You Say Bravery, We Say Brokaw

" Tomorrow," said the ad in last Monday's New York Times, "the Committee to Protect Journalists will honor five brave journalists."

With support from the Knight Foundation, the CPJ is launching "a global campaign to combat impunity for the killers of journalists. Murder is the ultimate form of censorship," the ad continues. "Working with our colleagues around the world, we must now break the cycle of impunity." So, who are the "five brave journalists .  .  . who have fought for freedom" that the Knight Foundation and the Committee to Protect Journalists choose to honor? Dmitry Muratov of Russia, Mazhar Abbas of Pakistan, Adela Navarro Bello of Mexico, Gao Qinrong of China, and Tom Brokaw of the United States.

Here at THE SCRAPBOOK, we confess with some embarrassment, the names of Muratov, Abbas, Bello, and Qinrong don't ring any bells. But when it comes to bravery in the face of death, in the fight for freedom, the struggle against violence, and the courage to speak truth to power, the name of Tom Brokaw springs instantly to mind.

You think it's easy to sit behind an anchor desk and read the news, to trade quips with David Letterman, moderate discussions, chair panels, deliver commencement addresses, or edit coffee-table books? Think again. Who among us will ever forget the night when Tom Brokaw began his evening broadcast of the news--even though the TelePrompTer was broken? Or his legendary interview--eyeball-to-eyeball--with Nancy Reagan? When Iraq invaded Kuwait, when Princess Diana died, when the Twin Towers and Pentagon were attacked on 9/11, Brokaw had the guts to go on the air and read the news.

Sure, there were critics, even senators and presidents, and powerful business executives, who didn't like what Brokaw was doing, who complained about the way he afflicted the comfortable, who moaned about the way he comforted the afflicted, who sometimes even switched channels to ABC or CBS. Brokaw didn't care. He'd come up through the ranks, he'd earned his stripes, he'd co-anchored the Today Show, he'd faced danger a thousand times. And nothing--not snow, not writers' strikes, not happy-talk local news or bad makeup--ever kept Tom Brokaw from fighting for what he believed.

Next week: THE SCRAPBOOK salutes John Chancellor, the man who won the Cold War.

Intellectual Stirrings on the Left

For a generation, thanks to the contributions of the conservative movement, the Republican party has been acknowledged as the party of ideas. But look out: The times they are a-changin'! The bestseller lists are now full of tomes from the likes of New York Times columnist Paul Krugman ( The Conscience of a Liberal). And then there's the junior division of the liberal renaissance, represented here by Jeremy Zilber's Why Mommy is a Democrat, a concise version of the Krugman thesis (Democrats good, Republicans bad) only with colorful illustrations. We especially liked these two pages: the small, peaceable rodent Democrats needing protection from an ambling elephant (get it?) and the Democratic mommy making sure that her children go to the expensive university.

There are many fine books reviewed elsewhere in this issue, but for the Democrats on your Christmas list you'll want to stop right here and go to the website littledemocrats.net, where Zilber's classic is being peddled. It will raise the IQs of all your liberal friends. And there are discounts for bulk orders if you are a Democratic party fundraiser.

More Recommended Reading

All you politics junkies who aren't reading Matthew Continetti's Campaign Standard blog on our website are missing out--not just on the musings of Bill Kristol, Fred Barnes, and other WEEKLY STANDARD contributors, but on the insights of pseudonymous blogger Richelieu. Here is one recent post from the Cardinal:

Today's sermon is about hatred. Specifically that wonderful, molten, candidate-upon-candidate intra-party hatred that makes a presidential primary go and go. Most candidates, by nature, hate each other. But over time, each candidate develops two special hatreds, each boiling at an intensity far above the rest. First, there is the rational hatred, as in, "This bastard stands between me and my rightful place as the nominee so this bastard must die." Then, there is the secret hatred. This is the strongest hatred of all. Often it began as affection and turned very, very dark. The secret hatred is not always rational and is often the mysterious reason late in the race that a candidate suddenly does something--such as endorsing their officially hated candidate--that is hard to understand by standard political calculus. But the real motive is always the same: to punish the secretly hated candidate. With this in mind, let's look at the field and take a guess at the top hatreds in the race: Hillary Clinton. Official hatred: Barack Obama. The gall! So flashy, so smart, so .  .  . black. And therefore so maddeningly hard to liquidate in the usual manner. Secret hatred: Bill Clinton. "All I asked for were two successful, non-controversial terms from him, then I .  .  . " Barack Obama. Official hatred: John Edwards. No Edwards in Iowa and Obama would get most of that vote and win. Secret hatred: Hillary Clinton. Jive-ass flip-flopper. John Edwards. Official hatred: Barack Obama. Same as above, but backwards. Secret hatred: Hillary Clinton. How dare anybody have such naked ambition! Bill Richardson. Official hatred: Hillary Clinton. He's the résumé candidate, but she's grabbed the experience mantle. Secret hatred: Barack Obama. Black trumps Latino. Chris Dodd and Joe Biden. Official hatred: Barack Obama. Junior senator, what nerve. Secret hatred: each other.

For Richelieu's take on the secret hatreds of the Republican field, and much else besides, hie thee to weeklystandard.com.