Stinginess mirrors a downfall

Journalism was never pitched as a career that paid particularly well. The perks that were supposed to make up for this lack of lucre were that, while we journos might be struggling to assemble our end-of-the-month Salticrax snacks, we were pretty much guaranteed that every so often we would be wined and dined in style by publicity-hungry industry players.

I can attest to this. In my time, I have been treated to dinners at some of the best restaurants in Johannesburg, taken to spectacular performances I would have been unlikely to afford on my own, and even taken on scuba diving holidays or weekends at Sun City by companies vying to make a good impression. Overseas trips, five-star hotels - I`ve lived the life of Riley on a shoestring.

Granted, there has also been a fair share of insipid corporate gifts to contend with. I have more pens than you can shake a stick at, and I doubt I will ever need to purchase another daypack. I am often prompted to wonder if corporate marketers are aware that my gardener has an entire wardrobe of golf shirts emblazoned with corporate logos.

But every so often, the Christmas/Easter/Valentines/Women`s Day sprit has seized some PR, and I`ve been on the receiving end of a real gem. Booze aside, I have been delighted with Web cams, sets of wine glasses without corporate logos, and am generally enthusiastic about anything that can be eaten.

But this past year has definitely seen a dip in the calibre of offerings from the market. Christmas was a pretty dismal affair. We all enjoyed sharing a jar of jelly beans from one company, and an entire Christmas hamper from another, but beyond that, were quite disappointed at the dip in enthusiasm that characterised what is usually such a silly season.

On the events front, journalists have been asked to pay for their own drinks, and on one memorable occasion, their own parking. Lunches have definitely been on thinner ground, and the first overseas trip of the year has only been booked for June!

Granted, there has also been a fair share of insipid corporate gifts to contend with.

Georgina Guedes, Journalist, ITWeb

Then, recently, a certain well-known software development company delivered its annual dinner invitation. In the past, this event has been one that is looked forward to by journalists and their partners alike. The reason for this is that no expense has been shared in making the evening a pleasant and convivial affair at some of Johannesburg`s finest restaurants. All tables were presided over by managers and their partners, and as a result, the evening was a relaxed one that spurred easy small talk with which to lubricate the cogs of future interactions.

This year, however, a note at the bottom of the invitation informed us: "Regret, no partners." What on earth is going on? While in just about every other aspect, I admit that I am carrying on like a spoilt brat deprived of a second helping of dessert, in terms of after-hour events, I am reluctant to compromise. I have a very strong policy of insisting that if I am going to devote my personal time to hobnobbing in classy locations with corporate representatives, they`d better allow me to bring my partner along.

But what is more troubling to me professionally is the indication of a slump in the industry that this newfound stinginess seems to be heralding. In discussion with a journalist more seasoned than myself, she referred back to the late eighties when the gold mining industry began to falter. Apparently, the road to decline was paved with deteriorating press events the whole way down. Dinners that saw gleaming trays groaning under the weight of towers of crayfish were replaced with afternoon drinking sessions where a solitary bowl of peanuts was passed glumly around a nicotine-stained bar.

I hope, for all our sakes, that we are not gazing into the precipice of a similar slump, and that a little bullying on the part of all journalists will whip South African business back into shape. In the meantime, I will be declining the dinner invitation, instead looking forward to a night on the town at the Civic Theatre, partner in tow, with a company whose only sin was printing the invitation on some cheap office colour printer.