If you want to join the ‘Vat Pack’ you must endure long periods of news starvation but be ready to pounce when a world-shaking story breaks
We were in the Sistine Chapel for a preview of new systems to protect the world’s most famous ceiling. I and others, including Phil Pullella of Reuters, had cornered the engineer who designed the air conditioning when a tall, tanned gentleman materialised behind me and slipped in a question.
“This is David Willey of the BBC, by the way,” said Phil, who began writing about the Vatican in 1980. “He and I have been reporting this story since the Crucifixion.” Amid chuckles, Phil added: “That’s not quite true. But we’ve covered the aftermath.”
As a definition of the role of a Vatican correspondent – known in Italian journalistic slang as a vaticanista – it could scarcely be bettered. Not that all the men and women accredited to the Holy See are true vaticanisti. Those of us who belong to what our specialist colleagues term ‘‘the secular media’’ also have Italy to worry about.
The upside of covering the Holy See is that you live in or around Rome, arguably the world’s most beautiful city. Depending on the depth of your employer’s pockets, you may also travel the world on papal tours.
In the 1950s, the only news of the pope’s doings came from an
official who expected a bribe
You may even get to shake hands with the man most of the world’s 1.25 billion baptised Catholics believe is God’s chief representative on earth. Francis greets journalists travelling on the papal plane. Benedict XVI used to receive the members of ‘‘pools’’ of three correspondents present at the start of pontifical audiences with visiting foreign leaders.
The downside of covering the Holy See is also that you live in or around Rome, arguably the European capital least suited to life in the 21st century (run-down housing, woeful public transport and shops that close in the middle of the day at varying times and for varying periods are among the problems you can expect).
If you do get assigned to papal trips and become part of what my former Guardian colleague, Riazat Butt, christened the ‘‘Vat Pack’’, you will work harder than ever before in your career (starting each day at 6am when you pick up the embargoed texts of that day’s speeches and sermons). Back at the Vatican, you will have to grapple with the Holy See’s idiosyncratic approach to communication.
This has come a long way. In his book, The Promise of Francis, Willey recalls that in the mid-1950s, when he first encountered the Vatican as a Reuters trainee, the only news of the pope’s doings came from an official who expected a bribe. Nowadays, there are daily bulletins, advance texts and press conferences. But the Vatican’s idea of communication is essentially uni-directional. It owes much to the concept of preaching.
There is a spokesman, currently Fr Federico Lombardi. And he has a staff. But they do not really form a press office in the sense that term is understood elsewhere: their job is to supply information, not to react to developments. In any case, the offices of the Sala Stampa (and the fact that it is called a ‘‘press room’’, not a press office, is revealing) are only normally open from 9am to 3pm.
On occasions, I have rung Fr Lombardi for comment later. But that is because I have his mobile number, and not even every accredited correspondent has that. There is also considerable ambiguity over the role of the Sala Stampa, which includes an area where journalists can work. Its boss is the Pope’s spokesman. But he and his staff do not really speak for the various departments of the Vatican (though some put out statements through the Sala Stampa). This means that, to gain information on the Roman Curia, journalists must approach officials directly, and the degree to which they are ready to cooperate varies greatly.
The Sunday Times journalist Nicholas Tomalin once said the qualifications needed to be a good reporter were a little literary talent and rat-like cunning. Covering the Vatican requires a fair measure of the latter. It also calls for the patience to read lengthy homilies to understand the direction in which the Pope is leading his Church. And attention to detail is paramount.
The Catholic Church has been going for 2,000 years and it has accumulated a vast canon of rules, traditions and idiosyncrasies. It is easier to make a factual error in writing about the Vatican than about any area on which I have reported.
The work entails long periods of news starvation, when you search in vain for a story in the Pope’s address to representatives of the Italian cooperative movement or the appointment of a new bishop to the Diocese of Mocoa-Sibundoy. But then, out of the blue, as when Benedict XVI announced his resignation (in Latin), the Holy See can generate a tale of global importance. And suddenly that press room just by St Peter’s Square feels like the most important place on earth.
John Hooper is Italy and Vatican correspondent at The Economist, and Southern Europe editor at The Guardian and The Observer
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