Kidnapped journalist gets lost in the headlines

by Billy Bender

Pictures and words equal journalism.

Pictures leave an impact, an image that at times one can never forget. Whether it’s Cassius Clay flexing obnoxiously over a fallen Sonny Liston or a plane heading into an unsuspecting skyscraper, pictures sometimes don’t require words for a reaction.

Words, whether Shakespearean or Appalachian, are the foundation of the newspaper. Days live in infamy and giant steps for mankind are etched in history on the pages of newspapers every day.

Well, it took a picture without a face and just three words that caused the stomach churning that only could come from loving somebody or feeling nauseous, the latter of which I felt Jan. 31 when I picked up The Post.

On the front page was a picture of a man wearing a pink and blue windbreaker with his head between his legs. It was nothing spectacular, except for the fact that a white-robed hand holding a gun was pointed at his head.

I started reading the article. For those of you living in Punxatawney Phil’s groundhog lair for the past few weeks, the picture was of Daniel Pearl, a reporter for The Wall Street Journal. A group of kidnappers in Karachi, Pakistan snatched Pearl, stealing his objectivity as a reporter.

I stared at the headshot of Pearl and shuddered. That could be me, wearing glasses, shirt and tie. Granted I want to be a sports reporter and probably will not be kidnapped while covering a New York Knicks game, but that’s not the point. The group that kidnapped Pearl had broken the unwritten rules.

Pearl was an innocent bystander. During war, which the United States and Pakistan are not engaged in with each other, reporters are supposed to be covering the action from the sidelines. When a reporter is brought into the game, the point of covering events is lost. Pearl got shoved under the gun involuntarily just for doing his job.

Pearl’s job entails working with words. But when I read the article, it took those three magic words from Pearl’s pregnant wife to get the pang in my chest again. When asked if she could deliver her husband a message, Marianne Pearl simply said, “I love you.”

Marianne often worked with her husband on stories but passed on this one. Now, during a week where cupids fly and heart-shaped chocolates are used to express affection, Marianne is consumed with searching Karachi cemeteries for her husband’s body.

Some Valentine’s Day.

But yesterday a key suspect in the Pearl kidnapping said the hostage still is alive. Now before the story fades from memory, we need to get the truth about Pearl’s whereabouts. If he is not freed soon, the story probably will fade from the front page to somewhere near the classified advertisements —much like Osama bin Laden.

Nobody knows where bin Laden is. Nobody knows where Pearl is. If nobody knows, then nobody writes about it. But that does not mean the government should stand with its hands in its pockets. We need to find Pearl and bin Laden, and we need to take care of these problems.

Likewise, we need to take every step necessary to ensure journalists are protected from the black hand of extremism. When journalists such as Pearl have their freedoms wrestled away at gunpoint, then the sacred ideas that Hearst, Pulitzer and Scripps promoted are held in captivity too.

But at least this journalist is not going to let an Islamic extremist with a pistol scare him away. Whoever kidnapped Pearl should know that their day is coming. I hope the next picture that turns my stomach is one of Daniel and Marianne Pearl reunited in a warm hug after his release or liberation. God willing, it will be before Valentine’s Day. Speaking for all journalists, we’re with you, Danny Pearl.

— Bender is a senior journalism major. Send him an e-mail at wb299298@ohio.edu