“Sweet child.sweeeet chiiiild of mine.” The lyrics are racing through my head. Faster than the mirrored lifts that carry editors and journalists to their information hubs. Before coming to the M100 Youth Media Workshop the only Axel I knew was Axel Rose of Guns N’Roses fame. But I was about to become acquainted with a very different Axel. Axel Springer. The name of a journalist who went on to create one of the biggest media empires in Europe. The letters glint in the sunshine as we stand outside looking upwards, green apples in hand. There are 29 of us. I wonder if someday I will stand looking at one of your names across a skyscraper like this?
I went to a fortune teller once. I was almost 20 and it seemed like more fun than spending the day in a lecture hall. I later regretted that at exam time. Today there are no crystal balls. No headscarves. No fortune tellers. There is only us and the future that we can dream about. Hope for. Dread, even? “In the future it is not how you reach the audience, but that you reach your audience” the speaker says slowly. Today’s edition of Bild is folded beside him, the letters of the headlines screaming the latest news. In the future, is it survival of the loudest?
“What does Belarus mean?” I ask her, as we are filing out of the Institute for Media and Communication. It reminds me of “belle” French and I think “Beautiful Russia”in my mind. “White Russian”, she smiles, a strand of blonde hair falling into her eyes. The next day, as everyone fills cups with black coffee, I ask her more. If the internet is the future, how is it changing the delivery of news in the country? Can the truths that lie untold behind the pages of Soviet Belarus be told on the local web pages in Minsk and beyond? “Yes”, she replies. “But the problem is that from a population of 9 million, only 2 million people have access to the internet, and from that only 60,000 are online every day. Belarus has the most expensive internet prices in the world and the government can of course track all the sites that you have been visiting.” I nod. Belarus doesn’t sound so beautiful anymore.
His radio show was closed down. I guess when you are fighting a war there are more important things than entertainment. “Do you know if your family and friends are okay, you know, when you are here?” I ask. He is wearing a 6 Nations Rugby shirt and it reminds me of my home. There are no bombs there. At least, not anymore. “My phone doesn’t work outside of Georgia”, he shrugs, “so I can’t know”.
“We can’t watch ourselves dying”. He says. Outside, the rain is falling hard in Potsdam and my feet are wet.” The future will be the internet. It will be the mobile device. We are convinced of that. There are two flip boards, but many more voices. The voices of 19 countries. Some opinions are louder than others.” We will be the filters. The selectors. The journalist of the future will be the one to sift through the over-saturated information on the net and provide the most reliable news.”Our role must adapt to ensure the existence of our profession. “Sweet Child of Mine” is no longer racing through my head. Instead the fast beats of Gloria Gaynor grow louder in my head. “I will survive”
By: Angela Steen (Ireland)
