and The Bomb
By Barrie Zwicker
AGE BEGAN, in media terms, in a way any reporter can identify with.
It began with a press release, read aloud by a White House press
secretary at 10:45 the morning of Aug. 6, 1945. The reporters who had
been called to the briefing were told that 16 hours before ''one bomb"
had been dropped on Hiroshima, "an important Japanese Army base."
The reporters were told the bomb was more than
2,000 times as powerful as the British "Grand Slam" which until then
had been the largest bomb ever used in the history of warfare.
The new bomb, they were told, "is an atomic bomb.
It is harnessing the basic power of the universe."
At first, an observer wrote, the reporters seemed
unable to grasp what it was about. Once they did, "some of them had
difficulty in getting their news desks to grasp the import of it."
We can identify with this. It is not surprising.
What is surprising is that 38 years later, with more than 50,000 of
these bombs deployed all over the planet, so many people in and out of
have not grasped the import of it.
It isn't that the enormity of the bombs'
destructiveness is a secret (as it had been, until that press release).
It isn't as if the finest minds have not warned
with clarity and eloquence. Albert Einstein, whose genius laid the
groundwork for the bomb, said: "When we released energy from the atom,
everything changed except our way of thinking. Because of that we drift
towards unparalleled disaster."
Bertrand Russell devoted much, perhaps most, of
his post-Hiroshima life to warning and campaigning against the bomb.
Linus Pauling, the only person to win two Nobel Prizes, wrote his book No More War in
It's unlikely full historical perspective will
ever be written on why these voices of wisdom and caution did not
It's unlikely because — in this writer's
opinion — nuclear war now is probable. Most of the evidence
needed by historians to tell the story of the greatest tragedy of all
time will be vaporized, especially if Washington, D.C. is successfully
But even today, in the narrowing time until what
people have called World War III but which surely we must call
Extermination Day, we can see some outlines of how the needle got as
deeply into the red zone as it now is. (As I write this, Margaret
Thatcher has just said she wouldn't hesitate to press the nuclear
button, and NATO "sources" took less than 24 hours to dismiss Soviet
leader Yuri Andropov's offer of a nuclear weapons free zone in the
Baltic as "meaningless.")
WAR AND THE MEDIA
My main focus is the media's part in getting us
into this predicament. Although the media's role is blended with those
of the nation state, the culture and technology, it can be isolated to
There still may be time for useful learning and
behavioral change. Of all the elements that are contributing to our
drift towards unparalleled disaster, the role of the media may be the
one most amenable to rapid (in historical terms) change.
The sheer size and bureaucratic inertia of the
military-industrial-academic complexes means they cannot be diverted
more than a few degrees from their suicidal directions. More than half
the scientists and engineers in the United States now work for the
A scientist whose job is perfecting warheads for
the MX cannot walk into his lab one day and start working on an
Journalists, on the other hand, have long noted
that — unlike other industrial products — the news
is different every day. (Let us put aside, for the moment, the
criticism that "the news remains the same; it just happens to different
A journalist does have some latitude to walk into
his or her office tomorrow and write something completely different.
More importantly, as the journalist becomes more enlightened over time
on any given subject, his or her work will consistently reflect that
growth. The bomb-making scientist whose opinions change has much less
freedom — or more stark opinions, if you will: continue
making bombs, or quit.
We're lucky to be journalists, but our relative
freedom imposes upon us a corresponding responsibility.
The arms race challenges the value system of every
nation, every organization, of every institution and individual, not
least journalism and journalists.
CBS newsman Daniel Schorr told a Foundation for American
Communications media seminar in San Francisco: "The biggest ethical
problem facing the media today is which of the sea of waving hands in
front of the camera to recognize."
But the most significant waving hands are not hard
to pick out. As Richard Pollak, a former editor of the journalism
told a seminar on War, Peace and the Media in New York in March:
"Nuclear holocaust is not just one story among many. The prospect of
nuclear extinction is light years ahead of all other stories."
What actions are we going to take — or
not take, for an act of omission is a powerful act — about
the unparalleled drift to disaster? This is the supreme ethical
question faced by each profession and individual alive today.
"The odds are lousy and everyone here knows it,"
Pollak told the conference sponsored by New York University and the
Gannett Foundation. "I come here not as a press critic but as a
supplicant: wake up.
"Think of this problem not as an anchorman . . .
but as a human being. Think how radically journalism must change. Not a
single journalism organization has a peace beat. The ultimate deadline
is upon us. Yet the (New York) Times
has a sports staff of 30 editors and reporters.
"This is not man bites dog; this is man devouring
himself. It is the military-industrial complex out of control. It's
"Journalists must keep relentless page one
pressure to keep this story before our people and our government."
At the same conference, Robert Manoff, former
editor of the Columbia
Journalism Review, contributed a compelling paper, titled:
COVERING THE BOMB:
PRESS AND STATE
IN THE SHADOW OF
Manoff documented how close journalism and the
state have been in the matter of war. Taking the dawn of the atomic age
as his peg, he noted that one reporter at that White House briefing on
Aug. 6, 1945 was neither surprised nor skeptical.
"His name was William L. Laurence. He was a . . .
science reporter for the New
York Times. And he had written the release.
"Laurence, a 15-year Times veteran, had
been recruited for the Manhattan Project (the secret atomic bomb
operation) three months before . . . Laurence would work for the
government, but continue to be paid by the Times, which would
also keep his whereabouts a secret.
"The collaboration was a fruitful one . . ." as
Laurence won a Pulitzer Prize for his reporting about the bomb after he
went back to the Times,
to place beside his special citation from the War Department.
Laurence, as the Times later would
explain, was ". . . with the War Department . . . to explain the atomic bomb
to the lay public." In effect, he was hired to sell the bomb to the
Laurence's view, Manoff writes, "was an emotional
celebration of the science, engineering and industry behind the bomb,
couched in superlatives that left . . . dilemmas . . . far behind.
"Reporting the Alamogordo test . . . he equated
the bomb's beauty to 'the grand finale of a mighty symphony,' and the
mushroom cloud, boiling up from the New Mexico desert, to the Statue of
Nevertheless, shortly after Hiroshima —
and this is part of our hidden history — there was a
worldwide outpouring of human concern about the meaning and portent of
During this brief interlude of one precious month
there was a stunning example of how the media — well within
the boundaries of conventional journalism — could be a
powerful reflection of, and therefore promoter of, humanity's concerns
(as opposed to those of a nation state).
But this kind of reporting (based on premises of
humanitarian concern) was quickly squelched by an American
administration even then dominated in its foreign policy by
anti-Sovietism. The administration's actions, and the media's knee jerk
adoption of the nationalistic administration view as their own
ideological framework, set the pattern which has been unbroken in its
essentials right to Reaganism today.
But let Manoff sketch the interlude:
"The enormity of the (bomb) and the paucity of
detail . . . combined to create a journalistic space in which a
different and more troubling view of Hiroshima could be considered.
"It was not a major feature of the first day's
coverage, dominated, as it was, by the War Department's releases. But
it was one that would assume a prominent place in the coverage until at
least the early part of September.
"It appeared first in the words of Clifton Daniel,
who wrote from London of 'the terrible toll (the bomb) will levy on
Japan.' Hanson W. Baldwin, the paper's military affairs analyst,
composed a tormented and angry piece about strategic bombing throughout
the war. 'Americans have become a synonym for destruction,' he wrote.
'We may yet reap the whirlwind.'
"For weeks the paper was awash with British
Bishops, worried scientists and earnest educators addressing their
consciences and the future of the world. The Times as a whole,
it began to seem, assumed this agenda as the paper's own, and others
ignored it at their peril.
"For example the day after a diverse group of
scholars and writers gathered at Columbia University for the sixth
annual Conference on Science, Philosophy and Religion, they awoke to
find a Times
story by Morris L. Kaplan, whose incredulous tone was well captured by
the headline it bore: ATOM BOMB FAILS TO EXCITE SAVANTS: ONLY 1 OF 31
PAPERS AT THEIR MEETING HERE WARNS BLUNTLY OF DANGERS IT PRESENTS;
OTHERS TREAT IT CALMLY.
"It was with evident satisfaction that Mr. Kaplan
was able to report the next day that the conference had, at its second
session, thrown away its agenda and had confronted, 'with a note of
hysteria,' the crisis of the Atomic Age," Manoff writes.
ORIENTATIONS IN COVERAGE
Manoff identifies two basic orientations in the Times during this
period, one "in its reliance on official sources, in its preoccupation
with policy, in its focus on government, basically statist.
"The second, largely reactive to the first, took
root in the journalistic interstices — in adjectives, in
analysis and editorials, in fugitive paragraphs within the statist
"It was, in its recourse to moral authority, in
its dependence on unmediated expression, in its respect for individual
opinion, basically a civil
". . . the former tended to be a journalism of
achievement, the latter one of consequences; the former a journalism of
causes, the latter of effects; the former a journalism of politics, the
latter, of ethics."
The Cold War began on Sept. 4, 1945. On that day
published a page-one story headlined SOVIET HINTS RACE FOR ATOM BOMB.
"Where," Manoff writes, "in the weeks after
editors had chosen to emphasize the moral judgements of critics, by
early September they were beginning to feature the political
assessments of Congressmen.
"By late September, the Cabinet dispute over
sharing the secret had heated up sufficiently to provoke one of the
parties to go public with a pre-emptive leak. Aimed at heading off
co-operation with the Soviet Union, it turned up as a front page story
on Sept. 22."
In early October the U.S. president unilaterally
announced the United States, which alone possessed the bomb, would not
share its secret nor co-operate with its wartime ally, the Soviet
Union. The press fell quickly into line, accepting its government's
perspective as its own. Government aims and policies became in effect
the valves and filters of media coverage of the bomb from then on and
have shaped the premises and outlook of us all in the intervening years.
"Within two months the closure had become
complete," writes Manoff. The civil voice was suffocated in the Times. The Times in this
respect represented all American journalism, being then as now the
acknowledged leader and primary continuing agenda-setter.
"Quandaries and dilemmas were put aside, or
relegated to the political fringe and the journalistic margins."
Hanson Baldwin had written in mid-September: ". .
. the iron of public opinion, which was malleable, is setting now into
the cold mould of the old order." And the new mould of the old order
was the Cold War.
War in the 18th Century, Manoff notes, was the
business of absolutist governments. And there were a number of
constraints on the conduct of war at that time.
First, the peasant was not to be disturbed at his
tilling. In an agrarian economy the peasant was clearly the foundation
of wealth for the autocrats. Pillaged peasants cannot pay taxes.
Also, soldiers were impressed or were mercenaries.
The unreliability of such soldiers was reflected in de Tocqueville's
description of the aristocratic soldier as one who "acts without
reflection, triumphs without enthusiasm, and dies without complaint."
And there were constraints flowing from the small amount of damage any
known weapon could inflict, slowness of transportation, problems of
supply and so on.
As a result, it was believed in the 1700's that
there were "natural limits" to the size of armies: about 50,000 men.
Then the autocracies fell. But there was more to
the end of autocracy and the coming of what we call democracy and the
"free Press" than has yet met our eye.
First, the chronology. The "free press" arrived in
the wake of "democracy."
(Now, I place quotation marks around these words
for compellingly significant reasons.
(Removing the press from control of the
authorities — either direct control or control through
licensing — was of course a giant step in the direction of
freedom. But freedom is not an absolute. The press did not go from being
"unfree" to being "free."
(It did move a significant distance along the
continuum which has the abstraction "no freedom" at one end and the
abstraction "complete freedom" at the other.
(Notice that politicians have no qualms about
using words like "freedom" and "democracy" to lead the public by its
(The term "free press" linguistically forecloses
questions, questions that the term "Western press", for instance, would
not. Questions, for instance, about the ideology that suffuses the
media in the West because of the prevailing ownership structure. We
correctly use the descriptive and non-judgmental term "Soviet press."
(Similarly with "democracy." C.B. Macpherson
begins his brilliant Massey Lectures titled The Real World of Democracy:
"There is a good deal of muddle about democracy."
(We cannot here go sufficiently into Macpherson's
analysis of "democracy." We can note, however, that he states: ". . .
democracy is not properly to be equated
with (my emphasis — B.Z.) our unique Western
liberal-democracy . . ." and ". . . non-liberal systems which prevail in
the Soviet countries, and the somewhat different non-liberal systems of
most of the underdeveloped countries of Asia and Africa, have a genuine
historical claim to the title democracy."
("Democracy originally meant rule by the common
people, the plebeians. It was very much a class affair: it meant the
sway of the lowest and largest class," Macpherson explains. "In the
present Soviet countries . . . democracy, we may say, came as a
revolution against the liberal capitalist society and state. The
political movements that came to power there thought of themselves, and
do now think of themselves, as democratic. For them democracy has had
something like its original meaning, government by or for the common
people, by or for the hitherto oppressed classes."
Further, as Macpherson points out, Western style
democracy "is, like any other system, a system of power." It is a
double system of power in which power relationships are controlled
through access to accumulated capital and property, and in which people
(his emphasis), "that is, made to do things they would not otherwise
do, and made to refrain from doing things they otherwise would do."
(Macpherson notes a "third fact, which some people
find admirable and some people would prefer not to have mentioned."
That is that "democracy" and capitalism go together. Yet capitalism
came first and "democracy" was an addon, in the final analysis,
suitable to capitalism.
(". . . the democratic franchise did not come
easily or quickly . . . it required many decades of agitation and
organization . . . The female half of the population had to wait even
longer for an equal political voice: not until substantial numbers of
women had moved out from the shelter of the home to take an independent
place in the labour market was women's claim to a voice in the
political market allowed."
(The preferred terminology, then, would be
"Western-style democracy," "liberal-democracy" or "capitalist
Return now to the relationship within Western history of
"democracy," journalism and war.
Clausewitz was one of the earliest observers to
see how crucial this triple intersection was, Manoff notes. Clausewitz
in 1832 could write that by engaging what he called the "heart and
sentiments of a nation" Western states completely altered the nature of
With the move away from an agrarian economy, with
the rise in technical capacity to destroy, with the accumulation of
wealth and with the availability of masses of people to fight (if they
could be persuaded of the righteousness of the state's cause), the
scene was set for a major escalation in the size and destructiveness of
The persuasion part was crucial and the newly
"free" press was to be the agent of persuasion.
But a press with a strong self-image as simply
"free" cannot knowingly accept a role as agent of the state. The state
therefore must find a cause which the gatekeepers of the press will
find righteous on its own merits.
Early on Western states found one, serviceable in
all circumstances. The manipulation of the sentiment evoked by the
abstraction "democracy" was apparent, as Macpherson notes, "by the time
of the First World War, a war which the Western allied leaders could
proclaim was fought 'to make the world safe for democracy.' "
This same reason was invoked, among others, by
successive U.S. administrations to justify the U.S. war in Vietnam.
(The Reagan administration still relies to some
extent on the "defence of democracy" argument to justify its support
for the regime in El Salvador, and its undeclared war against the
government of Nicaragua.
(The major premise in the Nicaraguan case is that
for a Marxist government to simultaneously be democratic in any sense of the
word democratic is simply a contradiction in terms. Marxism and
democracy are implied by the administration and, in practice, inferred
by the mainline media, to be fairly precise terms, like oranges and
apples, with no gradations, no subtleties, no possibility of change and
above all, no overlap.
(When facts incontrovertibly show that the
simplistic manipulation of labels does not correspond with reality
— as with the democratically – elected Marxist government of
Salvadore Allende in Chile — the facts are physically erased
through application of illegitimate military violence.
(A U.S. administration will then return to
creation of reality in the public mind by means of repetitious rhetoric
with the abstraction "democracy" at its manipulative core. Historical
fact — for instance, the existence at one time of a
Marxist-style democracy — is displaced in the public mind by
a synthetic belief that such a democracy is impossible.
(Exactly in the degree to which the mainline media
do not find politically-relevant (i.e., widespread and persistent)
means for questioning and modifying politicians' manipulative use of
dangerous abstractions, those mainline media are precisely agents of the state.)
The foregoing, it should be evident, is relevant
to an unholy vortex: the power of words to prepare for war;
journalism's entanglement in what could well be termed war propaganda;
both the perception of and the condition of Western-style democracy
today; and the danger of globalization of local conflict.
But it is to the historical relationship of global
conflict (today meaning nuclear war or extermination), "democracy" and
journalism that I wish to return now.
Popular ardour fanned by the press enabled early
"democracies" to dramatically change the face of battle, Manoff writes.
"Where 17th Century armies were thought to have
natural limits of 50,000 men, democratic armies grew so large that
French revolutionary forces lost 1.5-million . . .
"Popular wars presented neither serious political
nor journalistic problems for democratic states until 1914," according
WORLD WAR I:
Then came the First World War, the most ferocious
until then. It left 13 million dead; the British lost enough men to
field a 17th Century army in one particular single day of combat.
The alliance of the civil society and the state
under the banner of the nation was for the first time brought seriously
People, especially in Europe, began to question
the legitimacy of mass warfare. But the questioning was deflected,
"nowhere . . . more successfully than in the United States," writes
". . . in the first decades of the century, the
Roosevelt administration had already formalized planning for modern
warfare by creating a War College and the General Staff Corps.
Roosevelt told a British journalist it was time "to get my fellow
countrymen into the proper mental attitude." The press for the most
part required little coercion "to play the role the state required,"
writes Manoff. Journalists signed on to write war propaganda.
Six thousand press releases by the U.S. government
during the First World War produced 20,000 columns per week of "news."
"As revealing," Manoff writes, "as what the
newspapers ran was what they didn't: when pacifist O.G. Villard's New York Evening Post
printed the complete text of secret Allied treaties, which dramatically
undercut the public's idealism (about President Wilson's) war aims,
only nine other papers published even small excerpts, while the New York Times
condemned the leak."
Walter Lippmann, who himself had signed on to
write war propaganda, reflected later: ". . . it seemed impossible to
wage the war energetically except by inciting the people to paroxysms
of hatred and to Utopian dreams."
The story was much the same during the Second
World War. This is not to say the First and Second World Wars were
indistinguishable. Nor to say waging war against Hitler's Germany was
mistaken. Most emphatically not. The point is, however, that the media
(by this time, radio and film were important components of
propagandizing the public) were supporting war efforts on terms established by the
"By the summer of 1942," Manoff writes, "as Walter
Laqueur has shown in compelling detail, one of the war's biggest
stories, the slaughter of European Jewry, was widely known in Allied
capitals but scantily reported." It was believed in Washington and
London, Laqueur concluded, "that stories like these would at best
sidetrack the Allies from the war effort . . ."
A story the state wanted told (Manoff
s emphasis), however, faced no such difficulties "and by the summer of
1945 the ease with which William L. Laurence could shift from the Times to the
Manhattan project and back again can be taken as symptomatic of the
interpenetration of the press and the state which mass warfare had
Coverage of the bomb in the Western press has been
predominantly from the point of view of (perceived) national self
interest. This is true of what was not sought out, what was sought out,
what was reported, and the interpretation of what was reported,
AEC COVERED LIKE
In 1984, Manoff reports, "Herbert Marks, general
counsel for the U.S. Atomic Energy Commission — responsible
for all atomic research and weapons productions — observed
that the press covered his agency 'rarely with more penetrating comment
or follow-up than that which accompanies the society news.' "
Manoff contends there has been what he calls a
"failure of nuclear reporting" especially over the past 20 years, the
years during which the nuclear arsenal has built to its present
The failure, he suggests, is due to the media's
acceptance of the state's goals. These included public indifference.
With indifference, the technocrats and strategists and the
military-industrial-academic complex which pays them could get on with
their own games and profits.
"First," Manoff writes, "the story has been
largely ignored. In light of news judgments routinely applied
elsewhere, this represents a stunning lack of attention.
"In all of 1972, for example, the CBS Evening News
ran only one minute on the military balance. In 1973, . . . CBS ran
nothing at all on the balance story.
"Second," Manoff continues, "such reporting as
there has been on strategic doctrine over the last decades has largely
accepted policy declarations at face value."
And coverage has "ignored the fact that declared
policy represents only the facade of a complex strategic structure," he
adds. That is an extremely kind interpretation.
". . . one might have watched years of television
news," Manoff concludes on this point, "read volumes of magazine
coverage, and followed some of the best newspapers for months at a time
without encountering anything but the most perfunctory descriptions . . .
of America's strategic policy." Yet these perfunctory descriptions
(basically the highly varnished if not tainted declarations by
politicians of nationalistic intent, crafted by clever phrase makers)
have been the language (i.e., thinking) tools provided to the public by
the media for the public's consideration of nuclear extermination.
That there have been honourable exceptions to the
failure of nuclear reporting does not detract from the enormity of the
Even in those cases where the media have taken an
interest in a nuclear weapons issue, it has usually been because of a
policy disagreement within
the state rather than through initiative by the media.
Manoff cites several U.S. examples. A Canadian
example might be the cruise missile controversy. Because the
government, exemplified by Prime Minister Trudeau, is divided on the
issue of cruise testing, it becomes a story. It's the controversy, more
than the enormity of the weapon, that is at the heart of the
"news-worthiness" of the cruise testing story.
As Manoff remarks: "The press, for its part,
merely has to report a controversy in order to find itself well outside
the customary limits of its coverage. As always, it is the state which
seems to establish the boundaries of journalistic inquisitiveness and
anticipate the parameters of responsible dissent. The press may
discover these limits but it does not set them."
Manoffs conclusion is thought provoking for any
journalist who has read this far.
Journalists should recognize the "actual
relationship (the media have) with the state, on questions of war and
peace," he contends.
And journalists should embrace the relationship
(media as servant of the state) "instead of waging an imaginary contest
in the name of a liberty it has never been able to exercise."
Journalism should, in other words, "cast aside the
delusion of objectivity" and recognize itself "as a partner of the
But the press should serve the state by also
recognizing the state "needs the truth . . . in order to survive." The
assumptions state leaders have about other leaders and other countries
should be vigorously and thoroughly scrutinized by the media in the interests of the state's
"Journalism . . . must find the freedom it yearns
for by affirming the actual limitations on its liberty — not
by persuading itself, as it has always tried to, that they do not exist.
"In fulfilling the objectives (of scrutinizing and
evaluating the state's war policy), the pressing needs of the state
coincide with the highest aspirations of journalism."
A NEW ETHIC
This is, virtually, a new ethic for journalism, or
at least a renewed basis for the existing journalistic
ethics — save one. For the thoughtful traditional journalist,
the new ethic provides a thorough justification for pursuing greatly
the story that is of transcending significance compared to other
stories: the prospect of extinction and how to avoid it.
Things are going very badly. The needle is deep,
deep into the red zone. Individual heroes are not going to emerge out
of nowhere to save us. Large impersonal forces have a deadly momentum.
Only large personal forces can stop them.
Western journalists in the past few decades have
clung to "objectivity" as an untouchable ethic of their craft. As a
synonym for fairness, "objectivity" has merit, even if more preached
But in the final analysis, as Donna Wolfolk Cross
wrote in her article "Junk-Food Journalism" in the February issue of Penthouse: "In
fact, to be 'objective' in a news report usually means to conform to
traditional ways of thinking. New
York Times columnist Tom Wicker calls the practice of
objectivity 'an act of advocacy for the status quo.' "
"Objectivity" leads to — or is invoked
to justify — the journalist distancing himself or herself from
Distancing oneself from the prospect of one's own
unnecessary and horrible death is fatally maladaptive, however. The
uniquely threatening jam we're in forces a basic reappraisal of the
journalistic ethic of "objectivity" and the emotional hiding place it
If the missiles are launched, it will be as much a
failure of journalism as anything else. Journalism that did not put
first things first, that did not crusade, that conducted business as
usual in the store while dispassionately watching foolish men lug keg
after keg of dynamite into the store basement.
Thousands of journalists and writers marched in
the giant and totally peaceful rally for peace in New York City on June
12, 1982. To put it in negative terms, they had ceased to find
meaningful that part of their journalistic ethic which would have
prevented them from expressing their concern to be living journalists
rather than dead journalists.
To put it positively, they saw that peace is not
only the biggest story on earth, it's also the greatest need on earth.
That the "other side" is suicide.
The time to work fully on the story of the threat
of universal death is now. History has handed us the assignment and
marked it "MUST" and "URGENT." Nuclear war doesn't lend itself to post
blow-up analyses. There will be no retrospectives. Journalism will end
with everything else.
Journalism and activism for peace are one and the
same, insofar as the journalism is of the highest order and is about
the threat of war. The telling of it is simultaneously an attempt to
prevent it. To paraphrase Manoff, the highest needs of humanity
coincide with the highest aspirations of journalism (and coincidentally
the need of the journalist for personal survival.)
It isn't easy journalism. But it's exciting. And
involving, since there's a wealth of fact and history and secrets and
opinion to be dug out and flung to the fore. It's the most challenging
journalism there is today, demanding that we understand our craft
better, that we place more of ourselves than ever before on the line,
that we provide better context than we normally do, that we use
language more precisely than we usually do, that we have more courage
than is normally required of us, that we dig deeper, work harder, ask
more questions, work in new ways and with new people, that we grow
faster than we have, that we give up most of our hiding places.
It is, in the words of newspaper columnist and
peace activist Sister Mary Jo Leddy, "time for ordinary people to do
See related article Journalism
and The Bomb, Words and War
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