details the reluctance of journalists to engage their subjects and actively pursue truth, their acceptance of the drivel that officials present to them rather than a conviction that they must dig deeper. A sense of social responsibility, fostered by public service and religious faith, motivates me to become one of those people that will replace these faux communicators of which Hedges speaks and fill the “proper” journalism void. __________ seems to me the perfect place to develop and refocus, if the exceptional teaching staff deems it necessary, my drive so that I will be prepared to do so. The School of Communications website maintains that it is, “dedicated to the proposition that the free flow of ideas and accurate information is vital to the development and improvement of democratic societies.” I wholeheartedly agree with this sentiment and look forward to the practical preparation _________ will provide me with during my tenure.

the essay

“Are you a punk?” teased the short Greek man with greasy black hair and a belly like Santa.

His smug look flattened me; my boss can be quite blunt.

I sucked air in through my clenched teeth and let out a light, “No.”

I gazed around the frustrating rectangular kitchen, from left to right: dishwashing machine, stretch of counter, refrigerators with salad plates inside, stoves, shelves with plates and bowls, another long stretch of pasty white counter, a rusty pizza oven and finally back around to my boss. The lights flickered meaninglessly. These surroundings were to me harsh silhouettes reminiscent of pointless endeavors to clean, clean, clean, to him a playground. I marveled at the grin he could maintain within the confines of my existence.

Jay, a fellow dishwasher, stood at the sink where we scrub the sautés. His fatigues, which included tight black denim shorts with a rip in the rear right pocket, an earring from which hangs a miniature handcuff and sharply spiked green hair, were a testament to a world that hardly seemed possible through the sweaty blur of manual labor. In a superficial sense, a sharp contrast between us was apparent; I sported beige corduroys, a collared shirt, and a tight, neat haircut. Our lives were united, however, in the struggle against the mundane.

This struggle, for me, began after studying Henry David Thoreau and his time at Walden. Before this, the obnoxiously mellow work environment that I visited a few times a week had seemed normal. After, as his ink permeated my essence, the industrial, impersonal, pointless obtuseness was almost too much to handle. My initial reading of Thoreau’s work led me to new perspective on life’s context. Furthermore, the abstract thought process summed up by Emerson’s phrase, “When you waste time, you injure eternity,” carried over into the practical sphere of reality.
Facing, now, my pillow-faced boss and considering the tireless motion of my hands under running water, I considered my work. Everything natural now seemed vastly superior to the mechanisms and tiles, to the “railroad” that was riding us in the dark kitchen of an Italian restaurant. My conscience sighed at all the missed opportunities that the humming dishwashing machine was stealing from me. The drudgery of this job was leading me to a life of “quiet desperation.” I thought to myself, “God lives in the moment.”

In a moment of haste and truth, I cast off my apron and thus resisted personal devolution. The ever-so-reliant grass that smells of a child growing up, the thrilling wind that whistles past our ears like air passing swiftly over a jet’s wing and the soggy bark of the termite-infested oak in the woods of Everywhere, USA summoned me forth from the cave of blank expressions.

ah...

"And I think I believe that, if stones could dream, they’d dream of being laid side-by-side, piece-by-piece, and turned into a castle for some towering queen they’re unable to know. And when that queen’s daughter came of age, I think she’d be lovely and stubborn and brave, and suitors would journey from kingdoms away to make themselves known."