Green days
How corporate greed -- fueled by stock-market fever -- is destroying
newspapers. Plus, more fallout from the Patricia Smith affair.
Chain journalism has entered its decadent phase. Not too long ago, executives
at giant newspaper companies such as Gannett, Times Mirror, and Knight-Ridder
felt obliged to find at least some publicly palatable rationalization --
rising paper costs, declining ad revenues, whatever -- for shutting down papers
and laying off employees.
Now, though, it appears that the rules have changed. The '80s are back (did
they ever really go away?), and greed is not only good, it is to be celebrated.
Only about 300 of the 1504 dailies in the US remain independent. The rest are
owned by chains, most of which are downsizing their way to ever-higher profit
margins, making their shareholders fat and happy but shortchanging the
communities they purport to serve.
At a time when the public is focused on such high-profile media scandals as
the CNN-Time nerve-gas fiasco, the Cincinnati Enquirer's
$10 million apology to Chiquita Bananas, and the fictionalizations of
Stephen Glass and Patricia Smith, the profit-driven deterioration of
chain-owned newspapers is perhaps the biggest scandal of all. Consider, for
instance, these recent developments:
Media giant Dow Jones's Ottaway Newspapers, which publishes five
dailies in Massachusetts, announced at the end of June that it would eliminate
220 jobs -- 8.4 percent of the total -- at its 36 newspapers nationwide.
Earlier, the company said it would close its Washington bureau. Are such
drastic steps being taken to stem a flood of red ink? Please. Ottaway, which in
1997 reported a pretax profit margin of $67 million, or 22 percent,
on revenues of more than $300 million, seeks to drive that margin up to
27 percent -- widely described as the industry average for community
newspapers. The goal, says Dow Jones chairman Peter Kann, is "to create more
value for Dow Jones shareholders." And, you can be sure, considerably less
value for Ottaway readers.
The front of the New York Times business section of June 29
proclaimed that "the newspaper industry . . . is as healthy as it has
been in a decade," with burgeoning revenues and, for the first time since 1986,
rising circulation. But that same day, in a news brief on page D8, the
Times reported the results of a study showing that newspapers around the
country have cut back drastically on the number of reporters they assign to
state houses. Leading the way: Knight-Ridder, the country's second-largest
newspaper group, with a 16 percent reduction, and Gannett, the largest,
with 14 percent. (The full results of the study appear in the July/August
American Journalism Review.)
When Quincy Patriot Ledger publisher Scott Low announced a
little more than a year ago that he would sell his family heirloom, he claimed
he would put a premium on finding an owner who would preserve the paper's
sterling reputation for local-news coverage. Instead, he sold to a group headed
by Brockton Enterprise publisher James Plugh, who is dismantling the
Ledger's crown jewel: its "town reporter" system, in which at least one
full-time staffer was assigned to each of the paper's 26 South Shore
communities. Veteran editor Bill Ketter quit and is now filling in for
Boston Globe op-ed-page editor Marjorie Pritchard, who's on maternity
leave.
These developments have created barely a ripple in the mainstream press, but
they are the talk of the industry. MONEY LUST: HOW PRESSURE FOR PROFIT IS
PERVERTING JOURNALISM, blares the July/August cover of the newly redesigned
Columbia Journalism Review. "A new era has dawned in American
journalism," warns CJR editor-at-large Neil Hickey, who writes that the
result of runaway budget-cutting and the news business's obsession with profits
will be "a diminished and deracinated journalism of a sort that hasn't been
seen in this country until now and which, if it persists, will be a fatal
erosion of the ancient bond between journalists and the public."
Ironically, Hickey points out, one of the biggest culprits in this sordid
state of affairs is -- us. The greedy, profit-obsessed owners who are
destroying journalism are not just those who occupy corporate boardrooms.
They're also the millions of stockholders who demand ever-increasing profits
and ever-rising share prices. Many of these new investors only entered the
market during the bull run of the past few years, and they assume (incorrectly,
as they will one day learn) that 25 percent returns are part of their
birthright.
A personal example of this new financial environment: my wife is a
photographer for Ottaway's Salem Evening News, and we own some shares of
Dow Jones stock. Thus, Ottaway's downsizing will make it more difficult for my
wife and her colleagues to serve their readers, yet it will also enhance our
portfolio. (Indeed, Dow Jones stock jumped to a record high earlier this
week.)
There's a strong argument to be made that publicly traded companies are
peculiarly ill suited to the news business. Of necessity, news organizations
are labor intensive, and employees can't be eliminated without having an
immediate, and negative, effect on the product. Newspapers are slow-growth
companies with respectable but not spectacular profit margins, characteristics
that are anathema to the go-go mentality of 1990s-vintage investors.
Andrew Barnes, editor and chairman of the St. Petersburg Times,
generally regarded as one of the best of the independents, recently told the
AJR that his goal was a profit margin of 15 percent -- no less, but
also no more: "If it was going to be under 10 we'd damn well want to know why,
and if it was over 20 we'd be doing something wrong."
Unfortunately, at today's chain-owned newspapers, a profit margin of at least
20 percent, far from being considered excessive, is looked at as a sign of
good management -- and as an invitation to slash even more next year.
Editors and staffers at the Boston Globe -- not to mention the public
-- may be getting tired of the Patricia Smith saga. But the story of Smith's
rise and fall isn't going away just yet.
Smith's literary agent, John Taylor "Ike" Williams, has made public two angry
letters that he's written -- one to Globe ombudsman Jack Thomas, the
other to managing editor for news operations Al Larkin. Williams, a lawyer who
heads the Palmer & Dodge law firm's literary agency, is a major player in
book circles (he represents a number of Harvard's academic superstars and did
the deal for O.J. Simpson's bestseller, I Want to Tell You), and
attention, as they say, must be paid.
In his letter to Thomas, Williams objects to the tone of his June 22 ombudsman
column, and in particular to his use of a quote from Smith's June 19 farewell.
Wrote Thomas: "Although Smith's column of apology was written with her
customary flair, she continued to compromise the truth. Making up an entire
column of fictitious people and quotations is not, as she would have us
believe, slamming home a point. It's lying." In Smith's actual column, Williams
points out, Smith spoke of her desire to "slam home a salient point," but she
also straightforwardly confessed to "one of the cardinal sins of journalism:
Thou shalt not fabricate. No exceptions. No excuses." Thomas, Williams charges,
used Smith's words to make it appear that she was avoiding responsibility, when
in fact she was accepting it fully.
In the Larkin letter, Williams complains about "a damaging campaign of
manipulation" in the form of Thomas's column and an extremely tough June 27
piece by metro columnist Eileen McNamara. Williams charges that Smith is being
singled out for vilification even though metro columnists Mike Barnicle and
McNamara "have violated the universal rules of journalistic integrity."
(Barnicle's columns have sparked ethical questions in years past. McNamara's
one-time sloppy use of a dateline has resulted in lingering, though inaccurate,
charges that she falsely claimed to have covered a conference in Salem.)
Also, a group of 20 prominent black women (including Urban League director
Joan Wallace Benjamin, former judge Margaret Burnham, and community activist
Juanita Wade) has sent a letter to the Globe "object[ing] most
strenuously to the ugly, vindictive campaign the paper is now waging to
obliterate [Smith's] otherwise stellar record of achievement as a journalist."
The letter cites the Thomas and McNamara columns, as well as a June 28 piece by
business-page columnist David Warsh, and includes this incendiary accusation:
"As the Globe well knows, Mike Barnicle has been guilty of journalistic
crimes far worse than those Smith admitted to." Editorial-page editor David
Greenway says the letter will be published soon, but that the reference to
Barnicle will be edited. "We don't print letters that we know to be factually
wrong," he says.
A few observations.
As Williams notes, Thomas took Smith out of context -- but not in a
particularly ugly or mean-spirited way, especially given that the
Globe's ongoing investigation of Smith indicates she may have faked as
many as 52 columns. "I understand [Williams's] feelings," says editor Matt
Storin. "I wasn't exactly treated too kindly in those columns either, and I'm
the editor."
The Globe's tough coverage of the Smith affair, by media reporter
Mark Jurkowitz and ombudsman Thomas, was commendable. More to the point, it's their
job. But the institutional self-absorption displayed by the fact that McNamara,
Warsh, and Barnicle all felt the need to weigh in is getting to be a bit much.
McNamara made some valuable observations about the role of race in Smith's rise
from obscure music critic to Pulitzer-finalist columnist, but her strident tone
offended many African-Americans both inside and outside 135 Morrissey
Boulevard. "This isn't about race, it's about making up sources," says one of
McNamara's black colleagues. "It's about somebody who did not fulfill her
responsibilities, and fucked up and had to go."
Ongoing efforts to make Barnicle and Smith moral equivalents are
entirely unsupportable. Barnicle's enemies point to incidents that occurred 8,
12, even 25 years ago. Yes, charges that Barnicle invented characters, faked
quotes, and plagiarized are serious, and no, it doesn't appear that those
charges were adequately investigated at the time -- although they were
thoroughly aired and, unlike the Smith affair, ended inconclusively. There is
no evidence that Barnicle has broken his trust with his readers since Storin
became editor in 1993 -- never mind since the now-famous Globe
fact-checking system went into effect in 1996. And even if some of the
accusations against Barnicle are true, he's long since beaten the statute of
limitations.
A final note. Some of Storin's critics insist that he should have fired Smith
in 1995, when accusations that she sometimes faked it were first presented to
him. The events of the past few weeks demonstrate clearly why he didn't. The
Globe is a vast, powerful institution distrusted by many communities --
by Irish-Americans, by Catholics, by social conservatives, and, of course, by
African-Americans.
Patricia Smith was more than just a metro columnist -- she was a symbol of the
Globe's effort to connect with different communities. Who can blame
Storin for putting her on notice and believing -- wanting to believe -- that
this talented, eloquent writer had gotten the message?
The anger expressed in the black women's letter may be misdirected on the
specifics, but its underlying message is right on the mark. The loss of Smith's
voice is deeply felt, even though everyone now understands that she was not
what she appeared to be.
Storin says he still hasn't given much thought to naming a replacement. He
should do it soon, and he should do it with an independent, outspoken black
writer.
Actually, no. This time, make it a black journalist.
Articles from July 24, 1997 & before can be accessed here