Skip to main content

Modus operandi (5 March 2006 People's Journal editorial)

WHEN the nation’s top cop hurled a threat to take over the operations of newspapers that won’t bow-wow-wow to government standards of reportage during a national emergency, a lot of grizzled editors wished that he made good his threats.

Why, we and readers at large could use some of the flinty operatives in the force—preferably those fully versed in tactical interrogation and extracting confessions from felons—to break news from certain beats. We expect ‘em tough cops to bring gung-ho freshness, maybe a few gallons of raw blood to reportage.

Readers can expect the more ruthless cops to turn up more sense and sanity in, say, entertainment news. Let ‘em cops grill those stars and celebrities, sock ‘em with tough and gritty questions—enough of lies and nonsense that clutter a lot of entertainment news.

“Sa presinto ka na lang magpaliwanag!” Isn’t that refreshing to hear as a star is handcuffed and hauled off for an interview? Boy, we’d like ‘em cops versed in tactical interrogation to have a go at Garci and Pidal. “Sa presinto ka na lang magpaliwanag!” We expect that line to be told again and again to show business respondents who can only offer trivia and inanity.

Readers can hope for a more robust prose and gritty writing when cops do showbiz reportage—out with limp-wristed slants at non-stories, out with effiminate lingo that can infect readers nationwide. With new standards and writing guidelines in place, there’ll be sweeping changes in media and the nation’s mood.

To wield the pen is to be at war, goes the quote from Voltaire. And with a tougher breed of journalists pounding the news beats, prying out facts and confessions from usual suspects plus respondents here, there, and everywhere, readers can expect to smell whiffs of gunpowder and hear crisp reports. We’ll be getting no-nonsense news.

Then again, we must be dreaming and we could be dead wrong like lambs led to the slaughter.

The last time stewards from government were sent to shepherd our papers, those shepherds treated the papers like cows. Not sacred cows, no sir.

While piling up zillions of pogi points for the powers-that-be and Malacañang denizens, those shepherds turned out to have a fetish for teats and udders.

They turned our papers into milking cows.

Such was their modus operandi, no thanks for the mammary…

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Every single cell of my body's happy

I got this one from Carmelite Sisters from whose school three of my kids were graduated from. They have this snatch of a song that packs a fusion metal and liebeslaud beat and whose lyrics go like this: "Every single cell of my body is happy. Every single cell of my body is well. I thank you, Lord. I feel so good. Every single cell of my body is well." Biology-sharp nerds would readily agree with me in this digression... Over their lifetimes, cells are assaulted by a host of biological insults and injuries. The cells go through such ordeals as infection, trauma, extremes of temperature, exposure to toxins in the environment, and damage from metabolic processes-- this last item is often self-inflicted and includes a merry motley medley of smoking a deck a day of Philip Morris menthols, drinking currant-flavored vodka or suds, overindulgence in red meat or the choicest fat-marbled cuts of poultry and such carcass. When the damage gets to a certain point, cells self-de

ALAMAT NG TAHONG

SAKBIBI ng agam-agam sa kalagayan ng butihing kabiyak-- at kabiyakan, opo-- na nakaratay sa karamdaman, ang pumalaot na mangingisda ay napagawi sa paanan ng dambuhalang Waczim-- isang bathala na nagkakaloob sa sinuman anumang ibulwak ng bibig mula sa bukal ng dibdib. Pangangailangan sa salapi na pambili ng gamot ng kapilas-pusong maysakit ang nakasaklot sa puso ng matandang mangingisda. 'Di kaginsa-ginsa'y bumundol ang kanyang bangka sa paanan ng Waczim. Kagy at umigkas ang katagang kimkim noon sa kanyang dibdib: "Salapi!" Bumuhos ng salapi-- mga butil at gilit ng ginto-- mula papawirin. At halos umapaw sa ginto ang bangka ng nagulantang na mangingisda, walang pagsidlan ang galak, at walang humpay ang pasasalamat sa mga bathala. Nanumbalik ang kalusugan ng kabiyak ng mangingisda. At lumago ang kabuhayan, naging mariwasa ang magkapilas-puso na dating maralita. Nilasing ng kanyang mga dating kalapit-bahay ang mangingisda-- na hindi ikina

Wealth garden

‘TWAS CRUEL as smashing a budding green thumb: some years back, an abuela warned me about letting any clump of katigbi (Job’s tears or Coix lachrymal jobi for you botanists) from growing in our homeyard. That grass with rapier-like leaves that smelled of freshly pounded pinipig supposedly invited bad luck and sorrows—why, that biblical character Job wailed and howled a lot, didn’t he? (But was later rewarded with oodles of goodies, wasn’t he?) Then, I came across some arcane text that practically goaded folks to grow katigbi in their gardens—why, there’s a starchy kernel wrapped shut in the seed’s shiny coat. A handful or more of kernels could be cooked as porridge. Too, one could whisper a wish upon seven seed pods, throw ‘em pods in running water—a river or stream—and the wish would be granted! I was warned, too, about planting kapok or talisay trees right in the homeyard—these trees form a cross-like branching pattern. Pasang-krus daw ang bahay na kalapit sa puno ng kapok, tal