Journalism with feelings by Albert Elfa

One of the most arduous tasks for any journalist is to resolve the gap between the objectivity demanded by the profession and the inevitable moral compass that points to a notion of justice. As one gets older, one becomes more aware that supposedly aseptic stories benefit those in power: not in vain has it established the prevailing mental framework and even established specific terminology. That's why the best journalists end up being those who, without breaking the battle of rigor and factuality, are able to imbue their pieces with their own vision and commitment to the weakest. That is, in a sense. I was thinking while reading Albert Elfa's impressive and at the same time very entertaining memoirs, entitledOh, humanity!The appeal to the human factor, so often absurdly banished from journalistic articles, moved it up several notches on my bedside table, and reading it has proven to be an excellent chronicle of the various fronts faced by the reporter, including some episodes where you see him dodge a final showdown. But the book isn't organized by topic or location; rather, the chapters focus on feelings: confusion, strength, anger...

These memoirs pass through Tahrir Square, Brussels, Gaza, Guantanamo, the Ecuadorian Andes and Washington and also through the uncomfortable territories of precariousness, censorship, seductive power and the miseries of the offices, like when they proposed to an Ondas journalist for the coverage of Hurricane Katrina –two weeks sleeping in the car in an unhealthy, nightmarish environment– but they withdrew their nomination "in favor of a well-known comedian who they were more interested in winning." Statuette or not, the award is a life lived, and a valuable testimony for which we can be grateful.