Working in journalism isn't a hard job like running a tree saw or comforting a dying child. It's not that different from the sort of jobs a lot of people have. There's nothing especially noble about it and it doesn't require extraordinary talent or skill. That's why journalists--real journalists, not TV ranters--aren't paid particularly well.
There's a lot of stuff to grumble at and kvetch about in this business, offset by occasional moments of camaraderie and deep satisfaction. Some of my best friends are journalists, but they can be as cynical and sour, as bitter and petty and vindictive as anyone. Newsrooms can be clique-ish and as cruel as high school lunchrooms or academe. (On the other hand, journalists can be as selfless and heroic as anyone.) And while the industry has changed a lot in the 35 years I've been in the business, there's always been an undercurrent of economic insecurity attached to the job.
And that's all right, for no one is dragooned into being a journalist. In the old days. it seemed that most of us just landed there after realizing that we didn't really want to be (or would never become) the doctors, lawyers or novelists we had vaguely imagined ourselves becoming. Some of us planned to do it for a year or so--and some, God bless them, did get out--but most of us were just happy for a job that allowed us at least the freedom to spend most of the day outside the office. (Because, our editors told us, there was "no news in the newsroom.") We carried beepers in those pre-cell phone days, along with nickels and dimes to feed the pay phones.
The most important--and often toughest--part of journalism is asking questions. Even very shy people can learn to do it.
It helps that it gets easier after you do it for a little while. It helps once you realize that most of the people you question expect your questions, and a lot of them even welcome them. It helps that you can justify your questions as being in the public interest, because they often are. People might resent being questioned, but if they hold a position of public trust they ought to understand they are answerable to people who read newspapers and consume broadcast news. Most people are reasonable most of the time. (That's what "reasonable behavior" is.)
Sure, there will come the day when you walk in the jail and the new hulking presence behind the desk will tell you "no" when you politely ask to see the book-in book. Maybe he will tell you this because he doesn't understand that the book-in book is a public record, and anyone who walks in off the street has a right to inspect it, and to--if they want--note the names of the people arrested and their alleged offenses. Or maybe he just doesn't like nosy reporters and he wants to make your life as difficult as he can.
If this happens, there are procedures to be followed. Bosses will be involved. But the law is on your side, and sooner or later you will be allowed to look at the book-in book and take note of what is usually not extraordinarily interesting information.
But then there's the time a mayor's daughter's name appears in the book-in book.
This is where journalism becomes less mechanistic and stenographic and becomes something more like an art. For the fact that the mayor's daughter has been booked into jail may or may not be something that rises to the level of news. For not every name that is written in the book-in book is published in the newspaper (unless it is, because we can do that now with the limitless news hole of the Internet). So certain things must be considered. Is the crime she is alleged to have committed newsworthy in itself? Did she commit regicide, or did she jaywalk in four-inch heels?
And was the new hulking presence behind the book-in book trying to keep the reporter from finding out about the mayor's daughter? Was he acting on his own, or was he given instructions?
It is easy for high-minded sorts to say the mayor's daughter deserves to be treated no better or worse than any other citizen. But the fact that she's the mayor's daughter must play a role in the calculus. Maybe her relationship to the mayor is enough to make the story newsworthy. Maybe there's pressure to get the story in the newspaper because there are competitors who will surely run the story on the mayor's daughter even if the best judgment of the newspaper's editors is that the mayor's daughter's alleged indiscretions are really no big deal. Lots of factors complicate these situations in a hurry--it's easy to say that you're going to be fair and honest and brave, but it's impossible to know exactly what the right thing to do is in the moment. Because you don't, and can't, have perfect knowledge of the world.
So you make your best guess. You run a story about the mayor's daughter's arrest and you trust that people understand that the accused is entitled to the presumption of innocence. You trust people understand that the mayor is not his daughter. You trust that people understand you're just doing your suddenly difficult job the best way you know how, and that you're not out to get the mayor or the mayor's daughter, honest. You're the messenger, and sometimes you've got to tell people things they don't want to hear.
That's the difference between a journalist and someone who carries water for a political position on a cable shout show. It's not a journalist's job to tell anyone how to think. It's not a journalist's job to congratulate anyone for being a "real American" or to make you laugh.
It's not even a journalist's job to give you the answers. They're just there to ask the questions.
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Philip Martin is a columnist and critic for the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette. Email him at pmartin@arkansasonline.com and read his blog at blooddirtandangels.com.
Editorial on 08/23/2016