When I joined the crazy industry, I didn’t know how crazy it was. After a while, it no longer seemed crazy. That is when I realised it was too late. In my previous life in academia, I made friends. Some for life. Today, I make enemies with every letter I type. And I type a lot. Every time I sit in front of my computer; I think of the countless friends I will lose and the numerous real enemies I will make. That is the nature of a profession I found myself exercising almost by accident. I owe it all to one man who I don’t know whether to thank or hurl the best of my Creole at. I haven’t decided yet.

Jean Claude de l’Estrac wanted a new type of journalism – one where the focus is no longer on breaking news and chasing scoops but rather on analysing and putting information into perspective. He wanted what he called a viewspaper rather than a newspaper. So ID was launched as a French supplement with its English equivalent, l’express Weekly.

That is how I made my first timid steps into the newsroom, armed with nothing more than a reasonably decent pen and some concepts in management. l’express Weekly’s signature was a new type of journalism – fresh, impetuous, cynical, tongue-in-cheek and irreverent. And the fact that it has not only survived but has broken out of the daily l’express to stand on its own feet as a separate magazine has little to do with me and more to do with the young opinionated team I surrounded myself with. A team of mavericks who may be mistaken for snobs as they sit there crafting their articles rather than writing them – favouring ideas and shunning sensationalism and the faits divers. Nothing against these. They are just not our stockin-trade.

Dealing with young intelligent people with a character is tough but I have raised two teenagers and learnt some survival skills which have turned out to be handy: when a young journalist walks into your office and starts with, “eh, as a matter of fact” plus your name, start praying immediately. If he adds “with due respect”, your prayer has not been exhausted. If two come at the same time, rush for that appointment you had forgotten. It’s not the time to deal with the situation. If “they agree with you but…”, let them have it their way; you won’t win the argument. If they say, “Are you sure you want to run this article?” it’s not a question and the only answer is “of course not!”

An editor is responsible for every single word published. And when deadlines start approaching, the production manager starts pacing up and down, the roaring sound of the printing machines is heard, the vans which are going to carry your publication to the newsstand are waiting, you realise how crazy this industry is. You start juggling with space in a frantic way, trying to make sensible editorial choices which do not please everyone.

The job is made that much more difficult in a small island where everybody knows just about everybody. As a publication with a political slant and talks about politicians – people we meet all the time – we have learnt to deal with that. We smile at them in cocktail parties and take them on in the newsroom. We make enemies. Plenty of enemies. But then again, when you choose to join the crazy industry, you have signed up for that. It is worth celebrating that too as we hit our 100th edition.