Thanks, Rotary!

Rotarian!

Just a quick note…

Recently I wrote the Rotary club to thank them for a college scholarship, awarded during my senior year of high school.  When money was tight, the club helped me get to the University of Idaho.  I wrote to update them on my life and to show I used the opportunity they afforded.

They put my story into first-person form, and published it in their magazine.  Check it out! (opens in a new window)

I always try to thank people who have helped me, and try to do their kindness justice by doing my best.  Thanks Rotary International!

Audio Dispatch: Lake Constance

Top of the world

Editor’s Note: This is another in a series of sound-rich portraits of European cities and sites.  In this episode, I try to capture the feel of Lake Constance, and a visit to an Austrian town at the foot of a mountain.

The waves of Lake Constance act as sentries on the border of Switzerland, Germany and Austria.  The region around the Bodensee (as German-speakers call it) is so integrated that ferry companies from all three countries merged to save costs, and share their international resources.  But Lake Constance also has the benefit of sitting in the shadows of respectable mountains—meaning one can sail, lounge by the lake and hike up a mountain in one trip.  And that’s just what I did.  Here is my trip to Lake Constance…

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The “American” Problem

US Shoreline

One thing an American journalist, in theory, can be without fear is an American; a civic-minded, well-informed citizen.  Again in theory, journalists need not fear having patriotic tendencies, or overall pride in one’s community.  That pride or patriotism doesn’t prevent cynicism, skepticism, or displeasure with that same community, of course.  In my opinion that mixture of pride and skepticism is what helps fill a journalist-sized hole in society—we are the ones who see the darkest souls and brightest angels our communities nurture or neglect, and we are the ones who can shine a brighter light on the virtue and vice.

Young journalists are warned to be careful of their associations before they’ve sharpened their first pencils for their first scoops.  “Be careful of clubs you join” or “If you are covering a political rally, don’t leave pamphlets on your dashboard” are not uncommon pearls thrown to the rookie reporter.  The reason is straight-forward enough: a journalist shouldn’t associate in a way which might question the integrity of his or her journalism.  Even the perception of bias could corrupt the public view of all subsequent coverage by that reporter, with justification or without. Being an American, though, well that’s just okay.

So what happens when an American reporter can’t be “American” without hesitation?  What happens when a journalist has to tread lightly with one’s patriotism?

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Exploring the Egelsee

Just through there..
To cross into the canton (state) of Aargau from our place, requires a steep hike into a bipolar universe.  Our still somewhat suburban setting morphs quickly into mixed agriculture–cows, chickens, greenhouses, orchards.  Just as quickly, as we hike higher toward the Egelsee lake, the houses become larger and more ornate; the cars become more high-priced; the views become enviable.

Our Swiss neighbors asked us once if we had yet visited the Egelsee, and we hadn’t.   “A shame,” the neighbors implied, with a disappointed verbal gauntlet thrown for us to venture into a dark wood to find a cherished lake.  We didn’t know what to expect from Egelsee–literally  translated to “Leech Lake.”  Legend says its bottom holds ruins of a castle, and its dark water has swallowed many a person.  With those warming thoughts, how could we have not yet visited the lake?

“A shame” indeed.

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Swiss Spring has sprung (with pollen)

Beautiful but sneeze-inducing
Phoenix was said to be a place to cure ailments, just by its natural climate.  The high-Sonora desert was so dry, and the wide-open spaces so inviting, that residents packed into no-man’s land to be healed.  With all of these people came pollution, and now days there are times when people should not leave their air conditioned homes for risk of breathing the dirty air.

Zurich, like much of Switzerland, has been plagued by dryness this year, in what some have called a European drought of the century.  (I am sure they mean the last 100 years, and not just the last 11 years of this century.)  That dryness, combined with flowers, trees, plants, animals, people, has puffed so much pollen, perfume, and cigarette puffing, that I have been on a non-stop sneeze fest.

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Analysis: The state of journalism and multiculturalism in German public radio

Journalism's changing

Editor’s Note:  This is a personal narrative and commentary about German public radio, and multiculturalism therein, based on my experience in the last years.  I offer my observations, suggestions, and hopes, perhaps to prompt further thought or consideration from journalists and newsreaders alike.  Warning..this is a long one! A version of this is found in my book Kneading Journalism.

“You have no idea what you are talking about, Luka*.“  The small Greek colleague pushed a harshly dismissive comment toward Luka, incensing something primal in the latter.  I had not yet met this colleague, after all I was just considered a Praktikant, an intern, a visitor, a stranger and kept more or less to myself unless prompted.  I sat at the back corner of the meeting table in a German editorial meeting.

“How do you know what I have an idea about?” Luka shot back in his thick accent—Bosnian or Hungarian, I wasn’t quite sure.  The other members of this multi-cultural editorial staff shifted their eyes nervously, some chuckled, not sure what to do.  I stopped moving all-together, frozen in a pose for observation: my posture slouched, my chin buried in my hands, my eyes fixed.  A discussion about refugees from Eastern Europe quickly turned heated.

“You don’t know what the refugees need.  You don’t know who they are, or what they are doing.”  The Greek colleague looked sure of himself, almost taunting the situation to escalate.  A soft winter light shone in through the windows behind me, and story ideas pinned to a tack board fluttered slightly.

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Travel to Baselworld

Sell watches
Baselworld is very much like another planet, rather than the biggest watch, jewelry and gem trade show in the world.  I consider myself very much an “everyman.” Despite interviewing the occasional CEO, or having access to industries or decision-makers, I am and likely always will be firmly in the middle-class.  “Middle class” at Baselworld probably amounts to being able to afford a watch worth chf 20,000.  (Read: not me)
In the first minutes of my first excursion to Baselworld I held a wrist watch backed in Titanium worth chf 87,000 before tax.  I was nervous to hold it, until a salesman ran toward me with his newest gimmick–an analog watch with intricate mechanics to allow blackjack and roulette.  The price?  “About chf 160,000,” he said coolly. Not my middle class, I thought.

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