Arriving at a press conference, American reporters and British reporters often glance at one another with something approaching sneers.
Those Yanks (think the British) are so bloody earnest with their dull gray journalism. Those Brits (think the Americans) are a bunch of unscrupulous hacks, probably making it up half the time.
In fact, both sides of the Atlantic produce proud journalism as well as the disgraceful kind. But the current media mess is a distinctly British one, dragging in the royal family, Hugh Grant and the ruling class.
At the debut of the scandal was Britain’s bestselling weekly, News of the World, with a circulation of about 2.7 million every Sunday (twice the sales of the Sunday New York Times). Despite its success and its 168-year history, the owner, Rupert Murdoch’s News Corp., closed the publication last week amid a storm of accusations.
That the red tops — as the most scabrous tabloids are known here — should cut corners was hardly a shock. Britons are accustomed to the jingoistic headlines, the naked girls on Page 3, the cruel comments about anyone in the public eye. Public outrage was limited when a News of the World reporter and a private investigator were sentenced in 2007 to prison for having illegally hacked into royal voicemails.
When celebrities such as Grant complained that they too had been targeted, the public outcry remained muted. The newspaper paid a few settlements, parliamentary committees held hearings and Prime Minister David Cameron’s communications director, Andy Coulson, a former editor of News of the World, resigned.
It was a single revelation this month that changed everything. The family of a girl who went missing in 2002 and was later found murdered accused the newspaper of having hacked into her voicemail, even deleting messages to free up space, which had offered false hope that she was still alive.
This proved too much and prompted an outpouring of revulsion and anger toward News of the World; toward Murdoch, who is also owner of the leading daily, The Sun, and a perceived kingmaker in British politics; and toward a style of journalism that had lost any attachment to decency.
One explanation is geography.
Britain is small enough to easily distribute newspapers nationally, and currently has about 20 of them, according to Dominic Ponsford, editor of a trade publication, the Press Gazette. With such competition, newspapers have grown increasingly aggressive and the pushiest have thrived.
The vast size of the United States, by contrast, tended to produce city papers that, in a bygone era, battled ferociously for scoops and produced yellow journalism, too. But much of that has long since fallen away. Meanwhile, a few national U.S. newspapers enjoyed scant competition and, with high-minded and wealthy owners, could afford to demand ethical standards.
“Whereas in America the printed press is fairly sober, the broadcast journalism is really shrill by comparison with what we have,” Ponsford noted. “In the U.K., broadcast journalism is strictly regulated — by law, it has to be impartial. As a result, the print media’s unique selling point is to be incredibly opinionated.”
If cable news and talk radio is where Americans go for a dose of moral indignation, in Britain it is to the newsstand.
The tabloids deny institutional knowledge of crimes committed in obtaining their stories, blaming any wrongdoing on a few miscreants. But it is hard to believe that large sums of money could have been paid to gumshoes without the papers knowing about it.
Politicians are indirectly besmirched, too, having courted Murdoch, believing that an endorsement in The Sun would turn an election. Now, many are rounding on him and his empire, sometimes sheepishly, sometimes with relish.
Cameron this week announced an inquiry into media practices and into police corruption tied to the tabloids, and, as he told Parliament, “there are also questions for politicians, past, present and future.” His deputy, Nick Clegg, demanded a shake-up of the British media. “What are we going to build from the rubble of the last week?” he said Thursday.
Regulating the press may be a popular option. But Britain already has tighter restrictions than the United States, including a Press Complaints Commission and strict libel laws. And the worst allegations in this scandal are already against the law.
A cynical acquaintance here referred to the public anger as “another outbreak of English moralism.” After all, millions had bought the gutter press for years, an eager audience for the tawdry morality play of celebrities snorting coke, pedophile schoolteachers, aristocrats shamed.
The obvious answer is ethics, not fresh laws. However, standards are increasingly costly in the modern news business, and not just in Britain.
There was a time when the grand journalistic institutions offered information no one else had. Today, everyone has a glut of it — so much that we often end up gravitating to the brightest flashing lights, to the gasping headlines. Alas, credibility is only one of the reasons that readers click a link, and not always the main reason.
Yet for an industry in decline across the West — with competing online sources popping up daily, with trivia and gravity mingling everywhere — credibility might end up being the last asset that the quality press has to offer.
Share this page