Press delete

Published on 28 November 2011 at 11:02

The news media is supposed to serve the public, but recent episodes indicate we spend too much time listening to those who shout loudest.

Earlier this month a row erupted when a series of high profile women writers claimedwomen are singled-out for misogynist abuse from online 'commenters'. Whatever the merits of the claim, there is no doubt that online comment culture is, more often than not, an unedifying spectacle.

Much has been made of the nature of internet-based discourse, and rightly so. It is self-evidently true that allowing people to leave anonymous and pseudonymous comments under a story invites a level of vitriol that would be almost inconceivable in any other forum. But in all the discussion over misogyny, verbal abuse, threats and libel one thing has been missed entirely: the press has lost faith in its role of reporting, analysing and explaining the world we live in.

Let's be clear about this: there is nothing wrong with robust debate. In fact we need it, and if the price of that is a trail of drool under any significant story, then, unfortunately, so be it. But let's also note that it was news organisations who opened the floodgates, desperate for feedback on their work and attempting to transform fickle internet browsers into loyal readers by offering them a sense of ownership through contributing.

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As a friend recently said to me on the issue of online comments, the idea that we have a 'right' to have our opinions published is bizarre. Unless you are the subject of story then how could you have such a right? Journalists certainly enjoy no right to be published. In fact, they either fight for space or find themselves writing about things far removed from their personal concerns and interests – and journalism is all the better for this. It is a job, after all, not a hobby.

Opinion journalism, like this piece you are now reading, is on the rise for reasons that are well-understood in the industry: it's inexpensive to produce and, if sufficiently outrageous, will be more widely read than many news stories. That is not to say that opinion is without value. A well-crafted opinion piece (I make no such claims for my missives here) can help elucidate the subject, teasing-out new ideas and implications from the words and actions of others. It must, however, be subordinate to reporting, the real basis for much of what we know about the world.

And yet, even in hard news there has been a marked retreat from authority with publishers increasingly selecting stories on the basis of readers' instantaneous responses. Look at the 'most-viewed stories' lists that are de rigeur on any news web site these days and it will be a rare one that doesn't feature some fairly dubious material near the top of the list. This race to the bottom is of our own making. It was we who, in our lack of belief in what we do, told readers our work was worthless by giving it away free online; it was we who asked our readers to do more and more of our work for us; it was we who decided to deprecate the concise and crafted letter to the editor in favour of the rambling comment and off-the-cuff remark.

For fear anyone thinks this is merely a pompous bromide against the popular press, let me state that there's nothing wrong with amusing news stories. A newspaper composed entirely of 'worthy' material would make for a very thin gruel indeed. Moreover, tabloid newspapers routinely break stories of real significance. But the transformation of the press, tabloid and broadsheet alike, into a mirror that does little more than reflect its readers' prejudices and provide an ever-shifting kaleidoscope of context-free factoids devalues news, both intrinsically and instrumentally. If anything the latter is more worrying. After all, it is news' instrumental value that we pay for with our hard-earned pounds, shillings and pence, dollars, euros and cents. Those of us who still pay for news, that is.

Some academics may call this process of bowing to readers 'reflexive'. I call it the death throes of popular reporting. As one editor recently said to me: "I just see loss of quality and a lot of aggregation […] it seems as if we're shutting down [what we do best] step-by-step." Will we really be happy when the only newspapers in the true sense of the word are ones that serve the political and financial elites who expressly need to know about the world? Do the rest of us care so little? Have we no investment in society?

It's not just online comments or allowing the search for so-called virals and 'memes' to decide what we cover, either. All manner of hit-and-run activity is now directing the news. Although the user-generated content gold rush does appear to have died down, the fashion for allowing 'social media' to mould the news agenda is undeniable.

Every election is now routinely described as "the first social media election" but Ireland's recent presidential race fits the bill, albeit in not quite the way the term is usually understood. Leading candidate Seán Gallagher was ambushed on a live TV debate when a fake Twitter account claiming to the official voice of a competing candidate, Martin McGuinness of Sinn Féin, announced the party would provide evidence that Mr Gallagher had fundraised on behalf of Fianna Fáil, Ireland's former governing party widely blamed for the country's current economic travails.

The Twitter message read: "The man that Gallagher took the cheque from will be at a press conference tomorrow. #aras11."

No such press conference ever occurred.

It is by no means certain that it was Twitter that did for Mr Gallagher, who went on to lose the race. His campaign was already flagging as his links to Fianna Fáil began to be exposed and serious questions were being asked about his business dealings. He dealt with both sets of allegations poorly. Nonetheless, Mr Gallagher has a point when he says national broadcaster RTÉ "ought to have known" the account was not genuine.

Questions remain as to just who operated the account (it was active for weeks in advance of taking the pot-shot at Mr Gallagher) but its unverified use by RTÉ indicates a desire to have the finger on the pulse overriding the need to get things right. A single telephone call to the Sinn Féin press office could have verified the (absence of) veracity of the message read aloud on live television.

All the wordy claims of the fashion for two-way journalism being direct democracy in action or a new and freer media ignore the fact that journalists' claim to expert status is not based on arcane anointment, but in the experience of repetitive reporting of events making for an ability to make comparisons between these events. For instance, meeting the sudden surge of interest in fiscal policy, sovereignty and the euro requires a baseline of experience in economics, finance and the institutions of the European Union at the very least. Reporting and editing is matter of measuring – but how can we measure anything if we allow the loudest voices we can hear to override our professional judgement?

Journalism does need to be responsive to the public it serves, to move on stories that people care about not just ones editors think they should care about. But the movement need not be that of journalists twisting in the wind.

Image by divinemisscopa. CC licenced.

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