“Anyone can write, but to write well and often and for pay can be a hard and lonely job, because to do it honestly requires, at least at the beginning, a certain amount of boring self-analysis whereby professional and existential crisis feed exhaustingly off one another. To be an honest political writer or journalist today is constantly to negotiate and re-negotiate the complicated relationship between conviction and orthodoxy, between critical reportage and activism-as-journalism. That relationship never been more fraught than it is now, because the line between activism and media production has become smudged to the point of irrelevance. Anyone with a camera-phone that does the internet can report from a protest; anyone with a blog can write commentary about mortgage foreclosure and financial feudalism. But there’s a line in the sand, and you cross it when you start making most of your living writing about politics. Because once you have decided that you will always tell the truth you see in front of you, no matter what your bosses say, you have to decide what’s more important: your career or your conscience.” (Laurie Penny, essay on journalism in April 2012)
Now that she is back at the New Statesman, can we expect an expose of its anti-NUJ activities?
Also does she identify as an anarchist still? This picture from 2011 shows her with a red and black bade on her hat:
Some excerpts from the new book of journalism on Greece, Discordia.
“We are the media: put that on your slogan t-shirt and sweat into it. The disintegration of neoliberal capitalism as a workable model for democratic statecraft is coinciding with the collapse of print-and-television-model corporate media like two drunks falling down together in the street, giggling and swearing and blaming one another for the inevitable bloody pavement-dive. As the Arab Spring uprisings and the European riots and city occupations swept the Northern Hemisphere in 2011, commentators scrambled to blame Facebook, Twitter and Blackberry Messenger for the chaos, forgetting that civil unrest tends to owe more to social breakdown than social media.”
“In Athens, there are tourist bars, and there are bars where local people actually drink. Cantina Social is the latter, set back from the street down a narrow alley guarded by two sozzled old men in vests and a beast that can only be described as a dog because it is too big to be a wolf and too obviously carnivorous to be a horse.”
Molly Crabapple is fairly absurd: “Never have I seen a stripper without thinking she was a philosopher queen.” (Molly Crabapple)
With a very sinister take on sex work: “A woman’s beauty is supposed to be her grand project and constant insecurity. We’re meant to shellac our lips with five different glosses, but always think we’re fat. Beauty is Zeno’s paradox. We should endlessly strive for it, but it’s not socially acceptable to admit we’re there. We can’t perceive it in ourselves. It belongs to the guy screaming “nice tits.” Saying “I’m beautiful,” let alone charging for it, breaks the rules.”