On the eve of the prisoner swap that brought home some 50 of our abductees, the studio was swept by a question that all commentators took seriously: Does the ceasefire and the stubborn negotiations actually herald a halt in the momentum of the fighting, or will the IDF return to advance in Gaza and strike Hamas with the same force?
Thank God, I am not a military or political analyst, and no one consults me or listens to my opinion, and so I was saved from the confinement of eating the hat required of a commentator who does not predict properly, because in conversations between my friends and family I gambled that the war would stop and Biden would decree a ceasefire and that was it. Actually, it's over. Woe betide me if I also said that on TV.
Wait: What would have happened to me? Nothing would have happened to me. It would have happened to me what happened to half of the talkers and commentators in the media, who assumed that this would happen, and who committed suicide live and with the intensity that should have condemned them not only to eat the hat, but also to dip it before in a puddle of burnt grease mixed with armored urine that remained in Sejaiya. In practice, not only did they not eat any hats, they continue to do so, referring to the assessment that was jokingly fabricated.
The question is: why exactly? Why do we forgive professionals who don't do their job faithfully? A commentator's mandate to evaluate smart assessments on television rests on three elements: he understands the field (a professional in the field or a field reporter), he is smarter than the average viewer (fact, he's on TV!), and he knows things from his sources in the field. The thing is, these three elements are shattered the second a commentator utters an assessment that turns out to be remorseful. At that moment it turns out that he doesn't really understand the field (unless he's a professional in the field, for example: a general in the reserves who talks about security, and even then it indicates that he's not a good professional), he's not really smarter than his viewers and he doesn't know anything from his sources. He just sat down and said nonsense, added to me the most proudest word in the world "in my estimation" or "in my humble opinion", and then nothing happened with it and he continues as usual.
So why do we forgive it? Like this. Because these are the rules of the format. It must be said honestly that the time of interpretive discussions in the studio is merely a filler between interview and interview and between report and report. The reports are important and interesting, the interviews (especially from the field) are the bread and butter of television, the documentary articles are wonderful and important. Commentary discussions are talk that for the most part has no substance.
Half of the talkers and commentators in the media, who assumed that this would happen, committed suicide live and with the intensity that should have condemned them not only to eat the hat, but also to immerse it beforehand in a puddle of burnt grease mixed with armored urine that remained in Sejaiya
These are home living room conversations, with predetermined opinions that are usually an accurate photograph of the wishes and desires of the person saying them - which are copied into the studios and given weight by the camera and tie. Here and there there is some interesting discussion, copywriter brilliance or a funny and moving statement.
It always happens at later or lighter hours, when it is clear from the outset that we have gathered to have a pleasant conversation in a circle, and not to provide the viewer with journalistic merchandise - and then it's okay.
In studios of a news nature - please spare us this weariness, which will in any case be lost a day later.
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