Stranger

by Jorge Ramos

  Putting aside our neutrality doesn’t mean that we should become partisan. Not with the Democrats, not with the Republicans. Our strength and influence as journalists lie precisely in our independence. And it is from that state of independence that we must challenge power.

  It’s Just Television, That’s All

  There are times when I find it much easier to talk to a television camera than a person. It is, I admit, a professional defect. The late Morley Safer, mainstay of the program 60 Minutes, once said with a hint of irony, “It is not natural to be talking to a piece of machinery. But the money is very good.” Both statements are true.

  Some of us who work in television sometimes forget that there are more important things in life. Much more important things. Television has dominated the public discourse for so many decades now that it can be hard for us to distance ourselves from it. When one is facing this problem, it can be helpful to remember a phrase often attributed to the comedian David Letterman: “It’s only television.”

  Now is a good time to remember the fragile and ephemeral nature of television. Executives are in denial when it comes to the digital revolution, just as newspapers and magazines have been for over a decade now. We find ourselves in a time of massive transition in which people’s eyes are migrating from big screens to smaller ones. Plus, content consumption habits have become almost entirely personalized: people get the news when they want and where they want.

  Every day I have to make multiple decisions that involve about three million pairs of eyes. Do I wait to report a story until the evening news is broadcast at six thirty, or do I break it through Twitter, Facebook, and other social networks? This dilemma is transforming the news industry. The money still lies in the commercials, which are linked to ratings, but the audience is leaving in leaps and bounds—or should we say clicks—for digital media. And ultimately, there is no fix: we must go where the audience is.

  I’m a dinosaur. That’s what I often tell journalism students. If you turn on the television one minute before or thirty-one minutes after the broadcast, you won’t see me. That’s the old way of watching TV. And if we don’t adapt to the fluidity and ubiquity of digital media, we run the risk of going extinct. I’m fully aware of the fact that in this day and age I’m hosting a television show for many people who don’t even have a TV anymore.

  Things were very different when I started out as an anchor for Noticiero Univision on November 6, 1986. It’s not that it was better or worse: it was simply the only one.

  Spanish International Network was facing another internal crisis when the controversial Mexican journalist Jacobo Zabludovsky was set to become the head of the news agency. Nearly all of the SIN reporters decided to resign en masse and start what would eventually become Telemundo.

  I was working for a morning show, Mundo Latino, and since the channel was now lacking a male host, I was asked to present the news alongside Teresa Rodríguez. But I wasn’t about to endure another bout of censorship. Before I accepted, I swore to myself that Zabludovsky would never reach the anchors’ desk in Miami.

  I was only twenty-eight years old, I had never interviewed a president, and I wasn’t very good at reading the teleprompter. In complete solidarity, my friend Teresa would follow my script with her immaculate red nails in case I got lost while delivering the news. I will always be grateful to her.

  It was clear to me that my status was a probationary one. For years, whenever I left to go on vacation, I would clean out my desk in case they found another anchor before I returned. It wasn’t until I covered the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989—three years after joining the newscast as anchor—that I learned my position would become permanent.

  And it has been the greatest adventure of my life. A standard day might include a number of flights, presidents, interviews, and even a few battles on social media. When I spend the weekend at home, trying to rest and disconnect, it’s because of the adrenaline rush I accumulate during the week. Being able to sit still and enjoy the silence is generally a good refuge. Some people go on vacation looking for extreme emotions or experiences. We reporters experience these things from time to time, but they come at a cost.

  No matter how inured we, the communicators, become, I’m convinced that being exposed so often to violent imagery and tragic news takes a significant physical and emotional toll over time. Everyone who appears on television has learned to control their emotions in public. We aren’t paid to break into uncontrolled laughter or tears on the air. But this affective suppression undoubtedly has negative effects on our personal lives.

  The anchor of a newscast may appear to be in complete control. But few people understand all the little hints and tricks—and all the preparation—that it takes to master and control what is seen and what is said. It was always a treat for me to see Peter Jennings of ABC every time there was a breaking news story. He had a clear understanding of the subject matter and a seemingly effortless delivery. He could improvise as if he were talking with a lifelong friend. To be completely natural in the most artificial of mediums is a strange and unique talent, and Jennings had it.

  But this is no longer the age of the anchor. I don’t know how long this role will last. Not much longer, I expect, or at least not with the same leadership that Dan Rather, Barbara Walters, Tom Brokaw, Katie Couric, Ted Koppel, Connie Chung, Diane Sawyer, and my partner, María Elena Salinas, have had.

  And that’s another thing I tell journalism students: Don’t look to become an anchor. Don’t do what I’ve been doing for the past three decades. The idea of an anchor or broadcaster stems from the need to centralize the daily news, to deliver it through a single voice in a coherent and orderly manner.

  Today, journalists should not be anchored. Don’t become one. Do the opposite: become a journalist who can move from platform to platform, from country to country, who can skip effortlessly across borders, technologies, and languages.

  But the fact that television journalism is undergoing such a dramatic transformation does not mean that journalism itself is at risk of going extinct. In fact, today it is more important than ever to have good reporters out there covering events. The only way to counteract so-called fake news is with more and better journalism.

  * * *

  —

  There are two female journalists who have had a huge influence on my career: Elena Poniatowska of Mexico and Oriana Fallaci of Italy. In these two women, the words “journalist” and “rebel” are almost synonymous.

  Whenever there is a doubt about what we, as reporters, should do when facing power, we should just ask ourselves, What would Elena do? And the answer is that she would continue to dig and report regardless of the consequences. Thanks to Elena and her book, Massacre in Mexico, we have invaluable firsthand testimony of the 1968 massacre in which dozens if not hundreds of students were killed by the Mexican Army.

  Oriana Fallaci, the courageous Italian interviewer who confronted some of the most authoritarian leaders of the second half of the twentieth century, once said that being a journalist is both a privilege and a responsibility. I don’t know any job that is more beautiful or more difficult. To us, nothing is foreign. The entire planet is our home. But we are also obliged to sing truths to the intolerant and to those in positions of power. And that can sometimes cost someone their life.

  The killing of reporters is not new. What is new is the global influence and unquestionable independence of many journalists in the digital age. It represents the end of censorship. No government can make the Internet disappear. But having greater power and visibility means being a bigger target for intolerant groups and governments. This has been on display in Mexico.

  According to the British human rights organization Article 19, more than a hundred journalists have been murdered in Mexico since 2000. Many of the killings have occurred in places where reporters are much more exposed to organized crime, drug traffickers, and corrupt politicians and police. Mexico is one of the most dangerous countries in the world
to work as a reporter. These courageous journalists who refuse to remain silent despite threats of violence to them and their families, and who work far away from the nation’s capital, are the true heroes of our profession.

  I have often thought about what life would be like if I had stayed in Mexico. And still I do not know. Maybe I would still be feeling the same frustrations over the lack of freedom of expression that drove me to leave in 1983. But now it’s no longer just about direct censorship by the government, but also about threats from criminal organizations operating with almost total impunity and with the tacit complicity of the government itself.

  I don’t know what I would be doing, but I do know that journalists are not in the business of keeping quiet.

  Disobey!

  A Letter to My Children

  My dear Nicolás and Paola,

  You happen to have an immigrant dad. What can we do? I know this has had an influence on both your lives and mine. But I think it’s been good for us, hasn’t it?

  I know it’s a cliché, but I have lived the American Dream to the fullest. I arrived here with very little, and now I have more. I left censorship behind me, and here I enjoy total freedom of the press. And most important, the two of you have many more opportunities than I ever did. I have nothing to complain about. We’ve received much more than I ever imagined. How could I not be eternally grateful to this country?

  But despite all of this, I have to admit that some things still do scare me.

  The fear of losing everything again. To be forced to start from scratch. Not being young enough to reinvent myself yet again. Sometimes I find myself doing what I did as a child in Mexico: saving what I have for the moment it becomes absolutely necessary, whether for an escape, an emergency, or anything else more important than the present. I have learned to live with very little—with what you might call a Japanese sense of simplicity—and I continue to worry about the uncertainty of what may happen tomorrow.

  I don’t believe in luck, or in saints or heaven. And it’s hard to change this way of thinking when the formula has worked so well for so long. I have simply trained myself to be prepared for the exact moment when opportunity presents itself. And that’s what I’ve done.

  Now it’s your turn. And you’ll do it your way, not mine.

  But as children of a very appreciative immigrant, I simply ask you to fight, to the extent that you can, so that other foreigners—those who came after me—will have the same opportunities that you and I have enjoyed. It’s more than karma, more than a simple, ethical question: it’s about giving back a little bit of what we’ve received. There is nothing sadder or more offensive than those who forget where they come from and who turn their backs on those who are trying to follow in their footsteps.

  If you noticed, I used the word “fight.”

  It won’t be easy. While demographic trends seem to confidently indicate that the United States is becoming a country comprised largely of minorities, there are many people who will continue to resist this change. Purity does not exist, and it is never a desirable goal for a nation to seek. Many massacres have taken place under the guise of this absurd ideal.

  The great challenge facing this nation is whether we, as a people, can intelligently handle plurality in the face of the dangers of racism and intolerance. In a country where no single group will represent a majority of the population, it will become necessary to ensure that nobody can forcibly impose their beliefs on someone else.

  But you’re not alone.

  The path has been clearly laid out by the Declaration of Independence, which affirms that all men (and women) are created equal. Our challenge is to continue to apply these principles to those coming from elsewhere, those fleeing persecution, those seeking a better future, and those who see and hear things differently…like your dad. The future of the experiment that is America depends on the results.

  Let me say this to you: I have much more confidence in you and your generation than I do in the rulers who are currently looking to build walls and imprison immigrants. How quickly they seem to have forgotten that they, or their parents or grandparents, came from somewhere else.

  Please, don’t ever let that happen to you.

  I recently found a wonderful quote to accompany us on this long and complicated journey. John F. Kennedy once wrote, “Immigration policy should be generous; it should be fair; it should be flexible. With such a policy we can turn to the world, and to our own past, with clean hands and a clear conscience.”

  In this paragraph we have all the indications for how we should treat immigrants in the United States: with generosity, regardless of their national origin or religion, and not only the wealthy and powerful but also the most vulnerable, and we must offer them the same rights that we ourselves enjoy. At this moment in our political history, it is known as immigration reform with a path to citizenship. And it’s not a Democratic or Republican idea, but an American one.

  That is the way.

  I would like nothing better than to be able to tell you that everything will be all right, that a tolerant and multifaceted future awaits you, and that the racists of this world will never win. I hope that is the case. But what I can tell you is that things will be okay—or better—if you fight for them.

  More than once, you’ve seen me fight on television with those who mistreat or criticize immigrants. Nothing is more unfair than attacking those who cannot defend themselves publicly. That is why I believe part of my job is to give a voice to the voiceless, and I’m afraid that often it will be up to you to do the same.

  So here is my advice: Disobey.

  When you are standing in front of a racist, disobey.

  When they want to discriminate against you, disobey.

  When they ask for something unjust, disobey.

  When they can’t publicly defend what they say in private, disobey.

  When they demand loyalty above honesty, disobey.

  When things have to change and there is no other way to do so, disobey.

  Do it peacefully, but disobey nonetheless.

  The American revolutionaries disobeyed the British. Rosa Parks disobeyed segregation laws in the South. Cesar Chavez disobeyed landowners in California. And the Dreamers disobeyed everyone, including their own parents, until President Obama granted them protection.

  All the big changes—those that are worth fighting and risking lives for—begin when someone says “no.” “No” is the most powerful word in any language.

  That is the virtue of disobedience.

  Use it carefully. Those who disobey don’t always win, and they often pay a very high price for their audacity. But at least they have the peace of mind that comes with knowing that they did the right thing and, even better, that they were standing on the just side of history. The disobedient sleep better at night. The United States owes much to the disobedience of its immigrants, its rebels, its scientists, and its artists.

  Together, Paola and Nicolás, we have been rediscovering this country.

  You tied me to this land. In fact, I learned English and integrated myself into this country at the same time as you. I never could have imagined all of this when I first decided to launch this American adventure thirty-five years ago.

  It reminds me of an interview I did with the Catalan Joan Manuel Serrat, one of my favorite singers whose lyrics—particularly “You make your way by walking” from the song “Cantares”—inspired me to journey north. Serrat, himself a tireless traveler, had to live in exile in Mexico during the Franco dictatorship in his native Spain.

  As Serrat told me, “Not knowing how things will turn out can be a wonderful thing. I’ve always felt that no particular path was required. You can always leave one and pick up again on another; you can do different things, you can jump into another place. I’ve been able to travel as much as I’ve wanted, and I would love for the rest of mankind to have that same possibility, and to do so in freedom.”

  I have also been able to do most of my trave
ling in freedom. But, like Serrat, I do not know what the future holds. When I left Mexico, everything was uncertain. But today, I know that the two of you have, without a hint of doubt, been the best part of my life.

  You know what, Nicolás and Paola? I could never have wished for better traveling companions on the road of life and country. It was all worth it for you…just for you.

  I love you very much,

  Dad

  Acknowledgments

  While most of what I’m writing here is new, I have also inevitably relied on speeches and interviews I have given and columns I have written in the past. Many of the ideas and arguments I present in these pages have appeared previously, in many different formats, on social media, in my weekly articles, or in my television commentaries. In some cases, I have left the original texts intact, when appropriate for clarity and consistency.

  This book was made possible by all the immigrants—and the children and grandchildren of immigrants—who give me refuge. The bravery demonstrated by the Dreamers and their parents has been my inspiration. Each and every day I meet undocumented immigrants who fill me with hope. Their struggle is much more difficult than mine. I sincerely hope that some of your ideas, your proposals, and your courage are reflected in these pages.

  In this book I have referenced a number of incidents that took place during the filming of the documentary Hate Rising. The director, Catherine Tambini, and producers Dax Tejera and Verónica Bautista were truly wonderful companions to have during the difficult and often disheartening trip across the country to document hatred in America on display. I would like nothing more than to work with them again on another project.

  Isaac Lee’s support for all the things that I do has been invaluable. He always says yes to my proposals, and I always have to double down and work twice as hard to meet his tremendous expectations. Daniel Coronell, president of news for Univision, is a great friend and office mate and the best guide through the difficult moments that journalism in the United States experiences. His years in Colombia were a true baptism of fire, and today they serve us all well. And Randy Falco, Univision’s chief executive officer, has been an extraordinary moral leader when independent journalism and the Latino community need it the most. Randy, Isaac, and Daniel have always given me the support and freedom I needed to do my job well, and I know I can always count on them.