Media heroism turned on its head: The real Manning scandal

In media mythology, the years from the mid-‘60s to the mid-’70s were the classical age, a heroic time of moral clarity.

Mainstream journalism marinated in adversarialism. Little Southern newspapers infuriated their own readers by staring down segregation. Foreign correspondents forced upon an unwilling public the realities of a brutal war. Network news ignored official disdain and showed the bottomless suffering the war inflicted on the innocents it was supposed to save. With the Pentagon Papers, newspapers defied secrecy rules to expose government lies. With Watergate, reporters forced out a corrupt president.

True, that retelling is a bit of myth-spinning; the media never were quite that gutsy. But myths illuminate. They remind us of values and aspirations. What we’d like to think was true then reflects what we hope might still be true now.

And over the past decade or so, it’s as if that classical formula of defiance and struggle has been turned upside down. Instead of halting war, the news media helped lead the charge into battle, stoking jingoism and spreading half-truths. Instead of unmasking civilian suffering, the media have kept the thousands of innocent Iraqi and Afghan war dead off-screen, pandering to the idea that the only victims worth compassion wear U.S. uniforms.

Even Watergate is upended, with Bob Woodward, one of the two Washington Post reporters who exposed the scandal, now the target of scathing revisionism because of a trivial dustup with a thin-skinned White House.

And looming above those breathtaking role reversals is the media’s disgraceful abandonment of the boldest news source of his generation, Pvt. Bradley Manning, a soldier who in 2010 defied secrecy restrictions to feed the most influential media in the world with leaks they gratefully published, which exposed corruption and duplicity, identified torturers, energized the Arab spring, and embarrassed officialdom worldwide.

The ferocity of the Obama administration attack on Manning and on Wikileaks, the online Continue reading

Hidden dangers of the Bush email hacking

Media throughout the country carried news recently that a half-dozen email accounts belonging to ex-President George W. Bush and several of his friends and relatives had been hacked.  The words and images that were pilfered weren’t all that interesting, so all in all it wasn’t a huge story.

But to me, a fan of the vanishing right to privacy, this was still a reasonably big deal. I was struck by the way the former president’s right to chat with intimates, free of eavesdroppers, was barely acknowledged. Comments he had made privately and paintings he had kept from public view were exposed worldwide as if the propriety of doing so was beyond question.

And I think that’s worth considering more carefully.

We’ll leave to the FBI and Secret Service the question of whether the hacking warrants legal reprisal. My interest is in what sort of respect Bush’s privacy deserves from the media that received the hacked materials.

The first report of the hacking came in a Feb. 7 posting on The Smoking Gun, a website owned by Time-Warner that tilts toward what was once called tabloid journalism (Among recent headlines: “Man stabbed as ménage a trois goes wrong,” or “Mom charged for letting son, 3, pump gasoline.”)

The Smoking Gun handled the material well, I thought, by foregrounding its invasiveness.  The hack “exposed personal photos and sensitive correspondence from members of the Bush family…” The site said it had obtained confidential material—including home addresses, cell phone numbers, email addresses for Bush family members—but didn’t republish any of it.

In fact, most of the media I saw seemed aware that this material was pretty personal.

But they then turned around and squeezed every bit of even marginally interesting detail from it: Family concern about the declining health of the Continue reading

Fox News offers another candidate for high office

Originally published Feb. 11, 2013

The spectacle of TV personality Geraldo Rivera using his soapbox with Fox News to test-market a possible run for the U.S. Senate has, not surprisingly, caused some real journalists to cough up hairballs.

“If an on-air person makes any pretense about being a journalist, then obviously he should not be using his station or network to promote his candidacy,” Marvin Kalb, former NBC News stalwart and a founder of Harvard’s Shorenstein Center, told Media Matters. “He should immediately pull himself/herself off the air, then announce his candidacy, and run.”

Or, as Sonny Albarado, president of the Society of Professional Journalists, put it: “Running for public office and being a journalist are incompatible.”

Now, I may be doing Geraldo a disservice, but to me he has always been a vaguely clownish self-promoter, and it’s hard for me to condemn him for betraying journalistic principle when I never thought he was a journalist. He can hardly have corrupted a professionalism he didn’t profess, and in that respect there’s no point in defrocking him, since he was never ordained.

That doesn’t, however, mean what he’s doing now is OK. But to me the sin isn’t his, it’s Fox News’.  Here I agree with David Zurawik, the Baltimore Sun’s TV critic, who said it’s “really wrong that Fox allows itself to play this political role.”

The wrongdoing doesn’t have to do with Geraldo’s personal failure to uphold some kind of journalistic neutrality. It lies in Fox News’ institutional failure to accept some responsibility for encouraging fairness in the political system. Continue reading

Advertising goes native, and deception runs free

Even while some media organizations roll out new online subscription plans, the Internet continues its steady drift toward a business model built overwhelmingly on money not from readers, but from advertisers. It’s advertising that’s emerging as the revenue source that everybody, from Facebook and Google to newspaper websites and gadfly bloggers, wants a piece of.

That raises perennial questions of media economics and ethics: What limits should publishers put on advertiser influence? How far should they go in shaping their content to enhance its value as a delivery van for paid persuasion?

And how plainly should they cordon off the messages they’re paid to carry to distinguish them from content that’s shaped independently by their own staffs, whether reporters, aggregators or curators?

The latest mini-scandal involving advertising over-reach doesn’t come from an online startup. It’s from a venerable and highly respected publication, the Atlantic, founded in 1857 by Longfellow and Emerson.

In mid-January, the Atlantic posted a lengthy, self-congratulatory epistle from the organization called the Church of Scientology, which is variously assailed as a tax dodge and a loopy cult, praised as a source of spiritual rebirth, and chronicled as a refuge for disaffected Hollywood luminaries.

Now, running ads from controversial sponsors has long been routine among commercial media. But here, controversy erupted over the way the Scientology content—which was soon taken down—drew online comment that was suspiciously glowing, and over the way the item looked.

Although it ran under a small sig, “Sponsor Content,” the article otherwise seemed—in its typeface, composition, placement of photos, and overall look and feel—just like any other Atlantic article.

That had to be intentional, which takes us to the point of this column. The ad was an example of what’s now called “native advertising.” Native advertising refers to paid messaging that is Continue reading

On getting over it

Two weeks ago on a cross-country flight I checked three bags, and when I unpacked I found three printed memos from the Transportation Security Administration indicating that they’d each been searched.

Now, my bags contained nothing but used clothing, as a scan probably revealed, and I’m a Baby Boomer with no criminal past. So the traditional legal standard for police searches–probable cause–offers nothing to justify uniformed apparatchiks running their paws through my shirts, shorts, and undies. Apparently I was asleep when the Fourth Amendment was repealed.

I didn’t boil my clothes afterward, but I have to say I’m irritated by this incursion into private space. Worse, I flash to the advice of Antonin Scalia, the Supreme Court associate justice, when he was asked a few years back about lingering anger over the disgraceful 2000 ruling he signed that gave the presidency to George W. Bush. “My usual response is, get over it,” Scalia said.

Now, “getting over it” can be the voice of maturity, sympathetic words to console and encourage a child. But it can also counsel acceptance of the unacceptable. And there’s entirely too much of that sort of “getting over it” going around.

Consider the refusal of the Obama administration to tell the public just what basis it uses in deciding whom to kill. That formulation is a little bald, but basically accurate. Lawsuits brought by the American Civil Liberties Union and The New York Times sought to force the administration to share its legal rationale for targeting and killing individuals targeted as enemies.

Included are U.S. citizens, notably U.S.-born Anwar al-Awlaki and his 16-year-old son, both killed in separate 2011 drone strikes in Yemen.

This is a big deal. Normally, when the government kills a citizen it’s called capital punishment, and happens only after criminal indictment, trial, Continue reading

Scoring the Newtown massacre coverage

There was something reassuring about the wave of public sorrow over the Newtown massacre.  After Tucson, after Aurora, after the mass shootings in a dozen other places that you or I couldn’t name–events that were shrugged off within days–I was no longer convinced of the public’s capacity to respond to such horror in the right way: with outrage, with regret, with something close to determination.

Apparently, murdering a score of children and the women who were trying to protect them hits primordial nerves. That it happened at all suggests an abysmal failure to carry out the very most basic responsibility of any society—to keep its people safe, especially the most cherished and most vulnerable of them.

So it’s no surprise that the Dec. 14 slaughter at Sandy Hook elementary summoned a crisis-level response from the institution that is society’s trip wire and its intelligence service, the news media. Hundreds of reporters, anchors, technicians, support crews flooded the small Connecticut town as the story swelled and engulfed the country’s news agenda.

And how did they do? How have the news media, bristling with cutting-edge technologies and bolstered by networks of hunters and gatherers prowling the social media, handled this harrowing story?

The jury is out. The first thing that was apparent in the coverage was its haste—and its heedlessness. Within hours, the killer was misidentified, and the name and photo of his innocent brother streaked through the Internet. The killer’s connection with the school—hence, his presumed motive—was misreported. His slain mother’s connection with the school was wrongly stated. Minutes before the shooting started, he supposedly was buzzed through the school’s security doors because he was known to officials there. That too was wrong. He was diagnosed, with scant evidence, with Asperger’s syndrome, to the dismay of parents of children with that condition.

Of course, there’s nothing surprising about getting critical facts wrong in the early stages of breaking stories. But it’s worth asking whether such errors have become more, rather than less, tolerable among news people, as the velocity of reporting rises—and why it is that no thought is given to the harm that false information can do. Continue reading

The awful picture from the New York subway

Great news photos often come with a moral taint. Maybe it’s the gaze they enable, the way they distill misery, desperation, injury, sorrow into mere spectacle. We look, but we’re torn by contradictory impulses: To witness, and to avert our eyes. Both, paradoxically, are testimony to our humanity. Neither offers comfort.

I’m reminded of two extraordinary pictures. The first is the 1975 shot of two falling girls, one a small child the other her 19-year-old babysitter, who had fled a burning Boston apartment house onto a fire escape that collapsed. The younger girl lived, the teen died, the photographer won a Pulitzer. The second is the equally famous 1985 picture of a drowned 5-year-old boy in Bakersfield, Calif., his face visible in a partly unzipped body bag. He’s surrounded by his horrified family, the photo a stunning tableau of grief and loss.

There’s nothing new about the power of such images, or about the outrage and dismay that they provoke, or about the certainty they stoke that the news media thrive on intrusion and exploitation. The latest such case is the subway victim photo that the New York Post ran on its front page on Dec. 4, after 58-year-old Ki-Suck Han was pushed onto the track at the 49th Street station in Manhattan and was photographed looking at the oncoming train that moments later took his life.

The picture raised two very different questions: Should it have been taken, and should it have been published. Continue reading