I'll tell you a story, like many others. I do not have the exclusive, I know.
I started to be a journalist più di vent’anni fa. Trafila di quasi tutti (a parte i fortunati che già allora avevano fatto la scuola di giornalismo e arrivavano da altre strade): qualcuno ti presenta al direttore, cominci a collaborare, solita gavetta, settemila lire ad articolo – praticamente un rimborso spese -, la domenica mattina presto ti spediscono a fare cose che i giornalisti assunti non farebbero mai ma ti pagano la stessa cifra, aspetti i due anni per diventare pubblicista, aspetti secoli per il riconoscimento dell’avvenuto praticantato perché come praticante non ti hanno mai assunta e comunque ti hanno fatto passare davanti schiere di figli di qualcuno, studi per gli esami (e i colleghi che ti telefonano e ti trovano sempre sui libri ti sfottono, why so much - they explain - then there will be someone who spends his answers), alone exceed them in the meantime a shred of contract you have done, but not to the newspaper for radio and as a clerk in the engineering sector and asking together to sign a letter of resignation. At one point, for their internal business affairs, we will summarize and lay off somewhere else. Not Fnsi contract: what you dream about. The economic empire pertains to one person, but officially it is a myriad of small businesses and therefore, as little real - that otherwise would not do to pay the cost of two journalists - you assume by contract Frt. The subjection, you have no choice.
Then one day discover that you are a communist and begins bullying. No matter whether you are good, that people were writing when you send letters to the newspaper to thank and compliment that other clubbers only turn on their radio to listen to my gr, that I'm going to work with fever and goes away when turning off the light to avoid waste. All this is absolutely irrelevant in the face of grave sin of being a communist. Three years of bullying, put in place by a tangent was also in jail. Because in this world upside down criminals go head-on and good people bend their backs. After three years they told me they sent me away and I almost thanked them. Because even if you have your back square, three years of daily harassment does not hold anymore.
No, I did not cause, nor for bullying or for dismissal. There was no game. In my city magistrates go to dinner with the boss, the union has long been a direct offshoot of the master, I would not find anyone willing to testify (and not gliel'avrei never asked, knowing what they were facing) because if you work in a ' Matryoshka company, each employee of a different company, you can not be in solidarity with fellow workers and to risk your place and the future of your children. And then, of course, the trick they know him well: small companies, eliminate their jobs by closing the establishment, termination for just cause. Unexceptionable.
After about a year after the dismissal I have had occasion: a press office in the capital of prestige. I accepted, but I have cancer, and this is perhaps my only fault, not having been able, after 50 years I lived there, stay away from my homeland and my loved ones. I'm back, in the meantime I got a permanent collaborator with a small national newspaper: less than half a salary, but there Campania. If you live in a depressed area, the costs are lower. Add in that I eat the bare minimum, I dress to the market, getting the groceries in a supermarket where there is only one brand of yogurt milk mozzarella cheese that seems to be in the former Soviet Union (and things that cost a quarter elsewhere), do not phone my mother and expect her to do it, do not go on vacation, I'm not going to make pizza with friends, even friends anymore because I do not - even though my love unconscious people - friendship also means a night at dinner, a cinema, pizza, gifts ... it is a luxury I can not afford. But even then I was fine: I had a job that I love it and I was fine. I searched for another round, the call center agents to sell books, good conversation, but then I left my resume, which clearly - to the newspapers in which I wrote and the press - which are common and not I called again. Not to mention the many newspapers that have sent resumes and that they looked good even to answer questions. He did another small newspaper in a town next to mine regional coverage, things are not that bad given the andargli square miles of billboards which have covered the city. I started a collaboration with them, but I made a mistake: I have been careful to ask how much they paid. And with the enthusiasm of those who love their work and earns millions more and the meticulousness of someone trying to give the best (studying mountains of papers, going to talk to the people to be interviewed as they did once), I started to send weekly my services.
Then, the same day, the administrator of the small national newspaper (like other victims of the cuts to small publishers wanted by the Berlusconi regime) called me to inform me of the collaborations were halved (from 660 € net ... you do count ) and I called the small regional newspaper from which I had not had a penny in months and discovered that those services more than 5,000 characters (those under the national tariff would be worth more than a hundred euro each) I would be paid € 10 gross. I stopped cooperating. It would be better to stop even when life becomes a luxury that you can not afford.
I started to be a journalist più di vent’anni fa. Trafila di quasi tutti (a parte i fortunati che già allora avevano fatto la scuola di giornalismo e arrivavano da altre strade): qualcuno ti presenta al direttore, cominci a collaborare, solita gavetta, settemila lire ad articolo – praticamente un rimborso spese -, la domenica mattina presto ti spediscono a fare cose che i giornalisti assunti non farebbero mai ma ti pagano la stessa cifra, aspetti i due anni per diventare pubblicista, aspetti secoli per il riconoscimento dell’avvenuto praticantato perché come praticante non ti hanno mai assunta e comunque ti hanno fatto passare davanti schiere di figli di qualcuno, studi per gli esami (e i colleghi che ti telefonano e ti trovano sempre sui libri ti sfottono, why so much - they explain - then there will be someone who spends his answers), alone exceed them in the meantime a shred of contract you have done, but not to the newspaper for radio and as a clerk in the engineering sector and asking together to sign a letter of resignation. At one point, for their internal business affairs, we will summarize and lay off somewhere else. Not Fnsi contract: what you dream about. The economic empire pertains to one person, but officially it is a myriad of small businesses and therefore, as little real - that otherwise would not do to pay the cost of two journalists - you assume by contract Frt. The subjection, you have no choice.
Then one day discover that you are a communist and begins bullying. No matter whether you are good, that people were writing when you send letters to the newspaper to thank and compliment that other clubbers only turn on their radio to listen to my gr, that I'm going to work with fever and goes away when turning off the light to avoid waste. All this is absolutely irrelevant in the face of grave sin of being a communist. Three years of bullying, put in place by a tangent was also in jail. Because in this world upside down criminals go head-on and good people bend their backs. After three years they told me they sent me away and I almost thanked them. Because even if you have your back square, three years of daily harassment does not hold anymore.
No, I did not cause, nor for bullying or for dismissal. There was no game. In my city magistrates go to dinner with the boss, the union has long been a direct offshoot of the master, I would not find anyone willing to testify (and not gliel'avrei never asked, knowing what they were facing) because if you work in a ' Matryoshka company, each employee of a different company, you can not be in solidarity with fellow workers and to risk your place and the future of your children. And then, of course, the trick they know him well: small companies, eliminate their jobs by closing the establishment, termination for just cause. Unexceptionable.
After about a year after the dismissal I have had occasion: a press office in the capital of prestige. I accepted, but I have cancer, and this is perhaps my only fault, not having been able, after 50 years I lived there, stay away from my homeland and my loved ones. I'm back, in the meantime I got a permanent collaborator with a small national newspaper: less than half a salary, but there Campania. If you live in a depressed area, the costs are lower. Add in that I eat the bare minimum, I dress to the market, getting the groceries in a supermarket where there is only one brand of yogurt milk mozzarella cheese that seems to be in the former Soviet Union (and things that cost a quarter elsewhere), do not phone my mother and expect her to do it, do not go on vacation, I'm not going to make pizza with friends, even friends anymore because I do not - even though my love unconscious people - friendship also means a night at dinner, a cinema, pizza, gifts ... it is a luxury I can not afford. But even then I was fine: I had a job that I love it and I was fine. I searched for another round, the call center agents to sell books, good conversation, but then I left my resume, which clearly - to the newspapers in which I wrote and the press - which are common and not I called again. Not to mention the many newspapers that have sent resumes and that they looked good even to answer questions. He did another small newspaper in a town next to mine regional coverage, things are not that bad given the andargli square miles of billboards which have covered the city. I started a collaboration with them, but I made a mistake: I have been careful to ask how much they paid. And with the enthusiasm of those who love their work and earns millions more and the meticulousness of someone trying to give the best (studying mountains of papers, going to talk to the people to be interviewed as they did once), I started to send weekly my services.
Then, the same day, the administrator of the small national newspaper (like other victims of the cuts to small publishers wanted by the Berlusconi regime) called me to inform me of the collaborations were halved (from 660 € net ... you do count ) and I called the small regional newspaper from which I had not had a penny in months and discovered that those services more than 5,000 characters (those under the national tariff would be worth more than a hundred euro each) I would be paid € 10 gross. I stopped cooperating. It would be better to stop even when life becomes a luxury that you can not afford.
P.S.: Scusate se non firmo la mia lettera e non vi do elementi per individuarmi, ma non posso rischiare – per di più – che qualcuno mi accusi di fare la vittima. Ma vorrei che qualcuno facesse qualcosa. Non per me: per tutti.
P.S 2 Ad Est per la prima volta da sempre pubblica una lettera anonima per il semplice motivo che la sente profondamente sua.E' la storia di chi vuole fare un "mestiere", quello del giornalista, che per sua stessa natura è equivalente ad una missione.A tutti gli amici blogger chiediamo di diffondere questa lettera.Sappiamo, per averlo provato sulla nostra pelle, che la solitudine e l'abbandono sono fedeli compagni di chi scrive ma sono anche, e soprattutto, la sua peggior condanna.All'amica journalist I have to confess that he had asked for help .... Article 21 but there were other priorità.Dovrai therefore settle for this blog and friends in the network who want to follow our esempio.Noi our part, as always, we garantendo.Con the heart.
from "east" http://gaetanoalessi.blogspot.com/
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