OBJECTIVE JOURNALISM REQUIRES MONEY

Subjective journalism is free.

"The county judge is selling out el pueblo in order to suck his white master's cock!"

That is sixth-grade shit. I can poop out a hundred similar sentences in an hour. I can write them left-handed. Crap is on the house. You can't get any cheaper than that.

Objective journalism requires time. And time is money.

"The county judge is seeking common ground between the Mexican-American community and the Anglo hegemony in order to bring Brownsville together for the greater good."

I have no doubts that Brownsville's top advertising agency would charge the county judge thousands for this profundity in order to promote his reelection. This doesn't count the commission for preparing the ads placed in The Brownsville Herald and on billboards throughout town.

The Mexican press appreciates the fine line between subjectivity and objectivity. A skinflint politician who isn't preoccupied with "fair" coverage pays a hefty price in the end. On the front page of the local daily a headline reads: "Prominent official rapes young girl."

To the right of the article is a large photo of the politician. A cutline beneath the beaming wannabe reads: "Candidate hits trail." Readers glancing at the newspaper assume the article and art are related when the story is about a city councilman in a small Michoacan village two thousand kilometers away.

The politician, smart enough to add one plus one, meets with the publisher and editorial staff. Their differences are resolved. A few days later our hero appears on the front page surrounded by his smiling toadies informing the poor inhabitants of an ejido that they will have fresh water if they elect him.

When a man tells a woman that he loves her, he is lying; he only wants to screw her. But when a man tells the same woman the truth, he is sleeping with someone else.

A poor man, a hungry man, a thirsty man, a man who can't afford a downtown dame, can never write the truth. He sees no silver lining in a dark cloud. There is only rain and hail and thunder and lightning.

In order to feel good about others, a journalist has to feel good about himself. If he has a few bucks in his pocket as he chases down a sumptuous repast with a fine wine while a painted lady fondles his balls, he is inspired to discover the most positive of circumstances in the most negative of events.

Life is a lie, a big, bold, beautiful, bountiful, boundless lie. C'est le vie, mademoiselle.