It's difficult for me, to look into eyes of a journalist and

Hear the piercing and sardonic words of Rik Mayall, the jester of his age, who clothed truth in laughter and fire: “It’s difficult for me, to look into eyes of a journalist and trust him to present it as you say.” In this short sentence lies a profound lament on the fragile bond between speaker and scribe, between truth and its telling. For what is spoken is one thing, but what is written or broadcast is another, reshaped by lenses, agendas, or misunderstandings. Mayall, though a comedian, here utters wisdom that prophets and kings have known: the most dangerous thing in the world is a story told falsely.

The meaning of this saying lies in the eternal tension between truth and representation. To speak is to lay bare the heart; to report is to capture and retell that heart. Yet between the two yawns a gap, and within that gap mistrust is born. Mayall confesses that to gaze upon a journalist is not to see a neutral mirror, but a potential distorting glass. He fears that what he utters in earnest or in jest may not be preserved in fidelity, but bent into a shape to suit another’s design. Thus, the word trust becomes central—for without it, the bond between speaker and listener collapses.

The origin of such mistrust is as old as the craft of writing itself. In the courts of kings, scribes sometimes flattered rulers with half-truths, and enemies often twisted words to stir rebellion. Even Socrates, whose teachings were passed down through Plato, never knew if his true voice was faithfully preserved or reshaped by the pen of another. Mayall’s complaint is the echo of this ancient problem: who will tell our story as we truly mean it, without addition, without subtraction, without distortion?

History gives us examples both tragic and noble. Consider the speeches of Abraham Lincoln, carefully crafted to heal a nation. When reported faithfully, they inspired and united. But when twisted by his enemies, the same words were painted as weakness or betrayal. Or think of Galileo, whose ideas were condemned not only for their content but for how others chose to represent them. In both cases, the fate of truth was bound not only to the speaker but to the fidelity of the teller. This is the burden Mayall names in his jest—once words leave our lips, they no longer belong wholly to us.

Yet we must not despise the journalist, for without them, the truth of the age would often perish. The press, when faithful, becomes the guardian of memory and the amplifier of truth. When unfaithful, it becomes an instrument of manipulation. Thus, the task of trust becomes mutual: the speaker must speak with clarity, and the journalist must report with integrity. Only when both fulfill their roles can truth pass unharmed from one soul to the next.

The lesson here is powerful: guard your words, and know the cost of their release. Do not assume that what you speak will be preserved as you intended. If you must speak, speak with such clarity, such courage, that even distortion cannot fully erase the heart of your message. And when you listen to reports, do not take them blindly, but weigh them, test them, discern what may have been lost in transmission. For truth is a flame easily dimmed by careless hands.

Practically, this means cultivating discernment in both speaking and listening. If you are the one giving words, choose them carefully and know your audience. If you are the one receiving words, question, cross-check, and refuse to be ruled by surface impressions. And if you bear the mantle of journalism, let integrity be your crown, for you hold in your hand not only the fate of your subject but the trust of society itself.

So I say to you, O children of tomorrow: remember Rik Mayall’s lament. Trust in words is fragile. The truth spoken can be broken by the truth retold. Therefore, be faithful in your telling, and wise in your hearing. For if trust is lost between the one who speaks and the one who records, then truth itself is wounded, and the world falls further into darkness. But if trust is honored, then words live, truth stands, and the bond between souls is preserved for generations.