| of Pino Scaccia |
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| There are pieces annoying to write. The story of Birch, already. I will not merit because I'm not used to make judgments on colleagues who do so must surely take the right decision. I do so for many years that the reporter is not a virgin and I know well, even up close, relations with the secret services. We say that there is a big difference between a journalist and give information (especially if paid), but it is a speech that maybe we will again. What I would like now, and trouble me precisely, is to take care of that meal that literally massacred just kidnapped Enzo Baldoni (you know, we were together and understand the distinguished colleague if I take it personally). With anxiety in the family had the shamelessness of assuming a autorapimento mocked. Beyond the taste sound strange today his words on that occasion: "The intelligence experts Atlantic have many doubts about the whole affair. The face of the prisoner does not show up for the inevitable contraction Who is on the brink of the abyss. Do not look around to Italian masked gunmen. It could be a play . "You know, now that we know of relations with intelligence experts Atlantic is almost laughable. (Recorded indispensable Farina has publicly admitted to having collaborated with the Free Sismi, indeed it claims). The same Mr Deputy will be back a week later, however, plenty of describing in detail, only he, the barbaric murder of Enzo. Oh, not a journalist but maybe the man could escape even a very small regret for those words unjust, but nothing, reporter all in one piece. Not even a tear. Yet in the letter to the editor this morning wants to show that they have a soul. The attack is a pearl and gives much thought. Text: "When did the fourth world war, one waged by Osama Bin Laden in the name of Islam against the West and cross-jew, I was animated by heroic. (...) My ambition has always been unconsciously that of Karol Wojtyla: he died in travel, I on the front, perhaps in Iraq or Qatar. They are also immodest in comparison. Vanity and involvement of the mutual, unconscious, but I thought, throwing all. You already know of my adventures in Serbia on a knife-risk, sure to be able to tell things better but if it can resolve the problems of the world. Have you ever tried to reason with me, to hold me. Then usually you surrender: I can not conceive any other way to be a journalist. I remember your outburst when I went near Iraq without telling you anything, and in most writing an article about headhunters of a Bulgarian truck driver near the scene of the crime . Let's start with the approach to the Pope? Or the confusion in the theater of war? In Iraq you can die, or rather you die, so many reporters have died because there are gone. In Qatar no, to the maximum you can die of boredom as I have told many colleagues had to spend months in the paradise of Doha. But here's the pearl of pearls: " I remember your outburst when I went to Iraq without telling you anything near . When he had gone near Iraq. You see, went near Iraq. But that heroic act. Near. People like us, and we are many, that within Iraq there 'for months and has been physically located between two fires, one aberrant Islamic terrorists and that American arrogance, what is it? More than heroes, martyrs are in this profession. Think, we went there to tell what was happening. Not close, inside. To understand, not through a phone call away to National, but with the courage to look with your own eyes. We professional journalists e magari qualche freelance curioso e coraggioso come Enzo che addirittura ci va gratis. Pensate, noi due quel giorno che andiamo a Najaf per vedere da vicino perché un giovane pazzo furioso come al Sadr aveva deciso di fare la guerra a tutto e a tutti. Sentirsi una bomba sotto il sederino, tremare insieme in una stradina cieca per le cannonate. Sul filo del rischio... Finalmente forse ho capito quel pezzaccio di Farina contro Enzo. Invidia, semplicemente invidia. Perché per andare lì, e non prometterlo a parole, ci vogliono le palle. Solo le palle. |
