Every once in a while something TS Eliot wrote begins to make sense. As I sat at my office desk a few words from his poem “East Coker” sprung, unbidden and for no real reason, to mind. Describing his frustration at using words he writes: “And so each venture is a new beginning, a raid on the inarticulate with shabby equipment always deteriorating…”
“Spot on Tom” I thought as I sat at a computer terminal that must be at least ten years old and doesn’t even know what a modern USB port is. It does have a stiffy drive but it doesn’t have a disc drive, so it’s impossible to play any of the CD-ROMs which the motor industry and others send out with pictures and information on the latest models. They obviously assume that those of us in the communications industry are able to communicate. When it comes to email attachments I can’t open anything that moves, so those fancy animated invitations to parties that advertising agencies like to email are impossible to call up. Which is why I don’t get to many ad agency parties, I suspect. Obviously if I don’t have a disc drive then there’s little point in having speakers either, which is probably just as well because I doubt if I even have the software installed to drive them.
In fairness, the computer terminal does what it is supposed to do although it does take about ten minutes to boot up every morning. It allows me to write my pieces on a page template and then send them to the subs for a thorough revision. That’s about all it does though. The problem comes when I work at home on my own state-of-the-art laptop. Apart from having to cope with two computer configurations, one frustratingly antique and the other state-of-the-art (for the next few months at any rate), I now find it virtually impossible to transfer information from one to the other. For example, the digital pictures of cars I review can be burnt onto a disc at home but there’s no way I can even see them at work. I bought something called a USB flash disc a few weeks ago because I thought it would be a much more reliable way of transferring data than a stiffy disc, but there’s nothing to plug it into. Even an article written on Microsoft Word and saved on a stiffy has to be saved either in rich text format or as text because I don’t even have an outdated Microsoft Word programme at work. That has to be specially authorised. A raid on the inarticulate with shabby equipment indeed.
How on earth can journalists be expected to do their jobs properly if they aren’t provided with the right tools? It’s like sending someone down a mine with a hand torch, a set of spare batteries and a teaspoon and expecting them to dig for gold every day. Obviously the financial affairs of South African newspaper groups are so precarious that they cannot afford things like computers. Which is odd because there always seems to be enough money around for redecorating the executive suite, for lavish client entertainment and for generous directors’ bonuses.
Management will probably be reading this article with some feeling of discomfort but I have absolutely no doubt that most journalists will be nodding in agreement. After all, it’s what we’ve all been muttering about in the lifts these past few years. It’s just that no-one has been crazy enough to put it into print until now. One final thought. If you’re expected to work with outdated and inefficient computers the message from up above is clear: your services are not very highly valued.