Just what do I do, Anyway?

I find it funny and telling when people sneer about "the media". Especially when they sneer about it to me, a member of it.

Most people would never mention to their dentist any belief about a possible connection between their child's expensive braces and the doctor's new car, but no one spares much concern or contempt for my profession. Which is cool, since, as a journalist, I prefer openness and honesty.

As newspapers shut down their presses and the future of TV news continues to be debated by the CRTC, a curtain was pulled back recently on journalism as a whole in this country, courtesy of one Ezra Levant, who has previously testified under oath in court that he's not a reporter, but who insists he is one when it comes to his attendance at news events at the Alberta legislature.

The Rachel Notley government admits it made a mistake banning Levant from its newswers. They weren't wrong, entirely, but it was a mistake to give Levant any fodder for his ongoing smearing of anyone with whom he disagrees, or with whom he is paid to disagree.

The imbroglio has raised the question of just what constitutes journalism in a free and pluralistic society like ours, and there have been various and sundry answers, the most oft-quoted one being, "if you say you're a journalist, you are are one". That's as good an answer as any, since there are no rules governing journalism, only traditions, which are in the midst of massive change.

I am profoundly uncomfortable lumping myself in with the likes of Levant as a journalist.
And yet we are both journalists, and here's the secret about why: there is no such thing.

My electrician husband had to do an apprenticeship over the course of several years, and then take a licensing exam before he was genuinely an electrician. Before becoming teachers, my teacher friends had to take a year of college, for which they were eligible only after achieving high enough marks in an undergraduate degree. The plumber who unclogs the poop in your pipes has years of training, a certification exam and a college that can take away his licence if he does a bad job and collects enough complaints.

But we journalists, we who put information and ideas into your head, we need no credentials to do so: no high school diploma, no degree, no licence; there is no governing body, and there isn't even a requirement to display good grammar or syntax, not officially. Unofficially, a degree helps, and so does good syntax and grammar, along with the art of cold calling and being a fearless questioner. But there are no legal or otherwise 'real' requirements, and certainly not if the outlet of your reportage is your very own website, blog or podcast.

Here's another secret: generally, news conferences are open to the public, because we journalists, well, we ARE the public. Nothing more or less, not really.

Journalists act as surrogates for you, Mister and Missus John Q Public, asking the questions you might ask if you had the time or inclination to ask them. We provide information you don't have time to collect for yourself, and in my case, packaging it for you top and bottom of the hour as you get ready for your day.

We find out stuff, some of the very serious ones among us ferreting out information about corruption and graft, others us trying to provide for you some information that will have an impact on you or that might interest you, whether that impact is on your wallet, your heart or your mind, or even if the interest is in your neighbour's kids.

We go to town and township council meetings and tell you what happened, but we also meet with the proprietors of new businesses and talk with the organisers of events and activities. I arrive at work each day aiming to tell you what you need to know as the day goes by, and I try to entertain you a little bit at the same time.

Levant doesn't seem to be interested in edification. He seems to follow the likes of radio shock jocks in the US like Rush Limbaugh or Ann Coulter, in whose commentary high volume and repetition generally take the place of demonstrable facts. Levant used to have one of those ranting shows on Sun TV until the channel shut down for lack of viewers. Now, he has a website, which may or may not have fewer viewers. He was and remains apoplectic at the election of an NDP government in Alberta, and has been railing about what he thinks is the Notley government's incompetence since before it was sworn in. His opinion of Justin Trudeau is even lower. He called Trudeau's father a "slut" on live television. The Sun network apologised, but Levant himself has not.

Levant's list of offensive remarks and half-truths is very, very long. And yet he calls himself a journalist, and this week, many other people who also call themselves journalists, backed him up.

Their reasoning was thus: if we start saying who is and who is not a journalist, and start getting rid of the rules surrounding the openness of our democratic institutions, then we're in the kind of trouble imagined in A Man For All Seasons, where Sir Thomas More argues about providing the devil with the same justice as the rest of us. We need to protect the devil just as much as ourselves, for the safety of all.

I'm tempted to agree, but part of me doesn't. Journalist poseurs trading in half-facts and sorta-truths should be called out.

The question is, who's going to do that job while the 'journalists' are busy trying to uncover the truth about everything else on your behalf? In an open and pluralistic society, citizens have responsibilities, too, and one of them is a little bit of critical thinking. Which, considering SunTV has shut down for lack of viewers and Levant is reduced to ranting on website, seems to be working out just fine here in Canada for now.

Careful What You Wish For

I've been a feminist since I was about 14 and picked up at my high school library Susan Brownmiller's amazing book, Femininity. I was a snaggletoothed, awkward and (I felt at the time), homely child, and had actually been looking for a guidebook to becoming more feminine. Instead, I picked up a polemic on the patriarchy and I was almost immediately a convert to the cause of gender equality. Oh, Irony, thy name is public education.

Later, I took a degree in Women's Studies, with a minor in Canadian history before attending journalism school.

My feminism is of the same variety as my father's, and he acknowledged out loud in the 1990s that he was a feminist when I told him the definition of the sometimes controversial word: a belief that men and women should have the same rights, privileges and responsibilities.

My dad came to his conclusions about fairness while watching his parents navigate their life in the 1940s, 50s and 60s: his mother and sisters toiled in the farm fields alongside my Grandpa, and then back in the house, Grandpa and the boys sat while Grandma and the girls made the meals and tended the house. My dad observed this and thought it wasn't fair that the women had double duty. My mom, with a similar upbringing, tells me they together decided that each of them should only have the one job, and thus was born what looked like a very traditional marriage, but one that was more modern that it might have appeared from the outside.

I give this background as my bona fides as I illustrate my confusion and upset at the sex assault trial of Jian Ghomeshi, as the testimony of three women was parsed on the witness stand, and many pundits suggest a serial predator with bizarre predilections is about to get off (pun intended).

Generally, rapists and beaters have used one or all of three defences in court: "bitches be crazy", "women lie", or "she's a slut". Rape shield laws were created in Canada in the '90s to shut down the last one, but the other two were on very plain display during this trial, and the women testifying gave the defence plenty of fodder.

No, a woman shouldn't have to be a virgin in long pants lept upon from the bushes, calling 911 even while she's being raped to secure a sex assault conviction. Furthermore, four people telling strikingly (pun intended) similar accounts of events involving an accused should add weight to the testimony of each. (although reading accounts of the testimony, the fraction three-fifths kept drifting into my mind...)

And yet.
I go back to the definition of feminism: equal rights, privileges, and responsibilities.

We women can't expect special treatment while also demanding equality. We can't say we're delicate flowers entitled to withhold information in court at the same time we demand pay equity. Some of the commentary on the trial seems to come from people who think we women shouldn't need to be honest on the witness stand, since we're different from men. That's a dangerous argument in a society where 'different' has so often been translated into 'less'.

While there are special circumstances surrounding sex crimes, we must know that demanding less of women is also accepting less for women.

All that said, what kind of creep keeps every communication from every woman he ever dated over the decades, even the ones who he only went out with once or twice? Here's who: the kind of man who knows he might need it. Ghomeshi's hoarding of information tells me he knows damn well what he does is wrong and he has been preparing this defence for decades. Which could explain the small smirk that flashed across Ghomeshi's face as he left court yesterday. He was getting off. (no pun intended)

Regardless

why, hello there,
just fyi,
even if i send you a picture of myself in a bikini
or if our email notes were mostly about comical llamas,

you don't get to hit me.

whether i'm a starfucker,
a dimwit,
young and hot or too old for you;
regardless, you don't get to hit me.

if big ears teddy agrees or wants to hide,
whether you paid for dinner and are a big star
or just some regular guy looking for love;
regardless, you don't get to hit me.

if i have hair extensions
or can't tell a beetle from a gti;
regardless, you don't get to hit me.

you just don't get to hit me.
not ever, no matter what I did beforehand or afterwards.
period.
full stop.