Writing about art is a fairly safe business. Sure there is always the chance that I’ll end up foolishly assigning the Mona Lisa to Raphael and once I walked too close to an easel and got paint on my shirt. My wife was displeased.
But the odd brickbat is nothing compared with the fate of those African journalists who bring you the news, particularly those who specialise in politics, who are bombed, shot, kidnapped, tortured, raped and murdered. Many are jailed and disappear.
