Tag Archives: radio

“objects have lives. they are witness to things.”

There’s an episode of This American Life that I’ve listened to three times now. It originally aired in 2001, but the first time I heard it was as I was driving to meet friends for dinner, probably in 2012. I was so engrossed by the story that I sat in my car in the restaurant’s parking lot to finish listening. I was 20 minutes late to dinner.

The episode is called “The House on Loon Lake,” narrated and reported by Adam Beckman. When Adam was a kid, he broke into an abandoned house in the small town of Freedom, New Hampshire. The house was filled with things, objects, treasures. Somebody had left all of this behind. In the story, Adam returns to Freedom as an adult to find out what happened to the family.

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Photo from This American Life

The story kept me glued for several reasons. I love a good mystery story, for one. I could also relate to Adam’s mischief. When I was a kid, maybe ten years old, I also broke into an abandoned house with a friend at the end of our street. We called it a mansion — it really wasn’t a mansion, but for the town of Mountain Grove, it sure seemed like one. (The median income for a household is $21,131, and 28.2 percent of Mountain Grovians live under the poverty line, which is twice the national average.)

Given its stature — why would the richest family in the town abandon their house like that? — the house was ripe for mystery and rumor, especially for a fourth-grade girl with a wild imagination. There wasn’t much inside the house, except a grand piano. The pool had been emptied of chlorinated water, but standing water from rain had reached maybe a foot. Leaves floated in the water. It was, for lack of a better word, gross.

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Photo from This American Life

But I digress. There’s one passage that causes me to pause the episode so that I can sit in silence and mull over its meaning. I’ll leave you with it, an exchange between Adam and his mother.

Adam Beckman: When my great grandparents fled their home in Czechoslovakia, they’d left furniture, paintings, letters, all very suddenly and never returned. My mother tells me that all those things probably still exist somewhere. With that in mind, she couldn’t bear to see the Nason things rotting away like they had.

Adam’s Mother: And here’s a spoon. It’s all very melancholy, all these little remnants.

Adam Beckman: Why is it melancholy?

Adam’s Mother: The abandonment. The abandonment is melancholy. In a way, it’s worse than throwing away, much worse. I can understand one family being obliged to flee or run or abandon, but that nobody else cared. That it was so overwhelmingly abandoned by everybody, that nobody had cared to solve something, to resolve something. That was very offensive to me. It was like leaving a corpse. You don’t leave a corpse. And that’s a little bit the feeling that I had. That here was a carcass, the carcass of a house, of a life, of a private, and nobody cared to pick it up and give it a proper burial.

I thought that it was important that somebody should care. That somehow, somebody was leaning over these words, reading them, unfolding these letters that somebody had bothered to write. It really didn’t matter that it was an eleven-year-old boy who cared. Objects have lives. They are witness to things. And these objects were like that. So I was, in a way, glad that you were listening.

 

Objects have lives. They are witness to things.

 

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audie cornish walked right past me today

No, she really did. Probably three feet away from where I stood, if that. I was starstruck.

Photo Credit: Kurt Wilberding, "NPR: What Radio Hosts Really Wear" from the Wall Street Journal (no, really)

Photo Credit: Kurt Wilberding, “NPR: What Radio Hosts Really Wear” from the Wall Street Journal (really)

I shouldn’t have been there. She was speaking to a class at Mizzou called “Cross-Cultural Journalism,” which is a class that I do not T.A.
As it turns out, I was supposed to be entering grades for my own students into BlackBoard. But instead, I was in the back of that lecture hall, my feet glued on the floor as she walked past.

She spoke to the class for a little bit, and I had to force myself to dash out because, contrary to my wishes, those grades were not going to enter themselves.

Ms. Cornish is at the University of Missouri’s journalism school today to receive an Honor Medal for her work with NPR’s All Things Considered. There’s a fancy dinner and acceptance speeches and a whole lot of pizzazz.

I couldn’t go to the fancy schmancy dinner. Instead, I sat in the Jefferson City newsroom behind a couple of sports writers who were cursing at the World Series game playing on t.v.

That’s okay, I thought. That’s okay because for fifteen minutes, after sneaking into that cross-cultural journalism class, I got to listen to the voice of Audie Cornish without the help of the radio. She’s the sort of woman who demands respect, makes you wish that she was both your friend and your mentor. She’s clever and well-spoken. She gets to the point, no fuss. To survive this week, I need to be Audie Cornish.

re: jian ghomeshi

Having a stressful day? Easy relief: switch on NPR.

Listening to the familiar voices of Garrison Keillor or Terry Gross or Ira Glass is comforting, even ritualistic. Radio is made up of disembodied voices, free from the faults that come with being human.

This is Jian Ghomeshi, one of those radio hosts.

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Photo Credit: Nightlife.ca

He hosts–excuse me, used to host, as of two days ago–a radio show on the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation called Q. I discovered it when I was apartment-hunting around Kansas City in the summer of 2013. It was a hot summer, and my car didn’t have air conditioning. My comfort during hours of driving and sweating was listening to Q on NPR.

But Ghomeshi’s voice isn’t one of those disembodied comforts any more.

The CBC fired Ghomeshi this week, after some incriminating “information” was brought to their attention.

Ghomeshi didn’t leave quietly. He’s suing the CBC for $50 million for breach of contract and bad faith. To boot, just a few hours ago, he published an open letter on his Facebook page. Here are some bits and pieces from it: 

I’ve been fired from the CBC because of the risk of my private sex life being made public as a result of a campaign of false allegations pursued by a jilted ex girlfriend and a freelance writer. …

We saw each other on and off over the period of a year and began engaging in adventurous forms of sex that included role-play, dominance and submission. We discussed our interests at length before engaging in rough sex (forms of BDSM). We talked about using safe words and regularly checked in with each other about our comfort levels. She encouraged our role-play and often was the initiator.

Bold move, getting his story out before CBC could release the findings of its own investigation. According to him, all the freaky bedroom stuff was consensual. According to his “jilted ex-girlfriend,” apparently, it was not. According to Ghomeshi, he was fired due to his private life. According to a whole lot of people, he’s a creep.

I’m not writing about this to gossip. I’m writing because of the implications of this situation. The crux of the story–do we believe Jian Ghomeshi?

If he’s not lying and the CBC fired him for the potential scandal that could grow from his private sex life, that’s obviously problematic. Ghomeshi is a journalist, and it’s a horrible phenomenon when journalists become the story. It’s a scary thought, that my professional life could be damaged by rumors and reputation. Reporter Gary Webb allegedly took his own life after this happened to him.

But what if the ex is not lying?

False accusations of sexual harassment and rape do exist. The percentage of rape accusations that are untrue is an incredibly difficult statistic to pin down, with estimates ranging from 2 percent (largely debunked) to 41 percent (thanks to men’s rights activists, so not a trustworthy number either).

And what about all the women who do endure sexual harassment who don’t speak up? They often choose not to, because their remarks will immediately be written off as false by the accused. They’re labeled as “attention-seeking whores,” demonized, having to relive that moment of violation every time they are verbally attacked. No wonder they don’t want to come out with their stories. Because of the gendered power relations of our culture, people are more inclined to doubt the accuser and believe the possible rapist.

Ghomeshi has already received hundreds of comments of support on his Facebook page. When the ex’s name is revealed, I guarantee you, she’ll receive hundreds of comments of the opposite sort. Hate, definitely. Threats, maybe.

So, I implore you. If you’re going to be skeptical of the ex-girlfriend, be skeptical of Ghomeshi too. He knows a lot about narration and molding stories to fit his frame. He is a journalist, after all.

UPDATE: The Toronto Star is reporting that it conducted extensive interviews with three women who claimed that Ghomeshi was sexually violent with them without their consent. He allegedly hit them and choked them. Another woman, one who worked at the CBC, said that Ghomeshi groped her buttocks and said that he wanted to “hate fuck” her.

None of these women were willing to give their names. They don’t want to be the object of threats and ridicule. In journalism school, we’re taught to never go with sources who speak off the record. It hurts credibility. But I believe protecting sources who are victims is even more important.

Talk about an ethics moment. This is tough.

UPDATE, Oct. 29: Eight women. Eight.