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Über dieses Buch

Journalistic activity crosses national borders in creative and sometimes unexpected ways. Drawing on many interviews and newsroom observation, this book addresses an overlooked but important aspect of international journalism by examining how journalists carry out their daily work at the transnational and regional transborder level.

Inhaltsverzeichnis

Frontmatter

Chapter 1. Introduction

News Doesn’t Stop at the Border
Abstract
The Schengen Bridge is a four-lane span across the picturesque Moselle River valley that carries traffic from Germany, on the eastern bank of the river, to Luxembourg, on the western side. Once in Luxembourg, cars proceed down a long, winding offramp flanked by vineyards. Heading south a kilometer or so from this point, drivers reach the Luxembourg town of Schengen, a community of about 1,500 people located on the western bank of the Moselle. Just across the river, known as the Mosel in German, is the town of Perl in the German state of the Saarland. A bit south lies Apach, in the French province of Lorraine. In June 1985, representatives from France, Germany and the Benelux countries convened here aboard a boat and signed the first of what became known as the Schengen Agreements. These agreements provided for free passage between core European Union (EU) states, leading to the elimination of border controls.
Kevin Grieves

Chapter 2. Transnational Journalism in Europe

A Transnational Journalistic Culture?
Abstract
Guten Abend, Willkommen … Bonsoir, Bienvenue.” With these words, Arte anchor William Irigoyen greeted television viewers in Germany and France in each country’s language as he opened his evening newscast of September 10, 2010, in typical fashion. Arte is a cultural and information channel run by a French-German public service television partnership and airs programming in both languages to audiences on both sides of the border.1 As Europeans increasingly seek common ground among diverse cultures and languages, Arte is often held up as a prime example of a transnational communicative forum.
Kevin Grieves

Chapter 3. Conflict and Commonality

The Evolution of Regional Transborder Journalism
Abstract
Late one night, the telephone rang at the volunteer fire department in Kleinblittersdorf, a small border town in the Saarland in southwestern Germany. There’s a fire in a nearby village, the caller reported. He said he could see the flames flickering from some distance away. The fire chief gathered his personnel, who prepared the fire truck and drove to the reported location with lights and sirens engaged. But the emergency, it turned out, was not in the small village in the Saarland. In the dark, the fire was visible from across the Blies River, which in this area forms the border between Germany and France. Just across the bridge, flames had engulfed a farm that stood in Lorraine.
Kevin Grieves

Chapter 4. Crossing Boundaries of Established Journalistic Routines

Abstract
In a windowless postproduction suite housed in one of the nondescript buildings of the Saarländischer Rundfunk (SR), a technician sits at a console bristling with buttons. The edited segments of a half-hour television program called SaarLorLüx flash across a screen on the front wall of the room. The topic of this episode is guest houses and bed and breakfasts in nearby Alsace (deemed close enough to be relevant to the scope of the program, despite the show’s title). While the video and natural sound from the segments play, the program’s presenter, enclosed in a soundproofed booth, reads her script into a microphone. The technician mixes her voice track into the edited program in the appropriate spots. The producer sits next to the technician and follows along on a hard copy of the script, occasionally interrupting the recording session to give instructions to the presenter. This is a fairly typical part of the television production routine, I think to myself, having witnessed similar sessions in various settings and countries.
Kevin Grieves

Chapter 5. Regional Transborder Journalistic Content and the Mainstream-Niche Tension

Abstract
The man named Magua, who says he’s from the Huron tribe, displays a large tattoo of a warrior in full headdress on his upper bicep. Magua’s long black hair is shaved bare on the sides of his head, in the fashion typical of Native American tribes of Northeastern North America. His chest is adorned with a necklace carrying shells and beads, and shiny earrings dangle from his ears. Shirtless, Magua strides out of his teepee with rifle in hand. He’s off to take part in some trading. Several visitors dressed in trappers’ furs have arrived in the camp, and Magua inspects a rifle offered by one of the traders. He comments that it’s a handsome weapon, a bit more up-to-date than his current firearm. He says he wants to negotiate a good price or perhaps even convince the visitors to swap the rifle for something else.
Kevin Grieves

Chapter 6. Journalists and the Mediated Construction of Transborder Regions

Abstract
The government of the Saarland offered attractive prizes for the finalists: a Smart car (built at the company’s factory in nearby Sarreguemines, France), a trip for two to Berlin, and a trip for two to Paris. The contest, dubbed “Ein Name für die Region—Un nom pour la région,” called on participants to suggest a catchy name for the border-transcending region. The thinking was that Saar-Lor-Lux, while very recognizable, no longer reflected the geographic reality of an area that now included parts of Belgium and the German state of Rheinland-Pfalz. The official designation of SaarLorLux-Trier Westpfalz, while all-encompassing, was too much of a mouthful for casual usage. By late 2002, more than 3000 ideas had streamed in, including colorful monikers such as “Viafronta,” “Amicitia,” and “Uniregio.”1 Some government representatives liked the name “Maas-Mosel-Saar,” which was based on the primary rivers of the region, and predicted official adoption of the name sometime in the summer of 2003.2
Kevin Grieves

Chapter 7. “We Meet and We Decide Together”

Transborder Journalistic Collaboration
Abstract
The television camera pans across colorful flower blossoms and carefully manicured beds of shrubs, finally resting on two women kneeling in one of the beds. Initially the women pretend the flowers are their own handiwork, but then they confess that pros have been at work in the showcase gardens behind them. One of the women, German television moderator Kristin Haub, faces the camera and welcomes viewers to the Landesgartenschau, or state garden festival, in Baden-Württemberg in southwestern Germany. She then turns to her French colleague Carine Bastian and says, “Gartenschau, das ist für dich was ganz Neues, ne?” (“Garden festival, that’s something completely new for you, right?”). To this, Bastian replies, starting off in German and then switching to her native tongue, “Wir kennen das nicht in Frankreich! Le Landesgartenschau, c’est typiquement allemand” (“We aren’t familiar with that in France! The state garden festival, that’s typically German”).1
Kevin Grieves

Chapter 8. Conclusion

What Do Boundaries Mean to Journalism?
Abstract
As my opening visit in the small Luxembourg town of Schengen came to an end, I began to drive back out of town—toward the bridge over the Moselle. As I drove along, I became aware that—despite the dearth of imposing monuments to European unity—plenty of visitors from neighboring Germany and France were nonetheless here in Luxembourg. Many of them were there not for anything to do with European identity but instead for a very mundane reason: their cars’ fuel tanks were empty. Filling stations line the roadways along the border between Luxembourg and Germany. It turns out that fuel is much less expensive in Luxembourg, creating a transborder economic pilgrimage. It appears that here, alongside the petrol and diesel pumps, rather than in front of the diminutive stone monument, many Europeans are taking advantage of the freedom to move across national borders.
Kevin Grieves

Backmatter

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