I HAPPEN TO BE WRITING this on my birthday, but it's to celebrate another, much bigger and more important birthday. The British Broadcasting Corporation, to use its rarely-spoken unabbreviated name, is about to turn one hundred years old.   

When the BBC was initially founded on October 18th, 1922 the C stood simply for "Company," in fact a grouping of six communication businesses, including most prominently Guglielmo Marconi’s company, Wireless Telegraph & Signal. But within five years it was to become more grandiosely a "body corporate," endowed with both that "Corporation" title and a Royal Charter, designed in part to protect it as an independent entity from commercial or political pressures.

A NEW KING TAKES OVER from the old Queen and a new political leader replaces the previous played-out office-holder.  

That new title, King Charles III, is a challenge for newsrooms everywhere to get accustomed to. TV commentators this past week were still calling him 'the Prince' and instantly correcting themselves, hours and even days after he had assumed the topmost position. New habits do get instilled, though, and the updated moniker will be tripping comfortably off everybody's lips before too long. How Charles himself will adjust to the new role is inevitably unclear, but he and his chief courtiers in 'The Firm' know full well that a lot depends on what new relationship he strikes with the media.

INCITING? ENABLING? TRIGGERING? How should we view media responsibility in these recent days of mounting, and I’d suggest far from random, acts of extreme violence.

It would have been a mistake to ever think, if anybody really did, that the writer Salman Rushdie (left) might no longer be in danger, a full 33 years after the fatwa death sentence was declared against him by Iran’s Ayatollah RuhollahKhomeini, himself now long dead and gone.  

I SURPRISED SOME FOLKS, EVIDENTLY. During my regular public radio version of this column last week, I reacted very negatively — and some people said uncharacteristically — to one disturbing aspect of President Joe Biden’s Middle East trip.  

IT WAS BOUND TO HAPPEN. The gruesome symbolism of US citizens shot dead and injured amid the red-white-and-blue razzamatazz of Independence Day was horribly predictable.

The law of averages, though it’s more a journalistic construct and far from a proven mathematical rule, has long suggested that sooner rather than later the all-American atrocity of a gunman on a rampage would occur on our national day of celebration.

IT’S SELF-EVIDENT (OR I HOPE IT IS) that any sensible New York-based media person should spend time in Europe. I’m now reflecting on almost two months recently spent in Ireland and France, which also included a brief look-in on the UK.

THROUGH THE MANY YEARS THAT I REPORTED ON SOUTH AFRICA, I had recurring appointments with Desmond Tutu (1931-2021) to interview him for whichever media outlet I happened to be working with at the time. We called them our 'catch-up interviews.'  Here below is a condensed version of one such exchange, conducted this century, plus a reflection on another from the last century.

JUST AS THE WORLD KEEPS TURNING, so does the huge glass box. In the newly reopening production (tonight) of The Lehman Trilogy on Broadway, all the action takes place inside that box, perched on a massive turntable.

When first revealed at curtain-up, the box represents glass-walled offices, home to the financial behemoth that was Lehman Brothers, on the momentous night in September 2008 when the company crashed to its death - the biggest bankruptcy in history, ushering in our so-called Great Recession. 

LET'S STEP AWAY awhile from our own society's chaotic divisions. I know a orphanage in Africa, to adapt Karen Blixen's famous opening sentence. It’s for young elephants, and it’s one of the many, though not enough, that are scattered across the continent.

AN EXISTENTIAL CHOICE faces America in these final days before November 3rd.

And how are the nation’s media rising to this epochal challenge?

AS BEFITS OUR FRACTURED TIMES - and especially during the seemingly endless Trumpathon that is the 2020 Republic National Convention - we can and should turn our critical attention to the dark arts of disinformation. And how to fight them.

WITH THE WHITE HOUSE ‘initiative’ for Mid-East peace now wholly failed (because wholly biased), the words ‘peace’ or even ‘accommodation’ now appear unspeakable in the Oval Office, in all matters foreign and domestic. The divisive viciousness of the Trump campaign is now set for the months until November.

A NATION - NO, A WORLD - INFLAMED over racial injustice … rampant disease wreaking worldwide havoc but provoking feckless denial and inaction from authorities … many populations’ livelihoods in ruins. At such a time, the transformed media ecosystem must assuredly take serious stock of its responsibilities.

A PRESIDENT CRAZILY at odds with medical science. A nation reeling from disease that rampages through its ranks. But the man at the top merely sows confusion, and vindictively punishes those who might contradict him.

TIME SPENT IN LOCK-DOWN, as now with our COVID19-imposed sentences of unending house-arrest, can be time well-spent in reflection … and even more in reading.

Not everybody will fulfill their long-avoided completion of À La Recherche du Temps Perdu or War and Peace, and I have for my part made a point of sinking into much lighter fare.

DISLOCATED TIMES LIKE THESE inevitably create scattered thoughts. My own directionless thinking has strayed, unsurprisingly, to Daniel Defoe’s compelling 200-pager: A Journal of the Plague Year.

It’s not what it might seem from its explanatory subtitle: Observations or Memorials of the most Remarkable OCCURENCES, Public as Private, which happened in LONDON during the Great Visitation.

THIS IS A FIRST for me as I pound my well-trodden media beat. I’ll confess I had never seen a Tibetan film until I saw the hauntingly resonant ‘Jinpa’. And now I want to see more – at least, if they’re made by director and novelist Pema Tseden. (He has directed five previous movies for us to choose from.)

MY DEAREST COMPANION said as we were leaving the stunning exhibit-hall: “It’s terrible that we never learn about this, while we’re told so much about ancient Greek and Roman civilizations.”

Chicago is offering a timely and trenchant dramatic experience – in a limited run, at the city’s Victory Gardens Theatre, and likely to travel soon to Washington DC and New York. It’s a remarkable one-woman-show profiling US House of Representatives’ Speaker Nancy Pelosi. The piece is titled, perhaps inevitably, but oh-so-appropriately: The Adult in the Room.

ON THIS FINAL DAY of the decade I’m responding to a repeated call from the insistent Jill Goodman. Jill, of course, is one of my interlocutors – along with Marshall Miles – in the weekly Public Radio version of this column, which has been airing consistently throughout that decade and longer. (Our first broadcast together was in fact way back in 2007.)