Mirror, mirror

There is a wonderful, short scene in the movie Broadcast News (1987), James L. Brooks’ send-up of TV journalism, in which a team of correspondents is gathered by the water cooler, throwing out ethical dilemmas for each other to weigh and respond to. Each reporter answers in turn, all in agreement, using the most charitable interpretation of professional ethics, leading Albert Brooks’ character to comment dryly, “Nothing like wrestling with a moral dilemma is there?”

I had long felt that scene to be over the top, a cheap shot, that is, until a few years back, when I was watching a news program where various journalists were sounding off on the lamentable behavior of reporters during the Clinton-Lewinsky affair. During the segment, I remember the journalists castigating themselves and others for assorted sins against the gods of news. Then the segment ended, and the very next news story was a prime example of all they had just railed against. I understood then what Brooks was parodying in his movie—it wasn’t the ethics, per se, of the characters (that would be a cheap shot), but rather the news media’s incessant need to talk about itself, the constant hashing over of its own scruples, or lack thereof.

You might say, what’s wrong with conscientious people debating the ethics of journalism? Well, I suppose, from one point of view, nothing, except that the frequency with which the discussion takes place—as well as the lack of any discernible difference it makes in the real world—leads me to conclude that these discussions aren’t really about ethics, but something rather less sincere.

This is of course captured in the movie scene noted above, where the reporters discuss serious matters in a breezy, casual way, almost mocking the notion of ethics by virtue of discussing it at all; after all, the movie is a satire. In the real world, though, once the water cooler is swapped out for make-up and the on-air sign is lighted, the breeziness dissipates, and the audience is treated to its regular dose of media self-flagellation, all gloom and dourness.

I’ve come to view these instances as exercises in the suspension of disbelief. So long as you the journalist endeavor to approximate impartiality, we the audience will continue to believe in journalistic objectivity. And is this not the lubricant that greases the wheels of American political discourse?

Every now and then, in order to extend the fantasy, we must sacrifice a working journalist upon the altar of objectivity—witness the ignominious end of Dan Rather. But, really, what did Danny boy do that hundreds of lesser known journalists don’t do on a daily basis?

Before you change the channel on me, no, this essay will not degenerate into yet another citizen-journalist screed (after all, I have no pretensions of being a journalist of any stripe) against the mainstream media, left-wing bias (or right-wing bias) in the press, or some similar thing. I only mention these things to get at the idea of journalistic objectivity—how remarkably durable, but false, it is.

In the latest installment of journalistic mea culpa, we are taken to the pages of the Wall Street Journal, where this past weekend Dow Jones Chairman Peter R. Kann outlined ten trends in contemporary journalism that should trouble us. There is nothing amiss in Mr. Kann’s list; he is generally right, if not particularly insightful, in his observations, but without exception, every one of these points has been discussed ad nauseam for years.

Worried about the growing indetermination of news and entertainment? Go treat yourself to Good Night, and Good Luck (2005), in which Edward R. Murrow frets over the same thing. Worried about sensationalism? So were the editors who ran with the story of Lindberg’s baby. Worried about excessive pessimism? Tell that to the readers of Victorian opinion journals that made Reverend Thomas Malthus a rock star. No, none of this is really new, and most folks of (shall we say?) higher consciousness tend to filter out most of what the press says.

The one observation made by Mr. Kann that has staying power—and that is vital to the continuing relevance of the mainstream press—is what he calls “The blurring of lines between news and opinion.” He continues,

Newspapers have a format that helps maintain the distinction. The Internet, TV and most magazines have neither that format nor that tradition. The result is a blending of news and views. The two are not ingredients to mix together for a tastier meal, they are different courses. Part of the problem here lies in fashionable new philosophies that argue there are no basic values of right and wrong, that news is merely a matter of views. It’s a dangerous philosophy for our society and a dagger at the heart of genuine journalism.

Kann seems to understand that, as opinions proliferate, news does not, if we understand news to be ‘just the facts’ in more or less unadulterated form. Mr. Kann would probably smile fondly upon hearing Daniel Patrick Moynihan’s adage, “Everyone is entitled to his own opinion, but not his own facts.”

Mr. Kann clearly has no problem with analysis—his newspaper is well-known for providing plenty of it—but he does take exception to mixing news and analysis. But despite Mr. Kann’s stated dislike of those ‘fashionable new philosophies,’ one needn’t recourse to one’s college studies of Derrida and Foucault to understand that facts can be troublesome things. Despite Kann’s fanciful and quaint reduction, news is not merely a series of stock tickers or a reprint of a 10-K. That’s just information, not news.

The excerpt above begins by privileging newspapers over other media vehicles, but again, are we to believe, then, that all newspapers are created equal, that there is no difference between The New York Times and The New York Post, between USA Today and The Wall Street Journal? This, too, is clearly not the case. A newspaper, by virtue of being itself, is not indicative of anything in particular. Having said that, Mr. Kann does touch on an important point—format counts for a lot, but ‘format’ here is merely the end result of function. If you endeavor to function as a news-gathering outfit, questions of format generally take care of themselves, regardless of whether you work in print, pixels, or what have you. I can’t imagine that Kann disagrees in principle with any this, so what, really, is his gripe?

No, Mr. Kann’s complaint here is not about news and views, print or pixels, really, but people. And this is where his complaint is spot on, if only he had called it such; he would have been far more effective if he had merely said, “The problem with journalism is journalists.” And that problem with people manifests itself most often in the form of intellectual dishonesty and/or sheer ignorance.

Few readers, I believe, are averse to getting their news mixed with views; after all, throughout most of the world, this is more or less an acceptable practice. The Economist, which quaintly bills itself still today as a ‘newspaper,’ is a fine example of such advocacy journalism; it has a point of view, a perspective, a bias, and freely admits it up front. The power and popularity of The Economist are not derived from its bias, however. They derive from the paper’s rigor and its understanding the difference between advocating and shilling. I would venture to say that The Economist, a product of the UK and its journalistic tradition, is by far the most influential and respected newsweekly in the United States, widely read even by folks who disagree with its core positions on free trade and limited government interference in private enterprise. Does anyone find it strange that, here in the land of ‘journalistic objectivity,’ a vehicle of advocacy journalism is more trusted and more respected than our own media?

This gets at the crux of what—I think—Mr. Kann wanted to say, and it has little do with ‘news and views’. He correctly identifies symptoms, but has misdiagnosed the disease. At root, the problem is people, and that problem will persist for as long as major media organs look to journalism schools for their talent. A college-trained journalist is apt to be about as effective as a college-trained poet. Sure, they learn a lot about journalism, but precious little about synthesizing the world around them, about making news out of mere information. These j-school graduates carry with them a surplus of style and a deficit of substance. Small wonder, then, that when faced with a nettlesome collection of ‘facts’ that defy quick, sound-bite-sized exposition, they end up writing about what they know best—themselves.

I said earlier that sorting out this dilemma of views and news is crucial to the mainstream press’s relevance in the future. This is true, for despite the pretensions of the blogosphere’s inhabitants, very few blogs offer real news. Most of us rely upon the mainstream news to report. While THE DIVAGATOR would love to plant news desks from Cairo to Kerala, the fact is that the burgeoning number of opinions broadcast on the Internet and elsewhere depends upon the work of professional journalists, and whereas these folks are concerned, I’m not at all troubled by a willingness to express their views whilst reporting. I’m more troubled by the fact these journalists pretend otherwise, for if they’re willing to deceive themselves in such a way, there’s no telling how they’re deceived by the world around them.