Journalism: Objectivity in Today’s Media
BY MICHAEL CHENG '20
It’s almost a cliché: the media, like our politics, is more polarized than ever.
And while allegations of fake news and covert misinformation are what dominate the headlines, similar to politics, quarrels in the media over accuracy seem to be more a proxy for debating the contextualization and interpretation of facts and their relative importance in describing the nation.
Objectivity is the concept journalists have developed to navigate these perilous waters. It attempts to apply a version of the scientific process to evaluating information, holding journalists to a standard of unbiased, fact-based reporting delivered in a dispassionate, fair, and impartial way. It arose in the 1920s, partially out of a backlash to the sensationalist muckraking of “Yellow Journalism” during the Progressive Era, and partially in response to technological advances in communication; since newspapers were able to reach a broader audience, objectivity was seen as a way, in short, to alienate the fewest potential readers.
The term has been contentious ever since. For example, as Matthew Pressman detailed for Time, objectivity was criticized in its early years for “turning journalists into stenographers” who were too afraid to challenge the statements of the powerful. The industry was forced to confront this issue in the 1950s, largely in response to the sensationalist rhetoric of Senator Joseph McCarthy’s anticommunist crusade. The resulting doctrine began to allow for a journalist’s “professional judgement” to appear in “objective” articles, while still tabooing personal opinions.
While this delicate balance has prevailed in the decades since, it did little to settle the broader debate over a journalist’s role. For example, some conservatives have long seen these “professional judgements” as nothing more than a veneer for promoting liberal and elitist beliefs. Meanwhile, others such as screenwriter Aaron Sorkin (a liberal cult hero for creating The West Wing) insist that news organizations haven’t gone far enough to provide the necessary context and analysis, pointing to CNN as an example of an outlet substituting true objectivity for a “bias towards fairness.”
In Sorkin’s HBO series The Newsroom, a reformed cable news anchor explains that: “[B]ias towards fairness means that if the entire Congressional Republican Caucus were to walk into the House and propose a resolution stating that the Earth was flat, The [New York] Times would lead with the headline ‘DEMOCRATS AND REPUBLICANS CAN’T AGREE ON SHAPE OF EARTH.’” While Sorkin proposes an extreme hypothetical, something similar happened this August in the wake of a mass shooting in El Paso, Texas that was considered to be a white supremacist act of terror. In a televised speech to the nation, President Trump condemned “racism, bigotry and white supremacy,” and afterwards, The New York Times led with the headline “TRUMP URGES UNITY VS. RACISM.” After a night of backlash from journalists, activists, and even presidential candidates, later editions that morning headlined the same story with “ASSAILING HATE, BUT NOT GUNS.”
The first headline is reminiscent of objectivity’s original form; it provides an accurate synopsis of statements made by the president that morning. However, critics found it misleading because it did not frame these statements in the “proper context” of Mr. Trump’s prior rhetoric on race and immigration. Some even went so far as to portray this headline incident as part of a broader pattern of editorial decisions (e.g. around the Clinton email investigation) from the NYT that—intentionally or not—directly contributed to Mr. Trump’s election.
Inherent in this last claim is an acknowledgement of the power commanded by news organizations not just to react to the events of the past and present, but to shape the events to come. This is because journalists are—by popular demand—not stenographers, but storytellers at heart. The reality is that we ask journalists not just for the facts, but for why they matter and what they mean in the broader narratives of American life.
America is incredibly diverse, and the vast majority of us will only be able to interact with a sliver of that breadth in our personal experiences. For the rest of it, we rely heavily on the media, especially national news outlets such as The New York Times, to explain and humanize the rest of the country we do not see. We ask them to define what is newsworthy to an entire nation, and for that,` there is no mathematical formula.
Thus, journalism in its natural form has a tremendous amount of power to determine what is newsworthy, what is an aberration, and what is indicative of American life, questions which are inherently subjective. As a result, the media was historically nicknamed “the Fourth Estate,” as an institution comparable to (and distinct from) the three branches of government in its influence on public affairs.
In the first half of American history, local papers were often openly partisan, but with a diverse set of papers, one could presumably see many perspectives if they so chose. However, as the market became increasingly dominated by fewer, more national outlets, the resulting establishment was increasingly uncomfortable with the influence it wielded, and moved towards objective and transparent ways of wielding it. Under such standards, journalism seeks not to be an institution serving political ends, but rather an institution serving liberal democratic means.
To borrow a definition from Adam Gopnik of The New Yorker, liberalism prefers to use “reasoned and (mostly) unimpeded conversation, demonstration, and debate” in service of “egalitarian social reform and ever greater (if not absolute) tolerance of human difference.”
Our country was founded on this ideal, if not its consistent practice; the First Amendment attempts to protect unimpeded conversation in part by protecting the freedom of the press, because a free and diverse press is necessary to support the broader conversation by informing its participants and expanding its reach. And in the 20th century, as the industry was increasingly dominated by a handful of big-city publications, objectivity preserved the stature of the press in part by reducing its power, in order to preclude a monopoly on context and perspective. An objective press specifically serves a liberal democracy not just by supplying the accurate facts needed for a reasoned debate, but also by exposing readers to perspectives that might otherwise be inaccessible.
Sorkin says that the media’s influence compels them to promote ostensibly righteous ends. But if we think of the media not as a political institution, but a democratic one, then objectivity democratizes storytelling. Journalists have the power to tell stories about the nation, the world, and human nature; objectivity attempts to distribute that power more broadly. Journalism provides us the facts and figures, the stories and events, for us to interpret on our own accord. That isn’t a flaw—it’s a feature.
Perhaps what I have outlined is still a form of “liberal bias.” If so, it’s because “liberal democracy”—democracy premised on debate and dissent—engenders philosophically “liberal” institutions. If our society strives for a diversity of thought, of values, of citizen perspectives—is it any wonder when our stories disagree? I would argue that such a variety forms a hallmark of liberty; I would argue that we don’t have the luxury of a single story.
I seldom agree with Rep. Mark Meadows (R NC), but here he is, in a midday tussle with the press during Wednesday’s impeachment hearings:
“Everybody has their impression of what truth is, just like all of you as reporters have your impressions of what truth is. The ultimate judge will be the American people.”
So be it.
And while allegations of fake news and covert misinformation are what dominate the headlines, similar to politics, quarrels in the media over accuracy seem to be more a proxy for debating the contextualization and interpretation of facts and their relative importance in describing the nation.
Objectivity is the concept journalists have developed to navigate these perilous waters. It attempts to apply a version of the scientific process to evaluating information, holding journalists to a standard of unbiased, fact-based reporting delivered in a dispassionate, fair, and impartial way. It arose in the 1920s, partially out of a backlash to the sensationalist muckraking of “Yellow Journalism” during the Progressive Era, and partially in response to technological advances in communication; since newspapers were able to reach a broader audience, objectivity was seen as a way, in short, to alienate the fewest potential readers.
The term has been contentious ever since. For example, as Matthew Pressman detailed for Time, objectivity was criticized in its early years for “turning journalists into stenographers” who were too afraid to challenge the statements of the powerful. The industry was forced to confront this issue in the 1950s, largely in response to the sensationalist rhetoric of Senator Joseph McCarthy’s anticommunist crusade. The resulting doctrine began to allow for a journalist’s “professional judgement” to appear in “objective” articles, while still tabooing personal opinions.
While this delicate balance has prevailed in the decades since, it did little to settle the broader debate over a journalist’s role. For example, some conservatives have long seen these “professional judgements” as nothing more than a veneer for promoting liberal and elitist beliefs. Meanwhile, others such as screenwriter Aaron Sorkin (a liberal cult hero for creating The West Wing) insist that news organizations haven’t gone far enough to provide the necessary context and analysis, pointing to CNN as an example of an outlet substituting true objectivity for a “bias towards fairness.”
In Sorkin’s HBO series The Newsroom, a reformed cable news anchor explains that: “[B]ias towards fairness means that if the entire Congressional Republican Caucus were to walk into the House and propose a resolution stating that the Earth was flat, The [New York] Times would lead with the headline ‘DEMOCRATS AND REPUBLICANS CAN’T AGREE ON SHAPE OF EARTH.’” While Sorkin proposes an extreme hypothetical, something similar happened this August in the wake of a mass shooting in El Paso, Texas that was considered to be a white supremacist act of terror. In a televised speech to the nation, President Trump condemned “racism, bigotry and white supremacy,” and afterwards, The New York Times led with the headline “TRUMP URGES UNITY VS. RACISM.” After a night of backlash from journalists, activists, and even presidential candidates, later editions that morning headlined the same story with “ASSAILING HATE, BUT NOT GUNS.”
The first headline is reminiscent of objectivity’s original form; it provides an accurate synopsis of statements made by the president that morning. However, critics found it misleading because it did not frame these statements in the “proper context” of Mr. Trump’s prior rhetoric on race and immigration. Some even went so far as to portray this headline incident as part of a broader pattern of editorial decisions (e.g. around the Clinton email investigation) from the NYT that—intentionally or not—directly contributed to Mr. Trump’s election.
Inherent in this last claim is an acknowledgement of the power commanded by news organizations not just to react to the events of the past and present, but to shape the events to come. This is because journalists are—by popular demand—not stenographers, but storytellers at heart. The reality is that we ask journalists not just for the facts, but for why they matter and what they mean in the broader narratives of American life.
America is incredibly diverse, and the vast majority of us will only be able to interact with a sliver of that breadth in our personal experiences. For the rest of it, we rely heavily on the media, especially national news outlets such as The New York Times, to explain and humanize the rest of the country we do not see. We ask them to define what is newsworthy to an entire nation, and for that,` there is no mathematical formula.
Thus, journalism in its natural form has a tremendous amount of power to determine what is newsworthy, what is an aberration, and what is indicative of American life, questions which are inherently subjective. As a result, the media was historically nicknamed “the Fourth Estate,” as an institution comparable to (and distinct from) the three branches of government in its influence on public affairs.
In the first half of American history, local papers were often openly partisan, but with a diverse set of papers, one could presumably see many perspectives if they so chose. However, as the market became increasingly dominated by fewer, more national outlets, the resulting establishment was increasingly uncomfortable with the influence it wielded, and moved towards objective and transparent ways of wielding it. Under such standards, journalism seeks not to be an institution serving political ends, but rather an institution serving liberal democratic means.
To borrow a definition from Adam Gopnik of The New Yorker, liberalism prefers to use “reasoned and (mostly) unimpeded conversation, demonstration, and debate” in service of “egalitarian social reform and ever greater (if not absolute) tolerance of human difference.”
Our country was founded on this ideal, if not its consistent practice; the First Amendment attempts to protect unimpeded conversation in part by protecting the freedom of the press, because a free and diverse press is necessary to support the broader conversation by informing its participants and expanding its reach. And in the 20th century, as the industry was increasingly dominated by a handful of big-city publications, objectivity preserved the stature of the press in part by reducing its power, in order to preclude a monopoly on context and perspective. An objective press specifically serves a liberal democracy not just by supplying the accurate facts needed for a reasoned debate, but also by exposing readers to perspectives that might otherwise be inaccessible.
Sorkin says that the media’s influence compels them to promote ostensibly righteous ends. But if we think of the media not as a political institution, but a democratic one, then objectivity democratizes storytelling. Journalists have the power to tell stories about the nation, the world, and human nature; objectivity attempts to distribute that power more broadly. Journalism provides us the facts and figures, the stories and events, for us to interpret on our own accord. That isn’t a flaw—it’s a feature.
Perhaps what I have outlined is still a form of “liberal bias.” If so, it’s because “liberal democracy”—democracy premised on debate and dissent—engenders philosophically “liberal” institutions. If our society strives for a diversity of thought, of values, of citizen perspectives—is it any wonder when our stories disagree? I would argue that such a variety forms a hallmark of liberty; I would argue that we don’t have the luxury of a single story.
I seldom agree with Rep. Mark Meadows (R NC), but here he is, in a midday tussle with the press during Wednesday’s impeachment hearings:
“Everybody has their impression of what truth is, just like all of you as reporters have your impressions of what truth is. The ultimate judge will be the American people.”
So be it.
