My Day At the Beeb

On Friday I spent the morning at the BBC to watch the News at One go out. This was an amazing opportunity and I couldn't believe my luck to be there.

At 8:52 I was collected from the BBC Television Centre lobby in White City, London. I was then shuffled into the morning meeting which takes place everyday promptly at 9:00a.m. The producers and the heads of every department attend this meeting to discuss what news will be delivered and how it will be delivered.

The undisputed news of the day on Friday was that Prime Minister David Cameron had refused to sign a treaty at the European Union summit in Brussels. Essentially, Cameron said the treaty did not include provisions to safeguard The City, the UK's financial sector, and therefore it was "not in the national interest." By refusing to sign this deal the UK has isolated itself from future Eurozone talks, and many feel this was too drastic a step. The implications of this refusal are yet to be determined, but undeniably it marks a change in UK-Euro relations. French President Nicholas Sarkozy said: "There are now clearly two Europes."

In the newsroom that day they asked: What is the story? Is it that Cameron did not sign the treaty, or is it that all (most) other EU members supported the draft treaty? Depending on the audience, national or international, the different departements chose to go with different angles. In the various discussions that took place in this meeting I was surprised how much the debate centred around the public. What does the public need to know? What questions do we need to have answered so that the public understands? Who will the public want to hear from? What is the best way to present this to the public?

I know this is what a news organisation is supposed to do, but to be honest, I think the public can feel quite isolated at times— especially when reporters use industry jargon and PR-speak. Sometimes you have to wonder, is the reporter simply repeating verbatim what someone has told him/her or does he/she actually have a full understanding of the issue.

In this meeting it was clear that the producers were careful to not overstate what their reporters knew about the treaty deal. They didn't know exactly what provisions were so bad in the treaty that the UK was better off being isolated from the rest of Europe than approving the treating. This became the point that they would try to pin down in the rest of the day's broadcasts.

The meeting broke and the producers went back to their teams to start working on the day's stories. The team I followed, Team One, produced the 13:00 news. By 15:00 the BBC had this exclusive interview with Cameron that sought to answer those very questions.

Occupy £ondon

Yesterday I visited Tent City. For the Zonies, Tent City means something quite different here. There's no Sheriff Joe or men wearing pink underwear. In Tent City London lives the prisoners of capitalism—those protesting the elite 1%.

The Occupy protestors have been camped outside the beautiful St. Paul's Cathedral for two months now. Their post has caused quite a controversy in London. The city has tried desperately to evict the protestors, causing discord among the St. Paul's clergy and even prompting the cannon chancellor of St Paul's Cathedral Reverend Dr Giles Frase to resign because he didn't want to see the protestors removed by force. He soon became the poster child for the movement, prompting a discussion on "ethical capitalism" that never really caught on.

The protestors were issued an eviction notice for last week. However, they refused to move and now will become embroiled in a months-long legal battle over their encampment.

Anyway, in search of a "human interest" story for my reporting class I tagged along with a classmate who was headed to St. Paul's to speak with some protestors who she thought might have an interesting story. I was excited. I hadn't spent much time around the Occupy Movement and I was very excited to hear what these people had to say.

However, I was very disappointed by what I saw: the anti-capitalist protestors dodging into Starbucks for their morning coffee to charge up their Mac and Toshiba laptops, others sneaking home to take proper showers in clean flats. Are they so entrenched in the capitalistic society that they can't even recognise themselves as the products of the very idea they wish to abolish?

Speaking of "ideas," the protestors have adopted Guy Fawkes as the symbol of their anti-capitalist movement. The protestors can be seen wearing Guy Fawkes masks (like V wears in V for Vendetta). But as far as I can remember, V knew a thing or two about protesting and inspiring a revolution. You have to have an idea you believe is better than what the current establishment supports. Of those protesting, few can articulate anything beyond  that they are "anti-capitalism" and seek to "reform the banks." What does that even mean? They don't know, so don't ask further questions.

The majority, and I do not mean all, only most, have not thought about what they are protesting and how they plan to bring about reform. It's a real shame because they have supposedly been living in tents for two months to make a point, a point that they cannot intelligently support. Even their sympathisers are losing interest in their plight  because they have so obviously failed to come up with any sort of idea or reformative plan.



Later that evening, after being kicked out of someone's tent for asking too many questions, I was back near St. Paul's for dinner with some friends. One of my friends had tried to take money of the HSBC around the corner but the door to the ATMs was locked. A man  passing by said, the bank had to lock its doors because the protestors were sleeping in the banks at night. SLEEPING IN THE BANKS! What kind of a message does this send? We hate bankers, but let me take shelter from the cold London winter in a bank.

Then, as we were eating our dinner at Pizza Express, which is directly across from Tent City, we noticed three protestors casually walk into this national pizza chain and sit down for dinner. Midway through our dinner we saw a crowd gather around a Waitrose truck parked outside the restaurant. Onlookers said a female protestor had thrown herself under the truck and refused to move. When the ambulance arrived she jumped up and ran away.

I agree massive reform needs to take place, but if these are the people leading the movement then I'm afraid I've really lost faith.

The 5th of November

Remember, remember. The 5th of November. The gunpowder, treason and plot.

Last night was Guy Fawkes Night, or Bonfire Night in England.

It commemorates the day in 1605 when a man named Guy Fawkes was arrested after he was caught guarding explosives that were to blow up the House of Lords. This was known as the Gunpowder Plot, a failed conspiracy plot by the English Catholics to assassinate the protestant King James I. The plan was foiled, but if you've seen the 2006 film V for Vendetta, the idea was not.

 The English people were allowed to celebrate the        king's survival with bonfires. Hence, Bonfire
 Night.

 The English still celebrate this holiday on the 5th  
 of November with big bonfires and fireworks  
 displays.

 I attended the bonfire and fireworks show at  
 Battersea Park in London. There was an
 unbelievable amount of people crowding in this
 park to celebrate the 406th anniversary of the
 infamous Gunpowder Plot.

To be honest, the bonfire was anticlimactic. Someone simply set fire to a pillar of wood. After watching the wood burn for a few minutes, the crowd turned its attention to the firework display, which was spectacular. The fireworks display was really beautiful, but the coordinated music selection  was a bit of a joke. From Nelly's It's Getting Hot in Here to Adele's Set Fire to the Rain,  a propos as it started raining during the song, people were laughing with each new cheesy song that had the world "hot" or "fire" in it, including Owl City's Fireflies.

My Friends from Uni and I at Bonfire Night. From left: Laura,
Me, Francesca, Silvia, Joel and Nora.

During the grand finale, set to the sounds of Kings of Leon's Sex on Fire, the crowd 'ooh'ed and 'ah'ed as brilliant, glittery lights illuminated the sky.

"We're simple people," my British classmate whispered.

I smiled and nodded in agreement. Simplicity is something the Brits do very well. And so a simple night with friends and fireworks turned into one 5th of November that I will always remember, remember.

Bottoms up!

Thursday night I attended Them and Us: A Special Relationship? featuring BBC Today Programme presenter and former Washington Correspondent Justin Webb in conversation with the New York Times'  London Correspondent and author of my favourite book on the British, The Anglofiles, Sarah Lyall.

At this lecture the journalists discussed the differences between the US and the UK— the conclusion being that we may only share a common tongue, and even then, we have a hard time understanding one another.

The biggest difference between the US and the UK? Drinking. This was the frist thing Webb noticed when he moved back Washington DC to London. 

"Everyone on the bus was pissed," Webb said. "And not in the American sense."

Webb said he remembered going to his first big-wig party with Washington's elite thinking this should be a smashing good time. When he got there he was shocked to find that this was a "dry event." No alcohol. A term that doesn't even exist in the UK where bars can be found on every corner and in every establishment, including universities, movie theaters and the House of Parliament. 

Lyall, who wrote about the same phenomenon in her book, said she is surprised how many romantic partnerships start with two people getting incredibly drunk.

"There's another way?" Webb deadpanned. 

But this isn't just a joke. Britons have a serious drinking problem. 

In the 90s, the mortality rate from liver disease nearly tripled since the 1960s, at the same time the rate declined in all other European countries. 

To combat this problem the government mandated bars close shop at 12am on weekdays, and any place with an alcohol license must enforce a strict drinking age [18] and some places will not serve people who look under 21 without a license. 

MPs (members of Parliament) are no longer allowed to be drunk in Parliament— and some people have gone so far as to suggest the bars in the Palace of Westminster stop serving alcohol! [But in this country, politics without pissed MPs is sacrilegious.] Webb said on many occasions Members of Parliament are drunk when they give speechs and vote. 

Webb said this is a serious issue that continues to plague British cultures, despite attempts by government to address the issue with laws and mandates. 

Iago: Your Dane, your German, and your swag-bellied Hollander-- drink ho!-- are nothing to your English. —Othello, 2.3

Waterloo

I don't know if I told you guys about where I'm living yet. I am living in Waterloo. Perhaps you recognise the name from the following great hits:

ABBA: Waterloo

The Kinks: Waterloo Sunset

Waterloo is located just a stones throw away from a lovely area known as Southbank. When you cross over the bridge near Southbank at night you see images like this: 

and this:

Have I convinced anyone to come visit me yet? That was my plan.

Off to the Races

On Saturday I went to the British Champions Day horse races in Ascot, a royal affair which culminates in the Queen presenting a trophy to the winner of the race, named in her honour.

The Ladies at Ascot

I actually couldn't tell you who won the horse race, all I know is that the winning jockey wore a pink riding outfit and the prize money won from this race is the highest amount ever.

For me, the horse races took a back seat to the lavish dresses and intriguing fixtures attached to women's heads (called fascinators). I have been told that the fashion at this event pales in comparison with the Royal Ascot in July when the dress code for fascinators seems to be: the bigger and gaudier, the better. But still, I was impressed by what I saw.

My friends and I wore fascinators, as we believed feathers protruding from our heads to be a rite of passage into British culture. I actually received a few compliments on my fascinator, a tiny top hat adorned with a large gauzy bow, pearls and feathers. Not too bad on my first try.

As someone who has never been to a hoserace in my life I found it to be quite amusing. People hang over the white fence cheering and men hop around like little boys screaming at the horses—called ridiculous names—to run faster and to "get yer bloody arse to the front."

Posing with the race course behind us.

But the highlight of my day was undeniably seeing Queen Elizabeth the Second.


Standing on my tippy-toes in a crowd of hundreds I waited for the Queen to make her surreptitious exit after she awarded the winner his trophy.

While I was waiting, an impatient man in front of me said to his girlfriend: "I'm getting bloody thirsty. We can wait for  the Queen or get drinks. You decide, love."

"Drinks." They pushed through the crowd of eager bystanders waiting to catch a glimpse of Her Majesty, the reigning Head of the Commonwealth State.

Such is British life. The pint supersedes all, even the Queen Mum.

The Queen Mum making her escape.

 But I, I was determined to snap a photo of the Queen Mum if it killed me. So I stood there with my camera poised strategically between women's fascinators and waited. And waited.

One woman who just arrived told her friend: "Queeny must be using the loo. The que wasn't moving atall!" Sure enough, she was!


Finally, the Queen appeared wearing a tailored pastel pink dress with a matching hat atop her iconic coiffure. She waived to her cheering fans. A chorus of All Hail the Queen broke out and then she disappeared into her car and left.

Cheers from London

Me and Big Ben

Next Tuesday it will be four weeks since I pondhopped to this rainy island. Before any more time passes I thought I would start this blog. Now you can all have a good laugh at my hapless adventures (and my mother will stop bugging me about starting this.) But more than that, in this blog I also plan to discuss some of the differences between America and the UK, two ally nations that share a mother tongue and yet, as far as I can tell, are spectacularly different.

I am in London to earn a postgraduate degree in journalism from the London College of Communication. [Yes, for those of you keeping track, this will be my second postgraduate degree in the same subject. My logic is: In the very likely incident that I lose or misplace my first degree, I will have a second as backup.]

First, I'll explain my blog title.  A "Hack" is the British term for "Journalist." According to Wikipedia, which our professor directed us to for an explanation of hack, the term hack was adopted by UK journalists as a form of humours self-deprecating self-description. Also, expect lots of changes to the blog site. I'll make it prettier, I promise!

 To catch you up on my happenings during the past few weeks, I will begin at the beginning.  I left the US on Sept. 12 (it didn't feel right to leave the US on Sept. 11) for a three-day orientation put on by the Fulbright Commission to welcome the 50+ US-UK Fulbright scholars to the UK. During our orientation, held in London, we learned very important things such as pants are underwear and trousers are pants, that queuing (waiting in line) is a British national pastime, and that the Brits are innately self-deprecating. [Self-aggrandisement reeks of eau de Americaine, and is not well received.]

More seriously, during the orientation we had a wonderful schedule. The first night we received tickets to attend the lecture "Adapt or Die: The Future of News and Newspapers in the Digital Revolution" by Lionel Barber, editor of the Financial Times, at the British Library. In an eloquent speech, Mr Barber summarised for a general audience of non-journos the most salient points in the ongoing "future of media" debate. He, like everyone who leads a similar discussion, ended his speech with a question mark, admitting that he doesn't know how journalism will sustain itself but that he is confident it will persist in spite of the economic impossibilities the industry faces. Nonetheless, it was entertaining to listen to his observations into the journalism world, (a feat, considering I was still extremely jetlagged) and I enjoyed hearing how the FT evolved to meet the industry's demands. Who would have thought making the paper wider and salmon-coloured would boost sales?

The beautiful Parliament building

The following day we, the US-UK 2011/12 Fulbrighters, attended a panel discussion in the House of Parliament with Lord Andrew Phillips, a Liberal Democrat appointed to the House of Lords in 1988, and Roger Graef, an American-born criminologist and acclaimed documentary filmmaker in Britain. The discussion was on UK Politics. This was fun. A Lord, being appointed for life, has no reason not to speak his mind. Lord Phillips scoffed at the ridiculousness of his title, and told us how he's embarrassed to travel because on his passport his official name and title are nearly 10 words long. He said that his country pays "ludicrous attention to status and money" and the country has allowed greed to permeate every aspect of British life.

Mr Graef spoke of the recent riots and of the political underpinnings that led to the riots. He said the riots were evidence that corruption among Britain's political elite had shattered the country's moral compass and that the riots were a result of a lower class emulating the behaviour of the rich and powerful. However, Mr Graef thinks things will not change politically because "deference is built into the DNA of this country." Unlike America, Britons don't believe they can do anything and be anything, he told us. And, he added, the media perpetuates the Brits' deference.

That afternoon we attended two more panel discussions at University of Notre Dame in London. The first was with Sir Ian Kennedy who lectured on the Independent Parliamentary Standards Authority, which he chairs. His job, he said, is the worst job in all of the UK because he determines the politicians pay and is therefore hated by all.

The next discussion looked at the UK's educational system and its media. One panelist, a researcher who has spent years studying the disparities in higher education in the UK, explained to us the hierarchical system of education.  He said that the universities are designed to allow only the best of the best in and the rest are kept out. He said that less than 50 percent of English citizens go on to higher education.

Also on the panel was Archie Bland, a foreign desk reporter from The Independent, to discuss the UK's media. He said that, same as in the states, the UK media is suffering from a series of job and pay cuts and it's becoming increasingly harder to secure a job in journalism. Just what I wanted to hear! He also pointed out that most British readers find themselves bored to tears by American print journalism, which is far too unsensational and long-winded for a British audience. And of course, US papers don't have Page Three. (The Sun tabloid paper features photographs of topless women on Page 3.)

Larry the Cat

On our final day, Fulbright took us on an exclusive tour of Number 10, or 10 Downing Street, which is our equivalent of the White House. Although I did not meet Prime Minister David Cameron, I did get to pet his cat, Larry, who we are told got along quite well with President Obama on his most recent visit to London. We also got to see the Cabinet Room (our version of the Oval Office) where the PM makes all of his big decisions. Our tour guide, a Number 10 admin who had likely been handed a stack of Wikipedia articles and told to take us around the residence five minutes before we arrived, pointed out where Obama sat when he was there, then said that maybe we weren't supposed to be in this room and shuffled us out.

Greta and I in Finland

After orientation I successfully launched a mad flathunt, which landed me an adorable shoebox just south of the Thames River in the Southbank area. I have three very nice roommates, all female students like myself, who I share this flat with.

A lovely Sunday in Tallinn, Estonia

Before I was able to move in, I took an impromptu trip to Scandinavia to visit my former Tempe Sister Cities' exchange partner, Greta, who is studying in Kuopio, Finland. Finland was an adventure! I went from the remote town of Kuopio to Helsinki, spent a day in Helsinki and then went by ferry to Tallinn, Estonia. Surprisingly, and only because I couldn't even place Tallinn on a map before I decided to visit Finland, this city is one of the most beautiful cities I've ever visited. It was named the European Capital of Culture 2011. Go figure!

I arrived home (to London) just in time to begin uni (university) and move in to my new flat, all in the same day. Although my London adventure got off to quite hectic start, and I'm sorry to those on the receiving end of my frantic calls, I can now say that I'm truly enjoying myself.

Also, sorry this was such a long first post. I promise a lot less of my ramblings and a lot more pictures in the following posts! Hope all is well in the States. Cheers!