About Jack

Jack is really a storyteller, international explorer, and humanitarian and everything else rolls out from there. As a writer, its what he does.  As a trial lawyer and trial skills teacher aroud the world, its his most important tool. As a former CIA officer, the only way to truly motivate people is to connect and to tell them a story that they can feel viscerally.  As a media analyst, what better way to make a point.  In the end, he tries to captivate his audience about the world and its people as much as he himself is captivated.

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Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid Appears on the Program.


Why Does a Split in Indiana and N. Carolina Mean Obama Wins?


Jack Rice - Journalist and Talk Show Host.


Jack Rice - Journalist and Talk Show Host


Jack Reports on the Pennsylvania Primary


Read Jack's Article in This Month's Talkers.Magazine

Why I Do This
By Jack Rice

He is about 13. But he doesn’t know for sure. He’s small for his age. Thin. This comes from years of malnutrition. He doesn’t know where he is from, who his parents are. He has lost his original language. He seems to have no perception of self worth. I guess that makes sense. He has been a slave for as long as he can remember. He has no value. Actually, that’s not true. He’s worth just slightly less than 2 goats. All he knows is that his name is Ackech.

Everyday, five days a week, we have to convince hundreds of thousands, millions of people to spend time with us, to listen to us, to love us, to hate us. To the outsider, it sounds easy. But we all know that there is a cost. And we all feel the pressure to be relevant. Sometimes, all we here is local, local, local. Or outrageous, outrageous, outrageous. And there is something to that. But in the end, it is about one thing – making that connection with the listener so they just get it. You know, the moment when, as they listen, they suck in air, even when they don’t need it.

I decided to travel to Sudan and the Darfur region because I needed to understand. Oh sure, I’ve heard about Darfur . The 200,000 dead and the millions displaced. About the separate civil war between North and South that has killed 2 million. I’ve heard about all of this, but I only understand abstractly, academically. I don’t . . . understand. In fact, I don’t understand the enormity of this disaster until I look into the eyes of this little boy.

I sit down in the dirt in a small village called Warthow near the Lol River just south of Darfur . It’s pretty dry right now, and hot, way over 100 degrees. I’m thirsty and foolishly left water about a mile away. My mouth is dry, my lips are cracked, and I’m thinking about it. And then I look at the faces in front of me. And I’m sickened by my own self-absorption.

There is about a hundred of them. Mostly in thin, off-white rags. They sit under a tree to try and avoid the sun. None of them have water. They just sit, quietly. You see, these boys in front of me have all just been released from slavery. And any of them have a story to tell that would crush their listener. But for some reason, Ackech grabs my attention. Maybe, it is the way that he sits, fetal position, arms folded forwarded, prepared to accept blows that must have come. Maybe it is the long deep, wicked scars on his feet and legs from the blows that did. This is why I’m here.

As we talk, he refuses to look me in the face. It seems to be a learned response. After some time, however, he takes a couple of quick glances and I see into his deep brown eyes. And I remember thinking that nobody who is so young should look so old. It is as if he has found a way to disappear, dissolve and become a non-entity as he sits right in front of me. And that is when I understand.

These people, by the hundreds of thousands, millions, have all learned Ackech’s skill. To become non-entities. Or maybe his skill is something that we have all acquired. To make these people non-entities. I’m not sure.

A million years later, I’m back in the studio. And it’s strange. I listen to the almost inaudible hiss of the air conditioning. My hands land subconsciously on the keyboard as Audio Vault springs to life and I start working, like Sudan never happened.

Right before I turn on the mic, I’m torn. What do I say? What do I describe? And I realize, I’m not just torn professionally, I’m torn personally. I feel the enormity of what I have just seen. Of what it means. And I want to remember every detail. To be able to deliver it all to my listeners.

And at the same time, I also wish I had never seen it. I wish I could only talk about it in the abstract. That the faces would go away. That I could say “this is tragic” and then move on to the economy, Iraq , immigration, whatever. And I will move on, eventually. But not today.

As my intro bumper starts, everything seems to crystallize. It all makes sense. I only think about one thing, one face, one person. Making one connection. Ackech.

Jack Appears on Fox & Friends Saturday Morning.