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R E C E N T L Y
Lugging the guts into the next room Chekhov, Marx and synergy Would you buy a new car from this novelist? "Premier roman" Morale lunch, anyone? BROWSE THE
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Befriend and betray If journalists can't stab their sources in the back, what will fill the pages of our nation's great newspapers and magazines?
BY TOM McNICHOL | While the media has been taking it on the chin for a series of recent ethical lapses, a court decision in Maine threatens to undermine a fundamental press freedom: the journalist's right to befriend a source and then betray him in a story. The inalienable right to befriend and betray is right up there with the First Amendment in essential press freedoms. If journalists were suddenly forced to abandon the practice, every newspaper in America would be a collection of attractive display ads separated by huge blank spaces. Not that many publishers would mind. Earlier this month, a Bangor, Maine, jury ordered NBC to pay $525,000 in damages for defaming a truck driver and his employer in a story the network aired in 1995 on the program "Dateline NBC." The "Dateline" segment showed truck driver Peter Kennedy seemingly flouting a series of safety rules during a cross-country drive in which he was accompanied by an NBC camera crew. "Dateline" reported that Kennedy falsified his driver's log, which he called his "joke book," so he could drive more consecutive hours than legally allowed. On the witness stand, Kennedy admitted that he had driven nearly 40 hours without stopping to sleep, but said it was legal for truckers to drive a maximum of 70 hours in eight days. He also admitted that he had tested positive for marijuana during a random drug test. Most people would be a tad unnerved to learn that the big rig looming large in the rear view was being driven by a guy who hadn't slept in a day and a half and might be more than one toke over the line. But in court, the driver's attorney didn't challenge so much the accuracy of the "Dateline" segment as the methods the network used to gather the story. The driver told the jury that when "Dateline" producers approached him, they promised they were doing "a positive story on the trucking industry." Yeah, right. That's the sort of promise that journalists make all the time -- I've made only slightly less explicit assurances dozens of times myself. Once befriended, the driver was no doubt intoxicated by the heady sight of a beer-bellied union scale network cameraman recording his every move, and probably imagined himself as the star of one of those American Trucking Association propaganda films they used to show to high school civics classes. Did you know that the clothes in your closet and the food on your table were delivered by truck? That's right. Think about that the next time you see a trucker -- and give him a friendly wave! "Dateline" producers, on the other hand, likely rationalized the half-truth they told to get their foot in the door of the trucker's cab as at least having some validity. After all, doesn't a story that exposes truckers' safety violations wind up having a positive effect on the trucking industry? Come on, people, work with me! As any honest reporter will tell you, there are no completely honest reporters. Journalism is, and always was, something of a con game, a profession that regularly requires one to leave a trail of tiny white lies in the pursuit of a greater truth. Many times, the only way a journalist can extract information from people who are reluctant to talk is to imply that he's on the source's side. But journalists -- at least good ones -- can't be on anyone's side until all the facts are gathered. And if the facts wind up making their newfound friend look like a dangerous dope fiend nodding off behind the wheel of an eight-ton big rig, well, too bad. And it's not just trashy tabloid stories or premeditated hit pieces that owe their existence to an element of deception. Even that Pulitzer Prize-winning series that uncovers dangerous irregularities in state-funded managed care facilities often starts out as a positive story on the hospital industry. For the journalist, the moment of half-truth comes early in the news-gathering process. At the beginning of practically every interview, the person being questioned will ask the reporter, "Hey, what's this story about?" The savvy journalist will avoid telling an outright lie, while taking care not to reveal the whole truth, or ideally, much of anything at all. This is where the "Dateline" producers may have crossed the thin line separating white lies from legally indefensible ones, if they indeed specified that they were doing a "positive" story. (NBC claims they only promised the trucker they'd do an "accurate" report.) The best response to the question is always vague; the general rule is to be as general as possible. I usually say, in as casual a drawl as I can muster, "Oh, it's a big roundup piece," hoping the subtle Old West motif will lull sources into a sense of security, where seldom is heard a discouraging word. But the conflict-driven news business demands that someone in practically every story winds up being hogtied. I once interviewed TV glamourpuss John Tesh for an hour and a half about virtually every aspect of his life -- his early years, his huge lantern jaw, his bold decision to leave the "Entertainment Tonight" anchor chair and become a New Age musician peddling CDs during PBS pledge breaks. As the interview drew to a close, Tesh asked in a mystified voice, "What are you going to do with all of this?" I told him the truth: The entire interview would be boiled down to four or five questions and run as a Q and A. But even as I said this, I knew that wasn't the entire truth. As it turned out, the interview was reduced to the four or five questions that made Tesh look the most ridiculous, including several that investigated the rumor that Tesh was an alien sent to earth to soften it up for invasion. After the interview was published, I have to admit I felt a little sorry for Tesh. But not enough to buy one of his CDs. A journalist friend of mine handles the "What's this story about?" question by somehow managing to say with a straight face: "Oh, it's a big A-to-Z piece. You know -- past, present and future." If that answer were any more gassy it would float away, but remarkably, my friend reports, most people are reassured by it. Another way reporters characterize a story is to call it "a comprehensive overview," which conjures an image of the serious scribe thoughtfully nibbling on the stem of his eyeglasses as he ponders the delicate contours of his assignment. And when a journalist says, "We want your side of the story" or, "We're trying to be fair," he often really means, "Hey, the story already makes you look bad, I just need a few quotes from you for balance." Foggy generalities seem to placate most people -- except, of course, other journalists, who know how the game is played. Once, when the New York Post was gathering damning material for a critical series on columnist Walter Winchell, a Post reporter approached Winchell for an interview, saying he wanted to write a "fair" story. Winchell, who had probably befriended and betrayed more people than any journalist in America, dismissed the reporter with a wave of the hand. "Aw, stop kidding the kidder," Winchell said. Befriending and betraying sources may cause journalists occasional pangs of conscience, but most reporters prefer that to the alternative -- hunger pangs. The simple fact that a journalist's livelihood depends on biting the hand that feeds him news may be the best legal defense reporters have. In 1995, federal Judge Richard Posner ruled that ABC was not guilty of fraud in an undercover "PrimeTime Live" segment on the grounds that people should know better than to trust any journalist's promise. "They break their promise, as any person of normal sophistication would expect," the judge wrote. "If that is fraud, it is the kind against which potential victims can easily arm themselves by maintaining a minimum skepticism about journalistic goals and methods." I was tempted to have Judge Posner expound on the inherent untrustworthiness of journalists, but then I thought better of it. He doesn't sound like the kind of person who'd give a good interview, even if it was for a positive story on the judicial system, past, present and future.
Tom McNichol's last piece for Salon was on CNET founder Halsey Minor.
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