"To live journalism until the last breath."

Just a few days before his expected death, Uroš Komlenović, one of the greatest journalists I have ever met, was writing for Vreme about the "Mitić hole" at Slavija. As a young journalist, I thought to myself, "This one is not normal."

The older I get, the more death I witness, and the closer I find myself to the end, the more I understand him. He lived journalism to the last breath, just like many others. In fact, I believe that it is precisely such journalists who are the reason and guarantee for the survival of the media at a time when it seems there is little hope for them.

In our struggle for every inch of freedom, for every dinar, for every gig and job—endlessly contemplating the situation in the media—we often forget that we are the media. We forget that the fate of the media is only partially determined by Aleksandar Vučić, Suzana Vasiljević, and others like them, and that the essence lies in how passionately and lovingly we approach our work and the media in which we operate.

In these moments, when media outlets are shutting down, when their editorial structures are changing, and when they are gasping under problems, when colleagues are called in for questioning for reporting, when we are beaten, disqualified, and slandered, an entire army of journalists who live for their work and embody their work continues to persevere. They instill fear in our bones simply because we mentioned a sound cannon. We have survived much worse than that.

It’s not just those people known to the wider public. It’s not just Veran, who is threatened and attacked. It’s not just Kristina, who, like a lioness, fights simultaneously for her child with disabilities and for her media outlet. It’s not just Brana, full of knowledge, nor Ilir with his magical gift.

It’s not just television stars. These are countless journalists, cameramen, and editors who, by their own will or by circumstance, have not come into the spotlight and gained "fame," but who possess talent, passion, faith, and persistence that is rarely seen.

We must not forget the former journalists who, bitter and disappointed, increasingly refuse to acknowledge that they are part of us and more frequently criticize our work and our public appearances, yet who are still here, writing poems and stories and waiting for an opportunity.

Perhaps I am biased, but in few professions do I see so many people who have sacrificed their personal lives, health, and well-being to do this wonderful and difficult job.

And that is why I believe we will survive, no matter how naive and like a slogan that may sound. It simply cannot be otherwise with the people who are here. Such people will not allow our profession to be defined solely by those who work for centers of political power, for money, violating all rules and tarnishing the honor of journalism. They will not allow this moment to be remembered for those who sold their faith for a meal and renounced their own integrity.

Far from being perfect, we are broken by vanity, our ambitions run wild, we are often not in solidarity, and even more often we are disunited, but the foundation is indisputable. We will remain here until the very end.

And at this moment, someone who is facing death is simultaneously writing their last piece. Someone is striving to work despite cancer, autoimmune diseases, and disabilities. Many are working without pay, without recognition, in media outlets that are dying.

This is something, Mr. President, and everyone who is working against us, that you will never understand.

And it is stronger than you.

Author: Tamara Skrozza

Source: Cenzolovka