Thinking about Miguel

I have been thinking a lot about my friend Miguel Gil, who was killed in an ambush in Sierra Leone more than ten years ago. Miguel was a very special person, a man with a mission, a missionary with a camera. A face like a Goya painting, with brilliant blue eyes and hands that moved like doves. As a very religious man, his work was more than a calling. It was akin to a prayer. A prayer to the human condition,  individual courage and justice. He was one of those members of the tribe who lived and breathed journalism, who are not afraid to put his or her life in danger to tell the story. I guess that I have been thinking of Miguel because, as I look at the landscape of today's journalism, I see very few Miguel's. Very few that are willing to go that extra mile. No matter what has been said about Lara Logan, she took that step, and for that she should be admired. It is still good, solid reporting that is and will ever be king. No matter how much the new technology facilitates our work. Those that are willing to go into what Perez Reverte called "territorio comanche" are the ones that have earned the right to call themselves journalists. Maybe I am old school, but that is the way I see it.