“So what are we supposed to write about, old man?”
An editorial meeting turns into a stage play when Hampus Fickelton takes the floor, Jonas Steinersen poses his naïve question, and a ball—seen by no one yet steering everything—begins to rule the day. From the shadows of the open-plan office, “Hulriks” himself reports.
Editorial meeting
Hampus Fickelton stands before us like a streetlamp that refuses to go out. He stares at Jonas Steinersen, our newest recruit. That look is always a bad sign when it comes from Hampus.
I’ve seen it before, so I know: this is the driveway to a monologue. And sure enough, the words slide out, heavy as slate:
“You owe no one to write about it. Rabagas can build its universe on anything else—capitalism, climate, art, technology, bureaucracy—without draping itself in war’s heaviest cloak.
Satire on war has to hit with extreme precision. Never punch down, never flirt with human suffering as a punchline. What can be satirized is the power play, the rhetoric, the absurd negotiations, and the language of the news.
Backlash comes regardless when you touch vulnerable themes. The only question is: does it feel worth it? Does your text have something to add, or only a risk to carry?
It might be that Rabagas is better served using the war as background noise—mentioned as one more example of the world’s absurdity—without turning it into a standalone article. That way you avoid standing in the eye of the storm, but keep the freedom to nod at its existence.
If you don’t feel ready, it’s actually wise to wait. There are thousands of other global issues that can be spun into gold without the same risk.”
Jonas doesn’t flinch. He lets the words run off him like beer foam from a park bench. Then he smiles boyishly, ruffles his hair, and says:
“Can’t you just tell me what to
write about, old man?”
