aik aur ghar

i recently started working at express news 24/7. it’s the only english channel in pakistan and i work on the morning show as an associate producer/scriptwriter. my job entails researching stories and writing up about them, and compiling national and international headlines. i also do some research on the guest we feature and write introductions for them. i know that before i left amreeka, i really wanted to work with news media and learn/live the production of news stories. largely b/c news in pakistan is depressing (focusing mostly on everything going wrong in the country - played on a loop) and there’s horrendous coverage of global events - stories are pulled from reuters and CNN and replayed without being reframed or analyzed. when i first interviewed with express, i told them that was one of my main aims in wanting to work with broadcast journalism, to try to build intersections between art/culture/politics/literature and to build from alternative news sources and make them accessible. the folks from HR just hmm-hmmed and spoke to me about viewer ratings and how they have to maintain their audience and don’t want to try new tricks. after i walked out, i knew they weren’t calling me and i wasn’t calling them. 

a couple months later…i was still unemployed and a mix of events made me re-apply for the position above, which i got. so yay i can make monies. yay i get paid to read the news and research stories that i want. my work hours are both amazing/awful. my shift hours are 5am to 1pm. waking up is hard and sleeping early means i don’t get to go out at night. but being off from work at 1pm is WONDERFUL! i can see the sun and feel its warmth, i can spend time in daylight, see people, do things, make films. it’s kind of perfect for winter. 

what i didn’t account for was the show’s conservatism. its complete lack of critical thinking. its mistrust and avoidance of meaningful debate. its shallow and frivolous agenda. its subscription to jingoism and to media stereotypes. 

so i am trying in my own subversive slant way to change things slightly. to talk politics through art and of art, to speak of cultural preservation and climate change and occupation. to remind ourselves of marginalized communities. to participate in projects and initiatives that want to recover traditions of pluralism and comradeship. most of all to step outside of ourselves and look around. 

sometimes i succeed and i celebrate. other times, my stories get pulled out and i despair ever so slightly. so i’m going to start compiling a list of alternative headlines and news stories that didn’t get reported on from the morning show. and archive this for relevance. 

i read a story today. i could be thiago. 

“thiago could always be persuaded into the most reckless of plans. he loved adventure and found the most joy in making ordinary moments extraordinary. he often went out for walks by himself, deliberately choosing a different route each time to find new things, watch events unfold on street corners and in small parks. and then he would make a list of how he remembered streets. calle 28, where the octopus plants grew wild, calle 17 where the rusted gate would swing shut on a path leading upwards towards an empty house, calle 15 where the park with pink benches began. he went away for some time, and lived in a big city by himself. there, he noted down street corners and marveled at fountains in parks and the old buildings with hanging fire escapes that people had built gardens on or created patios out of. he loved the fire escapes, he loved how they floated stationary in the air like tiny islands of black or brown or red. he loved the slant staircases that slid down beneath them. one evening, he met a beautiful boy on a friend’s fire escape. they smoked a joint together and giggled, high, heady, happy. they held hands and slowly kissed. the sun burned reddishpink behind them. the boy had a beautiful mouth, his lips parted slightly and pouted slightly. he smiled shyly and trustingly. thiago knew he was almost in danger of falling madly in love but he knew he had to leave. in fact, he was leaving the next day and this was his farewell party. when thiago returned, nothing was the same. the streets seemed different. the sunsets seemed desaturated. the mornings were less dreamy. the birds sang less sweetly. the smells were less sharp and the food less comforting. he couldn’t be excited anymore. he tried to walk in the rain. he went for walks late at night with only moonlight to guide him. he went to the bazaars and to the mosques and to the shrines. he spoke to people he had never spoken to before. he learned new stories of survival and of greed and of hatred. he saw anger all around him. he understood it, but he didn’t feel it. he felt nothing. he was dying, slowly. he cried all night, for the things that he had done, the things that he wanted to do, the things that he would never do.”