I have to admit that the empty prestige and the stupid glory - yes, the horrible rush, the deadly sense of importance that war brings to life - are hard illusions to shake off. Look at me, a war correspondent.
Interpretation
War can create a false sense of importance and glory that is difficult to overcome.
In this quote, Michael Hastings reflects on the deceptive allure of war, which often brings a fleeting sense of prestige and glory for those involved, particularly journalists like himself. He acknowledges how easy it is to become enamored with the excitement and importance that accompany warfare, despite the underlying horrors and emptiness that such illusions can mask. His insight serves as a reminder of the need to critically evaluate the narratives constructed around conflict and recognize the true costs hidden beneath the facade of glory.
In practice
In a discussion about the romanticization of military conflict.
In campaign reporting more than any other kind of press coverage, reporters aren't just covering a story, they're a part of it - influencing outcomes, setting expectations, framing candidates - and despite what they tell themselves, it's impossible to both be a part of the action and report on it objectively.
A woman I loved [Andi Parhamovich] was killed in Baghdad in January 2007 – al-Qaeda in Iraq took credit for it … The memorial service with me crying over an empty coffin.
Whenever you're reporting, there's always something you can't say or write, but the questions, you always want to get as close to that line as possible. You want to ask the tough questions.
Holy shadows of the dead, I'm not to blame for your cruel and bitter fate, but the accursed rivalry which brought sister nations and brother people, to fight one another. I do not feel happy for this victory of mine. On the contrary, I would be glad, brothers, if I had all of you standing here next to me, since we are united by the same language, the same blood and the same visions.
Even these stars, which seem so numerous, are as sand, as dust - or less than dust - in the enormity of the space in which there is nothing.
With the aurora borealis flaming coldly overhead, or the stars leaping in the frost dance, and the land numb and frozen under its pall of snow, this song of the huskies might have been the defiance of life, only it was pitched in minor key, with long-drawn wailings and half-sobs, and was more the pleading of life, the articulate travail of existence. It was an old song, old as the breed itself--one of the first songs of the younger world in a day when songs were sad.
The past grows gradually around one, like a placenta for dying.
Nothing is more active than thought, for it travels over the universe, and nothing is stronger than necessity for all must submit to it.
Society is endangered not by the great profligacy of a few, but by the laxity of morals amongst all.
Subscribe for the occasional hand-picked quote. No noise.