Becarios en campos de concentración

Para que nadie se queje...

Un programa en Corea del Sur "adiestra" a periodistas recién salidos de la universidad en algo parecido a un campo de concentración para periodistas. Pasan días sin dormir, horas y noches en las comisarías, y tienen que aprender a beber como cosacos.

South Korea boot camp for cub reporters
New reporters in Seoul are sent by employers to take part in a months-long program that includes living at a police station, little sleep and lots of drinking. Those who stick it out learn something.
FOREIGN EXCHANGE
February 19, 2010|By John M. Glionna
Reporting from Seoul — The young college graduate acknowledges that she has a job with pretty demanding hours -- like 3:30 a.m. to 3:30 a.m.

Sometimes, to get any shut-eye at all, she shares a bed with a bunch of other trainees. Then there's the minder who rules her every moment, even in the shower, not to mention the marathon drinking sessions to get her in fighting shape.

At 23, she's a cub reporter slogging her way through a grueling round-the-clock journalism training program that often plays out more like a college fraternity hazing. It's a sink-or-swim test of willpower and stamina designed to prepare young wire service, newspaper and television writers for survival in South Korea's no-holds-barred news culture.

"I think the toughest part is not being able to sleep," said the woman, running to another late afternoon court hearing at an hour when most workers were heading home. "That affects a lot of other things. Most nights, I feel lucky if I can sneak in three hours."

The decades-old program is loosely organized among a handful of news outlets in Seoul. Not every news company participates, but those that do send all new hires -- an annual total of 100 to 200 cubs -- to spend as long as six months proving their mettle.

They are assigned to various police stations where they eat, sleep and bang out their stories on crime, courts and hospitals on laptop computers.

At some stations, as many as 10 reporters sleep together on a 10-by-12-foot raised platform that serves as a bed. They're rarely allowed to go home, so even showers become a rarity.

The program is so rigorous that it was recently featured on a TV show detailing the country's toughest jobs. The cubs, fearful of the wrath of their employers, declined to give their names.

Even the police scratch their heads over the bedlam. Asked where the journalists slept at one station, an officer pointed down a dimly lighted hallway. "Just look for the dirtiest room," he said.

One local wire service reporter, a cub mentor who also endured the training, said big stories often require round-the-clock reporting efforts.

"Think about Haiti," he said. "If that kind of large-scale disaster happens, reporters might not be prepared for those circumstances without tough training."

Each news organization creates its own cub reporter hurdles. Some are higher than others. But most programs include a requirement that harks back to "The Front Page" days of American journalism: hard drinking.