The other day, the Martha Gellhorn Prize for Journalism was awarded in honour of the great American reporter who lived in this country until she died three years ago. Gellhorn adhered to no consensus of the kind that shapes and distorts so much journalism. She regarded governments, indeed all authority, as her professional enemies, and their propaganda as “official drivel”.
Almost 20 years ago, during the miners’ strike, the sprightly 75-year-old reporter got into her car and drove into the Welsh valleys. Most of the media were then concentrating on miners’ violence on the picket line, which echoed Thatcher’s “enemy within”. She phoned me from a call box in Newbridge. “Listen,” she said, “you ought to see what the police are doing here. They’re surrounding villages at night and beating the hell out of people. Why isn’t that being reported?” I suggested she report it. “I’ve done it,” she replied.
That’s why the Martha Gellhorn Prize is different. Too many awards these days go to top-of-the-head windbags; few are won by truly independent reporters who bother to go
— source johnpilger.com | john pilger | 16 Apr 2001