12.03.2007
The Peace Conference: My Day
A student's perspective
It's a little after five o'clock at night, and I'm walking beside the road. I'm cold, and hungry. The sidewalk is wet with rain, and there is a light fog. A mile or two ahead looms my destination: the Naval Academy stadium.
That was how my night began on Nov. 26, 2007. The very next day was the Annapolis Peace Conference, to be held at the Naval Academy. And incredibly, I was going ... me, a 20-year-old student from St. John's College. The news magazine that I write for, The Epoch Journal, wanted to cover the meeting of Middle East leaders, and I volunteered to report it. As no one else from my school was going, I headed alone toward the stadium to get my press credentials.
A seemingly mile-long line of reporters was queued to get theirs as well.
Unfortunately, everyone needed a picture taken, and there was only one camera. So we waited in line. And waited.
The White House Press Corp had gotten special permission to cut ahead of the other reporters (i.e. me) and get their press credentials.We were irritated by this fact, but bit our tongues. And then there was the Frenchman, a reporter from Le Monde, a short man with an explosive temper. Storming around the line, he shouted "How are we supposed to find ze truth, if we are not all treated as equals?" The Americans smirked at the man's attempted protest, and the Brits just rolled their eyes. Two-and-a-half hours later, I got my credentials, and went home.
At nine in the morning, I boarded a shuttle with the other reporters and took the route to the Naval Academy. Walking through the imposing doors, I was ushered into the main hall, where hundreds of reporters with their laptops crowded the arena floor. President Bush was giving the opening remarks on a giant screen.
Journalists from The New York Times, The Washington Post, and National Public Radio were cranking out their stories. Camera crews were rushing about. And there I was: a 20-year-old student with only a tape-recorder and no idea what to do. No microphone, no producer, no big name to get me attention. Just a press badge with a publication that no one had heard of, and a very confused look on my face.
A bright light flashed from a camera, and I squinted to see a journalist interviewing someone who turned out to be a spokesman for the Israeli delegation. When the interview ended, I mustered my courage, and made my move. Tapping the man on his shoulder, I politely asked, "Sir, could I please have a word with you. I'm from my publication, The Epoch Journal." I flashed my press badge, and prepared for rejection.
But the man quickly nodded his head, and proceeded to answer the couple of questions that I managed to sputter out. "What are your hopes for the conference today?" "Was there any discussion about dividing Jerusalem?" "Would you be willing to talk to Hamas?" I finished with the interview, totally amazed that he had been so receptive.
My confidence grew. I began to actively seek out more interviews. I hurried over to a crowd of reporters clustered in a corner and was whisked along into a small room. Standing behind a table was a soft-spoken man, the ambassador from Saudi Arabia. He made a brief statement, and proceeded to take questions. I stretched my tape recorder as close to him as possible, hoping that it would pick up some of his words. Before long, a bodyguard pushed me back, and the diplomat moved out of the room, back to a part of the academy where reporters were not allowed. Still, I had managed to get the interview.
Then came a lengthy lull. Three more hours passed. There was no hustle, no bustle.
Finally, a spokesperson for the State Department stood up and announced that Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice would be coming soon to make the closing remarks. The Condoleezza Rice. Speaking live, on the stage in front of me.
She was scheduled to arrive at 5:30, but came at 6:45.
There was no ceremony, no music. No pomp and circumstance … just an attractive, dignified woman standing alone not 15 feet in front of me. She made so brief closing remarks, thanked us,and turned to head home to Washington. The conference was over.
As I headed home after my 10-hour day, I thought about the surreal quality of the whole experience: how I had attended this important, international press conference; how I had been eyewitness to a major news event; how I had gotten my interviews, seen the most famous cabinet member, and rubbed elbows with the great and not-so-great. The most impressive thing, though, was that I am still in college. It looks like the Frenchman wasn't so right after all.
- Daniel Lewkow
It's a little after five o'clock at night, and I'm walking beside the road. I'm cold, and hungry. The sidewalk is wet with rain, and there is a light fog. A mile or two ahead looms my destination: the Naval Academy stadium.
That was how my night began on Nov. 26, 2007. The very next day was the Annapolis Peace Conference, to be held at the Naval Academy. And incredibly, I was going ... me, a 20-year-old student from St. John's College. The news magazine that I write for, The Epoch Journal, wanted to cover the meeting of Middle East leaders, and I volunteered to report it. As no one else from my school was going, I headed alone toward the stadium to get my press credentials.
A seemingly mile-long line of reporters was queued to get theirs as well.
Unfortunately, everyone needed a picture taken, and there was only one camera. So we waited in line. And waited.
The White House Press Corp had gotten special permission to cut ahead of the other reporters (i.e. me) and get their press credentials.We were irritated by this fact, but bit our tongues. And then there was the Frenchman, a reporter from Le Monde, a short man with an explosive temper. Storming around the line, he shouted "How are we supposed to find ze truth, if we are not all treated as equals?" The Americans smirked at the man's attempted protest, and the Brits just rolled their eyes. Two-and-a-half hours later, I got my credentials, and went home.
At nine in the morning, I boarded a shuttle with the other reporters and took the route to the Naval Academy. Walking through the imposing doors, I was ushered into the main hall, where hundreds of reporters with their laptops crowded the arena floor. President Bush was giving the opening remarks on a giant screen.
Journalists from The New York Times, The Washington Post, and National Public Radio were cranking out their stories. Camera crews were rushing about. And there I was: a 20-year-old student with only a tape-recorder and no idea what to do. No microphone, no producer, no big name to get me attention. Just a press badge with a publication that no one had heard of, and a very confused look on my face.
A bright light flashed from a camera, and I squinted to see a journalist interviewing someone who turned out to be a spokesman for the Israeli delegation. When the interview ended, I mustered my courage, and made my move. Tapping the man on his shoulder, I politely asked, "Sir, could I please have a word with you. I'm from my publication, The Epoch Journal." I flashed my press badge, and prepared for rejection.
But the man quickly nodded his head, and proceeded to answer the couple of questions that I managed to sputter out. "What are your hopes for the conference today?" "Was there any discussion about dividing Jerusalem?" "Would you be willing to talk to Hamas?" I finished with the interview, totally amazed that he had been so receptive.
My confidence grew. I began to actively seek out more interviews. I hurried over to a crowd of reporters clustered in a corner and was whisked along into a small room. Standing behind a table was a soft-spoken man, the ambassador from Saudi Arabia. He made a brief statement, and proceeded to take questions. I stretched my tape recorder as close to him as possible, hoping that it would pick up some of his words. Before long, a bodyguard pushed me back, and the diplomat moved out of the room, back to a part of the academy where reporters were not allowed. Still, I had managed to get the interview.
Then came a lengthy lull. Three more hours passed. There was no hustle, no bustle.
Finally, a spokesperson for the State Department stood up and announced that Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice would be coming soon to make the closing remarks. The Condoleezza Rice. Speaking live, on the stage in front of me.
She was scheduled to arrive at 5:30, but came at 6:45.
There was no ceremony, no music. No pomp and circumstance … just an attractive, dignified woman standing alone not 15 feet in front of me. She made so brief closing remarks, thanked us,and turned to head home to Washington. The conference was over.
As I headed home after my 10-hour day, I thought about the surreal quality of the whole experience: how I had attended this important, international press conference; how I had been eyewitness to a major news event; how I had gotten my interviews, seen the most famous cabinet member, and rubbed elbows with the great and not-so-great. The most impressive thing, though, was that I am still in college. It looks like the Frenchman wasn't so right after all.
- Daniel Lewkow
