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NIEMAN REPORTSTHE NIEMAN FOUNDATION FOR JOURNALISM AT HARVARD UNIVERSITYVOL. 55 NO. 3 FALL 2001Five DollarsThe Documentary and JournalismWhere They ConvergeNewspaper Cutbacks: Is this the only way to survive?

“…to promote and elevate the standards of journalism”—Agnes Wahl Nieman, the benefactor of the Nieman Foundation.Vol. 55 No. 3Fall 2001NIEMAN REPORTSTHE NIEMAN FOUNDATION FOR JOURNALISM AT HARVARD UNIVERSITYPublisherEditorAssistant EditorEditorial AssistantDesign EditorBusiness ManagerBob GilesMelissa LudtkeLois FiorePaul WirthDeborah SmileyCheryl ScantleburyNieman Reports (USPS #430-650) is publishedin March, June, September and Decemberby the Nieman Foundation at Harvard University,One Francis Avenue, Cambridge, MA 02138-2098.Telephone: (617) 495-2237E-mail Address (Business):nreports@harvard.eduE-mail Address (Editorial):nreditor@harvard.eduInternet address:http://www.nieman.harvard.eduCopyright 2001by the President and Fellows of Harvard College.Subcription $20 a year, $35 for two years;add $10 per year for foreign airmail. Single copies $5.Back copies are available from the Nieman office.Please address all subscription correspondence toOne Francis Avenue, Cambridge, MA 02138-2098and change of address information toP.O. Box 4951, Manchester, NH 03108.ISSN Number 0028-9817Second-class postage paidat Boston, Massachusetts,and additional entries.POSTMASTER:Send address changes toNieman Reports,P.O. Box 4951,Manchester, NH 03108.

Vol. 55 No. 3Fall 2001NIEMAN REPORTSTHE NIEMAN FOUNDATION FOR JOURNALISM AT HARVARD UNIVERSITY4 The Documentary and JournalismRadio and theInternet6 ‘What the Hell is a Radio Documentary?’ BY STEPHEN SMITH7 Radio Diarists Document Their Lives BY JOE RICHMAN10 Using the Web for an Interactive Documentary Project BY SUE JOHNSON13 Radio Documentaries Take Listeners Into Dark Corners INTERVIEW WITH DAVID ISAY16 Radio Storytelling Builds Community On-Air and Off BY JAY ALLISON19 First-Person Narratives on Radio Document Historic Memory BY SANDY TOLANPhotographyand theWritten Word22 Exploring the Relationship Between Photographer and Subject BY DENISE KEIM25 Photojournalism at a Crossroads BY PETER HOWE27 Photojournalism and Documentary Photography BY ANTONIN KRATOCHVIL,WITH MICHAEL PERSSON32 Being Receptive to the Unexpected BY ELI REED37 A Place for Words and Images to Call Home BY ROBERT COLES39 Revealing Afghanistan BY CHRIS STEELE-PERKINS41 A Photographer’s Journey Begins With a Coffin BY ANDRE LAMBERTSONMovingPictures:Televisionand Film45 A Nieman Year Spent Pondering Storytelling BY ROBERT DREW47 Documentary Journalism Vanishes From Network and Local Television BY PHILIP S. BALBONI50 Striking a Balance Between Filmmaking and Journalism BY MICHAEL KIRK53 Where Journalism and Television Documentary Meet BY CARA MERTES55 Using Documentaries to Move People to Action BY ELLEN SCHNEIDER57 Documenting Social Ills With an Eye Toward Advocacy BY MARGARET LAZARUS59 Long-Form Documentaries Serve a Vital Journalistic Role BY ROBERT RICHTER61 Using the Drama of Cinéma Vérité to Tell Real Stories BY CHRIS HEGEDUS63 Documentary Filmmakers Decide How to Present Compelling Evidence BY MICHAEL RABIGERCover photo: Afghanistan, 1998. A young man on the doorstep of a tea house. Photo byChris Steele-Perkins/Magnum Photos.©

65 Journalist’s TradeNewspaperCutbacks66 A Feeling of Being Set Adrift BY THRITY UMRIGAR67 The Philadelphia Inquirer: Cuts Jeopardize Quality BY JIM NAUGHTON68 When the Cheering Stops and Anger Sets In BY CHUCK LASZEWSKI70 Editors Need to Care About Words and Budgets BY DEBORAH HOWELL71 Diversity Can Be Improved During This Economic Downturn BY WILLIAM W. SUTTON, JR.73 Ownership Guides a Newspaper’s Mission BY JOHN MORTON74 Newspaper Economics 2001: The McClatchy Way BY GARY PRUITT76 Making Change Work Away From Public Pressures BY JAY SMITH77 Newspapers Confront a Barrage of Problems BY STEPHEN LACY79 Working Together, Journalists Can Have a Say in Corporate Policy BY GILBERT CRANBERG82 News is Strategic in the Newspaper Business BY JOSEPH BOWER84 Words & ReflectionsWhenJournalistsArrive …86 A Neighbor Wonders About Her Role as a Media Source BY AUDREY MCCOLLUM88 The Chandra Levy Story BY KIM PETERSEN91 A Bullet, a Boy, a Story, and a Reporter’s Observations BY ROBERT SALLADAY92 My Son Became a Voice the Media Relied on BY BARBARA SCHARDT94 With Child-Care Stories, It Still Comes Down to Mothers BY BARBARA A. WILLER95 Journalists Ask Questions, Then Refuse to Answer Them BY DAVID FOLKENFLIK97 Viewer Dissatisfaction Understates the Anger at Local TV News BY IKE SEAMANSBooksandCommentary99 Silencing Voices for Racial Change During the 1950’s BY CAROL POLSGROVE101 Journalism and Myth BY WILLIAM F. WOO103 The Evolutionary Growth of Newspapers’ Look and Feel BY WARREN WATSON104 Editorials: Pungent, Profound and Path Breaking BY NANCY DAY106 Essays by a Mexican Journalist Explore the Americas BY DIANNE SOLÍS108 A Journalist Allows This Story to Speak for Itself BY WILSON WANENE109 He Displeased His Bosses, Not to Mention Those He Covered BY JOHN HERBERS3 Curator’s Corner Narrative Journalism: A New Nieman Program BY BOB GILES111 Nieman Notes: Nieman Fellows Take to the Road in Korea BY STEFANIE FRIEDHOFF112 Class Notes COMPILED BY LOIS FIORE113 End Note2 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Curator’s CornerNarrative Journalism: A New Nieman ProgramMark Kramer brings his teaching and narrative journalism conference to Harvard.By Bob GilesIn its Fall 2000 issue, this magazine published a series ofarticles exploring the idea that narrative writing wasreturning to newspapers. The lead article was written byMark Kramer, a writer and highly respected teacher of thenarrative craft who has directed a conference on the narrativeform each year at Boston University, where he has beena professor and writer-in-residence for more than a decade.“The basic assertion is simple,” wrote Kramer. “Newspapersmight both improve coverage and retain more readersby employing storytelling techniques to convey news.” Editorialinterest in narrative has been stimulated, he continued,“in the course of a search for remedies to widespreadcurrent business problems: declining or stagnant newspapercirculation, aging readership, and decreased minutesspent reading papers.”Narrative was on the list, he explained, “because it engagesreaders; in this age of mega-corporate media saturation,Web sites and workaholism, readers still are attractedto stories in which people’s lives and decision-making arevividly portrayed.”Last winter several Nieman Fellows, who were among 750to attend Kramer’s narrative conference and who attendedhis class at B.U., urged me to bring him to Lippmann Houseto teach a narrative journalism class. Mark and I had lunchand then a series of meetings that led to reinstating thenarrative course for the Nieman Fellows that had beenintroduced the year before by Robert Vare (NF ’97), andmuch more.Kramer laid out a vision for making the Nieman Foundationa center of activity in narrative journalism. He saw it asan opportunity to deploy the great strength of the Niemanname and reputation by reaching out to the working pressthrough discussions of reporting and writing practices; therole of editing; the ethics of narrative reporting, and relationshipsof reporters with sources, with readers, and withthe culture and institutions of journalism. He describedformal and informal ways in which the Nieman programcould support the development of narrative work, both inthe United States and abroad through seminars and theNieman Web site. (I urge you to go to the foundation’s Website [www.nieman.harvard.edu] to read more from our Fall2000 issue about the experiences of other reporters who usethis approach.)His ideas struck me as a natural fit with the Niemanmission to elevate the standards of journalism, servingNieman Fellows and the larger journalism community aswell. We were able to quickly transform this vision into a newinitiative—the Nieman Foundation Program on NarrativeJournalism. Kramer joins the Nieman staff as director of theprogram and writer-in-residence. He brings with him theannual narrative journalism conference, which will be heldNovember 30-December 1-2 under the Nieman/Harvardbanner. This fall, he will teach the narrative form to theNieman class and plans to offer courses to Harvard students.He will be available as a writing consultant to studentpublications, thus helping to fulfill the Nieman Foundation’sobligation to serve the university community.Kramer’s presence will enrich significantly our programand the fellows. As Stefanie Friedhoff, Nieman Fellow ’01,said in her note to the class of 2002, “Mark Kramer stuffed hisstudents with ideas of how to convince colleagues andeditors that a long narrative story here and there can have animpact; how to go about narrative and do it in a way that isintriguing and convincing. Thus, narrative became visible asone concrete tool to do a better job.”Kramer’s overview of narrative journalism is worth noting.“First of all, it’s not an invented thing, but one that isevolving,” he wrote in reply to my query. “My observationson narrative derive from common practice, although I pleadguilty to trying to influence that practice.“Narrative describes events as they take place over time.This splitting of event into process of course fully mobilizesjournalists’ writing skills and judgment, which is why it canserve readers well and excite reporters, but also why editorsapproach cautiously. All reporting implies a selective eye. Innarrative accounts, the selection is fine-grained: What eventsare central? Where in the tangled rush of events might areporter slow action to catch moments and details andpersons, and where brush past events? The reporter gets tofigure it all out and to chat with readers…. Narrative invitesreporting beyond the least common denominator, becauseit acknowledges complex emotions, human situations andconsequences, moving conversation with readers beyondsimple shared sentimentality.”So, in a sense, this narrative movement in Americanjournalism isn’t simply about storytelling, but about connectingwith varied readers. It invites us to deploy provenpractices, including scrupulous use of set scenes and informationabout personality. It invites the reporter’s artistry.Kramer adds, “It surely doesn’t include inventing an iota ofmaterial. That’s a bedrock taboo, as industry-threatening asever.”The Nieman Foundation Program on Narrative Journalismhas been launched. I invite your ideas and experiences,cautions and encouragement. ■Nieman Reports / Fall 2001 3

The Documentary and JournalismAt a time when so much of journalism is quicker, shorter and hyped to grab the public’s presumedshort-attention span, the documentary—with its slower pace and meandering moments—isfinding receptive audiences in many old places and some new ones as well. In radio, documentaryproducers tackle society’s most pressing issues, and on the Internet, there are homes fordocumentary exploration. Photographers linger in communities to document the lives and placesthey encounter. And though documentary films are not as visible on network and local broadcaststations as they once were, on public and cable TV and in theaters, the documentary form isthriving.In this issue of Nieman Reports, we’ve asked those who document our world to explore howtheir work converges with ours. How is what they do related to journalism? And what does thedocumentary form allow its adherents to do in reporting news or exploring issues that other formsof journalism do not?Stephen Smith, managing editor at American RadioWorks, begins our inquiry by raising—andresponding to—a familiar question: “What the hell is a radio documentary?” Joe Richman,producer of the “Radio Diaries” series on National Public Radio, describes how his documentary“reporters,” who are untrained in journalism, capture moments that journalists never could. Twoof these reporters write about their work as radio diarists. At 360degrees.org, documentaryphotographer Sue Johnson uses Web technology to merge voices and images to create aninteractive opportunity for people to explore the day-to-day experiences of prison and to gainunderstanding about topics of criminal justice. In an interview, radio documentary producerDavid Isay shares his views and experiences about the points at which his work intersects withthat of journalists and where it diverges. Jay Allison, an independent broadcast journalist, beginswith “Life Stories,” a diary series he began in the 1980’s, and ends his article with a description ofhis newly developed Internet site Transom.org—“a combination library, master class, and auditionstage,” where producers and citizens gather to talk and learn about radio documentary. ProducerSandy Tolan reminds us of the power of first-person radio narratives as he retraces hisexperience in making the award-winning documentary, “The Lemon Tree,” and Johanna Zorn atChicago Public Radio alerts us to an October festival where radio documentaries will be featured.Photographer Denise Keim used her camera to document life in Poland during the year shespent there. “With documentary work,” she writes, “I stretch the boundaries, nurture the subjectmatter, and communicate critical thinking on many layers.” Photojournalist Peter Howe, whodirected photography at The New York Times magazine and Life, describes the crossroads at whichphotojournalism now finds itself, a place in which technology, culture and economics willdetermine its future. Photographer Antonin Kratochvil draws distinctions between what heregards as photojournalism and what he believes is documentary photography. They are, he writes,“identical mediums, but conveying very different messages.” Alongside his haunting photographs,he speaks about what motivates him to tell stories in this way. Eli Reed, a photographer forMagnum, takes us along as he immerses himself in the community of Eau Claire, South Carolina to4 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

document moments that bring residents together. Robert Coles, editor of DoubleTake, adocumentary magazine, and a teacher at Harvard University, returns us to the words of those whoinspired him to create DoubleTake. “Pictures and words, both, is now our refrain…” he writes,in tribute to poet, artist and physician William Carlos Williams. Magnum photographer ChrisSteele-Perkins’ photographs reveal what he found in Afghanistan, a country cloaked in secrecy.His mission: “to commit these people’s sufferings, their crazy ways, their grace and culture tofilm.” And photographer Andre Lambertson focuses his camera’s lens on the enduring plight ofpoor, black children growing up in decaying neighborhoods of urban America. “I wanted mywork to help me and others understand why these neighborhoods continued to devour theirchildren, how children who lived there saw themselves, and where they found hope,” he writes.In the early years of television, producer Robert Drew used his Nieman year to ponder howthe documentary method of storytelling could flourish in this new medium. By the early 1960’s,he pioneered what he calls “candid” documentary. Unfortunately, in recent years, documentarieshave nearly vanished from broadcast television, as Philip S. Balboni, president of New EnglandCable News and a juror for the Alfred duPont-Columbia University Awards, attests in his articleexploring why this happened and the consequences of their absence. “Frontline” is one of theonly reliable outposts for documentary journalism left on television, and its founding and ongoingmission are the topics of producer/director Michael Kirk’s article. Cara Mertes, executiveproducer for the public television series “P.O.V.,” talks about how personal storytelling, toldsubjectively, finds links to journalism. Ellen Schneider, executive director of “Active Voice,”which includes a new media model called the Television Race Initiative, writes about trying to usethe documentary form to inspire collective action within specific communities. And MargaretLazarus, an independent documentary filmmaker, speaks to ways in which her own advocacyintersects with her filmmaking and, in turn, how her films intersect with journalism. RobertRichter, the last producer from the Murrow/Friendly “CBS Reports” unit still makingdocumentaries, explains why the long-form documentary can’t be replaced adequately by theubiquitous newsmagazine. “The reason: To make what is complicated able to be understood, andpotentially acted upon, eats up valuable airtime.” Independent filmmaker Chris Hegedus usesthe “cinéma vérité” approach to documentary filmmaking to take viewers into places like BillClinton’s 1992 “War Room” and the offices of a young entrepreneur’s dot-com start-up (it fails)and keeps her cameras running as the story-behind-the-story unfolds. Is this related to whatjournalists do? “I’m not sure,” Hegedus writes, but she explores ways it might be. Finally,Michael Rabiger, a founding member of the BBC Oral History series “Yesterday’s Witness” andauthor of “Directing the Documentary,” describes the methods of documentary filmmakers andhow their decisions and actions influence the story the film tells. He supports documentarianswho have decided “to show not only the result of their work but how they created it.” Suchtransparency, he argues, “is encouraging since, as with journalism, the more the publicunderstands how a story is constructed, the more likely they are to ascribe fairness to it.” ■Nieman Reports / Fall 2001 5

The Documentary and Journalism‘What the Hell is a Radio Documentary?’It’s a familiar question. Now here are some answers.By Stephen SmithIwas interviewing a man in Tennesseethis year, a well-educated professionalin his 60’s and a devotedlistener to public radio. I introducedmyself by explaining that I’m based atMinnesota Public Radio and make documentariesfor National Public Radio(NPR). He cocked his head and eyedme funny. “What the hell is a radiodocumentary?” he said. I get that questionall the time.Unlike television and film viewers,most radio listeners don’t identify aninvestigative story or intimate humanportrait they just heard on public radioas a documentary. To them it’s just aprogram, a piece, a story, a write-up, oreven an “article.”Yet an increasing flow of documentariesis pouring out of American radiospeakers. They come almost exclusivelyfrom public radio stations but also,occasionally, from commercial newsstations. Some are an hour long, others10 to 20 minutes. The best can often beheard within NPR news magazines suchas “All Things Considered” and “WeekendEdition”—producer Joe Richman’schronicle of the lives of prison inmatesthrough their audio diaries—or DavidIsay’s portrait of a New York City flophouse,or the work of the Kitchen Sistersin their “Lost and Found Sound”series. There are also documentariesheard on our rival network, Public RadioInternational (PRI), in programslike “Marketplace,” “The World,” and“This American Life.”American RadioWorks (ARW) makesdocumentaries that air within the majorNPR news magazines, but we’vealso made a priority of producing hourlongspecial reports distributed directlyto public radio stations nationwide.These specials air in virtually all themajor American cities.Neither length nor audience defineradio documentaries. Ideally, a docu-mentary possesses a depth of researchor proximity to its subject that distinguishesit from a long feature or enterprisestory. Length is not the definingquality; a documentary can last hoursor five minutes. Documentaries conveya rich sense of character and detail—ora substantial body of originalinvestigative material—that simplyaren’t heard in the majority of publicradio news reports.At the heart of the documentarystyle are moments recorded on tape inwhich the story unfolds in front of thelistener. These scenes function like aphoto essay or a film documentary,where events play out in real time. Forexample, there is a scene in an AmericanRadioWorks documentary on childpoverty, “The Forgotten 14 Million,” inwhich the mother of a family in Kentucky,Janet, lectures her son Jim aboutthe perils of getting married too young.Jim: “You’re allowed to get marriedwhen you’re 21.”Janet: “Yeah, you’re allowed to getmarried when you’re 21, but whereyou gonna take her to?”Jim: “I don’t know.”Janet: “Without the money and withouta home, you gotta have the moneyand you gotta have a home to take herto!”Jim: “Yeah, but I’m gonna get me ahome first.”Janet: “There ain’t no way you canget married at the age of 18 and thinkthat you can go through college, get ajob, and support a family, and getyour own home and everything else.You can’t do that. That’s what Mommyand Daddy’s been a-trying to tellyoun’s. You get your education andeverything, then you can get you awoman. Other than that, if you don’tgo through all of that, then you ain’tgonna have nothin. And you know it.”In a stunning piece of historical documentary,producers Christina Egloffand Jay Allison of the “Lost and FoundSound” project used audiotapes madeby a soldier named Mike, who died inVietnam, to tell his story: “I have therecorder here, and I’m going to try tokeep it elevated off the ground andaway from everything here. I’m goingto try to keep it up in the air becauseeverything I touch here eats throughmy skin or bites me, or rots, something.This is, this is something else.The grass will cut you. The mud will rotyour skin. This is something else.”Time spent in the field is often whatdistinguishes a radio documentary froma feature or enterprise report. The piecefeels lush, more active. At AmericanRadioWorks, we encourage producersto revisit their subjects time and again,to document the story over months, ifnot years. These kind of characterdrivenstories are a powerful way ofexploring larger social themes. Someproducers pride themselves on neverquoting experts in their documentariesbecause conventional news reportstend to rely heavily on academics andgovernment officials as on-mikesources. At American RadioWorks, wetry to weave the larger social contextinto a compelling, character-rich story.When we get it right, the flow of anengaging narrative helps carry theweight of figures and facts. The trick ischoosing the right subject. ARW coversa mix of domestic and internationalsubjects, from global public health towar crimes, from the American prisonindustry to the history of segregation.Narrative documentaries are farmore common in public radio thaninvestigative projects, in part becauseinvestigative reporting devours timeand money. Most radio news organizationssimply can’t afford it. But in February,American RadioWorks broke the6 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Radio and the Internetstory of how Serbian security forcesserving the regime of SlobodanMilosevic burned hundreds of bodiesof slaughtered Kosovo Albanians in anindustrial furnace to cover up potentialwar crimes evidence. This story wasthe result of nearly two years’ workresearching war crimes in Kosovo.Do listeners want these documentaries?If you ask many program directors—thegatekeepers to local airtimeon more than 600 stations nationwide—theresponse is mixed. Someinsist that long-form work is at theheart of public radio’s mission anddistinguish it from all the brainlesschatter elsewhere on the dial. Otherssay documentaries are a ratings killer.They point out that the average commercialradio listener tunes in for only15 minutes or so and that longer storieswon’t help lure these listeners toour side. On the other hand, time spentlistening to public radio is more like anhour per occasion, and documentariesrecently aired within NPR’s “All ThingsConsidered” have been among the mostpopular pieces that program has aired.Although documentaries are alive inpublic radio, it’s hard to argue that thegenre is healthy, at least in terms ofemployment opportunities. Only ahandful of radio producers in theUnited States actually make a livingfrom documentary work, and they don’tearn much money. Most producers alsowork as journalists for local stations, orhold down editorial posts at NPR orPRI, or toil at an unrelated day job.American RadioWorks, the largest documentaryproduction unit in public radio,has nine people on staff.Still, the near future seems promisingfor documentary radio. An excellentradio program can be made for afraction of what a quality independentfilm costs: As a rough estimate, radiodocumentaries can cost anywhere from$20-80,000 or more per hour, comparedto a documentary film, in whichthe budget might start at $100,000 andsoar past one million dollars. Foundationand government funding for radiodocumentaries, while not simple toobtain, does exist. And when a pieceairs on an NPR newsmagazine it reachesa large, influential audience. For example,more than 10 million peoplelisten to “All Things Considered.” That’sa far bigger crowd than watch most filmdocumentaries and a healthy figurewhen compared to the four millionpeople a week tuning in to the prestigiousPBS TV documentary program“Frontline.”I like to think that the future ispromising for audio (not just radio)documentaries. The Internet has alreadycreated new venues for audiowork, though the audience is uncertainand work suffers from the squishysound of Web audio. There might beother ways to distribute audio documentariesin the multi-media future.Some day, we might get our radio signalsfrom satellites instead of towersand be able to chose the “all documentary”channel while driving to work.We might even be able to chose programson demand, á la cable television.This could mean a bigger market foraudio docs.In the meantime, keep an ear openfor the radio documentaries alreadybeaming through the atmosphere. ■Stephen Smith is managing editorand a correspondent with AmericanRadioWorks, the documentaryproject of Minnesota Public Radioand NPR news.ssmith@mprRadio Diarists Document Their LivesThese ‘reporters’ capture moments journalists never could.By Joe RichmanWhat made Josh Cutler a greatradio diarist was that I neverknew what he was going tosay. Sometimes he didn’t, either. Joshhas Tourette’s syndrome, a neurologicaldisorder that causes involuntaryverbal and physical tics. I first met himin 1995 when he was in the 10th grade.I had just received a grant to produce aseries called “Teenage Diaries” on NationalPublic Radio [NPR]. The ideawas to give tape recorders and microphonesto a group of teens around thecountry and help them report abouttheir own lives.Josh recorded for more than a year.[See Josh’s description of his work for“Teenage Diaries” on page 8.] Hebrought the tape recorder to school(reluctantly at first), kept an audio journal,and recorded all the sounds of hisdaily life. Josh documented his tics, hetaped himself doing everything frompreparing breakfast to making prankphone calls, and he recorded one amazinglyintense and honest conversationwith his mother that became the centerpieceof his audio diary. All together,he collected more than 40 hours oftape, which was edited into a 15-minuteradio documentary for NPR’s “AllThings Considered.”The fact that Josh could not alwayscontrol what came out of his mouth isa kind of metaphor for this type ofdocumentary journalism. The processof going through hours and hours ofraw audio diary tapes is like mining forgold. Ninety percent is junk, but thenevery so often there are little magicalmoments that are completely unexpected.Things emerge about peoplethat, in an interview, I would neverhave known to even look for.With all the diarists there comes apoint, maybe after the first month ofrecording, when they get bored withthe process. That’s what I’m waitingNieman Reports / Fall 2001 7

The Documentary and JournalismA Tape Recorder Becomes a Connecting ThreadBy Joshua CutlerI went to a small high school whereeveryone had some vague notion that Ihad a disease called Tourette’s syndrome.But very few students reallyknew what that meant and even fewerseemed to care enough to find out.That was until I brought the tape recorderto school with me.At first, I was absolutely mortified atthe idea of actually interviewing anyone.I was in 10th grade and, backthen, I used to dread going to schoolevery day. I was already enough of asocial outcast because of my condition,which causes me to sometimes moveor speak involuntarily. I was terrifiedthat shoving a huge microphone insomebody’s face would cause me to bethe victim of further scorn. I was wrong.When I took out the tape recorderand explained what I was doing, therewas a huge commotion. Soon, I had atleast a dozen students waiting to beinterviewed. During this lunch period,I became closer to my classmates thanI had in the several previous years.Recording these diaries made merealize something important: I’d neverreally talked to anyone at school aboutTourette’s. Talking in this way nowshowed me that people were interestedand did care. After my story aired,even complete strangers from aroundthe country went out of their way todrop me a note. My well-wishers rangedfrom ordinary people, to a man inprison in Texas, to a young lady namedEmily, who also has Tourette’s, andwith whom I still correspond.The lesson I learned from documentingmy experience is that in someways the cold, cruel world is not as coldand cruel as I used to think it was. ■Joshua Cutler. Photo by Kate Burton.“People are always taught to think beforethey speak. Everybody has deep dark thingsthat they don’t want people to know they’rethinking about. The bottom line is sometimesI actually have to teach myself not tocare. I can’t care because most of the time Ican’t control what comes out of my mouth.I control what comes out of my ass betterthan I control what comes out of mymouth. But the last thing I want people tothink is, ‘Oh, poor Josh.’ It’s not like I’m ina wheelchair or I have snot dribbling downmy chin. I really just don’t want anyone tobe feeling sorry for me. This is not a SallyStruthers commercial.”—From the “TeenageDiaries” series.Joshua Cutler graduated in June2001 from Vassar College. When hewas in high school, he reported twostories about his life and strugglewith Tourette’s syndrome.josh9992002@yahoo.comfor. They’re no longer trying to soundlike Tom Brokaw. They’re not performing,so they’re less self-conscious. Theyrelax and become themselves. It takesa lot of practice to be natural.Of course, the key to all documentaryjournalism is time; spendingenough time for people to trust youwith their stories, hanging out enoughso that you’re there when things happen.By turning the tape recorder intoa constant companion, the diarists takethis process a step further. It’s likebringing the microphone backstage, toa place where truth and understandingare found not just in words but betweenwords—in the pauses, accents,in the sighs and silences.Teenagers make good diarists becausethey have an abundance of time.It’s also an age where people are justbeginning to discover themselves andtheir world. And unlike many adultsteenagers simply have an inherent beliefthat whatever they say is importantand people should be listening. WhenI ask a teenager to carry a tape recorderaround for six months, they don’t thinkI’m crazy.Radio is the perfect medium for thesediary-style documentaries. The equipmentis relatively inexpensive and easyto use. A microphone is less intrusivethan a video camera so people can bemore natural, more themselves. Mostimportantly, radio is intimate. Greatradio sounds as though it’s being whisperedright into your ear.For these reasons, I believe some ofthe best first-person documentary workis found on the radio. David Isay’s“Ghetto Life 101,” in which two youngboys in a Chicago housing project weregiven tape recorders, and Jay Allison’son-going “Life Stories” series were bothdirect inspirations for our “TeenageDiary” series. And during the past fiveyears the public radio show, “ThisAmerican Life,” has reinvented and reinvigoratedthe form.“Radio Diaries” is a small, nonprofitcompany—me and associate producer,Wendy Dorr. Since Josh’s story aired in1996, we have produced more than 20diary-style documentaries for NPR. The“Teenage Diaries” series has includeddiaries from a teen mom, the daughterof an evangelical minister, a gay teenager,an illegal immigrant, and the runningback for an Alabama high-schoolfootball team. Other projects have includeda 30-minute diary-style documentaryfrom residents of a retirementhome and, more recently, we produced“Prison Diaries,” a series of stories frominmates, correctional officers, and ajudge.Diarists have to play two roles, bothsubject and reporter, and negotiating8 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Radio and the Internetthe two can be tricky. So the rules—myrules, anyway—are different from traditionaldocumentaries. I give each diaristfinal editorial control over theirstory. I also pay most of the diarists asmall stipend for their work. In thisway, the relationship is closer to themodel at NPR and other news organizations:The diarist is the reporter andI am the producer—although by thetime a diary airs on the radio, my jobfeels more like that of a midwife.The “Prison Diaries” series, whichaired on NPR in January 2001, wascertainly the most difficult projectamong the diaries that we have undertaken.After spending more than fourmonths trying to gain access to prisons,we found two institutions willingto participate. One was an adult prisonin North Carolina for 18-22-year-oldinmates. The other was a juvenile facilityin Rhode Island. We gave tape recordersto five inmates, four correctionalofficers, and a juvenile courtjudge. For six months, the diarists keptaudio journals and recorded the soundsand scenes of their lives. At the end ofsix months, we had 250 hours of tape.Eight or 10 months after that, we hadfour half-hour documentaries for NPR’s“All Things Considered.”Along with the radio broadcasts, wealso teamed up with an innovativeonline documentary project about thecriminal justice system. Called360degrees.org, it allows visitors ontheir Web site to enter and move aroundthe diarists’ environments while theylisten to their audio diaries. [See storyabout 360degrees.org on page 10.]“Prison Diaries” was the first timeinmates have been given tape recordersto document their lives in this way.The series tested the limits of what thisform does well but also exemplifiedhow it can fall short. When a topic is soemotional and complicated, the absenceof an “official” narrator poses adifficult problem. In choosing inmates,it was important to find diarists whocould own up to their crimes and theirlives, who could somehow address theskepticism and questions of credibilitythat listeners would naturally bring tothe stories. I also grappled with theissue of empathy, wondering whether‘It was just me and the recorder.’By CristelI had been incarcerated at the RhodeIsland Training School for three yearswhen I met Joe [Richman]. He asked ifI wanted to carry a tape recorder aroundthe training school for a few monthsand record my life. I told him yes. Butat the same time I was wondering whyin the world would people be interestedin someone that’s not famous atall. I mean, what’s the point?That was 1999. Three years earlier,when I was 15, I cut a girl many timeson her face with a razor. The judge hadlocked me up for six years. I didn’tthink anybody would want to hear froma criminal’s point of view. I figuredpeople would hate me for what I did,or at least they wouldn’t be interested.At first it was strange to carry thetape recorder around, but it also mademe feel special. There were times whenI had no one to speak to. The recorderbecame my friend and social worker. Itwas like I was keeping a verbal journal.I knew that one day, millions of peoplewould hear my story. But I never picturedit like I was talking to the wholeworld. I felt like I was just talking andnobody’s listening. It was just me andthe recorder.I remember one time I stayed up allnight in my cell to watch the sunrise. Ihadn’t seen it in a long time, and I toldthe tape recorder how one day I wasgoing to see the sunrise from a betterview. And that’s what happened. Soonafter that night, the judge decided thatI was rehabilitated and let me out threeyears early.I was scared to have my story on theour listeners could invest emotionallyin the story if they didn’t like the diarist.On the other hand, so much ofwhat happens in prison is normally outof our reach, and this method allowedlisteners unprecedented access. Wewanted to document a side of prisonlife that people rarely hear—includingCristel and daughter Rayonna. Photo bySue Johnson.radio. But when I heard it, I began tounderstand why people might want tolisten to somebody that’s not famous.I guess it’s so you’ll know about otherhuman beings that you may not knowabout, and hear their stories. ■“Sometimes, you know, I just look out thewindow and I just sit here and think likesomething I decided in 10 minutes changedmy entire life. Not even 10 minutes. I meanthree years gone by, and I’m still sitting here.What would I be doing if I was out? Whatwould my life be like? Would I have finishedschool? Would I have settled down? Would Ihave done something worse? I just look outthe window, and I think about all thisstuff.”—From “Prison Diaries” series.Cristel was released in early 2000after being incarcerated for threeand a half years. Now 20 years old,she lives with her boyfriend and twodaughters and still carries her taperecorder with her.the quiet, intimate sounds, and notjust the traditional slamming of celldoors.“Prison Diaries” was also challengingfor the diarists. One thing correctionalofficers and inmates share isthey have to always maintain their gameface. Honest, vulnerable moments areNieman Reports / Fall 2001 9

The Documentary and Journalismhard to come by. Yet what many of thediarists appreciated about the projectwas the opportunity to let their guarddown. One inmate later said he hadnever in his life talked to anyone theway he talked to the tape recorder.Buried in those 250 hours of tape fromprison are many intimate and magicalmoments. On one cassette, Cristel, an18-year-old girl incarcerated at theRhode Island Training School [SeeCristel’s description of her work for“Prison Diaries” on page 9.] was recordinglate one night when she hearda faint knock from the wall of the cellnext door. It was a 13-year-old girl whohad just recently been locked up. Neitherof the girls could sleep, so for 10minutes they sent each other syncopatedrhythms back and forth betweenthe cell walls. After a while the knockingstopped. Then Cristel picked upthe tape recorder, walked over to herwindow and brought the microphoneclose to her mouth.To hear Cristel speaking quietly intoa tape recorder late at night, it’s almostpossible to enter into her world, toimagine ourselves there behind themicrophone. What radio diaries cando well is to give us all glimpses into adifferent reality and to document themoments of lives that can’t be toldexcept by those who live them. ■Joe Richman is the producer of the“Radio Diaries” series on NationalPublic Radio. He is also an adjunctprofessor at the Columbia UniversityGraduae School of Journalism.Radio Diaries Inc., a nonprofitproduction company in New YorkCity, recently published a guide tomaking radio diaries, the TeenReporter Handbook, available forsale and on their Web site:www.radiodiaries.org.joe@radiodiaries.orgUsing the Web for an Interactive Documentary ProjectAt 360degrees.org, the U.S. criminal justice system is examinedfrom many perspectives.“My name is John Mills. I’m 21, a blackmale…in prison. I wanted to be a policeofficer, you know what I’m saying? When Iwas smaller, I used to think about that allthe time. All the sirens and loud noises andblue lights. It was just something I alwayswanted to be. But now I hate the police. Iknow my life just took a big turn somewhere.I just don’t know where. My momalways predicted my life: ‘You’re going tobe just like your daddy.’ He went to prison.I think he pulled like five years in prison.‘Just like your dad.’ She’d say that all thetime.”By Sue JohnsonJohn Mills is one of 1,100 youngmen ages 19-21 who are incarceratedat Polk Youth Facility in NorthCarolina. His story is part of an ongoingseries called “360degrees: Perspectiveson the U.S. Criminal Justice System.”This Web-based documentaryattempts to put the recent growth inthe prison population into historicalperspective and examine the impact ithas had on individuals, families andJohn Mills is serving seven to nine years at Polk Youth Facility. From thedocumentary, 360degrees.org. Photo by Sue Johnson/Picture Projects.communities. Each story, and therewill be eight by the end of 2002, addressesa new theme—the juvenile justicesystem, prison towns, children ofincarcerated parents—and is toldthrough first-person stories, data thatcan be examined in different ways, aninteractive timeline, and online andoffline discussion.We launched 360degrees.org inJanuary 2001 in conjunction with JoeRichman’s “Prison Diaries” series onNational Public Radio. [See story byJoe Richman on page 7.] We spentseveral months doing interviews together.While Joe focused exclusivelyon John’s story for a 30-minute broadcast,we interviewed two correctional10 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Radio and the InternetA panoramic photograph of the intake process. On the Web site, 360degrees.org, the visitor can pan around this photograph by movingthe cursor while hearing stories from the correctional officers who work in intake. Photo by Sue Johnson/Picture Projects.officers, the warden, and John’s motherand stepfather. We edited these interviews,along with John’s, into shortaudio clips for 360degrees. The siteuses streaming audio and navigable360 degree photographs to create a“sensurround” simulation of eachperson’s environment. While listeningto each person’s story, visitors to thesite can pan up, down and around thestoryteller’s space—prison cells, recreationyards, living rooms, and judges’chambers.From this story section, visitors cango to an interactive timeline that showsthe evolution of the criminal justicesystem from 601 AD to the present.Beginning with the Code of Etherlbert,which placed a monetary value on eachbody part, the timeline conveys thecyclical nature of the system by highlightingtheories and practicesthat have gone in andout of fashion throughoutthe years. The dialogue areais a place for open discussion,e-debates between invitedguests, and smallclosed discussion circles.The dynamic data area isa place where we have experimentedwith visualizingand animating statistics,charts and graphs. Thiswork has been conceptuallydifficult and the programmingvery intensive.Each interactive exercise requiresa significant amountof data, often more thanScreenshot from the online documentary, “360degrees: Perspectiveson the U.S. Criminal Justice System,” by Picture Projects.what is available, in order to generateaccurate comparisons or calculate risksand odds. To develop this, we’veworked with a number of criminologistsand researchers at the Bureau ofJustice Statistics. Currently, the siteoffers two quizzes: “Are You a Criminal?”and “What’s Your Theory?” Intime, we’ll offer interactive maps ofneighboring communities showing thenumber of people going into and comingout of prison and money spent bythe criminal justice system in eachneighborhood, and we’ll launch threenew dynamic data scenarios by the endof the year.The idea for the project originatedin 1998 when my partner, AlisonCornyn, and I read “The Real War onCrime,” a report from the NationalCriminal Justice Commission that detailedthe ineffectiveness of tough-oncrimemeasures through a combinationof anecdotes and statistics. It challengedus to think about how we couldillustrate—using interactivity and multimedia—therapid growth in America’sprison population since the 1980’s andits impact on our daily lives. By thistime, our multimedia documentarygroup, Picture Projects, had alreadycollaborated with several photojournalists,filmmakers and cultural institutionsto create interactive documentariesincluding “akaKURDISTAN” withSusan Meiselas, “Farewell to Bosnia”with Gilles Peress, and “Re: Vietnam:Stories Since the War” for PBS online.360degrees.org, as we envisionedit, was larger in scale than any of theseprojects. It would require a significantteam of advisors, producers and programmersand, of course, amuch larger budget. As withour past online projects, ourgoal was to capitalize on theassets of the medium: itscapacity for quick computation,motion graphics, andthe integration of audio andvideo, as well as the opportunityto cross over geographicboundaries. Wewanted to reach new audiences,primarily high schooland college students, thathave had little exposure tothe criminal justice systemor to those who had comeinto contact with the systembut wanted to knowNieman Reports / Fall 2001 11

The Documentary and JournalismA panoramic photograph of John Mills’ cell. At 360degrees.org, the visitor can explore Mills’ surroundings while his audio story plays.Photo by Sue Johnson/Picture Projects.how their experiences fit into a broaderpicture. (We knew we were headed inthe right direction when The New YorkTimes reported that criminal justicewas the fastest growing major on U.S.college campuses.) More importantly,we wanted to tell a compelling story,one that fully engages the audiencethrough their actions on the site, andone that ultimately gets people thinkingabout the efficacy of our currentpolicies and alternative approaches tocrime control and incarceration.We refer to 360degrees.org as aninteractive documentary. When peoplehear this, they want to know how longit is. Of course, its length is determinedby how the user travels through thesite. The combination of high-endgraphic design, storytelling,interactivity and the nature of the subjectmatter positions 360degrees.orgsomewhere between art, documentaryand activism. The site has been featuredat documentary film festivals,galleries and at new media trade shows.It has also been nominated for journalismawards. The blurring of the lineshas made it difficult for us to get funding,yet a handful of foundations includingthe New York State Council onthe Arts, Creative Capital, and the Corporationfor Public Broadcasting cameon board while the project was in itsnascent stages. The budget for the siteresembles that of a low-budget documentaryfilm with half of the resourcesgoing toward our production team ofdatabase programmers, Flash animators,audio editors, photography researchers,and writers. The other halfgoes toward the cost of outreach andmarketing.We developed the site independentof an online distributor so we’d be freeto experiment with the technology, thenarrative structure and, most importantly,the content. This, of course, putthe task of audience building in ourhands, which has been costly, but theresult has been a series of enterprisingpartnerships and collaborations. Thesite averages about 5,000 hits a day andcloser to 10,000 during the relatedNPR broadcasts. Adrienne FitzGerald,a former social worker with a degree innew media, has been working with usto bring 360degrees into high schoolsand universities. She created a pilotprogram called the Social Action Network,where students talk with ex-offenders,judges and lawyers in a guided,four-week program that takes placeboth online and offline. We are seekingfunding to make this a national programin partnership with several educationalorganizations, including acriminal justice textbook publisher.360degrees.org is in many ways anexperiment in how far we can push themedium (and our resources) and howmuch an audience is willing to engagewith a story. In this non-linear Webenvironment there is less narrative control.Visitors to the site will listen tocharacters in a different order, in differentenvironments, and in differentways. So it is vital for us to create a“stickiness” between the stories, keepingvisitors curious enough to continueexploring the site. Our goal hasbeen to construct the overall narrativeby collecting many—sometimes hundreds—offirst-person stories. One ofthe advantages of working in this mediumis the ability to change the site inresponse to viewer feedback. Thedownside is living with the feeling thatthe project is never complete. Builtinto the architecture of our sites is thespace to play with different methodsfor storytelling.These large-scale projects can onlybe accomplished through collaboration;they can be costly and incrediblytime consuming. We have been encouragedby the growing communityof filmmakers, writers, photographersand journalists willing to pool theirexperience and resources. It is a criticaltime, as the Web becomes increasinglycommercialized, to carve out aspace online for experimentation withthese new forms of documentary. ■Sue Johnson is a documentary photographerand cofounder of PictureProjects, a new media productioncompany specializing in Web-baseddocumentaries. Picture Projects’work can be found at www.pictureprojects.com.suej@picture-projects.com12 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

David Isay is the founder of SoundPortraits Productions. Its radio documentariesprofile the lives of men,women and children living in communitiesoften neglected or misunderstood.During the past 13 years, Isay’swork has won nearly every award inbroadcasting, including three PeabodyAwards, two Robert F. Kennedy JournalismAwards, and two LivingstonAwards for Young Journalists. He wasrecently awarded a MacArthur Fellowship.Included among Sound Portraits’documentary work is “GhettoLife 101,” “Witness to an Execution,”“The Jewish Giant,” “The SunshineHotel,” and “The Executive Tapes.” Isaywas interviewed by Nieman Reportseditor, Melissa Ludtke.Melissa Ludtke: Can you describewhy you chose the radio documentaryas a way to tell the stories and reflect onsocial issues?David Isay: Well, I didn’t choose it.It was a series of strange circumstancesand twists of fate that kind of led meinto making radio documentaries whenI was 22 years old and headed to medicalschool. It totally kind of explodedmy life and sent me in a wholenew direction. So I wasn’tdrawn to the radio documentary;it just kind of happened….I wasn’t a journalist.I’d never taken a journalismclass. I never listened topublic radio. I mean, I knewnothing. And I certainlycould have ended up goingin different directions in radio,or leaving radio and goingto some other form ofstorytelling…. And it just sohappens that it was the mediumthat was perfect for tellingthe kind of stories that Icare about. Radio is a wonderfulmedium to tell emotionalstories. That interestsme. It’s a great medium forRadio and the InternetRadio Documentaries Take Listeners Into Dark Cornersgetting into dark corners of this countryand telling stories that can’t be toldon film.ML: Why is it a great medium fortelling the kind of stories you want totell?Isay: Well, it’s cheap. And a lot ofthe stories that interest me are aboutpeople who are living on the margins.Our mission is to tell stories of peoplewho are outside of the mainstream. Alot of times people don’t want photographs,don’t want their faces shown.Many times they communicate bestthrough talking.ML: You’ve spoken about finding aplace where the concentric circles ofwhat you do well come together. Couldyou share what you feel are the ingredientsof those intersecting circles?Isay: It’s everything from technically—itis not rocket science to useaudio equipment, and technically Ienjoyed doing it. It was just the rightamount of technical stuff so that itdidn’t distract me. I like asking questions.And I love editing. I love hearingOn soundportraits.org, visitors can learn about David Isay’s work.tapes. I mean, making these programsis all about finding tape that’s on fireand stringing it together in a cohesiveway. So that was great. And doing theinterviews when you’re talking aboutthe kind of stories that I’m drawn to,it’s kind of a cross between, I don’tknow what it is. I’m uncomfortablekind of labeling. But, it’s sort of partjournalism, part like social work. Whenyou’re doing an interview, it can be thisvery intense sort of verbal exchange. Icome from a family of therapists. Andthat’s enjoyable to me.ML: What’s the part of it that youthink relates to journalism?Isay: That it tells the truth. The kindof radio stuff that I do is close to narrativejournalism. It’s about a kind oftotal immersion in a topic and bringingyou into a place. If you look at somethinglike the Sunshine Hotel, it’s amatter of going into a dark place anddoing a lot of recording and then creatingthis space through audio wherepeople can step into this other world.ML: A journalist who goes into theSunshine Hotel and does interviewsmight ask the same questionsyou do, or mightnot. Might get similar answersto what you get.But, if that person wasdoing this as part of anews story on radio, thenthere’d be other componentsand responsibilities.To the best of theirability, they would haveto check out the story thatthey were told, to seewhat was true and whatmight not be true.Isay: And that’s sort ofa fallacy about the work.Of course we do that, thekind of research that goesinto doing a story like this,even though there’s neverNieman Reports / Fall 2001 13

The Documentary and Journalismbeen an expert in a piece that we’vedone in nine years. When we do astory, we’ve got cubic inches of information.Every expert that could betalked to has been talked to. I mean, it’slike jazz in the sense that you can’timprovise until you’ve got the basicsdown. So when we go in we do thebasic journalistic work, the research,the background, the digging, talking topeople, getting to know them, andchecking their stories as best we can.ML: But that’s not transparent in thework you do.Isay: Absolutely. But, hopefully,when people hear the work they’ll heara solidity to it. And if it’s on publicradio, they’ll understand that it’s notdone lightly. If this had been done as astraight reported news piece, the researchthat would have gone into it, onany of these pieces, is much less thanwhat we end up doing. We spend along, long time doing these pieces.And that involves checking it backwardsand forwards and upside down. I thinkit’s very similar to the long-form NewYorker sort of journalism or any othersort of immersion journalism. It’s justthat the narration is usually in the handsof someone who is in the place thatwe’re working. That’s what makes itdifferent. And that’s part of what differentiatesradio from print.ML: Your work often airs without anarrator’s voice per se.Isay: It always has a narrator, becauseit’s impossible to tell a storywithout a narrator. And that’s great ifyou didn’t realize that someone wasnarrating. There’s always a narrator.But the narrator is not us. The narratoris someone who is from the place wherethis documentary is taking place. In thedocumentary about the executions inTexas, the narrator is the warden. In“The Sunshine Hotel,” the narrator isthe guy who runs the flophouse.ML: He’s also a character in it insome ways, too, isn’t he?Isay: Yeah, he is.ML: Where there is another overlapwith the role that the journalist plays inreporting a story is in the fact thatyou’re making obvious editing decisionsabout what voices to include,what sounds to make prominent, andthe order in which the story will betold.Isay: Sure, absolutely. The bottomline is that hopefully I can look thepeople with whom I’ve worked in theeye and not feel embarrassed aboutwhat we’ve done together…. I like tothink that these are places that areimportant for people who don’t live in[them] to experience. And for peopleto meet people living these lives thatare different than theirs. Because theeight million listeners to public radioare typically middle class, upper middleclass, you know, people driving to orfrom work. I mean, that’s who you’replaying to. My goal always is to kind ofsneak up behind people and almostlike quietly lift them up into this story.And I try to carry them for 22 minuteswithout them even knowing it. Notgive them the chance to turn off theradio, if it’s successful. And then 22minutes later quietly put them downand walk away. That’s sort of the imagein my head of what I’m trying to do.ML: You want to have left them atthat point with an emotional experienceprimarily, or with an experiencethat could be defined as one that increasestheir knowledge?Isay: It’s an experience wherethey’ve gone some place they wouldn’totherwise have gone. And if it’s emotionalfor them, that’s great; if it’s not,that’s fine. Whatever that experienceis. But it’s a matter of leading them intoa world that they would not otherwiseknow of or experience, and lettingthem meet people who they otherwisewouldn’t have met.ML: And is there a purpose in yourmind beyond the transporting of someoneto a different place?Isay: Yeah, because I like all thepeople that I do stories about, and it’sabout seeing the humanity in others.Again, it’s hard because it’s so easy toget kind of clichéd. But, that’s what itis. The guys who do the executions inTexas, you know, they’re decentpeople. The kids who live in the ghettoor the guys in the flophouse—whatever.I do stories about people that Ilike, who are for the most part probablyeither ignored or misunderstoodor not thought about. It’s just abouthumanity. It’s just about introducingpeople to people. And again it’s corny,but just seeing that everybody is sort ofthe same.ML: I’d like to go to your experiences,particularly looking on deathrow, where you’ve spent a lot of time,whether it was in the jails of Louisianaor more recently bringing to light thetapes from the death chamber in Georgia.There’s been a lot of reportingexamining the death penalty from a lotof different angles, whether it’s theracial fairness angle or the question ofwhether there should be a death penalty.What do you think your workilluminates that isn’t part of the traditionalor mainstream journalistic coverageof the death penalty story?Isay: Again, I’m not consciouslythinking like “What story can I tell thatnobody else has told?” or “How can Ido something different?” I was in asituation in which I was doing a story,and it just kind of occurred to me,“What is it like for these guys who dothese executions?” And I didn’t know ifit was going to turn into a five-minutepiece or a no piece. And it just kind ofopened up. It was just being curiousand then following the path and seeingwhere it leads. And these guys who weinterviewed, for the most part, hadnever been asked these questions before.The warden hadn’t. None of thepeople who worked in the prison hadbeen asked what’s it like to do theseexecutions…. Again, it’s as much aspossible trying to be the vehicle throughwhich people can tell their stories.That’s what we’re trying to do, trying tobe the translator to the larger world ofsome kind of insular group or whatever,some group of people, and to14 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Radio and the Internethelp them use this medium to tell theirstory in a way that they feel is true….I’m in a really fortunate circumstanceof getting independent funding, andbeing able to do whatever I feel passionateabout, and then slamming itonto the air whichever way I can…it’sabout not letting stories be watereddown.ML: Your work, like any work, is aproduct of its time. The way that youapproach your subjects, and the wayyou approach the telling of stories hassomething to do with the times in whichwe are in, with the progression orchange of style in terms of how thedocumentary is used. In the past, thereseemed to be a particular sort of styleand purpose to the documentary thatmight have changed over time in termsof the way that we, as Americans, or we,as an audience, take information in.You may be a product of a different erain terms of how you go about presentingstories. If you were doing “Harvestof Shame” today what you might do ishave the migrant workers be the onlyvoice, as opposed to literally be standingin the field, were you Edward R.Murrow. It’s just a different style.Isay: Absolutely. But there were alwayspeople doing oral histories. I dothink that doing the kind of hard hittingjournalistic stuff, I mean, certainlythe investigative stuff is a little bit applesand oranges with this kind of documentarywork, because usually thesepieces are about kind of talking topeople who haven’t been talked tobefore to reveal the humanity that’sthere, as opposed to uncovering hardnews. It does uncover injustice, but ina more roundabout way. I mean, asopposed to investigating some actualsingle wrong that has been done. Andwith the execution tapes, that was moresimilar because it’s uncovering documentsthat have been withheld or gettinginto a place that’s been routinelykept from the American public. So thatwould be more in that tradition.ML: National Public Radio [NPR]declined to broadcasting those tapesfrom the Georgia execution chamberthat you so much wanted to bring outand use as documents. Instead, youbrought this consortium of stationstogether to air this, which you thoughtwas very important for people to hear.Isay: I still do. I think it’s the onlydocument we’ll ever have of moderndayAmerican executions.ML: And why do you think it’s importantfor Americans to hear?Isay: Because this is an act that’sbeing done in the name of Americancitizens. And I think people have a rightto know what’s going on….ML: In terms of building this newconsortium of public radio stations, doyou think that experience will lead toany new ways in which documentaryradio producers can have their storiesaired? Or was this sort of a one-timesituation?Isay: I think that the radio documentaryis vastly underutilized. A lot ofpeople should be making a lot of documentaries.And there should be a lot ofways to get them out there. With NPR,it’s kind of a complicated story the waythis happened with the decision not tobroadcast the Georgia execution tapes.But I think that as much good stuffshould be able to get out there in anyway that it possibly can. All I really careabout is that good stuff gets on the airand gets heard by as many people aspossible. And whatever way that needsto be done is good with me. I think it’smore an issue of making more peopleunderstand what a great medium radiois to tell stories in and getting moregreat stories, as opposed to there beingall these great stories that are somehowbeing kept from the public. I seemore that there aren’t enough. Andthere are a lot of reasons. Because it’shard to make a living. But you know,that’s changing, because I think wehave entered this little renaissance forradio documentaries.ML: Why do you say this?Isay: I think a lot has to do with“This American Life.” Letting peoplesee what radio could be, can be. Andmaybe some of the work we’ve done.But it’s totally changed. The New YorkTimes is reviewing radio documentaries.They regularly review radio now.We couldn’t get an intern six years ago,and now we have the best and thebrightest coming out of the best IvyLeague schools, lining up to do thisstuff. People are seeing what a powerfulmedium this is. It’s a very excitingtime technologically, too, because anyonecan take a $700 i-Mac computerand have an incredibly powerful editingsystem. You can download freesoftware, and you can be at a consolewhich is a thousand times more powerfulthan the fanciest studio was sixyears ago. And you can buy a mini-diskplayer for $197, and a microphone for$100 bucks, and you are a walking,35mm film production studio. I mean,you can’t do better than that. The potentialis limitless. So the dream is a lotof people start picking up tape recordersand interviewing people and playingaround and adding music, anddoing all kinds of cool stuff. That wouldbe the dream…. I think there’s nothingwrong with having a lot of great radiojournalism documentary stuff happening.I think that would be the best thingthat could ever happen.ML: Because we are living in an erawhere, at least, when one talks to mediaspecialists they say, “Short is better.People’s attention spans aren’t there.”Yet this advice runs counter to whatyou are saying.Isay: I think you can have a halfhourpiece that seems like one minuteand a two-minute piece that seems likeseven hours. It’s about doing goodwork. And certainly if the stuff cansustain, then people will listen andappreciate it. It’s all about doing goodstuff. ■Nieman Reports / Fall 2001 15

The Documentary and JournalismRadio Storytelling Builds Community On-Air and Off‘The journalist must be facilitator, fact-checker, ethicist, but not puppet-master….’By Jay AllisonWhat separates radio documentaryfrom any documentary?And what separates publicradio journalism from any journalism?Radio gets inside us. Lacking earlids,we are defenseless, vulnerable to ambush.Sounds and voices surprise usfrom within. As radio documentarymakers, we have this tactical advantageover our colleagues in print, film, televisionand photography. Our tool isaural story, the most primitive and powerful.Invisibility is our friend. Prejudiceis suspended while the listener isblind, only listening.Perhaps this distinguishing trait liesquietly near the heart of public radiojournalism, close to the utopian idealthat we use these airwaves to share ourstories as we try to understand eachother better, to not be afraid of eachother, to come a little closer together.We’re not regular media, after all, oreven regular journalism. We have acalling to mission and public servicethat exists outside the marketplace andsquarely in the civic realm. We canserve that mission through traditionalreporting and documentary, but wealso help citizens speak for themselves,to one another, directly.I got into public radio because someoneat NPR loaned me a tape recorderand microphone. It was the mid-70’sand NPR was just inventing itself, alwaysa good time to join an enterprise.I used the recorder as a passport intoevery part of life that seemed interesting.I could find out about anything Iwanted. Amazing. At the beginning, Iwas simply a citizen, suddenly armedwith the tools of production and ameans of distribution, an independentjournalist being born. By apprenticingat the news shows, reading everythingI could get my hands on, and proddingmy elders with questions, I learned thetrade on the fly and in the next 25 yearsmade hundreds of radio features, documentariesand series. For much of thattime, I’ve also been loaning out taperecorders and tools to others, encouragingcitizen voices on the air, repayingand replaying my own start.In an age of corporate consolidationof the press on one hand and cheapbogus Internet journalism on the other,it is more important than ever to bringa range of voices to the air in a sane andrespectful way. The public radio journalistcan assume a shepherding role.Life Storieswww.atlantic.orgMy first batch of tape recorders wentout beginning in the 1980’s with theseries “Life Stories,” which sought outstories that seemed best told from thesource. (A six-hour collection aired onNPR stations this summer.) It’s hard tosay how I found the storytellers, butonce I declared I was interested, theyseemed to cross my path. I equippedthem, instructed them in the use of thegear, and worked with them editorially,often bringing them to mix in myhome recording studio.The grown son of concentrationcamp survivors accompanies his parentson their visit to the HolocaustMuseum; he hopes they’ll talk to himabout their experience for the first timein his life. He asks for a recorder. Ayoung woman wants to revisit thescenes and characters of her hospitalizationand near-death from anorexia10 years before. She needs the passportof the recorder to enter her ownpast. These sorts of stories cannot betold best from outside. They are betterlived and narrated by the principals,the main characters in the stories oftheir lives.Radio is well suited to the “diary”form. It’s inherently intimate, confidential,lends itself to scribbled notes,fragments and whispered entries atnight. The technical inexperience ofthe diarist doesn’t show as clearly as itdoes in video, or even in print, andtherefore doesn’t get in the way. As theeventual producer/editor, you arethere, but you disappear. The journalistmust be facilitator, fact-checker, ethicist,but not puppet-master, allowingthe listener an authentic, direct,empathetic encounter with the teller.Lost & Found Soundwww.lostandfoundsound.comOur series “Lost & Found Sound”(produced with the Kitchen Sisters,Nikki Silva and Davia Nelson for NPR’s“All Things Considered”) offered anothertool to the citizen storyteller—voice mail. We asked listeners to calland tell us about precious audio artifactsthey’d saved. In my role as “curator”I poured through hundreds ofthese messages, and in virtually everycase the phone message itself becamethe spine of the piece. In the messagewas the story, the link between thecaller and the sound.The callers, in telling of their treasures,seemed to be in the presence ofthe past. The voices they describedwere in the air around them, trueghosts, filled with breath, as real as alock of hair. Some of the recordingswere intensely personal—the lullabyof an immigrant grandparent, the answeringmachine message from a childgiven up for adoption. Others fell atthe intersection between the individualand history—a family’s recording of anancestor’s eyewitness account of theGettysburg Address; reels of tape madein the fighting holes of Vietnam,brought to us by the platoon mate ofthe 19-year-old Marine who recordedthem and died there.16 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Radio and the InternetIn every case, the direct connectionof the living citizen to the sounds of thepast was the key. We called it “theuniversal ancestor effect.” Agrandfather’s voice, enhanced by thelove of the grandchild who tells usabout it, then shared on the radio, issomehow transformed to becomeeveryone’s grandfather. In the absenceof a concrete and distancing visualimage, an invisible human link is madeand, for that instant, nationalities andraces are joined through voice andmemory. All the dead are one. Yourmother is mine. Only radio, and onlypublic radio at that, has the uncannymeans and the actual calling to makethat happen.WCAI & WNANwww.cainan.orgWe have brand new public radiostations here on Cape Cod, Martha’sVineyard, and Nantucket in Massachusetts,the newest in America. We wantedthem to sound like here, not just anywhere.A place defines itself by its stories,and we have chosen to broadcastour citizens’ stories on and off all day,unexpectedly—portraits, oral histories,poems, anecdotes, memories, fragmentsof life overheard. They pop upduring every national show around theclock, short bursts of life as experiencedor remembered by all of us wholive here. They are the thread in thefabric of our broadcast day.The effect is startling, unexpected.You are listening to news of the worldand then, during a pause, an unheraldedspeaker—a local elder or highschoolkid or sandwich maker or scientist—popsin. The voices of our neighbors,surprising us, are given equalweight with events on the world stage.The concept has become wonderfullypopular here. Learning from “Lost& Found Sound,” we’ve also installedvoice mail where people can tell usabout something that happened yearsago, or that morning. Learning from“Life Stories,” we buy old cassette recordersfrom eBAY to loan to whomeverpromises to use them.Listeners have said that these littlebreaks not only contribute to community,they actually build it. We live in aplace that is geographically fragmented(islands, after all) and each region feelsitself to be more “special” than theothers. Yet the radio signal extendsacross them all, disrespecting theboundaries. We have feuds and jealousies,political division, parochial ignorance(Is it so different from anywhereelse?), but these stories tend, almostmiraculously, to break those down.When a story begins, we don’t knowwhere the teller is from, so we listen,without judgment. We like what wehear. But then, when we discover theteller is not from our island, we mustdecide how to incorporate the contradictionthat may lead us, helplessly, toacceptance. “Well, I guess they’re notall bad over there,” we think. And,eventually, we may even come to thinkof their stories as our stories.Transom.orgwww.transom.orgFinally, the Internet. If there’s democracyin storytelling, it’s here. Ifthere’s an openly accessible way topass on what we’ve done before inpublic radio and to try to make thingsbetter, it’s here. Our current attempt isTransom.org (a project of Atlantic PublicMedia). We call it a showcase andworkshop for new public radio, andwe premiered the Web site in February.It’s a combination library, masterclass, and audition stage.The site showcases new work fromfirst-time producers and unheard workfrom established producers. As I writethis, the featured piece is a 40-year-old,and utterly contemporary, documentaryfrom Studs Terkel, which neverreceived a national broadcast. Lastmonth, it was a documentary from afirst-time producer in Seattle using hismini-disc recorder, and skills he pickedup at Transom, to craft a remarkablestory about his friend’s suicide.Transom holds or links to virtuallyall the tools—technical, editorial, philosophical—peoplewould need to telltheir own radio stories. Encouragingly,quite a few high-school and collegestudents are frequenting the site andtheir work has been featured there.Each month a new special guestwrites a “manifesto” and hangs aroundthe site, critiquing new work and makingconversation. Recent guests: TonyKahn, Scott Carrier, Paul Tough, TheKitchen Sisters, Sarah Vowell, StudsTerkel [See accompaning excerpts fromthe Web site on page 18.] Editors, producersand managers throughout thepublic radio system read and listen tothis work and participate in these conversations,but they are also there foranyone to read, listen to and join.Producers and citizens gather atTransom.org to talk about radio documentaryand to try their hands at it.Subjects of documentaries talk withthose who made them and to listenersabout editorial and stylistic choices.The site encourages an interactive, selfcorrecting,open-eared, civic journalismmade possible by the Internet andextended to public radio.The site represents virtual streetlevelaccess to national air, as mostTransom stories end up adopted by anational program. An on-air mentionof Transom.org drives listeners back tothe Web, making a creative circle betweenthe traditional media and thenew. At Transom.org, we have a voicemail line to collect stories, we loan outtape recorders, and we broadcast Transompieces locally on WCAI and WNAN.So, everything ends up tied together.Journalists help citizens reach theair, to tell of their lives. Public radiocarries the voices out and back, acrossa borderless country populated by theliving and the dead. Citizen stories areshared out loud, journalists mediatingthe exchange, partners in the mission.Somewhere between the din of theInternet and the drone of corporatemedia is a place for these voices, testifyingon their own behalf. ■Jay Allison is an independent broadcastjournalist living in Woods Hole,Massachusetts. He is founder andexecutive producer of WCAI/WNANand Atlantic Public Media. His radiodocumentaries air often on NPR andhis solo-crew video documentarieson ABC News “Nightline.”jallison@transom.orgNieman Reports / Fall 2001 17

The Documentary and JournalismListening to Radio TalkAt Transom.org, the conversation is about documentaries and public radio.Transom.org, an online project of AtlanticPublic Media in Woods Hole,Massachusetts, provides tools for publicradio production and featuresoriginal work from first-time producers.It also hosts forums for the generaldiscussion of public radio journalismand storytelling. What followsare a few excerpts from the Transomdiscussion boards. Some exchangesare sequential. Most are not. The followingcomments were selected fromrecent conversations on the generalthemes of radio documentary and therole of public radio. Transom is frequentedby seasoned journalists, beginnersand listeners. The happyequalizing effect of online conversationis that it matters less who you arethan what you have to say.—JayAllison“It was slowly discovered that therecan be no such thing as an objectivedocumentary. However, it’s such anattractive illusion that documentariansare always finding new ways to fake it.That’s our job.”—Larry Massett (independentradio producer)“I’d say that what’s left out is at leastas important as what’s put in. This iswhere the tension comes from. And ifthe overall tension of a story is justright, then it stands on its own, like atensegrity structure—tension and compression,strings and rods. If there istoo much or too little of one or theother, the thing falls apart.”—ScottCarrier (writer, independent radio producer)“Reality is just a bunch of rawdata.”—Carol Wasserman (“All ThingsConsidered” commentator)“For newcomers struggling to edittheir tape down to manageable size,the best technique would be the oldone of recording everything on reel-toreelanalog tape. This has one greatadvantage (assuming, of course, youwere not silly enough to make a backupdub): at some point in the editing youwill lose the tape…. It will vanish; oryou’ll step on it by mistake and crush it.Then, fate having made these decisionsfor you, you just work with what’sleft.”—Larry Massett“We work in documentary becausewe don’t have enough money to hiregood actors.”—Scott Carrier“It’s one thing to write a piece offiction and say, at the end, well, okay,that sure didn’t turn out exactly as Iimagined it would, and quite anotherto sit down to write about, say, grandma,and have grandma come out lookinglike nothing so much as a wet cardboardbox filled with old issues ofReader’s Digest, a sewing machine, anda pot of boiling cabbage.”—PaulMaliszewski (writer)“Sometimes I feel like I’m so muchmore manipulative on the radio. I knowhow to use my voice to make you feela certain way. And that’s not writing—that’s acting. I get tired of acting sometimes.Which is why it’s nice to be ableto go back to the cold old page. Also,real time is an unforgiving medium.”—Sarah Vowell (writer, editor, “ThisAmerican Life”)“Think of comedic timing, where apause after the punch line allows theaudience to process the joke. Thenthink of some nervous humor-impairedfriend who can’t tolerate that tiny silenceand jumps his own joke withpremature explanation.”—CarolWasserman“Reading most long sentences is liketrying to nail Jell-O to a wall.”—DavidClark (writer)“Nailing Jell-O to the wall isn’t ashard as you’d think. Getting yourmother to appreciate it is muchharder.”—Andy Knight (listener, critic)“Radio is like food. You spend daysand months and hours gathering theingredients, cutting, mixing, making itcook. The minute it hits air/the table,it’s gone—but it’s transformed. Thememory of it lingers, almost like adream.”—The Kitchen Sisters (NikkiSilva and Davia Nelson, independentradio producers)“Throw out all the good tape. Keeponly the great tape. Invent some artificeto string the disparate pieces ofgreat tape together into something thatsounds like a story. Invent many excusesto tell NPR why this works so welland not even a second can be changed.When NPR tells you to cut it to half thelength, throw away all the great tapeand keep only the absolutely stellartape, then repeat above steps.”—BarrettGolding (independent radio producer)“We are committed to never alteringthe spirit or intent of what someonesays, but we do cut the hell out ofthem.”—The Kitchen Sisters“I strongly believe that everyone hasa story to tell. I also believe some areunwilling and others are unable to telltheir story.”—Andy Knight“Look for the people in the funnyhats. With some people, it’s apparentthat they have stories they want to tell.With others, you have to find out wherethey keep their hats.”—Jay Allison“People tend to spill their guts onlong drives.”—Scott Carrier18 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Radio and the Internet“It’s hard to find unprocessed voicesthat are coherent and honest andclear.”—Paul Tough (story editor, TheNew York Times magazine)“Listening to the radio every day foran entire year was a prison sentence. Itwas the most depressing, annoying,debilitating project I have ever undertaken,and I have a master’s degree inart history.”—Sarah Vowell“Public radio has always felt like thelecture hall of the world’s greatest freeuniversity. You still need to get yourselfdressed and down to the library todo the reading, but you can show upfor the talks in your jammies. Which isa great convenience.”—CarolWasserman“I still maintain excellence showsup more often in public radio becauseno one owns public radio, except thepublic.”—Ian Brown (radio host, “ThisMorning”)“The BBC is like a beacon, it canturn a cool beam of light on a storyanywhere in the world and people seewhat’s going on. American public radiois more like a campfire, where welike to swap personal stories and feellike we’re sharing the experience andthe understanding.”—Tony Kahn (radiohost, “The World”)“You hear stuff you haven’t heardbefore, from a stranger or from someoneyou know, and you think, ‘Yeah, Iam connected.’ I think that’s the goal,the responsibility, the challenge ofpublic radio.”—Studs Terkel (writer,oral historian, radio host)“What would your ideal radio daybe?”—Sydney Lewis (oral historian)“I’d want the human voice expressinggrievances, or delight, or whateverit might be. But something real”—Studs Terkel“I still believe in public radio’s potential.Because it’s the one mass mediumthat’s still crafted almost entirelyby true believers.”—Sarah Vowell ■First-Person Narratives on Radio DocumentHistoric MemoryWhile emotionally powerful, their production presents journalistic challenges.By Sandy TolanSome stories are so good you justwant to get out of their way. Or soit seemed with “The Lemon Tree,”a documentary that captured, with twodeeply personal stories, a slice of thelast 50 years of Middle East history.In July 1948, at the height of theArab-Israeli War, Bashir Al-Khayri, sixyears old, fled with his family fromtheir stone home in old Palestine. Thefamily made its way on foot from Ramleto the tent-covered hills of Ramallah inthe West Bank. They were among the700,000 Palestinian refugees in a growingMiddle East Diaspora; they lived inshelters and crowded into relatives’living rooms, determined one day soonto return to the family’s home.Three months later, Dalia Ashkenazi,six months old, embarked on a journeyto the new state of Israel. The family,Bulgarian Jews who’d escaped theHolocaust, arrived in Ramle, now anIsraeli city. Dalia would later be toldthat she was the only one on the boatwho didn’t get sick. Israeli resettlementauthorities gave the family a stonehome in the center of town.For 19 years, Bashir’s family lived asrefugees in the West Bank, alwaysdreaming of the future, when they’dreturn. Dalia’s went about forging anew society, always haunted by thepast, which they’d barely survived.In the summer of 1967, just after theSix Day War, Bashir decided to try tovisit his house—for which his father,now blind, still had the key and thedeed. Bashir made his way to Ramleand to the front step of the family’shome.Bashir rang the bell.Dalia answered.Thus begins “The Lemon Tree,” a43-minute radio documentary broadcaston “Fresh Air” for the 50th anniversaryof Israel’s birth and the 1948 war.The story chronicles a slice of MiddleEast history through a difficult friendship,which began when Dalia invitedBashir in with the words, “This is yourhome.”This was precisely the kind of storymy Homelands Productions colleaguesand I were seeking when we embarkedon “World Views,” a series of firstpersondocumentary narratives forpublic radio. Frustrated with the rise ofcorporate infotainment, my colleaguesand I were looking for a way to cutthrough the stream of information anddehumanizing images absent of meaning,understanding or deeper context.Most absent, it seemed—and what radiowas best at providing—was voice:stories told by ordinary people fromNieman Reports / Fall 2001 19

The Documentary and Journalismthe depths of their experience.We started thinking about a series ofstories to be told directly by the peoplein the midst of the news. These wouldbe perspective-based narratives gettingbeneath the surface of daily events,telling the story from a deeper placethan conventional reporting could. Atthis point (1993) there were a fewexamples of this emerging in publicradio—Jay Allison’s “Life Stories” series,Dave Isay’s “Ghetto Life 101,” alongwith public television’s “P.O.V.” andthe BBC’s “Video Diaries”—but ouridea was to get reports from the ground,throughout the world, as stories unfoldedand historical events were recalled.We imagined, for example, a Cubannarrating her story from a raft boundfor the United States. Or an AfricanAmerican traveling to the old slavehouse on Senegal’s Goree Island, reversingthe journey of his ancestors. Ora Moscow investigative reporter, oneof the first to write publicly about theKGB, telling a personal history of thedissident movement in the former SovietUnion. Or a Ukrainian nuclearphysicist recording an audio journal ofday-to-day life in the aftermath ofChernobyl. Or a New Delhi poet andan “untouchable” rickshaw driver describingtheir chance encounter acrossvast barriers of caste, culture and lifeexperience. (Some of these ideas wereinspired by experiences of my 1993Nieman colleagues.)But what we didn’t anticipate washow much the series—indeed the entiregenre of first-person narrative—would present significant challengesnot to be found in the standard newsdocumentary. In the traditional form,the reporter (and/or producer) interviews,records sound, writes and narrates,balancing the story with competingperspectives. From Edward R.Murrow forward, this has been thestyle of choice for many an aspiringradio journalist. The style itself neednot be dry, especially when accompaniedby compelling interviews, vividwriting, a strong sense of place(Murrow’s London rooftops come tomind), and evocative use of sound.Our Homelands documentaries hadtaken this more standard approach, beit with street kids in Rio, an Amazonchief in Bolivia, farmers in India, orwhile “interviewing” penguins in Antarctica.With a first-person story, especiallycontroversial ones or those narratedby someone with a strong point ofview, issues of balance, representationand context emerge. What about theother side of the story? What is beingleft out that would ordinarily be filledin by a reporter/ narrator, and how canwe put that context back into the piece?What happens when someone wantsinput, or even editorial control, in thetelling of his own story? (For example,in adapting a writer’s work for broadcast.)And how, ultimately, do you finda story that is both particular and metaphoricalof a larger reality?For “The Lemon Tree,” balance wasnot an issue. In their own ways, Daliaand Bashir represented the fears andaspirations of their peoples. Far morecomplicated—for an assignment toidentify a story that was somehow representativeof the 50-year struggle betweenIsraelis and Palestinians—wasin determining this was the story amongmany to tell.For the first two weeks, on theground in Israel, the West Bank andEast Jerusalem, I did no recording.Instead, I read and listened to history,including Israeli military accounts, Palestinianoral histories, Israel’s “new”historians (who challenge the traditionalZionist accounts), the heroes ofwhat the Israelis call their War of Independenceand the sons and daughtersof what the Palestinians call their Naqba,or catastrophe. Soon I began recordingsimilar accounts, considering thechasm between them that had scarcelynarrowed in the last 50 years. But stillI searched for the story and charactersthat would connect the narratives andtell the larger truth. I felt as much likea casting director as a journalist.Earlier my wife, Lamis Andoni, aPalestinian journalist who covered theGulf War for The Christian ScienceMonitor and the Financial Times (andwas a 1993 Nieman Fellow), had describedthe outlines of Dalia andBashir’s story. In 1987, at the beginningof the Intifada, Dalia had writtenan open letter to Bashir in the JerusalemPost on the eve of his deportationfrom Ramallah. (Bashir was suspectedof being an organizer of the Intifadaand deported to Lebanon.) Dalia hadurged the Israelis not to uproot Bashira second time, while also urging Bashirto moderate his political views. Fromexile, Bashir had written a response,published in Arabic and eventually inHebrew. Lamis knew Bashir andthought he’d be willing to talk to me.One night, over dinner in Jerusalem,an Israeli filmmaker told me thestory again. It was a powerful story, sheagreed, but she didn’t think Dalia wouldagree to talk. Dalia, she said, felt usedby people trying to frame her history tosuit their political purposes.The next day Lamis and I ran intoBashir on the street. Sure, he said, he’dbe happy to sit for some interviews.And though he hadn’t seen Dalia inyears, he thought she would be, too.Bashir was right, and over the courseof the next three weeks I shuttled fromRamallah to Jerusalem and back, recordingfive sessions with each, perhaps15 hours of tape in all. I envisionedsimply intercutting the stories:Bashir’s invitation to Dalia to visit hisfamily in Ramallah (nearly unprecedentedin 1967); Bashir’s father’s subsequentvisit to the house in Ramle andthe tears streaming down the blindman’s face as he touched the family’sold lemon tree; Dalia’s shock at Bashir’simprisonment in Israel on charges hehad helped plan a supermarket bombingin Jerusalem; Bashir’s revelationthat his own fingers had been blownoff as a child, picking up a boobytrappedmine in a field in Gaza. (Bashirhad managed to hide this from Daliafor years, his left hand always in hispocket.)In the end we decided that thesestories, powerful as they were, couldnot be sustained for 43 minutes. I obtainedarchival tape (early radio accountsfrom the 1948 war; a CBC broadcastin the wake of the supermarketbombing) and approached a pianist to20 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Radio and the Internetcompose music to use at key moments.This gave breathing space between thewords, varying the aural images andallowing time for the words to sink in.To add historical context and move thepiece through time, and at the urgingof Danny Miller, executive producer of“Fresh Air,” I added snippets of narrationat several points in the story.But what made the narrative workwere the voices that mined the history:Dalia’s, in evocative English, andBashir’s, read by a native Arabic speaker,Walid Haddad, so as not, literally, tolose anything in translation.These voices speak to the potentialof first-person narratives for radio.Though they can be fraught with complication,and the producers must oftenstruggle with issues of balance,historical context, and the ethics ofwho gets to tell the story, first-personnarratives can cut through the sludgeof endless information to the truth asit’s felt on the ground. In this way theyhold promise to be a democratizingforce in media.Of course it also helps when youhave a narrative vehicle as powerfullysimple as the one I encountered in“The Lemon Tree”—a stone home ofshared memory. This is the house thatDalia, after the death of her parents,declared should be dedicated to thecommon history of the Ashkenazis andthe Al-Khayris. Today the place is calledOpen House. During the day, it’s akindergarten for Arab children in Israel.In the evenings, it serves as ahouse of encounter for Arab and Jew: aplace to discuss history and to look fora way forward. ■Sandy Tolan, a 1993 Nieman Fellow,is co-executive producer of HomelandsProductions, based inGloucester, Massachusetts. Amongother awards, “The Lemon Tree” wonthe 1998 Overseas Press Club Awardfor best radio news or interpretationof foreign affairs. Tolan is currentlyworking on “Border Stories,” a seriesof documentaries for public radioabout the U.S.-Mexico border.sandytolan@yahoo.comA Festival to Celebrate RadioDocumentariesOrganized by Chicago Public Radio, it happens inOctober.By Johanna ZornImagine a Sundance Festival for radioand you start to get the idea of what theThird Coast International Audio Festivalis all about. This festival is designedto honor and enrich the world of documentaryaudio and create new opportunitiesfor extraordinary work to reachaudiences. It’s a competition withmonetary support going to the winners.It’s a weekend conference, October26-27,in Chicago.It’s a programto behosted byIra Glassand featuringtheaward-winningworks.It will beproducedand distributedby Chicago Public Radio. And it’sa Web site (www.thirdcoastfestival.org).Chicago Public Radio created thisfestival because there is a bounty ofengaging work being produced todayon radio and the Internet. Documentaryprograms are emerging from thenetworks (National Public Radio andPublic Radio International) and alsofrom stations (Chicago’s “This AmericanLife,” WBUR’s “Inside Out”), fromindependent radio producers and increasinglyfrom people who neverthought of themselves as “producers.”Writers, artists and others in the lastgroup share a fondness for radio andoften have a powerful story to tell.I suppose we should not have beenso surprised when, instead of receiving150 entries, our final tally is more than300 from a dozen different countries.There is a renaissance of interest in thedocumentary form in print, film and inradio. Ira Glass, host and producer of“This American Life,” recently explainedit this way: “At this odd cultural moment,when we’re inundated with storiesall day long, it’s still remarkablehow few TV shows, movies, songs andmagazinesactually capturewhatour lives arereally like.We hungerfor somethingthatputs ourlives in perspective.That’s whatdocumentaryis for.”The Third Coast festival is a newopportunity to celebrate the audiodocumentary form, revealing the powerof radio and the Internet to documentour world.■Johanna Zorn has worked as aproducer/director at Chicago PublicRadio for 20 years. For the past 10years she has produced the nationallyacclaimed series, “ChicagoMatters.” As part of this series, Zornhas had the opportunity to workwith many of the nation’s top documentaryproducers.JZorn@thirdcoastfestival.orgNieman Reports / Fall 2001 21

The Documentary and JournalismExploring the Relationship BetweenPhotographer and Subject‘Documentary photography is purity and freedom….’By Denise KeimDocumentary photography is amedium of aesthetic expressionin which form and contentneed to collaborate with the subjectmatter to capture an unchangeableimage. This collaboration providesan active examination of contemporarysociety and a presentation of experiencesto enhance historical and culturalawareness. For me, documentaryphotography is purity and freedom:the purity of the relationship betweenthe photographer and the subject andthe freedom to create images of life asit happens. With documentary work, Istretch the boundaries, nurture thesubject matter, and communicate criticalthinking on many layers.To compare documentary photographyto newspaper photography is toview them as a mirrored set. They appearto be the same, yet they live in twodifferent worlds. Both mediums showaspects of a situation and each addcreative tension as they convey images.As a news photographer, I felt honoredto provide a community service, butconstrained by the selection of subjectmatter, editing, deadlines and the standardsof the publication and community.However, when I devote my energiesto documentary photography,creative possibilities are limitless. I havethe freedom to allow my uniqueness topermeate all parts of the process.Frequently, when photographing, Iam asked if I work for a newspaper.People react differently when confrontedwith the expectation of being“in the news.” But when I tell them I amphotographing them for myself, somethingnatural and pure opens up. Itbecomes a more intimate experience,about me and them and the camera.This reaction is not universal. WhenI spent a year in Poland as a documen-tary photographer, an intimate relationshipwas more difficult to establishbecause of cultural differences. I wasmet with more suspicion than I find inthe United States. This experience inPoland taught me that a close relationshipbetween subject and photographeris much easier established in anopen society but, once established, theresults are the same.Ultimately, all photographers photographfor themselves. How theychoose to use the medium and theirvision dictates how pictures are madeand seen. Both news and documentaryphotography have their own form ofPoland, 1994. Photo by Denise Keim.©art and are interesting and rewardingcareer paths. News and documentaryphotographers are complementary inthat together they provide a rich visualhistory of our time. ■Denise Keim is a photographerwhose work has appeared in TheVillage Voice, Ms. Magazine, TheWashington Post, American Photo,and the Erie Daily Times. She wasalso a Fulbright Scholar, where shespent a year documenting life inPoland.dk477@aol.com22 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Photography and the Written WordPoland, 1995. Photos by Denise Keim.©Nieman Reports / Fall 2001 23

The Documentary and JournalismPoland, 1995. Photos by Denise Keim.©24 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Photography and the Written WordPhotojournalism at a CrossroadsTechnology, culture and economics will determine its future.By Peter HoweAlthough rumors of photojournalism’sdeath have beensubstantially exaggerated duringthe last decade, it certainly isn’twhat it used to be. Its glory days arelong gone, days when Life, Look, PicturePost and others employed teamsof dazzlingly talented photographersand when Fortune regularly printedthe work of icons of photography likeWalker Evans. And the more recentdisplay of hard-hitting, relevant documentarywork in the pages of ParisMatch, under the magical direction ofthe late Roger Therond, is mostly amemory.What caused this decline is complex,with the whodunit qualities of anAgatha Christie mystery. The easy answeris that television killed photojournalismor, if it didn’t inflict the fatalblow, seriously wounded it. The speedwith which television news crewsrecord, transmit and display their workto audiences of millions severely reducesthe ability of photographers tocompete for the attention of those sameviewers. But it’s also true TV’s offeringsare mostly unsatisfying 30-second segmentsthat, at best, only skim the surfaceof stories. Common wisdom remindsus that a photographic imagehas a lasting value that television’sephemeral nature can never equal.What photojournalism gives up inspeed, it more than makes up for in thepower of its frozen image.But there is more to this story. Technologicaldevelopments rarely replacewhat precedes them, though they doforce change. A more significant influenceon photojournalism’s decliningappearance in mainstream publicationsis a cultural shift begun in the 1980’sand continuing today. Financial rewardsseduce many photographers intoshifting their focus from documentingnews to creating flattering images ofthe faces, bodies, homes and lifestylesof those celebrities whom our culturenow deems worthy of attention.The cult of celebrity worship is pervasive,and its effect on photojournalismhas been devastating. InStyle, apublication that breathily brings to itsreaders a sanitized version of thelifestyles of the rich and vacuous, is themost successful recent magazine launchof Henry Luce’s company. Not thatLuce would have disapproved, givenhis embrace of the bottom line. Andneither should we too sentimentallyrevere Time, Fortune and Life underhis stewardship. After all, Life broughtus such cutting edge features as “Howto Undress in Front of Your Husband”and offered further assistance to theladies of the time with a picture featureon how to smoke. But Life as a weeklyalso showcased superb work by AlfredEisenstaedt, Carl Mydans, Robert andCornell Capa, and W. Eugene Smith.Their likes are not to be found in thepages of InStyle, or anywhere else forthat matter, except perhaps MotherJones.It is, of course, simplistic to arguethat photojournalism’s past was goldenand its present leaden. What is moreinteresting and much more mysteriousis photojournalism’s future. My wifeand I recently attended a private openingof the magnificent show bySebastião Salgado, “Migrations,” at theInternational Center of Photography[ICP] in New York City. She was standingin front of powerful and distressingphotographs of starving women refugeesin Africa when a waiter in a whitejacket offered her a tray full of beefsirloin hors d’oeuvres topped with foisgras. She looked at him, then at thephotographs, and politely declined.Her discomfort in many ways was areflection of mine, a comment on whatseems a trend in the way contemporarydocumentary photography is viewed.Salgado has produced a body ofwork depicting the tragic consequencesof migration around the world resultingfrom severe economic hardship,internecine wars, natural disasters, andother forces that cause families to leavetheir native environments. It took sevenyears and millions of dollars to produceand is a project of such power andenormity that it is impossible to absorbin one viewing. Its value as a documentof witness is unquestionable. What isquestionable is the value of havingwork of this quality and importancedisplayed on gallery walls where fewerpeople can absorb it and where itsmessage is in danger of becomingmuted.In the way that painting in Italiansociety of the Renaissance was a part ofeveryday life for rich and poor alike,photojournalism once similarly wasintegrated into the lives of millions ofAmericans, British, French and Germansthrough its publication in popularmagazines. Painting in contemporarysociety has become mostly thedomain of the urban, educated andoften wealthy elite. It would be a tragedyif this was the only future for photojournalismsince one of its greatstrengths lies in its ability to communicateacross linguistic, cultural and nationalbarriers.The “Migrations” exhibition is stunning,and the ICP must be applaudedfor being one of the few institutionsdedicated to giving wall space to suchphotography. But the effect would bemuch greater if Salgado’s photographsappeared not only on gallery and museumwalls but also in newspapers,magazines and on television in Americaand across Western Europe, or in anyother part of the world where peopleare able to actually mitigate the causesof displacement.Nieman Reports / Fall 2001 25

The Documentary and JournalismSalgado also offers another glimpseinto the future of photojournalism,this time with a focus on how he works.He begins by identifying a theme thatfascinates him, then raises the fundsnecessary to ensure that he leaves nophotographic stone unturned in hiscoverage. His themes—migration,workers, children, landless peasants—are of global dimensions, so this requiresconsiderable effort infundraising, something he does withhis wife and work partner, Lélia. Theyare now able to attract such corporateheavyweights as British Petroleum, butthis was not always so. To fund the“Workers” project, they assembled aconsortium of magazines: Each paidfor territorial exclusive rights to publishthe work as it was produced. Asdirector of photography at Life, I purchasedthe North American rights. The(London) Sunday Times bought theUK rights; Stern the German, and ParisMatch the French. Through their charm,passion and examples of their work,Sebastião and Lélia ensured that “Workers”would achieve the epic proportionsthat it eventually did.When I hear photographers complainingthat today nobody pays forwork over an extended period of timeor that magazines aren’t commissioningmeaningful stories (both of whichare mostly true), I remember theSalgados in the early days and the effortsthat they made to do work ontheir terms. It might be unfortunatethat photographers have to jumpthrough such hoops, but for those whodo, the reward is work uncompromisedby the demands of deadlines or thewhims of editors. For the talented photographerit usually means photographythat more accurately reflects his orher passions and sensibilities. Unfortunately,it also usually means the workonly reaches the public through exhibitionsor limited editions of coffeetable books.On the other end of the communicationspectrum is the Internet. In thoseheady days before the dot-com crash,its potential seemed limitless. The possibilityfor the Web to become a majoroutlet still tantalizingly exists, but likeso many other enterprises in the digital…a photographicimage has a lastingvalue thattelevision’sephemeral naturecan never equal.era, no one has found a way to makemoney. However, what pushes possibilityinto the realm of probability isthe increasing availability of high-speedconnections through cable modems ordomestic DSL lines. No longer is theretime to brew coffee while a large picturefile reveals itself on the screen.As with similar advances, turbochargedaccess brings with it an interestingdilemma. The combination of acable modem and sophisticated compressiontechniques will soon producea media environment in which, for thefirst time, a viewer will be able to choosebetween streaming video and still photography.Experience tells us that thestill image not only remains in theviewer’s subconscious but also engravesitself upon the psyche of theculture. Think of memorable images:Eddie Adams’ photograph of the Vietnampolice colonel executing aVietcong suspect, Carl Mydans’ pictureof General MacArthur wading ashorein the Philippines, and Joe Rosenthal’sclassic portrayal of the Marines raisingthe flag at Iwo Jima. These events werefilmed, too, but viewers did not havethe opportunity to choose which versionthey wanted to see. In the MTV eraof video—with video’s ubiquitousnessamong younger generations—theInternet could be the medium thatfinally kills photojournalism as amethod of mass communication.Right now, however, the Web is amuch-used vehicle for documentaryphotographers, many of whom havedeveloped their own sites, includingonline galleries and print sales. OnMSNBC.com, there is a powerfulproject on aging in America by thephotographer Ed Kashi. In the early1990’s, when I was a consultant forModern Maturity, I commissioned alarge part of this project, little of whichwas used in the magazine despitespending a significant amount of moneyon it. So it’s possible that the Web canbecome a medium that exceeds thekind of display that once was the domainof magazines.Another question mark in a professionalready plagued by too many is thelong-term effect of digital cameras. Forwire services, the development of thistechnology is a blessing that potentiallycontains a poison pill. Armedwith cameras and a laptop, the photographercan shoot, edit and transmit ina fraction of the time it would havetaken to process and scan traditionalfilm. It also empowers the photographer,who essentially becomes a frontlineeditor of his or her own work.The danger lies in the potential lossof archival images whose importance isnot apparent until years have passed.On many occasions, an image of lastinghistorical significance is found at thetail end of a roll of film or two framesaway from the photograph originallyselected. In the era of digital photography,for example, the picture of PresidentClinton hugging an insignificantintern would never have been found. Itsimply would not have been preserved.Documentary photography will survive.While the craft might now be at acrossroads, there are simply too manypractitioners—young and old, goodand bad—struggling against great oddsfor there not to be powerful photographicimages in the future, imagesthat will disturb, enlighten, inform andinvigorate us. Where we will find them,and who will pay for them, has yet to bedetermined. ■Peter Howe was a working photojournalistfor 13 years before becomingdirector of photography at TheNew York Times Magazine and Lifeand a vice president at the digitalphoto agency Corbis. He is now aconsultant, providing assistance toseveral photographers and pictureagencies as they adapt to the digitalenvironment.peterhowe007@msn.com26 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Photojournalism and Documentary PhotographyThey are identical mediums, sending different messages.By Antonin Kratochvil withMichael PerssonPhotography and the Written WordTime in photography isn’t onlyabout its passage, whether measuredin hours, days or months.It’s about its captured moments, be itin a second, or five hundredths of asecond.Increments of time are imperceptibleto the eye, but not to light sensitivefilm. The difference between afifteenth of a second and a hundredand twenty-fifth of a second alters theway in which what stands before thecamera is depicted. A blending happensat slower shutter speeds. Whatcan be seen as sharply defined objectsturn to mood and atmosphere thatcould have come from an artist’sbrushstroke.Shutter speed is just one techniquephotographers use to take visual informationto a level beyond what, on itssurface, it represents. To the viewer,the photographic image can invokefeelings, trigger thoughts, and projectperceptions to be pondered. And whenit does, a photograph achieves whatimagery has always endeavored to do—it stirs emotion and leaves an indelibleimpression.In photography, these capturedmoments aren’t the only vehicles inwhich time works to bring about feeling.The days, weeks, months and yearsdevoted to gathering visual informationon a particular subject also contribute.It is this passage of time combinedwith the moments seen throughthe camera’s eye that costitute a documentknown as a photo essay. It is insuch documents that much of our recentvisual history has been told. And itis these documents that are at the coreof what began as photo-reportage.Today, photojournalism is differentfrom what it once was. Speed is whatcounts. Instantaneous reports aboutworld events, stock markets, evensports have become the norm. Andnews photography keeps pace. But hasspeed changed the content quality ofwhat we see and, for that matter, howlife is portrayed? To these questions, Ianswer yes.There is a division in photo reportage.There is photojournalism and thereare photo documentaries: Identicalmediums, but conveying very differentmessages. Documentary photographersreveal the infinite number ofsituations, actions and results over aperiod of time. In short, they reveallife. Life isn’t a moment. It isn’t a singlesituation, since one situation is followedby another and another. Whichone is life?Photojournalism—in its instant shotand transmission—doesn’t show “life.”It neither has the time to understand itnor the space to display its complexity.The pictures we see in our newspapersshow frozen instants taken out of contextand put on a stage of the media’smaking, then sold as truth. But if theMolotov cocktail-throwing Palestinianis shot in the next instant, how is thattold? And what does that make him—anationalist or terrorist? From the photojournalist,we’ll never know sincetime is of the essence, and a deadlinealways looms. Viewers can be left witha biased view, abandoned to make uptheir minds based on incomplete evidence.Through documentary work, thephotographer has a chance to show theinterwoven layers of life, the facets ofdaily existence, and the unfetteredemotions of the people who comeunder the camera’s gaze. When finallypresented, viewers are encouraged touse their intelligence and personal experiences,even their skepticism, tojudge. By eliciting associations andmetaphors in the viewer, an image hasthe potential to stimulate all senses.But photographs that do not fulfill thispotential remain visual data whosemeaning is limited to the boundariesof the frame; the viewer is left to look,comprehend the information presented,and move on.There are photographers who createexhibitions and books from theirphotojournalistic images, but what isachieved is only sensationalism. Oneextreme moment after another iscobbled together and made to look asthough it captures “life.” Having traveledto many of the world’s disasterareas and having seen extreme tragedy,I can attest that these moments dohappen. But around them there is moreto see and more that must be understood.There is more than the angrymob: There is the “why” and the “how”behind their actions. There is morethan the flood of refugees: There iswhat they leave behind. There is morethan the funeral of a martyr: There isthe space they leave empty in theirfamily’s life.Because of time constraints the photojournalistdoesn’t often capture thesemore subtle but essential images. Thedocumentary photographer does. Photojournalistslook to add meaning ormessage to their pictures by employingcontrasts and juxtaposition. In actuality,these are time and space savers.Juxtaposition implies an intersectionwhere extremes or opposites meet.Contrast conjures up black and white.But what sits in the between—the gray,the similar, the normal? Documentaryphotography offers witness to theseless obvious aspects of life.The role of photojournalists is importantnonetheless and, as a fellowphotographer, I respect what they dounder the difficult conditions in whichthey must produce. But the productNieman Reports / Fall 2001 27

The Documentary and Journalismthey create comes from the need forspeed, and this necessity simplifies (andsensationalizes) the images mostpeople see. Should this be the way weprocess the visual information that weuse to inform decisions we make in ademocracy?Separating the documentary photographerfrom the photojournalist isthe reaction each has and the relationshipeach holds to the images created.One reacts almost instinctually, theother with more studied calculation.The journalist takes what the cameralens captures, while the documentaryphotographer makes the images as aform of storytelling, seeking to elevateunderstanding about what the camera’seye is recording. Given these distinc-tions in visual portrayal we, as viewers,need to be wary of the solo image andtreat it in the way we do other bits ofrandom information. Without a broadercontext, skepticism must be exercisedas the sensationalistic photograph ishandled similarly to unfounded words.Documentary photographers walkin the wake of this instantaneous paradeof visual information. They gatherand create images that can look soft,speak loud, and transform the splitsecond into an everlasting glimpse atthe truth. ■Antonin Kratochvil, a freelancephotographer based in New YorkCity, is with the VII photo agency. Innearly three decades of work, he haswon many distinguishedawards,including the Infinity Awardfrom the International Center ofPhotography. His books include“Broken Dreams: Twenty Years ofWar in Eastern Europe,” “Mercy:From the Exhibition,” and a newbook of portraits, “AntoninKratochvil: Incognito.”kratochvil@viiphoto.comMichael Persson has worked formany of the world’s news photographyagencies in areas including thePersion Gulf, Soviet Union, EasternEurope, Africa and Yugoslavia.mfpersson@yahoo.comThis is one of the saddest of the many picturesin my collection. Captured street children inUlan Bator, Mongolia’s capital, are hosed downbefore being put into a youth detention center.A tiny child cowers against a cold wall, awaitinghis violent shower. Cropping within theviewfinder helps to show how small and frailthe boy is in relation to his environment. He isthe main subject. But to the side, in a waterylight, another boy looks into the lens, judgingme or you and seeming to ask if we have theright or the guts to stare. He is ghostly, makinghis presence all the more ethereal.In a way, with this photograph I capturemyself becoming the event I thought I wasdocumenting. I am being assessed, and I amnot afraid to show as much. So often, the presscan become the event. Sweeping in, they draina situation of its drama, unaware that theirsubjects are reacting to them and not theirplight. Their subjects become simply figures to Mongolia, 1996.be photographed, filmed, quoted and forgottenas the press move to their next revelation.It is doubtful that photojournalists would have taken this larger picture because the cowering figure is what matters to those who deal in shock value.But respect for people, respect for their lives, is as important as a reporter’s duty to cover their stories. As I spent time with these children, they grewcomfortable with me, perhaps to the point of trust. This shot was my way of giving them a voice that dares the viewer to enter their desperate world.28 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Photography and the Written WordThe Gazeris are the oil scavengers of Romania’scrumbling infrastructure. Working the contaminatedland, they salvage seeping, secondhandoil in order to survive. This story isn’tshocking enough for photojournalists to cover.Why? No one is dying or dead, and no one isablaze with oil. Where’s the news? Yet what Ifound in these images is an excellent illustrationof how humanity prevails in whateverpathetic capacity, in whatever terrible conditions,exist.This picture comes together through the useof metaphoric symbols. There are no juxtapositions,no contrasts, just unrelated momentsthat come together to make a whole. The dilapidated,arcane trolley with a funnel tippingout from a solitary barrel seems to me torepresent futility at rest. The two people walkingin opposite and disconnected directions.The indistinguishable liquid on the land—is itwater or oil? The way the woman in the foregroundbows her head and folds her arms. ThisRomania, 1995.isn’t the body language of someone who ishappy.Finally, there is the hole from which comes what allows the Gazeris to survive. Or the hole might represent a pit into which life’s interminable crapis to be unloaded. In Czech we have a saying, “Je to v pytly.” It’s all in the bag. It means, what does it matter, it’s all for naught. These observations andassociations come to me when I shoot because I have time to think about what it is I’m doing and not simply react to what’s in front of me. On the surface,this picture seems nothing much until you dig deeper and then, your prize. This is not dissimilar from the Gazeris and their labors.The bodies lie all about, two deep. Left in achurch where their putrid smell was enough tomake me feel I’d just passed through the gatesof hell. I walked among them instead of shootingthe rotting pile of flesh through the window.I chose to meet the image head on, not skidaround the carnage. The body in the foregroundconfirms what the viewer fears. Yes,these are dead people. The image is shot in lowlight, giving the image a slight blur as if what’son view had been painted by Brueghel. Thisimage would have been considered too abstractand technically unacceptable for photojournalism.But to the living, death remains surrealin spite of all we know. As I walked through thebodies, I apologized each time I accidentallystepped on an arm or a leg. Who was listening?I don’t know, but perhaps this was a way for meto retain my sanity.Rwanda, 1994.Photos by Antonin Kratochvil.©Nieman Reports / Fall 2001 29

The Documentary and JournalismThis shows the half-masked identity of one ofthe “Interahamwe,” the death squads who carriedout the mass slaughter of Rwanda’s Tutsisduring the country’s genocide. Cropping allowsfor the concealment of identity andsubtlety of message. Killers do not walk withsigns saying “killer” on them. They look likeyou and me. It is what they do that makes themwhat they are. So their appearance inspires themind to conjure thoughts of what it is they doand how. By hiding some of the informationand allowing the mind to fill in the rest, thepicture lays the foundation for deeper thought.In this image, the unidentified people in itshazy background help this process by raisingthe question about whether they are killers orsurvivors. There are no dead bodies, so it iseven a more complicated question. We are leftwith an eerie feeling of concealment, borderingon the clandestine. In photojournalism,identity is everything: Faces must be distinguishableso viewers are able to relate to theGoma, Rwanda, 1994.subject.But how can someone sitting in New York with a job and modern life have any affinity with a wounded or dying man from a place and culture sofar removed from their own, or with a murderer of hundreds of countrymen? A galaxy of dissimilarity separates subject from viewer, and there canbe no connecting across this chasm. By not forcing this connection, documentary photographers keep their differences intact while giving viewers thechance to feel and imagine on their own levels, engendering a response—no matter how vague. The main thing is that viewers aren’t bullied or coercedinto an emotion that they wouldn’t naturally have. Perhaps the space in the shot is the distance between the killer and his victims, or the separationfrom the group, distinguishing him from the rest by his actions. These are all questions, not answers. Questions, however, do stir.This shot is a prime example of using slowershutter speeds to create images that go beyondwhat they are. I call this my “Pieta.” Brushstrokes of light transform this mother carryingher dying child into a picture bearing an arrayof religious undertones. This is in no waybelittling the fact of what is really happening.A mother with a dying child is one of the mostdesperate situations a human can face. Why,then, transform it into something that lessensthis tragedy? To my way of thinking, literalimages begin and end and have no other way ofgoing beyond their literal self. A more abstractimage can associate itself with other images ormemories and isn’t asking to be taken in aspure information. It is a prompt for the multitudesof links to come to life, thereby leaving alasting impression through the memories andideas it inspires.Afghanistan, 1988.30 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Photography and the Written WordThe screaming man in this shot reminds me ofEdvard Munch’s “The Scream.” When I work, Isee much of what I do as a personal journey,and the images I make are a reflection of myexperiences and endeavors. Being a marriedman and a father, having seen my parents passaway, and thinking about my own death giveme feelings of what it is to be alive. The older Ibecome, the more I understand, and my photographyreveals this changing comprehensionof mortality. Many young photographers hit ormiss with their documentary photography. Whenthey hit, it might be a feeling they’ve stumbledon or a technique they’ve inadvertently mastered.But missing means life has yet to revealits gifts.In this photograph, “life” appeared while Iwas busying myself with the shot behind thescreaming man. In fact, when this reactionexploded, my subject’s arm seemed to grow outfrom the head as I pressed the shutter. Thisimage speaks of how things in front of the lenscan also react with the lens. It is a two-waystreet. As much as you look at them, they lookback at you. One’s personal journey of life iswoven into documenting this particular moment.Romania, 1995.The little boy with the prosthesis may be avictim, but this photograph is not a “victimshot.” Ravages of war are apparent, yet it ishope that jumps out of this image. It shows thevarious obstacles life presents—the boy’s missingleg—and that with a little help from hisgrandfather who guides him, people can emergefrom despair and walk in the light once again.It is optimism I show here, the healing processafter injuries have been suffered and sustained.The boy’s face is barely discernible. His identityis unimportant. There are perhaps thousandsof boys like him with similar fates in Cambodia,Angola, Mozambique, not to mention hisown country. It is a picture that speaks ofsomething that will happen, not that has happened.Photojournalism concerns itself withresults, not intentions. Intentions don’t makefor drama. Actions and their consequences do.This generic symbol speaks to all of us about thecourage we find in the midst of adversity. Itspeaks to us of the human condition.Afghanistan, 1988.Photos by Antonin Kratochvil.©Nieman Reports / Fall 2001 31

The Documentary and JournalismBeing Receptive to the UnexpectedA photographer immerses himself in a community to tell its stories.By Eli ReedIam in that place again of waitingfor a documentary project’s beginningmoments and, as always, mystomach rumbles with anticipation. I’vepromised myself that I’m not going tofight the eternal battle that goes oninside of me whenever I am preparingto go somewhere I haven’t been before.I try to imagine what is happeningthere, and then I wonder how I will,this time, get inside of the place and itspeople’s lives.Documentary photography is usuallya series of single photographicimages brought together to create avision of someone or something. Itmay be accurate to a fault, or it could bethe faraway view, revealing little butevoking an emotional response.What matters is thatmoments that are documentedby the camera take viewers toplaces within themselves thatthey don’t often visit.A structured documentaryessay also means searching fora way to begin, a middle tosustain, and a way to get to anatural ending. It is finding away to move myself out of the way so Ican let the images in. It also requiresletting go of preconceived notions andwithdrawing from the pull of predictable,safe and reliable images.Beginnings of photo-essays are usuallydaunting. Entry into this vast andnew environment can feel like hitting awall of white noise. To break through,I try to locate what I call the quiet core,and this, more often than not, becomesmy beginning. When I started work onthe Indivisible project, I found thiscore within the quiet conversations Ihad with the people I began to meet inEau Claire, South Carolina. [See page32 for information on “Indivisible.]I research a documentary project bybeing there. What I learn before arrivingis put in a place I call “a compromisedcompartment” of my brain, consideredflawed until proven otherwise.Everything is listened to, looked at,visually poked at and tasted as it getsmixed into this stew of information.Over time, I become immersed in whereI am, and the rest of the world begins todrop away as I fall deeper into themindset of my work in the here-andnow.When I went to Eau Claire, people atthe Indivisible project had given menames and phone numbers of peoplesuch as Reverend Wiley Cooper. WhenI called Reverend Cooper, he suggestedwe meet at a scheduled Rotary ClubWhat matters is that momentsthat are documented by thecamera take viewers to placeswithin themselves that theydon’t often visit.meeting. Since meetings never translateinto very interesting pictures, Iexplained that I’d need different kindsof settings to connect with—and eventuallyto convey through photographs—whatwas happening in hiscommunity.We did meet that morning at theRotary Club. What else was I to do?Turns out his idea was a good one. Itimmediately struck me that the participantswere not the usual older whitemen in suits; they were black and white,men and women who were from allkinds of professions and disciplines.Here they were, together, sharing theirvaried points of view and bringing cohesionto this community, and thephotos I took that morning share thissense of something being differentabout this group.Score one for the unexpected. Andthe project continued in that fashion.As I found myself asked to attend moremeetings, I complained again abouthow static they are for visual portrayal.But then I’d stop by and listen for awhile and frequently I’d get ideas ofplaces to go outside of the meetingrooms. Being receptive to the unexpectedwas a critical component onthis project, as was remaining close tothe action, even if it seemed, at first, tooffer little of interest for my camera.In the nearly 20 days I was there, Ialso drove around a lot throughout theEau Claire area looking forpeople doing things. Soon,days blended together as I gotto know the people at workand in their homes. When mycoworker, George King, whoconducted the oral history interviews,arrived, I introducedhim to the town’s inhabitants.This gave me more opportunitiesto update and refine someimages I’d been making of the residents.The photographs began to seeman almost natural byproduct of ourmeetings. My slow-paced stroll throughEau Claire, coupled with the generoushelp of the people there, enabled meto reveal through my photographssomething new about their hopes anddreams for their community.Documentary work can take yearsto develop and produce. The mostsatisfying part of the journey might beits quiet conclusion, when the photographertries to tell a complete storywithout stumbling over the doubts withwhich he arrived. Much of the documentarywork I’ve done has emergedfrom my personal interest in a particu-32 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Photography and the Written Wordlar subject. Once the interests come,questions are not far behind, and it isthese questions that lead the camerainto new and interesting places in thehope that more complete pictures—with concepts and ideas springing fromthem—will reveal themselves.There used to be adequate time providedto take the photographs necessaryfor publishing a photo-essay in amonthly magazine. That time is gone.If the photographer receives three daysfor a photo-essay, that’s a lot of time.Many photographers and editors don’tseem worried about what is lost bycompressing this time, or they don’ttake the time to recall what once existedand why it is so important to getthrough the thick layers of the surfaceand probe inside.The best stories still seem to be onesthe photographer has to fight for frombeginning to end. This means findingthe story and finding the place to publishit. Photographers are working moreindependently than ever, by grim necessity.Though the market has changed,what makes a photo-essay work hasn’t.The human element inside the photoessayhas always been the dominatingfactor, even when the core of the subjectwas its sense of place. The sense ofplace and urgency is and will always bewhat guides documentary photographers.■Eli Reed, a 1983 Nieman Fellow, hasbeen a photographer for Magnumsince 1983. His award-winningphotographs have appeared in Time,Newsweek, Life, Vogue, Sports Illustrated,The New York Times Magazine,and many international publications.Reed’s two books, “Beirut,City of Regrets,” and “Black inAmerica,” both published by W.W.Norton, contain his photography,text and poetry. He is working on abook about the lost boys of theSudan and also collaborating on afeature documentary film about thesame subject.Elitrek@aol.comDocumenting Democracy in AmericaThe Indivisible project portrays grassroots activitiy in 12 communities.What does democracy look like awayfrom Capitol Hill? How is it createdand maintained today among the individualsin one dot or another on themap of the United States? And who arethose individuals? For such an inquiry,requiring an immersion in local detailto make a meaningful larger picture, adocumentary approach seems apt.“Indivisible: Stories of AmericanCommunity” is a multi-media documentaryproject of the Center for DocumentaryStudies at Duke University inpartnership with the Center for CreativePhotography at the University ofArizona, and funded by the Pew CharitableTrusts. The project seeks to documentgrassroots democracy in 12 locationsin the United States wherecommunity members are working togetherin local initiatives to addressconcerns such as race relations, healthcare, housing, environmental issues,and cultural development.Among the efforts documented aremarine conservation in Alaskan fishingcommunities, Haitian immigrantsfighting drug use and crime in Florida,a Navajo Nation project to renew traditionalknowledge and skills involvingsheep and wool, and a Philadelphianeighborhood converting 87 abandonedproperties into a local culturalcenter.In each location, a photographerteamed up with an interviewer torecord the community life in imagesand through the voices of individuals.Twelve photographers were chosenwho “have made considerable contributionsto social history and the art ofphotography, and bring their own artisticviewpoint to each communitysite,” according to the project’s pressrelease. Those who participated were:Dawoud Bey, Bill Burke, LucyCapehart, Lynn Davis, Terry Evans,Debbie Fleming Caffrey, LaurenGreenfield, Joan Liftin, Reagan Louie,Danny Lyon, Sylvia Plachy, and Eli Reed.To gather the voices, journalists,oral historians, radio producers, andfolklorists conducted extensive interviews.They were: Merle Augustin, DanCollison, Barry Dornfeld, George King,Jack Loeffler, Jens Lund, Karen Michel,Daniel Rothenberg, Jeff Whetstone, andJoe Wood.“Indivisible” is traveling as an eightcitymuseum exhibition. It can also beseen at the project’s Web site,www.indivisible.org, in postcard exhibits,and in a book titled “Local HeroesChanging America” (W.W. Norton& Company, with Lyndhurst Books,2000). The photographs, tapes andtranscripts will be housed at the Universityof Arizona and Duke University,and made available to the public. ■Nieman Reports / Fall 2001 33

The Documentary and JournalismIndivisible: Eau Claire, South CarolinaRhett Anders, Community Council president and real estate agent, in front of an historic property.Photos by Eli Reed.©A street at dusk.34 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Photography and the Written WordParishioners at Wesley United Methodist Church prior to a baptism service.Toliver’s Mane Event barber shop.Nieman Reports / Fall 2001 35

The Documentary and JournalismEau Claire High School color guard practicing a routine.Scott Trent peers inside Monteith School, the oldest blackschool structure in South Carolina.Photos by Eli Reed.©36 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

The Documentary and Journalismmunities, or as McGill once put it,“across the board, wherever peoplecome together.”McGill was the person who firstmentioned the idea of a documentarymagazine such as DoubleTake. As heput it, “Someday there will be a magazinethat will have the space to put onthe record all that’s happening, a magazinethat brings the stories of thosegoing through ordeals like this one tothe attention of the world. We try to dothis all the time here [at the (Atlanta)Constitution], but there is so far wecan go with a daily newspaper. I oftentell my teacher friends that they sometimesunderestimate the educational(oh, to be highfalutin’, the cultural)value of newspapers; and even more soof magazines. A magazine allows forlonger stories, for continuing stories. Abook tells a story, but then it’s published,though the story goes on. In anewspaper, there is today’s story primarily.Magazines can keep at it, tellthose stories, give them lots of attention,give the reader the full picture.”McGill was musing, trying hard toemphasize a newspaper’s capability,but giving us a glimpse of what a magazinelike ours could do. Now thatDoubleTake exists (with the help ofindividual and foundation funding),we still recall this early vision of itspossibility, just as we recall the wordsof Dr. Williams—we are minded therebyof our task to create and sustain a placewhere human stories are told in “thefull picture,” in their unfolding andcomplex dimensions, and where imagesadd essential layers of understandingto the words. “Someday the picturesfolks like me take will live side byside with poems and good essays, goodfiction,” the photographer EugeneSmith once told a writer for a profile inThe New Yorker, a magazine that, then,didn’t publish photographs. Today atDoubleTake photographs have ampleroom to show aspects of human experience,even as writers do their levelbest to say what is on their own minds,as well as those of others—a doubletake, as it were, that we hope doesworthwhile, instructive justice to amagazine’s given name. ■Robert Coles is an editor atDoubleTake, a teacher at HarvardUniversity, and the author, recently,of “Lives of Moral Leadership.”rcoles@fas.harvard.eduCover from the Spring 2001 issue. Photo by Adam Shemper.38 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Photography and the Written WordRevealing AfghanistanChris Steele-Perkins captures a people’s grace and culture.“What then is the purpose of all this travel andphotography in Afghanistan? Not to change thestate of their lives, but to sate my curiosity, mywandering urge. So how do I differ from thehippy of my youth, bent on self-gratificationand adventure? Perhaps I bring more understandingto the situation. I can bring my souvenirsback in the form of photographs andselect and order them in a book for sale, ratherthan spout rambling tales amongst friends overbeer and a shared joint.“Also, I was working. Someone paid me to bethere to commit these people’s sufferings, theircrazy ways, their grace and culture to film. I didit, I believe, with more passion and engagementthan the hired hand need bring to thetask. Perhaps my pictures did make some difference.Raised some money for an aidorganisation, raised someone’s awareness.Awareness? So nebulous a word. If I am luckythis slim volume can enter as a trace of memory,a record of these people, of this time, thiscountry. Afghanistan.“But is that enough? I engage and then flyaway. Taking their gifts, my photographs, to adistant land they will never visit. My country.”—ChrisSteele-PerkinsFrom “Afghanistan,” published by Westzone(French version: “Afghanistan,” by Marval). Steele-Perkins’ work is found on The Magnum PhotosWeb site, www.magnumphotos.com.Afghanistan, 1996. Teacher and pupils in Mazar Sharif, before the Taliban occupiedthe town. Under the Taliban, all girls schools have been closed. Photo by ChrisSteele-Perkins/Magnum Photos.©Nieman Reports / Fall 2001 39

The Documentary and JournalismAfghanistan, 1996. A man having a shave in Kabul. Although not liked, the Taliban have brought somestability and rule of law so that, for men at least, daily trade can continue.Afghanistan, 1994. Amputees—mainly victims of land mines—are equipped with false limbs at the Red Crosscenter in Kabul.Photos by Chris Steele-Perkins/Magnum Photos.©40 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Photography and the Written WordA Photographer’s Journey Begins With a CoffinBy documenting youngsters’ lives, he hopes to understand what is happening.By Andre LambertsonMy photographic journey intothe lives of black youth in Baltimorebegan in an accidentalway. The newspaper I worked for sentme to photograph a young woman fora column called “Candid Closet,” andshe was supposed to represent one ofthe most fashion conscious people inthe city. Known for her Sunday-bestdress hats, she had inherited part ownershipof her family’s successful funeralbusiness in Baltimore.As I was photographing her, I washaving a hard time finding a good locationwith the kind of light I wanted. Ibacked into a large room, filled withdaylight, turned around, and foundmyself staring into the face of a dead13-year-old boy. He was dressed in anoff-white suit and his tiny framesqueezed tightly into a narrow casket.He seemed ready to open his eyes atany moment.Sweat was rolling down my arm and,after a long moment of silence, thiswoman said, “That’s nothing new. It’shappening all the time.” She began totell me about all the young peoplebeing killed and killing each other. Shesaid that youngsters in the city hadgrown accustomed to death, to seeingits face up close, to visiting their friendsin funeral homes, and talking about itas they might a social outing. It was onemore party to dress up for, anotheroccasion to wear black.Her words shook me. It was afterthis experience that I began what wasto become a five-year photographicjourney into black neighborhoods ofBaltimore, Chicago and New Orleanstrying to understand and conveythrough images what was happeningto their young. ■Andre Lambertson is a photographerbased in New York City with thephoto agency Saba Press and is acontract photographer with Timemagazine. He has received severalawards, including a Crime & CommunitiesMedia Fellowship from theOpen Society Institute to continuehis work on children and programsinvolved in the juvenile justicesystem. He is also working on abook, “Ashes,” a study of juvenileviolence.andrelambertson@yahoo.comThese youngsters endure the harsh realities ofdeprivation and racism. Many of these childrenattempt to shield themselves from anenvironment they find profoundly threatening.Beneath their stony exteriors there istrauma that outsiders rarely know. I was familiarwith the work of some photographerswho had tried to portray the poverty and despairwithin some black communities, but Ididn’t feel the photographs conveyed insightsdeeper than the obvious circumstances. Iwanted my work to help me and others understandwhy these neighborhoods continued todevour their children, how children who livedthere saw themselves, and where they foundhope. Most deeply, I wondered how I could help.After all, I was drawn to photojournalism becauseI felt it was a tool I could use to bringabout positive change in people’s lives.Robert Taylor Homes projects in Chicago. Photo by Andre Lambertson.©Nieman Reports / Fall 2001 41

The Documentary and JournalismI think that the best journalist is seldom subjective.Any journalist with enough curiosity andheart can tell any story if he asks the rightquestions of himself. To tell the best stories, herelies on his heart. He uses what he knows,often his own experiences, to get inside a story,to find its walls and penetrate them. Beingblack and adopted, I wondered how I wouldhave fared in one of these communities. Aloving and strong parent had helped me to findmy path and stay out of harm’s way, and perhapsthis made me want to tell these storiesabout children who didn’t have someone to dothis for them. The biggest question I askedmyself as I documented these children’s liveswas why people don’t care more about why theyare dying so young.With a counselor from Gang Peace, a young man talks about available jobs.When I mentioned this idea of photographingthese children and their communities, my editorsback at the newspaper told me simply ‘Kidskilling kids is nothing new. The story has beendone.’ But I feel that it is the job of journaliststo tell stories again and again in new andcreative ways. By bringing a deeper, more complexway of examining the issues of juvenileviolence, I wanted to shed light on the complicatedconditions and issues that embraced thesechildren. No one was born a killer. What happenedalong the way to make them do this? AndI wondered how the mainstream press wouldhave reacted if these children were white. Wouldthis be considered an epidemic? Of course, thiswas before Columbine happened.Boys playing cops and robbers at LexingtonTerrace, West Baltimore.Photos by Andre Lambertson.©42 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Photography and the Written WordMy burning desire to be a photojournalist wasfueled largely by my desire to be seen and heardand to give voice to those who aren’t heard. Theapathy toward this story that I heard from myeditors pushed me harder to do it. I wanted toshow dimensions of these youngsters’ lives thatwould portray them in more sensitive ways. Ifelt the mainstream press often demonizes theseyouth.Cabrini-Green projects in Chicago.The work I produced during these years oftenleft more questions than answers. Indeed, therewas light to be shed, but there was darkness,too. During the first year, I kept an eye out forreports of shootings or stabbings among youth.If I found an incident, I’d show up at the funeraland, with permission from the family, beginphotographing. Some people wanted no part ofme; others welcomed my presence as a way tobear witness to their pain and grief. One mother,unable to cope with the loss of her 12-year-oldson, dove headfirst into the casket, knockingthe body to the floor. To deal with this level ofsorrow, I needed to cross into people’s innerdepths of pain. The ability to do this is onlyaccomplished through intense documentarywork, and this involves a great deal of time.Funeral for a 13-year-old boy killed in a drive-by shooting.Nieman Reports / Fall 2001 43

The Documentary and JournalismAfter a year of working on this project, I hadimages attesting to the unrelenting violence,but another question lingered. What was producingit? I had befriended a young man who Iknew had a drug problem. One day I asked himif he could take me into his community, a verytough project in West Baltimore. Through him,I met people who lived there. Often, when we’darrive, we’d bring food from an organization Iknew that collected food for the homeless. Neighborsbegan seeing my friend as someone otherthan a junkie, and they also began to trust me.Soon, they opened their doors—and theirlives—to me. Deep documentary work is aboutsharing heart to heart. During this time I waswith them, I was able to see and capture a muchdeeper perspective of their lives in this toughplace. I understood that without light, withouthope, dreams vanished. Love from someone,from anyone, remained the key.Two boys play at the Lexington Terrace public housing projects in West Baltimore.In the end, I felt this project became a prayer.For me, it was a daily vigil to remember theamazingly painful lives that a small communityin this country bear. That suffering is apart of our lives, too, because everyone istouched. I’ve made a conscious effort to keepreturning to these communities and doing mywork there, trying to shed light on those whohave had hardship in their lives but have foundtheir way. Their lives show hope. I want peopleto meditate on life and to understand thatanswers are often found in places of completedarkness. To show the light among us sometimesmeans grappling with the dark as well.A pregnant woman looks out the window at the Robert Taylor Homes projects inChicago.Photos by Andre Lambertson.©44 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

A Nieman Year Spent Pondering Storytelling‘TV documentaries were dull because they misused the medium.’Moving Pictures: Television and FilmBy Robert DrewIn the early 1950’s, with televisionin its infancy, the ability to capturereal-life moments as they happenand use those images to tell a story waslittle more than an idea of what thedocumentary approach on this newmedium might become. I’d spent 10years at Life as a correspondent andeditor and experienced firsthand thepowerful force that candid photographyof real life can produce. And frommy work on a magazine show for NBC,I knew that improving photography,writing and editingwould not make thedifference in creatingthis kind of effect ontelevision.What had to evolvewas an editorial approachthat valued realitycaptured with theintimacy of the stillcamera and the technologyto allow this toI watched Edward R. Murrow’s “See ItNow,” but did so without sound, simplywatching the picture. Its progressiondisintegrated. Then I turned thepicture off and listened to the sound;the program tracked perfectly. Later,these TV programs were printed inbook form and read very well.The storytelling problem was beginningto sort itself out for me. Storiescould be told in different ways, usingdifferent means of communication, buteach medium had its unique strengthhappen in motion pictures.But once thatJackie Kennedy’s gloved hands as seen in “Primary.”happened—and weknew it would—those of us wanting to for doing this. And its unique strengthpursue this new type of reporting would was, not surprisingly, its best. TV documentarieswere dull because they mis-need to know how to transform thesesounds and images into documentary used the medium. The kind of logictelevision.that builds interest and feeling on televisionis dramatic logic. Viewers be-During my Nieman year in 1955, Ifocused on two questions: Why are come invested in the characters, anddocumentaries so dull? What would it they watch as things happen and charactersreact and develop. As the powertake for them to become gripping andexciting? Looking for answers, several of the drama builds, viewers respondHarvard mentors steered me towards emotionally as well as intellectually.an exploration of basic storytelling. So It was also becoming clearer to meI studied the short story, modern stage that journalism is not relegated to oneplay and novel, and watched how some medium or another. It is a task to beof these forms came across on TV. combined with the means to communicatethat which is discovered. And inBy the time I felt I knew the answer,I was embarrassed at how long it had TV the nightly news, for example, istaken me to realize it. What I finally saw one “medium,” doing what it does best,was that most documentaries were which is to summarize the news, oftenaudio lectures illustrated with pictures. by lecturing with picture illustrations.The prime-time documentary oughtto be different. What it adds to thejournalistic spectrum is the ability tolet viewers experience the sense ofbeing somewhere else, drawing theminto dramatic developments in the livesof people caught up in stories of importance.As my Nieman year progressed, mymission was becoming clear: conveyexperience. Leave the rest, the exposition,analysis, elucidation, to others inthe media better suited to those tasks.Then, one evening,Omnibus presented aTV documentary,“Toby in the TallCorn,” about a travelingtent show, thatconveyed feeling andexperience that wasstrong enough to overcomean inane narration.I flew to New Yorkand asked the executiveproducer, BobSaudek, why “Toby”was so powerful. “Because I assignedRussell Lynes to write the narration,”he said.I asked Russell Lynes the same question.“Because I focused the narrationon the economics of the tent show,” hereplied.I found cameraman-director RichardLeacock at a moviola in the basementof a townhouse. Hardly lookingup from his editing, he responded,“Because Russell Lynes wrote the narration.”Leacock and I went out for coffee. Iwanted to know how he’d been able tomake this film look like it had beenphotographed candidly and spontaneously,when the bulky equipment andmistrained talent available to him madethis nearly impossible to do. What weNieman Reports / Fall 2001 45

The Documentary and Journalismdiscovered that day was our mutualinterest in making the impossible possible.My Nieman colleagues, all of themnewspaper people, were not shy aboutoffering me a challenge. Often we debatedinto the night the question ofwhat, if anything, all of this stuff aboutstorytelling had to do with journalism.Back then, for me, storytelling wasabout trying to envision a new televisionjournalism that allow the documentaryto do what it does best. Thismeant leaving to other media whatthey can do best. The right kind ofdocumentary programming shouldraise more interest than it can satisfy,more questions than it should try toanswer.When my year ended, I wrote anarticle for Nieman Reports entitled,“See It Then,” setting forth my ideasabout this journey on which I was aboutto embark. It would take me five moreyears to conceive and develop the editingtechniques, assemble the teams,reengineer the lightweight equipment,and find the right story to produce formy first TV documentary.Finally, in 1960, with the camerahefted by Richard Leacock and the taperecorder carried by me, we set out totell the story of a young man whowanted to be President. His name wasJohn F. Kennedy, and our drama focusedon his tough primary fight inWisconsin. Though burdensome bytoday’s standards, the equipment madeit possible for the first time for us tomove the sync sounds camera-recorderfreely with characters throughout astory.The film was called “Primary” and isregarded as the beginning of Americancinéma vérité. ■Robert Drew, a 1955 Nieman Fellow,is an award-winning documentaryproducer. As an editor at Life, Drewspecialized in the candid still pictureessay. Among some hundredDrew films, those that establishedcinéma vérité in America include“Primary,” “On the Pole,” “YankiNo!,” and “Faces of November.”Robert Drew holds the microphone.“For five days and nights we recorded almost every move the candidates made, the sights andsounds of the campaign, and the way the public responded. For one sequence at a senstive time,Leacock and I split up. He filmed alone the tension in Kennedy’s hotel room as election returns camein. Four cameras converged on Kennedy’s victory. With twenty hours of candid film in hand, I wasable to plan the editing of a story that would tell itself through characters in action, with less thantwo minutes of narration.”—Richard DrewRichard Leacock holds the camera.bobdrew@aol.com46 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Documentary Journalism Vanishes FromNetwork and Local TelevisionWithdrawal of advertising and emergence of news magazines wereamong the factors that killed it.By Philip S. BalboniMoving Pictures: Television and FilmThis autumn, for the 12th year ina row, I will take my seat arounda large conference table in thehistoric World Room at ColumbiaUniversity’s Graduate School of Journalism,joining seven distinguishedcolleagues as we begin three long daysof judging the best work in Americanradio and television. Weeks of individualscreening lead up to these finaldeliberations, which often involve difficultand emotional choices as we glean12 winners from an original roster of600 or more entries. This vantage pointas a juror for the Alfred I. duPont-Columbia University Awards, the mostselective and purely journalistic prizein television, has given me a valuableperspective on trends in broadcast journalism.The picture that emerges is at timesinspiring but more often distressing:inspiring because each year there iswork that is intelligent, brave, historicallyimportant, and deeply moving;distressing because most entries fall farfrom this mark. Sadly, the commercialnetworks and the local affiliates haveallowed their standards to drop precipitously—inmost cases overwhelmedby the financial demands of corporateowners who have little appreciationfor the sacred trust that goes with owninga news organization.This trend is nowhere better or moreclearly seen than in the near extinctionof the television documentary on themajor broadcast networks and theiraffiliated local stations. This trend hasbeen developing over several decades,but by the mid-1990’s it was clear thatthe documentary on commercial televisionwas almost extinct.Some might ask, “Why should wecare?” After all, there is still PBS, andmany of the cable networks, like Discovery,HBO and A&E, are presentingdocumentaries even if ABC, CBS, NBCand Fox are not. I’d argue that allAmericans should care and care profoundlybecause the documentary, especiallyat an hour or more in length, isone of the most powerful forms ofhuman expression. Nothing can takeits place; no single report on theevening news, no glitzy televisionnewsmagazine piece, and certainlynone of today’s endless TV talk showshave the depth, substance, detail andemotional strength of a well-executeddocumentary.Moreover, while the cable networksmay be an adequate substitute on thenational level, there is virtually no entityto stand in for local broadcast stationsin hundreds of cities acrossAmerica. With local television’s abandonmentof the documentary, Americancommunities have lost an importantlocal voice in the examination ofkey social, political and economic issues.The broadcasting industry shouldbe ashamed of this failure to serve.The great American documentarytradition is rooted in such powerfulprogenitors as CBS’s “Harvest ofShame,” which exposed the cruel mistreatmentof East coast migrant workers.According to A.M. Sperber, EdwardR. Murrow’s biographer, “‘Harvestof Shame’ burst upon the public, anupdated ‘Grapes of Wrath,’ a blackand-whitedocument of protest usheringin the sixties on TV.” It turned outto be Murrow’s last great work for CBS.Sadly, we never see work as courageousas this on CBS today, or on anyof the other major networks for thatmatter. And it is not just the greatdocumentaries like Murrow’s that aregone. In recent years, the documentaryas a genre of work has nearlyvanished from the traditional networksand the local affiliates.In an effort to quantify this observation,we asked ABC, CBS and NBC toprovide the title and a brief descriptionof any hour long (or longer) documentarythey broadcast in 1965, 1975, 1985,and 1999. Perhaps it is not surprisingthat none of the networks was able, orwilling, to provide the information. Wemade a similar request of six local televisionstations that have historicallybeen considered among the very bestin the industry: WBBM-TV, Chicago;KRON-TV, San Francisco; WCVB-TV,Boston; WFAA-TV, Dallas; WCCO-TV,Minneapolis, and KING-TV, Seattle.Here, too, none could provide a usefulamont of information, if any.Fortunately for Americans, the PublicBroadcasting System (PBS) has maintaineda strong documentary presence.One standout is “Frontline,” producedat WGBH-TV in Boston, arguably oneof the most brilliant and substantivedocumentary series ever created. [SeeMichael Kirk’s article about “Frontline”on page 50.] “Frontline” has been showeredwith major awards including theGeorge Foster Peabody Award fromthe University of Georgia, often calledthe Pulitzer Prize of television, and twoduPont-Columbia Gold Batons, its highesthonor. Also “American Experience,”the documentary series “P.O.V.,” [SeeCara Mertes’s story about “P.O.V.” onpage 53.] and other independently producedbut PBS-aired documentariesadd further diversity and intellectualrichness.Nieman Reports / Fall 2001 47

The Documentary and JournalismAs for cable, Ihave screenedsome truly outstandingdocumentariesfrom theDiscovery Channeland HBO, amongothers. But in myexperience thecable networkdocumentariesare, for the mostpart, much weakerjournalistically,and they are packagedmore for theirentertainmentvalue than for theenlightenment ofthe audience. Ofthe cable networks,HBO hasprobably made thestrongest commitmentto documentaries,for which itshould be commended.However,HBO’s documentarieslean heavily toward a cinéma vériténon-journalistic style which works wellfor some subjects but is not conduciveto more complex issues.CNN has also made worthy contributionsto the documentary tradition,although it has never achieved the samelevel of performance here that it has inits breaking news coverage. Neither ofthe more recent entrants into 24-hourcable news, MSNBC and Fox NewsChannel, has shown any discernibleinterest in documentaries.From the mid-1980’s on, both thequantity and the quality of documentariesproduced by the broadcast networksand local stations fell dramatically.Yet the seeds of the decline of thetelevision documentary on commercialtelevision can, in fact, be tracedback to the late 1960’s when professionalobservers began to notice problems.The duPont-Columbia Survey ofBroadcast Journalism for 1968-69 askednearly 500 television stations locatedin the top 100 largest markets to reporton their documentary work during theprior year. Stations were asked to listEdward R. Murrow reporting in “Harvest of Shame” about the conditions of migrantfarm workers. This “CBS Reports” program was originally shown on Thanksgivingevening 1960. Film image courtesy of CBS Photo Archive, CBS Worldwide, Inc.©locally originated documentary programmingin 12 subject areas whichthe duPont-Columbia jurors felt wereof major importance. The categories inthis survey still read today like a lexiconof significant social issues, includinginternational affairs, politics, birthcontrol and population, disarmament,youth and education, the urban crisis,environment, poverty, crime and violence,medicine, psychology and religion,science and space.The survey results were dismal.“Documentary programming in the traditionalsense of the term had hit a newlow,” the duPont-Columbia jurorsstated. “The decline of the serious controversialtelevision documentary…canbe traced at least in part to lack ofadvertising support. This reticencecomes almost in equal parts from a fearof boring and of offending the public.”In the year 2001, how quaint thatsounds.Sir William Haley, a former editor ofthe London Times and director generalof the BBC, during a 16-monthresidence in the United States in 1968-69, agreed to serve asa duPont-Columbiajuror. His observationsabout Americanbroadcast journalismare fascinating to readin the context oftoday’s even greaterdecline in standards.“It is not enough tosay that news mustnever be thought ofas part of entertainment,”Haley said.“News must not bethought of merely aspart of a televisionprogram. News—andin this word Iinclude…news documentaries—isthe lifebloodof democracy.Without free, full, anduncontaminated informationon allthings that matter, thepeople have nosound means of makingchoices and deciding.”Think of the important national andlocal issues facing the American publictoday: health care funding, missile defense,a sliding economy, grave energyproblems, global terrorism, improvingprimary and secondary education, SocialSecurity funding, campaign financereform, poverty, immigration policy,and the list could go on and on. Howcan it be argued that we do not need,and need badly, the insight which wellresearchedand well-produced documentariescould provide?Another survey, done in 1980, tooknote of an important factor behind thedecline—the rise of the network televisionnews magazine. It observed that,ironically, the success of “60 Minutes,”in particular and “the rush to imitate itseemed to diminish the likelihood ofany of the three networks finding primetimefor the regular airing of hour-longdocumentaries.” The reasons were thatthe magazine format was being givenpriority and “subjects worthy of extendedtreatment were appropriatedfor briefer magazine-length attention.”48 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Moving Pictures: Television and FilmRemembering Documentary MomentsLooking back at television’s more than50-year history, the “golden years” fordocumentaries on both the networksand the affiliates came during a 20-year period beginning in the mid-1960’s and lasting until the mid-1980’s.A review of the archives of the Peabodyand duPont-Columbia awards servesas a reminder of some of the excellentdocumentary work that used to beoffered to the American people andalso starkly highlights what we aremissing out on today. What follows isa random selection of the type of documentariesthat once graced the televisionlandscape.—Phil Balboni“The Slow Guillotine,” by KNBC-TV,a documentary focusing on air pollutionin the Los Angeles area (1969).“Charlie Company,” CBS News, thefamous story of an infantry companyon patrol in Vietnam (1970).“This Child is Rated X,” an NBC“White Paper” on juvenile justice andchildren’s rights in America (1971).“Justice in America,” CBS News, athree-hour, four-part series on the inequitiesof U.S. courts and prisons(1971).“A Seed of Hope,” by WTVJ-TV, Miami,on drug addiction among middleclassyouth in Fort Lauderdale, Florida(1973).“Chile: Experiment in Red,” by ABCNews about President SalvadorAllende’s impact on Chile’s economy,politics and society (1974).“The Sins of the Fathers,” NBC News,on the plight of American-fathered childrenleft behind in Vietnam (1974).“The Timber Farmers,” KGW-TV,Portland, Oregon, a documentary examiningthe future of the Pacific Northwesttimber industry (1978).“Race Relations: Where Are WeNow?” by WFAA-TV, a two-hour examinationof race relations in the DallasFort Worth area (1978).“Water: Arizona’s Most Precious Resource,”KOOL-TV, Phoenix, on thedebate over the Central Arizona Project(1979).“Blacks in America: With All DeliberateSpeed,” a two-hour CBS Reportsspecial (1981).“The Billion Dollar Ghetto,” byWPLG-TV, Miami, an investigation ofgovernment projects in Dade County(1982).“The Defense of the United States,”CBS News, a five-hour long examinationof America’s nuclear defense policies(1982).“The Gene Merchants,” “ABC NewsCloseup” on the impact of genetic engineering(1983).“People Like Us,” “CBS Reports,” onthe impact of federal budget cuts onthe poor (1983).“The War Within,” KRON-TV, aboutVietnam veterans’ struggle to re-entermainstream society (1984).“The Smell of Money,” WJXT-TV,Jacksonville, Florida, on the economicand health effects of the city’s majorpolluters (1985). ■A similar problem was afflicting localtelevision. The 1980 survey noted adecline in the number of documentariesgetting on the air and in their place“was a dramatic rise in the number ofmini-documentaries strung throughregular newscasts.” The jurors said thatin some cases these reports “added upto worthwhile coverage of substantialtopics,” but more frequently they dealtwith sensationalized topics.Any viewer of television news in theintervening 21 years has seen a profoundescalation of this phenomenon.Even a generation ago this survey notedthat “these obvious appeals to themorbid interests of the stations’ targetaudiences were habitually run duringthe ratings sweeps periods, which determinedthe prices management couldcharge for the subsequent quarter’scommercials.” That ratings were figuringincreasingly into editorial decisionswas admitted by two out of three newsdirectors reporting to the survey. Today,the focus on ratings and the competitionfor viewers’ attention totallydominate the newsrooms of America.Behind the ratings fixation lies theunceasing demand by owners for increasedprofitability—this in an industrythat has enjoyed enormous profitability,especially at the local stationlevel.All of these forces have combined tocrush the documentary on commercialtelevision. Serious and important international,national and local issuesare being ignored. The Americanpeople, and American democracy, arenot being served.The solution, however, is not governmentintervention because governmenthas no place in the newsroom. Itis true that the deregulatory fervor,begun under President Reagan andcontinued in both republican anddemocratic administrations and congressessince, has had an enormousnegative impact on the quality of broadcastnews, permitting vast consolidationof media power and placing newsorganizations in the hands of giantcorporations that have little feel for theNieman Reports / Fall 2001 49

The Documentary and Journalismtraditions of journalism. But asking foradditional government regulation, particularlyin the area of news content, isnot the answer.The solution, if there is one, mustcome from public pressure and fromleadership within the profession andwithin the television industry. At NewEngland Cable News, documentarieshave been a part of our news productionfor several years, featuring suchtopics as a breast cancer patient’s decisionto choose hospice care over moreaggressive chemotherapy and a yearlongexploration of the impact on asmall Maine town of the closing of itsmajor employer. This year a high-rankingnews executive has been assignedfull time to oversee long-form reportingand documentaries, and we addedtargeted funding for this in our budget.If only one network and/or one stationgroup would step forward andmake a serious commitment to fundand broadcast a set number of documentariesevery year, that would senda signal that would be heard loud andclear by its competitors, but more importantlyby its customers and viewers.The first to step forward will be rewardedbeyond measure both in publicapproval and in the knowledge thatthose who are taking it are also makingan important contribution to the societyin which they live. ■Phil Balboni, a veteran journalist, isthe president and founder of NewEngland Cable News, the nation’slargest and most honored regionalnews network. He is a board memberand former chairman of theAssociation of Regional News Channelsand a member of the editorialadvisory board of the ColumbiaJournalism Review.psb@necn.comStriking a Balance Between Filmmaking and JournalismAt ‘Frontline,’ the producers and their vision are front and center.By Michael KirkTwenty years ago, a South Africancharmer named David Fanningand I were sizing each other upin a bar at the Century Plaza in LosAngeles. He was putting together aweekly PBS documentary televisionseries, and I was trying to parlay afreshly minted Nieman year into somekind of honest work that didn’t involvecranking out news pieces, or thosethings they call “segments”on so-called“newsmagazine”shows.Fanning’s visionwas infectious and, asit always has, matchedmy enthusiasm. Hewas promising aweekly, one-hourpublic affairs documentary presenceon PBS unfettered by the usual deathknell to ideas on Public Broadcasting:political deals between stations, independentproducers, and other constituency-drivengroups.The series would be produced bythe legendary Boston PBS station,WGBH—but Fanning’s new idea wasthat the station would act more as apublishing house for independentlyproduced programs (“authored works,”as he put it). The individual programswould be made, said Fanning, by thebest producers he could find, whereverthey lived and worked. I lived andThe truth is, in the early going, we weren’tsure what a ‘Frontline’ was—but we figuredwe’d recognize it when we saw it and, ofcourse, after a while, we did.worked in Seattle.Then, the big finish: We weren’t, hewhispered, going to succumb to thatother TV beast—the 800-pound gorillaknown as the face-time-demanding-onair-correspondent.“A producer’s series,” he said withsatisfaction.That did it, he had me. I was on myway back to Boston.During the next 20 years, David andI (and dozens of producers) have madenearly 400 “Frontline” documentaries.It’s been a wild ride.I signed on as senior producer forthe first seven seasons (Michael Sullivanably followed meand is now puttingtogether PBS’s ambitiousnew magazineprogram). Asthose of us presentfor the creation of“Frontline” steered(some would sayveered) among theremarkably complicated choices involvedin inventing a new kind of television,the series began to take on a lifeand style of journalism all its own—slightly edgy, iconoclastic, politicallyperverse, and frequently surprising.50 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Moving Pictures: Television and FilmOf course, this business of inventinga new kind of TV show had its ownpeculiar learning curve. First there wasthe issue of picking the stories. Thehundreds of aspirants that inundatedus wondered when our “RFP” was goingout. We didn’t know what an RFPwas. (A “Request for Proposals,” ourgrant-writing friends taught us.)“Back of an envelope,” was the wayDavid described the way we workedout our best film ideas. But try tellingthat to a producer who had spent yearspreparing 20-page treatments for thelabyrinth formerly known as “PBS/Corporationfor Public Broadcasting fundingcommittees.”Then, of course, there was the dauntingtask of finding just the right producers.Louis Wiley, our founding serieseditor (and the ongoing conscienceof the broadcast), wrote a paragraphthat became our working definition ofa “Frontline” producer: “We seek aproven track record with long-formdocumentaries; a willingness to workunder the editorial direction of an executiveproducer, and a journalisticsense of fairness.” The last two criteriawere designed to publicly define us asa fundamentally journalistic institutionand to define the difference betweenour producers and that other thoroughlyworthy but undeniably differentgroup of “independent documentary”producers (with an emphasis onthe word independent).We found some of our first colleagueslanguishing at the moribund“CBS Reports” and “ABC NewsCloseup” units. Others came from theBBC and that newly invented pool,downsized producers from local stationsthat were going out of the serioustelevision journalism business(Westinghouse, for example). BillMoyers had trained some, and so hadWGBH.Then, of course, there was the problemof getting an audience. For that,PBS and our board of directors clamoredfor a star—that 800-pound gorillaDavid so proudly eschewed during thatfirst meeting in Los Angeles. After sixmonths of kicking and screaming (andinterviewing some very difficultImages from “Frontline’s” Whitewater program.people), we took the plunge and, intypical early “Frontline” style, we wentall the way—and, in NBC News anchor/star Jessica Savitch, we got Godzillaand Fay Wray. As difficult as Jessicaoften was, we came to believe in herrole as a kind of marquee figure and,when Judy Woodruff signed on afterJessica’s death, that role actually grewto include a thoroughly legitimate journalisticfunction.Armed with the anchor, the producers,those back-of-an-envelope ideas,and our own early 30-year-old enthusiasms,we then set about creating (anddefining for ourselves and the producers)exactly what a “Frontline” documentarywas.It was, as Wiley said, “designed tohelp the citizen perform his or her civicduties,” but it was decidedly not one ofthose occasionally boring network“white papers,” as they had come to becalled. It was investigative, but not apiece of advocacy; stylized but not overdone(we had lots of rules about musicand re-creation). The truth is, in theearly going, we weren’t sure what a“Frontline” was—but we figured we’drecognize it when we saw it and, ofcourse, after a while, we did.We lit the rocket with “The UnauthorizedHistory of the NFL.” Thatprogram’s back-of-an-envelope descriptionread: “The mob influenced theoutcome of at least one Superbowl andL.A. Rams owner Carroll Rosenbloomwas murdered as part of it.” The programwas a blockbuster premier andimmediately put “Frontline” on themap. The program got the highest ratingsof any public affairs documentaryin the history of PBS.But just as we rode the rocket up, wealso rode it down. In that tension betweengood filmmaking and good journalism,many believed the filmmaking(some of it artful but sensational) gotthe best of the journalism. The programwas savaged by TV critics, sportsfans, and many journalists. The highlyrespected television critic of the LosAngeles Times, Howard Rosenberg, saidthe program was sufficiently flawed tobring into question the continued existenceof the series itself.Then, the very next week, we redeemedourselves with “88 Seconds inGreensboro,” a dark southern taleabout the Ku Klux Klan and a shootoutwith some communist party membersin Greensboro, North Carolina.Nieman Reports / Fall 2001 51

The Documentary and JournalismRosenberg, writing again in the LosAngeles Times, said perhaps he’d signaledthe death knell too early for“Frontline,” and that this film showedreal promise for the series. For ourmoney, in “88 Seconds” the real “Frontline”had emerged. Both films, by theway, were produced and directed byBill Cran (CBC, BBC). In “Greensboro,”the writer Jim Reston’s spare narrationand Bill’s instinct for narrativestorytelling neatly matched. Now weknew what a “Frontline” looked likeand where our journalistic aspirationsshould be aimed.Over the years, the combination ofwriter and filmmaker has yielded someof the most powerful “Frontline” documentaries:Richard Ben Cramer andTom Lennon’s biographies of BillClinton and President George Bush,“The Choice;” Bill Greider and SherryJones’s “Washington Behind ClosedDoors,” and their series on democracy.Peter J. Boyer and I have collaboratedon a dozen stories ranging from Wacoto Whitewater; Reston, Cramer, Griederand Boyer appeared in the films—butthey were hardly correspondents inthe classic network model. Their contributionswere intellectual, structuraland collaborative. True to Fanning’soriginal promise, the producers havealways been the leaders of the teams,and the task of blending narrative, structureand content has always been ourprovince. And, perhaps most importantly,those relationships have beendeveloped personally, not imposed institutionally.During these years, other modelsfor classic “Frontlines” have emerged:Ofra Bikel’s extensive body of work,including her stunning investigationof the allegations of child abuse inEdenton, North Carolina; MarkObenhaus’s trilogy about life in Chester,Pennsylvania, including the riveting“Abortion Clinic,” and DavidSutherland’s epic six-hour mini-series,“The Farmer’s Wife.” “Frontline” hasalso thrived on the investigative workof producers like Lowell Bergman andMarty Smith and the quirky films ofMarian Marzynski. In every one of theseprograms, the competing demands offilmmaking and journalism have beenthe central challenge.Itching to try my hand at producing/directing and writing my own“Frontlines,” I left the senior producerjob in 1987. Since then I’ve made morethan 30 documentaries for “Frontline,”each and every time struggling to getthe balance between good filmmakingand good journalism just right. Whileevery experienced “Frontline” producerhas his or her own method (that’spart of the beauty of what Fanningcreated), I have some rules of my ownparticular road.I live and breathe in the world ofcharacter-driven narrative. I also lovechasing a story everybody in the packthinks is dead and buried. If it has greatcharacters and a story arc—and if thejournalism circus has come and gone—my team (co-producers Rick Young andJim Gilmore, correspondent PeterBoyer) and I turn the gravestone overand look for the things everybodymissed: The Branch Davidian siege inWaco, Texas, turned out to be at leastpartly about an internal struggle withinthe FBI; Whitewater wasn’t just about“a failed land deal” but also about asuccessful one named Castle Grande(speaking of character-driven narratives!);The Chief of Naval OperationsMike Borda’s suicide wasn’t just aboutsome bogus medals of valor but aboutthe struggle between men and womenat the pinnacle of the Navy’s all-maleculture—the fighter pilots; the so-calledlargest police corruption scandal inthe history of Los Angeles, Rampart,was really about a supercharged racialclimate and a very slick misdirection bya cop and his buddies nabbed in acocaine bust. The list goes on.There are, naturally, limitations tothe method. While we unearth documents,new footage, and fresh insights,I’m not really in the business of tryingto make or especially break news (that’sfor my colleagues Marty Smith andLowell Bergman). Because the storiesaren’t happening at the same time asI’m shooting them, the cinéma véritéstyle (the stunning access of filmmakerson the spot) isn’t, as they say, in mytoolbox. So I’ve developed a skill rarelytalked about in so-called serious discussionsabout broadcast journalism: Iactually direct my films. I think aboutimage systems, lighting, scene setting,mood and music.When I can, I employ the devices,film grammar, and time-honored structuralsense of Hollywood movies. Iknow that sentence shocks my moresober colleagues, and it’s often thecause of spirited debates inside “Frontline,”but the truth is, in order to tellmy stories, I’m pushing the boundaries—andchallenging the conventionsof straight-up-and-down documentaries.So in that “Frontline” strugglebetween style and substance, I findmyself paying attention to the filmmakingas much as to the journalism.In the two decades that I’ve spenttrying to hone the craft, I am mostproud of the films that raise questions,inspire debate, and sometimes evenchange policy. Critics don’t always likethe films, but audiences seem to—theyare consistently among the highestrated “Frontlines.” But these aspirations—andoutcomes—are not minealone. As my dear friend and colleagueDavid Fanning and I—after several decadesin the business and suitably lessnaive—now say, this business, if doneright, doesn’t get any easier. It getsharder—harder to stay the seriouscourse in a television environment solittered with less. Harder to find themoney but, most importantly, harderto satisfy our own quest for the perfect“Frontline.” ■“Frontline” has won the Gold Batonand several silver batons from theduPont-Columbia awards, sixGeorge Foster Peabody Awards, anddozens of Emmys. Michael Kirk, a1980 Nieman Fellow, has won hisfair share of those awards as aproducer/director, as well as twoWriters Guild of America Awards. Henow serves as a consulting seniorproducer to “Frontline” and producestwo films each season as anindependent producer.Mike_Kirk@wgbh.org52 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Moving Pictures: Television and FilmWhere Journalism and Television Documentary MeetConnecting with viewers ‘through personal stories and subjective approaches.’By Cara MertesDocumentary journalism is aliveand well, contrary to reports ofits early demise. Yes, funding isextremely difficult to obtain, and broadcastseven harder to achieve. Of thehundreds of documentaries made eachyear, most never get beyond family,friends and the core interested constituencies.But at “P.O.V.,” PBS’s nonfictionshowcase, where I am the executiveproducer, we are seeing moreand more documentaries that handilymeet the criteria of journalism.Journalists, like the French with theirlanguage, are highly protective of theirunique domain. Their job is unusual.The social function journalism fills involvesa combination of expertise andtrust, and yet, in the end, the outcomeis inevitably subjective. There are fewhard and fast rules, but many suggestiveguidelines. And journalists are constantlyrefining the definition of theirwork and patrolling the borders oftheir practice for interlopers.Central to determining whethersomething is or isn’t journalism liequestions about truth, accuracy, motivationand fairness. Print journalism’srelationship to these qualities has along and pedigreed history. However,journalism done with words and imagesis relatively new, and deep suspicionremains in many quarters whenjudging a visually based medium interms of its journalistic qualities—particularlymoving images and, more specifically,images broadcast on television.So deep is the power of images tomove us that some believe everythingthey see on television that is presentedas fact. Conversely, knowing the heightenedpower words and images have tomanipulate, some trust in little or nothingthey see represented as mainstreamnews today.Both responses are extremes, butpassions have always run deep when itcomes to questions about truth andmedia—particularly when pictures areinvolved. Writing about photographyonly 30 years after its invention, OliverWendell Holmes, Sr., in a much-quoted1859 essay, was the first to identifyphotography’s delicate dance with veracity.“Every conceivable object ofNature and Art will soon scale off itssurface for us,” Holmes wrote. “Menwill hunt all curious, beautiful, grandobjects as they hunt cattle in SouthAmerica for their skins and leave thecarcasses of little worth.” This is anaggressive image, describing a worldwhere content would always be sacrificedin the search for the most “curious,beautiful and grand” surface.Holmes’ statement is remarkablyprescient. In today’s television journalism,ever-new marketing goals andrevenue-generating practices have becomethe standard by which all similarproducts are judged. These approachesfrequently clash with journalism’s goalto seek out and report informative,meaningful, verifiable stories about theworld we live in. Yet surfaces dominateand content suffers daily in the broadcastjournalist’s world. And it’s not as ifthis is an entirely new phenomenon.Certainly, we can look back on “thegood old days” when television newsbroadcasters worked with journalistson regular, in-depth, well funded productionsabout important social issuesand didn’t expect fact-finding to getmixed up with moneymaking. That eraproduced such classics as “Harvest ofShame.” Of course, Edward R. Murrowcomplained of corporate interferencein his work in the late 1950’s and early’60’s, so the tension between journalisticideals and the reality of daily workplacepolitics is not new. Nevertheless,a fairly recent, radical shift has beenwidely noted in both the practice andreception of journalism.Gone, too, are the days when what isprinted is taken as “the truth,” or atleast generally believed, and what appearsas news on television or radio isactually believed to be news by a skepticalaudience. Today’s journalists workunder a cloud of public cynicism, pullingextra weight just to convince theiraudiences that their story is important,truthful and worth devoting time to.They work against the increasing timepressures on Americans, the innumerablemedia distractions passing as newsor its close cousin, infotainment. Beyondthe still-thriving “60 Minutes,”broadcast documentary specifically hasbeen relegated to the infinitely crosslinkedand cross-promoted human-intereststories on “Dateline,” “20/20,”and other news and magazine shows.Despite these much decried developments,or perhaps, ironically, becauseof them, journalism has seennew forms emerge in recent years,forms which attempt to connect withviewers through personal stories andovertly subjective approaches. Thesenew forms don’t raise the same questionsor suspicions that the use of “objectivity”as a format invites.Using this approach, journalists seethemselves as active participants, attemptingto connect with communities,to rejuvenate a sense of citizenry,to promote the operations of democracy,and even to suggest possible solutionsto problems. Some refer to this aspublic or civic journalism, or journalismwith a problem-solving focus. It iswithin this rubric that many of thepoint-of-view documentaries aboutcontemporary social issues shown onPBS’s “P.O.V.” find their home.After 14 years on the air, “P.O.V.” ishome to many journalists-turned-film-Nieman Reports / Fall 2001 53

The Documentary and Journalismmakers. They have come to public television,often from commercial media(print and broadcast), for a chance toexplore their stories from an explicitperspective, to work over a long periodof time—sometimes as long as adecade—and for the chance to havetotal editorial control.Through their work, “P.O.V.” showcasesmuch-needed antidotes to thesuperficiality endemic in so muchbroadcast media today. The work oftwo such filmmakers is airing in the“P.O.V.” 2001 series: “Scout’s Honor,”by Tom Shepard, and “In The Light ofReverence,” by Toby McLeod, co-producedby Malinda Maynor. These serveas examples of the kind of carefullycrafted films that have expanded thecraft of journalism into documentariesso effectively that “P.O.V.” has beenable to pioneer new approaches toaudience engagement around boththeir online and on-air broadcasts.“P.O.V.” was created in recognitionof the power that nonfiction film has inpromoting civic dialogue and aroundcontroversial issues of common concern.Race and identity (“Blacks andJews,” “Tongues Untied,” “First PersonPlural”), health (“The Vanishing Line,”“Complaints of a Dutiful Daughter”),labor (“Roger and Me”), education(“Fear and Learning at Hoover Elementary”)are just a small sampling of thespectrum of topics more than 160 filmshave covered.“Scout’s Honor” profiles the workof Petaluma, California, Boy ScoutSteven Cozza who, at the age of 12,cofounded “Scouting for All,” an organizationworking to change the statedBoy Scout policy of excluding openlygay members. The PBS broadcast stirredup a protest among several conservativegroups adamantly opposed to notonly the message of the film but thebroadcast itself. People were drawn toprotest by the claim that PBS shouldnot be allowed to use taxpayer moneyto air point-of-view films. If the filmisn’t objective, they argued, it must bepropaganda. The first is a familiar logicthat quickly dead-ends if applied to allof the uses of taxpayer money. And thecharge of subjectivity goes to the heartof what is or isn’t journalism.“P.O.V.” and PBS accepted the filmprecisely on its merits as a fairly andaccurately compiled story. It is a thoroughlyresearched, well-documentedpiece, and the filmmaker had approachedthe Boy Scouts numeroustimes requesting an interview, but wasrefused. As Shephard explains, “Because‘Scout’s Honor’ takes a positiondoes not disqualify it as a piece ofjournalism. Quite the contrary: [I] tookgreat pains to employ high standardsof journalism—rigorous document andarchival research, broad coverage ofToday’s journalistswork under a cloudof publiccynicism….events and subjects, sensitivity tointerviewees, special attention to thetime necessary to comprehensively tellstories, engaged filmmaker/subject rapport.Ultimately, the test of ‘fairness’and ‘accuracy’ is in the material; howdoes the filmmaker present the materialhe or she researches and collects?Does it fairly represent the positions ofthe characters who posit that information?Does it honor the integrity of thefilm’s subjects and events?”McLeod’s film, “In The Light of Reverence,”takes a different tack. Coveringthe story of three different locationswhere Native and non-Nativecommunities are struggling over theuse of lands sacred to the Native tribes,he uses journalistic techniques to focuson community and individual responsesto the legal, tribal and economicrepercussions of thesecontroversies.Less personality driven than issuefocused,the film nevertheless makesclear its goal of educating non-Nativesabout Native concerns. Meticulouslyresearched and constructed, McLeodsays, “My goal was to report a complexstory of clashing world views accuratelyand fairly. It took 10 years tomake the film so it’s obviously differentfrom daily deadline journalism and, ofthe two sides we portrayed, our commitmentto clearly expressing the Native-Americanpoint of view might causesome to call it a ‘sympathetic treatment.’But I feel strongly that it is apiece of journalism.”Both of these films used personal(and therefore subjective) testimonyextensively. More than this, the filmsoverall, because of their emphasis oncertain characters or circumstances,support particular interpretations ofthe events. These techniques draw theviewer in and give them different waysto identify with the issue. Yet thisdoesn’t destroy their claim as journalism.On the contrary, a point-of-viewdocumentary is an incredibly powerfultool to bring people to stories andexperiences they would otherwisenever be exposed to, in ways that notonly interest them intellectually butmove them emotionally. Often peoplereexamine assumptions and attitudesin response to seeing these films.At “P.O.V.,” we encourage viewerresponse through online dialogues,specially produced Web sites, and atoll-free number. Our broadcasts haveresulted in tremendous outpouringsof sympathy for subjects of a film, offersof resources, in-depth discussions,and activities in response to the issuesportrayed. We’ve also seen how discerningviewers are when assessingwhether a film is fair and accurate.While not every “P.O.V.” is journalism,or made by a journalist, the films—exploring the many and complex truthsof our lives—generate a tremendousresponse and illustrate powerful andconvincing arguments for keepingdocumentary journalism as a mainstayin American media. ■Cara Mertes is executive producer of“P.O.V.,” a project of AmericanDocumentary, Inc. Mertes is also anaward-winning producer/directorand has published in several mediajournals. She is a contributing editorto The Independent.Mertes@pov.org54 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Using Documentaries to Move People to ActionFilms serve as powerful catalysts for the Television Race Initiative.Moving Pictures: Television and FilmBy Ellen SchneiderStorytelling has brought communitiestogether and enabled themto pass on knowledge since thedawn of time. Yet only recently havewe, using television, begun to tap theenormous power of stories to stir collectiveaction. A finely wrought documentarycan set pulses racing—strikingan emotional chord elusive to otherforms of journalism.Viewers called “P.O.V.,” the PublicBroadcasting System’s independentdocumentary series, to say that “Rabbitin the Moon,” Emiko Omori’s firstpersonmemoir on the internment ofJapanese Americans during World WarII, helped themraise painful buriedissues with parentswho had beenimprisoned. Otherswrote to saythat a documentaryon AIDS motivatedthem to volunteerat ahospice. And themost successfulstories resonateacross racial andclass lines. When“Frontline” aired apiece on the SATand meritocracy,students from themost privilegedgroup—organizedby a whitehigh-school studentin California who was incensed bywhat he learned—traveled to Sacramentoto oppose standardized teststhat gave them an unfair advantage.I’m fascinated by these reactions,having long wondered how these rawresponses of individuals lead to publicconversations, sustained inquiry, oreven citizen engagement. At a timewhen media images are so ubiquitous,our challenge is to transform visualessays into energizing resources, onesthat people not only reflect on, but acton, ones that move them from beingpassive consumers to active participants.Today, facilitated by relatively cheapdigital cameras and editing systems,scores of filmmakers are painstakinglyresearching subjects that mainstreammedia ignore. They’re asking toughquestions, searching for truth in claustrophobicediting rooms, and resistingpressure to dumb down their stories.A young woman comments after a community screening of “Digital Divide,” a TelevisionRace Initiative documentary.Some cobble together the financial supportto finish their work. A still smallernumber find a national broadcast fortheir documentaries on one of fewoutlets for long-form journalism.Understanding the potential suchprogramming holds, in 1998 the FordFoundation provided me with supportto experiment with a media model thatI called the Television Race Initiative(TRI). Since then, I’ve been workingwith a small team of facilitators andtrainers to help a handful of communitiesand the public television stationsthat serve them use documentaries aspowerful catalysts for addressing arange of local issues in which race is afactor.The programs we’ve supported havebeen scheduled for broadcast on PBSand have ranged from long-form reportagesuch as “Facing the Truth withBill Moyers,” his unflinching look atSouth Africa’s Truth and ReconciliationCommission, toOrlando Bagwell’sepic series, “Africansin America,” to an upcomingseries, “TheNew Americans,”from the makers of“Hoop Dreams.”With support fromthe John D. andCatherine T.MacArthur Foundation,we’re now alsoworking with documentariesthat dealwith issues beyondrace, such as mentalillness, the experienceof being an adolescentgirl, andhandgun violence.At TRI, we havetwo principal challenges:to identify documentaries andworks in progress with the power toopen up new ways of thinking aboutrace or other neglected, critical andcontentious issues, and to find ways oftransforming raw individual responsesinto some group sensibility or conversation.We make a deliberate effort, inNieman Reports / Fall 2001 55

The Documentary and JournalismBay Area youth act on what they’ve seen in “Digital Divide.”both cases, to work with asmulticultural and diversegroups as possible—and,more importantly, the institutionsthat representthem.In the process, we havefound that the most effectivefilms have an emotionalhonesty and personal voicethat invite viewers to enterinto a sort of relationshipwith the filmmaker. Whenwe screened “P.O.V.”/Deann Borshay’s film, “FirstPerson Plural,” about herU.S. adoption from Korea,for a “brain trust” ofmulticultural leaders, welearned that it resonatednot only among peoplewho had adopted childrenfrom other nations, butamong Native Americanswho protested the placementof children from thereservation into urban families.To explore ways inwhich these documentariesmight result in actionwithin specific communities,we seek advice from avariety of groups. We alsoseek partners in commercialand print media, foundations,faith-based organizations,and communitygroups to host sneak previews,community dialogues,and events that help build longtermalliances.All of these elements came togetherin “Well-Founded Fear,” ShariRobertson and Michael Camerini’sstunning, two-hour film about the processof applying for political asylum.Filmed almost entirely in offices of theU.S. Immigration and NaturalizationService (INS), it focused on eachperson’s effort to persuade an officerof a “well-founded fear of persecutionon grounds of race, religion, nationality,membership in a particular socialgroup, or political opinion” in his orher home country. In case after harrowingcase, a single interview determinedwho would stay in the UnitedStates and who would be sent home.Our work with community leadersprior to the June 2000 broadcast of thisdocumentary on “P.O.V.” assured awide range of responses afterwards. Inthe San Francisco Bay area, a group ofclergy decided to meet with INS officialsin an attempt to improve conditionsin the holding areas and officeswhere those interviews took place. InNorth Carolina, asylum attorneys receivedoffers from other lawyers towork pro bono on asylum cases. InMinnesota’s Twin Cities, a communityin which 75 languages are spoken, theprogram was the hook for organizeddialogues among organizationsthat work withimmigrant and refugeegroups. In every one ofthese communities,conversations emergedabout the “opportunity”to make one’s home inthe United States andabout what this countrycould and should standfor in this new era ofglobalization.Some of the documentaryfilmmakerswho work with us do sobecause they are activistsand want to inspirecollective action. Othersbring a journalisticbackground to theirwork and do not take aposition on how orwhether their work triggersa community response.Regardless ofthe filmmaker’s orientation,our role in workingwith them remainsthe same: We want toencourage well-researchedand powerfuldocumentary work thatoffers people a way toengage in meaningfuldiscussion about complexissues that havesuch an impact on howwe interact with one anotherpersonally andpolitically. At a time when so manyrandom bits of information are thrownat viewers from so many sources, thereis abundant need for places to turnwhere thoughtful, engaging and sometimesprovocative insights can begleaned from visual storytelling. Thoseare the destinations that TRI is trying tocreate. ■Ellen Schneider is executive directorof “Active Voice,” a division ofAmerican Documentary, Inc. Shewas with “P.O.V.” for 10 years, mostrecently as executive producer.ellen@pov.org56 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Moving Pictures: Television and FilmDocumenting Social Ills With an Eye Toward AdvocacyWomen’s health, homophobia, domestic violence, and rape aretopics mainstream media often ignore.By Margaret LazarusMy partner Renner Wunderlichand I approach the documentarieswe produce and directfrom a position of advocacy. Often afilm idea begins as a roaring argumentrelated to an issue that one or the otherof us has been committed to either asan activist or supporter. We are notjournalists, but what we produce arguablyoverlaps, in some respects, withthe ways in which reporters and producersfind and tell stories that touchon important issues of our time.It was during the 1970’s that Rennerand I began producing and directingdocumentaries and public affairs programmingfor commercial television. Itwas a time when women were active inbuilding a “movement,” a time of antinucleardemonstrations and draft registrationopposition. For us, thereseemed too wide of a chasm betweenwhat we saw going on around us andwhat was considered “acceptable” televisionprogramming. We both quit ourjobs and founded a nonprofit organizationwhose mission was essentiallyto create independent media that gavevoice to opinions, ideas and groupsthat were ignored, misrepresented ortrivialized by mainstream media.We were also inspired by the “directcinema” movement from the MassachusettsInstitute of Technology to creatework that did not have the ubiquitousnarrator, the person who told youwhat to think or who neatly framed thediscussion in a “balanced” dance ofpros and cons. This approach acted asif all questions had only two equallyvalid perspectives, as if very limitedcontroversy needed to be resolved in abicameral way. We wanted to createdocumentaries that challenged peopleto argue and express their points ofview rather than passively receive information,believing that the controversyhad been delineated, and thensimply choosing one side or the other.We also unconsciously wanted to reproducethe far-reaching, vociferousarguments, often from many perspectives,that were part of our own learningprocess about critical social issues.As we set out to do our first independentfilm, I was becoming interested inthe growing opposition to radical mastectomy,the lack of adequate medicalresearch on women, over-medicalizedchildbirth, demeaning advertising inmedical publications, unnecessary hysterectomies,and in the growth ofwomen-controlled feminist health centers.All of these interests coalesced inour documentary in an exploration ofthe women’s health movement; ourclear intention was to give “voice” tothis nascent movement.As a journalist might, we spent a lotof time researching and discoveredgroups engaged in similar but mostlyunconnected activities. A commonthread among those people we interviewedwas their resistance to patriarchalmedical practices. While we agreedwith this sentiment (and wanted ourviewers to feel the same way), frequentlywe decided not to include commentaryby those whose research couldnot be independently verified.Another journalistic approach mighthave been to document the absence ofsupporting evidence among the groupswe, in the end, didn’t include, but ourbelief was that there was already a greatdeal of discounting of the women’shealth movement, largely backed bythe mainstream medical profession.What we saw as our mission was todocument the serious and increasingefforts of women to regain control oftheir bodies from powerful forceswithin the medical community.“Taking Our Bodies Back: TheWomen’s Health Movement,” our firstdocumentary, generated great controversy.It was disqualified from theAmerican Film Festival because membersof the medical category jury believedthat challenging radical mastectomieswas promoting dangerousmedical advice. It was not shown inmedical schools and hospitals outsideof coastal urban areas, but its distributionwas supported by the BostonWomen’s Health Book Collective, authorsof “Our Bodies, Ourselves.” Theygave us their mailing list with the namesof organizations that purchased multiplecopies of the book, and we used itto get out word of our film.Often our topics emerge out of oureveryday experiences, as well as ourcuriosity. Our 1982 film, “Pink Triangles,”about homophobia, emergedfrom an extended family argumentabout lesbians and gay men. Rennerand I were surprised to hear otherwise“progressive” people feeling perfectlyokay about labeling gays “abnormal,” aterm they would have been uncomfortableapplying to other social groups.This seemed a useful topic to explore.We began our usual research processseeking out educators and activistsengaged with this particular issue. Wethen decided to create a nine-member“collective” of lesbian, gay, bisexualand straight men and women to producethis documentary about homophobia.In the past, Renner and I have beensolely responsible for both the contentand form of our work, but in the spiritof this project we believed the subjectwould be best served by opening theprocess to people with direct experience.For a year we met weekly anddivided up the research. By consensus,we came up with a rough plan of whataspects of homophobia were importantto include, then agreed on potentialinterviewees and image segments.After film was shot, we reduced theNieman Reports / Fall 2001 57

The Documentary and Journalismtranscript to file cards and as a grouparranged and rearranged the sequences.Even though this process tooksix months, it was the only way all nineof us could participate in the editingbecause there were too many of us touse the small film-editing table.Renner and I were the only membersof the group who had any priorfilmmaking experience, and often thegroup deferred to our ideas about filmsubjects, interviewing and editing. Butwe’d never been on the receiving endof homophobia and deferred to others’ideas about the relative importanceof particular issues, the credibilityof interviewees, and the significanceof the statements they made. We lovedthis collective process and sought itout again when we produced otherfilms.“Defending Our Lives,” our 1993documentary about the magnitude andseverity of domestic violence, began asa request from Stacey Kabat, an advocatefor the victims of domestic violence.Stacey and I were part of awomen’s organization, and she toldme about her work at a local prison.She had found a group of female inmateswho were incarcerated for killingtheir abusers, and she wanted sometaped interviews from them that shecould send to a national conference ondomestic violence. She thought thatthis was important because domesticviolence organizations were not particularlyreceptive to hearing aboutthese women. Cases like theirs generateda great deal of controversy evenwithin women’s advocacy organizations.Renner and I went to the MassachusettsCorrectional Institution atFramingham to make an unedited tapefor this conference. We left knowingthat we had to make a film about thesewomen’s stories and about how severea problem domestic violence is. Staceybecame a co-producer and co-directorwith us, and she went on to found anorganization that worked actively forthe release of these incarceratedwomen. Using a human rights model,she also began to document, on a regionallevel, the extraordinary numberof women who were killed by theirabusers. Renner, Stacey and I clearlywanted to support the efforts to reducedomestic violence. But otherswho shared these goals had questionsabout applying the idea of self-defenseto the actions of women who killedtheir abusers.Debate raged within our productiongroup as well. Was there such athing as justifiable homicide? Did thewomen we were about to interviewbelieve their lives to be in danger andfelt they had no other option but tokill? Was battered woman syndrome areasonable legal option? Or should thefocus be self-defense? Most important,how did this relatively small number ofwomen who killed their abusers relateto the thousands of women and familymembers who were being killed everyyear by batterers?We spent a great deal of time witheach woman and independently investigatedwhat she said. No academic orlegal experts were asked to commentin the film on their innocence or guilt.Though we had to edit many hours ofinterviews into a 30-minute film, wedid not cut out sections that wouldreflect poorly on their credibility. Ourediting goal was to convey to the viewerthe essence of their experience.As expected, this documentary alsogenerated controversy. Despite winningan Academy Award, “DefendingOur Lives” was rejected for broadcastby PBS because “one of the members ofthe production team [Stacey] was amember of an advocacy organization[Battered Women Fighting Back, composedof Stacey and eight incarceratedwomen] who had a vested interest inthe subject of the documentary.” Ofcourse, the irony of this is that PBS airscountless programs produced byformer and future industry consultantsand political operatives. I believewhat PBS really objected to was the factthat our bias was not hidden behind acareful selection of experts and a “proand con” narration. What we thought,as its producers, was up-front and obviousfor the viewer to support or reject.Bias in mainstream media is somethingwe’ve addressed in a series ofdocumentaries. “Beyond Killing UsSoftly,” produced in 2000, exploresthe connection between negative representationsof women and girls in themedia and their sense about themselves,their body image, and possibleconnections to violence againstwomen. Clearly, this film was not aboutpresenting the good and bad and arrivingat some kind of consensus opinion.We were tackling head-on what we sawas embedded ideology in media images,then commenting on them fromthe perspective of recent writings aboutgirls’ and women’s psychological developmentby researchers such as Drs.Carol Gilligan, Valerie Batts, andCatherine Steiner-Adair.We are currently in production on adocumentary about rape. Our approachis to explore new developments, suchas the first-ever classification of rape asa war crime by the International CriminalTribunal in The Hague. Rape as acrime against humanity has now foundacceptance when rape is committed asan act of war. But what about rape byan acquaintance or the rape of a childby a family member? As in the past, wewill do the research necessary to makecertain our potential subjects are credibleand honest. Once they pass thatscrutiny, we will not alter their storiesto make them more believable or appropriate.As with all of our documentaries, noone watching will emerge from theexperience not knowing our viewpointas producers and as advocates. If objectivityand balance are the test ofjournalism, then our work doesn’tqualify. But if fairness and solid reportingare the benchmarks of journalists’work, then our work as documentarianshas a home in this community ofthose whose job it is to question whatwe see and hear around us. ■Margaret Lazarus is an independentdocumentary filmmaker who worksin Massachusetts. The films she hasproduced and directed with RennerWunderlich include, among others,the “Killing Us Softly” series, “Strongat the Broken Places” (1998), and“Defending Our Lives” (1993).cdf@shore.net58 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Long-Form Documentaries Serve aVital Journalistic RoleToday’s complexities don’t fit into tidy news magazine packages.By Robert RichterMoving Pictures: Television and FilmIf the famous Edward R. Murrow/Fred Friendly documentary aboutSenator Joseph McCarthy had beenmerely a 10- or 12-minute segment of anewsmagazine show, the Wisconsin“Commie-hunter” today might rivalStrom Thurmond as the oldest memberof the U.S. Senate. Instead, thatone-hour McCarthy exposé is creditedby historians with helping put the nailin the political coffin of a man, and theera named after him, for his demagogicways. It is a great example of the adageabout an informed citizenry being necessaryfor democracy to work.I found the McCarthy investigationso powerful when I first saw it back inthe 1950’s that I swore to myself Iwould do everything I could to becomea Murrow/Friendly documentaryproducer. In my youthful fervor I hadno doubt I was destined to becomepart of their team. It took 10 years formy dream to become reality.I believed then, and still do, that thebest of those CBS documentary hoursexemplified one of the most importantways of alerting people to the vitalissues and realities of their time. I remainconvinced that a major responsibilityof broadcast journalism is topresent this kind of documentary programming,especially in today’s increasinglycomplex world.Of course, that McCarthy programwas telecast when there were only threeor four channels to choose among.With fewer television choices it was alot easier to get the nation’s attention.Today, with the explosion of communicationstechnologies, media mergers,specialized cable outlets, and thegrowing role of the Internet, it is virtuallyimpossible to expect Americans tosit up and take national notice of almostanything except scandal.The media masters who controlbroadcast journalism are failing in theirincredibly important responsibility ofinforming the American people aboutmajor issues in meaningful ways. Itclearly is more essential for Americansto learn about and understand tough,complex realities than to be dumbeddown to with a million pieces of commerciallyprofitable trivia that fill theairwaves.As a broadcast journalist, I love thechallenge of “connecting the dots” sothat the big picture is revealed and theaudience can gain greater insights intowhat is a prime mission of journalism:to report on how important institutionsreally work—and why. That’sbecome my mission, as well.The first two-hour documentary onPBS’s “Nova” was my “A Plague on OurChildren.” It was about toxic wasteslike dioxin and PCB’s, how they arecreated and how communities aroundthe country (Love Canal et al.) weretrying to deal with these poisons. Theprogram raised so many industry hacklesthat a Wall Street Journal editorialquestioned my patriotism. This effortto inform, explain and question whatwas happening and why won a duPont-Columbia Broadcast Journalism award.Similar documentary efforts I’vemade tackled other perplexing problemsand did so in ways that revealedthe complexities of both the actionsand potential consequences.• A two-hour PBS independent special,“Can Tropical Rainforests beSaved?” traced the complicatedcauses and effects of what it meansto try to save these extraordinaryforests.• A 90-minute PBS presentation, “Hungryfor Profit,” peered into globalagribusiness and how it affects farmers,consumers and the land in Asia,Africa and Latin America.• “Do Not Enter: the Visa War AgainstIdeas” explored the McCarran WalterAct’s denial of U.S. visas on politicalgrounds to a variety of individuals inmany countries.• “For Export Only” investigated theexport to the developing world ofpesticides and pharmaceuticals thatare banned for use in our part of theworld. It also won a duPont-Columbiaaward.Each of these documentaries beganwith a central premise: a belief there isjournalistic value in “thinking globally”and comprehensively demonstratinghow people are affected and act inthese kinds of situations.Today there probably is no betterway to reach a large audience with vitalinformation than with Ed Bradley, SteveKroft, Morley Safer, Mike Wallace, LeslieStahl, and the rest of that venerable “60Minutes” news team. They representpresent-day broadcast journalism at itsbest. But I am certain that each ofthem—and Andy Rooney—would acknowledgethat the format they employis not the only way, or even thebest way, to deal with some issues. Attimes, it seems, they are trapped in astyle of reporting that exploits whothey are more than it reveals the subjectsthey cover. Show business hasalways been an element of broadcastjournalism and, while it probably alwayswill be, there are other valid andvaluable ways to deal with what journalismshould be about, ways that havegotten lost in the quest for ratings andprofits.The world is not getting simpler tounderstand, but most of those whoNieman Reports / Fall 2001 59

The Documentary and Journalismcontrol what is reported are not interestedin complexity. The reason: Tomake what is complicated able to beunderstood, and potentially actedupon, eats up valuable airtime. Thereare incredibly important issues, suchas the debates about global warming,or ethical dilemmas such as stem cellresearch, that deserve major attentionand are ill-suited for today’s shorternews magazine segment, a format designedto incite rather than provideinsight. The result: Virtually all oftoday’s broadcast journalists eithercompletely ignore in-depth stories onsuch issues or touch on only a peripheralor sensational angle.There are all kinds of prime-timetelevision shows today that cover snippetsof reality, and the commercialsuccess of “60 Minutes” or its manyclones, ranging from their own “60Minutes II” to “Dateline” to “InsideEdition,” can’t be ignored. But too oftentheir “investigations” are little morethan “featurettes.” What the long-form,prime-time documentary offers is theunique opportunity to weave togetherfacts and present patterns of activity—in short, to create an understandablecontext—that simply cannot be as reliablyconstructed or communicated inbriefer segments. The public deservesand needs to know more than they canlearn in isolated presentations of news.To take one example, there is a littleknown and often hidden history connectedto what the World Bank, InternationalMonetary Fund (IMF), andWorld Trade Organization (WTO) havebeen doing, good or bad, and theiractions that affect billions of people.Since November 1999, more than 50protests about their policies have takenplace in more than 15 countries withwell over one million people protestingthose policies. They’re not all looniesor radical anarchists as one mightconclude from watching snippets ofbroadcast reporting, in which demonstratorsare seen breaking down fencesand the police are seen responding.These pictures and sound bites havebeen squeezed into 60-second orshorter news reports, one demonstrationat a time, wherever in the world ithas happened.Is this good enough? Do these reportshelp viewers understand whatthe real issues are that these people areprotesting? Do they tell us who is behindthe protests and what links protestinggroups in different countries?And what do these protests mean forAmericans? It is increasingly dangerousto claim the American public is notinterested in learning more about theseglobal power brokers and their dissenters.And if the public was to beginto understand how these issues fit together,they will have more interest inlearning how the World Bank, IMF andWTO policies and practices affect themand other countries and what othersare doing about it. When, as citizens,we don’t know how major institutionslike these really work—and their powerfuleffect on the lives of ordinarypeople—we are unable to play the necessaryrole of watchdog that our democracydemands.Focusing on one country, making itrepresentative of the issue, could be aninteresting approach, but that ignoresa major aspect of the story: The patternof actions by these financial giants isglobal in nature and should be understoodin global terms. Investigatingand documenting that pattern is a journalisticchallenge. More than 10 yearsago, before the protests, I took on thatchallenge, but PBS said my documentaryhad “a bias in favor of the poor”and wouldn’t run it. But that 90-minutedocumentary, “The Money Lenders,”ran in prime time all over WesternEurope, the Middle East and LatinAmerica, and is still being seen at hundredsof universities all over the UnitedStates.Another example: The Bush Administrationhas been calling for morenuclear power to relieve what theyclaim is an energy crisis. Since thatWhite House plea, has anyone in televisionput together a documentary onhow nuclear power really works, how“safe” it has been or may be in thefuture, and what can be done to copewith the radioactive materials that areaccumulating? A skilled producer andeditor might tackle aspects of this storyin a shorter format, but to present thisstory with a well-rounded and clearaccount would require, in my view, atleast an hour.In the mid-1970’s, I examined thesequestions for the PBS “Nova” series,and the manufacturers of nuclearpower plants tried to keep my reportoff the air. One of those manufacturers,General Electric, now owns NBC.For viewers who saw my documentary,“Incident at Browns Ferry,” the disastersa few years later at Three MileIsland and Chernobyl would not havebeen a surprise.PBS, the last bastion of the occasionallong-form documentary, is tornbetween airing an occasional gutsydocumentary and trying to build audiences.Perhaps there should be twoPBS networks. One would be gearedtoward entertainment and audienceratings, and its profits would fund theother, which would be for ITVS [IndependentTelevision Service] and otherindependent programs. This wouldprovide a home for the many issuesthat PBS now will not squeeze into itsratings-driven schedule.In a nation in which the quality ofpublic education has been arguablydeclining, there must be more airtimemade available for long-form documentariesthat focus on the vital issues ofour time, regardless of the possibleshort-term loss in advertising revenue.Only with this kind of responsible reportingcan democracy be made towork better for all of us. ■Robert Richter is the last producerfrom the Murrow/Friendly “CBSReports” unit actively making documentaries,long-form when possible.A former New York Times reporter,his documentaries also have been onNBC, ABC, PBS, TBS and Discovery.Three were duPont-Columbia BroadcastJournalism award-winners andtwo received the Science JournalismAward from the American Associationfor the Advancement of Science.Information about his documentariescan be found atwww.richtervideos.com.RichterVideos@aol.com60 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Moving Pictures: Television and FilmUsing the Drama of Cinéma Vérité to Tell Real StoriesIt often conveys news, but is it journalism?By Chris HegedusSince the mid-1970’s, I’ve collaboratedwith D.A. Pennebaker onmovies that follow the drama ofreal life stories. Being immersed inpeople’s lives when they’re doing whatthey care passionately about, when risksare great and stakes are high, is a thrillingadventure. Whether our “cinémavérité” filmmaking approach is relatedto what journalists do, I’m not sure.But what we share with every reporteris the desire to pursue and tell realstories. And how our films portray thesestories seems quite similar to how narrativejournalists convey theirs.My first film job was photographingburn surgery for a doctor regarded asone of the best in his field. Suddenly Iwas thrust into a world I knew nothingabout, and I realized that my camerawas granting me access to situations Iwould never normally have been allowedto watch. The operating roomwas raw, chaotic, intense and oftenfunny. But I was not there to evoke thekind of drama seen on ER: My job wasto record accurately, as only the cameracan, the surgical processes so theycould be later studied. I was showingwhat happened as it happened and nottrying to recall it with words.Yet the natural drama of the operatingroom—its tension broken by occasionaljokes—was not lost on me or bythe camera. With neither script noractors, what I was recording was asexciting as anything I had ever watchedon television, with one important addition—itwas not created but real. That’swhen I knew that I wanted to makefilms about real events with charactersthat people could identify with, whospoke naturally rather than memorizingscripted dialogue. There were storieswith an inherent dramatic structure,the kind that writers of fictionstruggle mightily to design.I knew drama was essential to mak-ing films work, so in this respect Iwanted mine to be theatrical. And, likegreat narrative theater, I wanted drama,not information, to be its goal. To createour films, we edit images together,constructing scenes and condensingtime to tell the story. In this sense, ourfilms become works of the imagination,though they are driven by reality.And when they are finished, they takethe audience into situations they couldnever envision without the camera takingthem there.Our films—such as “The War Room”(a portrayal of the political hub of BillClinton’s 1992 presidential campaign)—resemblejournalism becausethe characters we follow are real, notinvented. Our stories happened. Ourcharacters exist. Perhaps the strongestaspect of our method is that we allowthe audience to experience for themselveswhat is taking place in front ofthem. We seldom interview; instead,we let our characters define themselvesby their own words and actions. Thestories follow real time events, withlittle or no narration, and the climaxand resolution are motivated by thedrama inherent in witnessed events.We differ most from journalism inour reluctance to retell the storythrough a narrator, or even a witness,whose version we would have to acceptas the truth. When viewers watch“The War Room,” they are not beingtold what it was like to be in thatsituation. They are there, in that roomalong with James Carville and GeorgeStephanopolous. The film doesn’t tellviewers what to think about Carville; itlets each form an opinion by watchinghim confront people and events.“Startup.com,” a recent film co-directedwith Jehane Noujaim, followsthe adventures of two young aspiringentrepreneurs. Despite the barrage ofstories by journalists about the dotcommania, I think our film caughtpeople’s interest because it put a dynamichuman perspective on the newsstories. Viewers feel as though they arethere with the film’s protagonists asthey raise millions of dollars, thenstruggle to fight off the competitionthat could bring down their fledglingcompany. Some might root for theirsuccess while others might hope fortheir demise. For us, the power of thecamera—peering into lives in ways thatreveal intense emotion—provides allthe explanation their story needs. Thefilm is their story.An aspect of our filmmaking thatsometimes makes journalists uneasy isthe relationship we have with our subjects.What is most important to us isaccess, the kind of open access manypeople are reluctant to offer. Withoutsecuring this access, we’ll be able to donothing that most TV or print journalismdoesn’t already do. This accesscannot be bought. It is a completecompliance between the filmmakersand their protagonists. By letting uswitness their lives, our characters havethe possibility of watching themselvesin their careers when the ride is roughestand their bets the highest. We donot consider our arrangement to beadversarial. We look for people whoknow how to do whatever they do verywell, perhaps better than most.To induce them to allow us intotheir lives, they must trust us. Theymust also be convinced that the film weare making will be their film as well, sowhen we offer to show them the finalversion before its release, which wealways do, we are not asking them tore-edit or remove embarrassing thingsfrom it. We want them to look at it foraccuracy and to point out errors andpossible mistakes that we can correct.The intimacy we were able to capturein “Startup.com” that so intriguedNieman Reports / Fall 2001 61

The Documentary and Journalismaudiences was the result of the accessprovided by Jehane, who had been aroommate of one of our main characters.This sort of situation might easilycompromise the integrity of the film,so we approached the process carefully,aware of the benefits as well asthe pitfalls. However, we remain convincedthat when our characters arefocused on what they are doing, especiallywhen the stakes are high, ourpresence has very little effect on theiractions.Our arrangement with our charactersis almost always a handshake, butin some instances, where the legal riskis high, we have signed agreementslimiting their exposure and ours. In“Startup.com” our agreement with thetwo characters and the corporationlimited their objections to any scenesthat inadvertently revealed companysecrets or something that would bedemonstrably injurious to the companyin a major way. This was a broad,somewhat ambiguous right of approval,but since the company had just raised$60 million—and our subjects wereresponsible to board members and investors—thistype of vetting was necessaryto get the access we needed. Theagreement was risky for us as filmmakers,especially if the subjects had decidedlater on to be uncooperative. Inthe end, the stock market crash workedto our advantage. When the companywent into bankruptcy and was sold weno longer needed to be as concernedabout the company’s right of approval.With “The War Room” we simplyagreed to show the finished film toCarville and Stephanopolous beforewe did anything with it. Our main concernwas with matters of accuracy. Wehad no intention of having them reeditanything else in the film, nor ofcourse would they. No clear-headedpolitician wants to get caught with hishand on the editing machine.As filmmakers, it is crucial to be ableto function independently and not betied to a network. This gives us thefreedom to find and follow the storyand characters as we go along. Forexample, our original intention in “TheWar Room” was to watch a man becomePresident. When it became clearthat access to the candidates (bothGeorge Bush and Bill Clinton) wouldbe limited and that our story would berelegated to the Clinton campaign staff,we were initially discouraged. Howsaleable would a film be about the staffof the losing candidate? It’s always agamble for us because we don’t knowwhat is going to happen. But if we’relucky, a character will emerge who is ascharismatic as James Carville.During that election, the majority ofbroadcasters were content to aim theircameras at candidates walking in andout of hotels and airplanes for nightlynews coverage. We took a differentpath. Our access in “The War Room”was unique because that room was offlimits to the press, so that we had toidentify ourselves as guests and neverstep outside (if we could help it) forfear of not getting back in. In the end,the film was interesting for this veryreason. No one had bothered to tellthis story, and audiences were curiousto see the people who had engineeredthis incredible campaign.It is also important to remain independentin order to film the wholestory and not be pressured to compromisea story because of programmingconstraints. I learned this the hard wayin a film we made for British TV aboutauto entrepreneur John DeLorean, whowas building his stainless steel, gullwingedcar in Northern Ireland. Unfortunately,life does not always progressat a pace that is convenient for broadcastschedules. A month before BritishTV was set to air the DeLorean show,we were warned that something crucialwas going to happen to the company.Unable to reschedule the broadcast,the station aired the show as itwas. A few days later the papers exposeda financial scandal that eventuallydestroyed the company. A yearlater, DeLorean himself was busted fordealing cocaine. Missing the end of thisstory was a painful lesson, one that Idid not want to repeat.“Startup.com” was accepted in theprestigious Sundance Film Festival, avaluable launching forum for independentfilms seeking theatrical distributionand critical exposure. We weredelighted and proceeded to completethe film technically. At this point, ourfilm had a different ending. Within thenext few weeks, it became apparentthat the company was in trouble. Iknew that we had to continue filmingthe story and see our characters throughto the end, even if it meant giving upthe opportunity to launch the film atSundance. The company’s future wasdecided on January 1, two weeks beforethe film festival began. Fortunately,Sundance allowed us to project thefilm in video instead of the normallyrequired 35mm blowup. This was fortuitousbecause not only were we ableto tell the story that happened, but thefestival gave the film the boost it neededto compete in the marketplace.We try to release our films in theaters,where they will be dealt withseriously by film critics and given, wehope, a leg up the highly competitiveladder of distribution. There, peopleexpect to see drama, not news, and thiscreates an aura about the film thathelps in its promotion. A danger of thisstrategy lies in the temptation to overdramatizeour story to help it competewith other films. This, I believe, is preciselythe challenge many in print andTV journalism confront today becauseof demands of ratings and advertising—howto ensure the integrity ofmaterial while pushing for broader distribution.Releasing a film theatrically allowsus to show it the way we intendedartistically, without censorship or editingby layers of management along theway. And theaters do not get the samegovernment scrutiny as radio and television.This is, of course, particularlyimportant for films with politically controversialsubject matter. However, italso affects subjects as apparently harmlessas music. “Monterey Pop,” a filmwe did in 1967 that was funded in partby ABC television, was screened inrough for people at ABC. They deemedJimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin’s performancesunsuitable for family viewingand told us they would not show thefilm on their network. We bought thefilm back and turned to theatrical releaseto earn our expenses back. “Pop”was one of the first concert films tohave a successful theatrical exhibition—62 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Moving Pictures: Television and Filmand launched the careers of Hendrixand Joplin—as well as paving the wayfor the movie “Woodstock.” Ironically,a year later, after a popular theatricalrun, ABC bought the film for showingon their movie hour.Without a theatrical distribution,both “The War Room” and“Startup.com” would not have had suchwide and positive critical response.When looking for funding for thesefilms, all the major networks rejectedour proposal, and in the case of “TheWar Room” we were also turned downby every foundation we turned to, includingthe NEA. Because televisiondid not welcome our independent production,we were forced to film thestories on our own. But with no networkto overrule us, we were also ableto release them ourselves in theaters.Again, this distribution brought a specialvalue to all of their eventual sales.One interesting aspect of distributinga film theatrically is its effect on thefilm’s longevity. After their initial runin theaters, films are often sold to televisionin this country as well as abroad.Home video and DVD extend theirshelf lives for years. Unlike news reportsabout the Clinton campaign orthe Internet revolution, our films areviewed for years, transforming theminto historical retrospectives. And, astime passes, films are seen differently.For example, “The War Room” beginswith Clinton denying an affair withGennifer Flowers. Now that we know,by his own admission, that he did havesuch an affair, the beginning of the filmtakes on a new perspective.“Startup.com” was similarly overtakenby events. When the film was testscreened for the distributor, dot-comswere the epitome of successful investment.By the time the film went intotheatrical distribution six months later,the majority of Internet startups hadfailed. This gave us valuable marketingrelevance; it transformed a “Will theysucceed?” story into one in which everyaction of our young entrepreneursseemed like a prelude to failure.I suspect that our films and journalismshare similar goals. Both want toinform, challenge and move audiences.The art of our work lies in letting audiencesexperience life through the livesof others as seen through the vigilantcamera and the observant eyes andears of the reporter. ■Chris Hegedus is an independentfilmmaker based in New York City.In 1994 “The War Room” was nominatedfor an Academy Award andcited as Best Documentary by theNational Board of Review.“Startup.com” continues to play intheaters around the country andwill be released on video and DVDin the fall. Her company’s Web site isPennebakerHegedusFilms.com.Penneheg@aol.comDocumentary Filmmakers Decide How to PresentCompelling EvidenceUsing film to tell a story changes nearly everything.By Michael RabigerSimilarities abound between thereporting methods used by documentaryfilmmakers and printjournalists. But the results are regardeddifferently, with more people believingthe documentary is more objective.The information on the screen oftenseems unmediated and more reliable.This perception is in part a holdoverfrom television’s early years when itselder statesmen—Edward R. Murrow,Walter Cronkite—assumed the stanceof objectivity. Documentary alsoseemed impartial because an inanimateinstrument like a movie camera, taking“truth 24 times a second,” seemed incapableof deception. Film (includingvideo) is always in the present tense,while print journalism tends to residein the reflective past tense.But this perception of impartialityomits the human element. It is, afterall, a human decision—an insertion ofsubjectivity—that places a camera in aparticular location, chooses a lens bywhich to render space and perspective,selects a recording medium, eachwith its own bias in color and contrast,and decides when to turn the cameraon. In the editing room, there arechoices to be made about what materialis significant and the order andjuxtaposition of segments on thescreen.Documentary journalists use a varietyof techniques to try to effectivelybring viewers into contact with a subject,whether it be famine, family ordeals,or farmers confronting hoof-andmouthdisease. At the core of any approachis the presentation of compellingevidence, and this evidence can begathered differently. Filmmakers workingon issue-oriented documentariesmight use a passive, observational stylefor events that tell themselves, use active,probing interviews where useful,or even bring two parties into confrontationto develop and present the cruxof the information. In character-drivendocumentaries, a particular characteror group is chosen to generate thebasic situation, then followed and perhapsinterrogated over time to illus-Nieman Reports / Fall 2001 63

The Documentary and Journalismtrate the situation’s causes and its consequences.What emerges, after editing, is neveractuality but an artfully constructedimpression of it, for all documentaries,even the most spontaneous, are constructs.Typically, authorship of a documentaryrests with a team, the filmultimately representing their sharedexperience and perspective. This processstarts as soon as they decide whatimages to collect for their film’s bank ofvisual and aural records, which areinfused with the values, beliefs, circumstancesand instruments currentat the time of recording and editing.Nearly every documentary relies onpeople who appear on camera as partof the story. From their perspective,the hope is that pertinent truths—asthey understand them—survive theprocess of filming or reporting. Butcan the journalist or documentarian betrusted to accurately represent thesetruths?When film is an intermediary, thisquestion can become more difficult toanswer. While a reporter conducts aninterview, a camera takes footage. Takingand using is at the heart of documentaryfilmmaking and so, unfortunately,is misrepresenting, though ithappens differently with film than itdoes in print. In reading an article,actions are described, voices are imagined.What gets lost are dense layers ofmeaning that the person conveyed vocally,facially and bodily. In the handsof skillful writers, these will be selectivelyimplied, but to exist they dependon a writer’s sensitivity to nuance. Thesame transaction, captured by the camera,gets it all the first time, and thefootage can be searched afterwards fordeeper layers of meaning.In making the BBC film “The Battleof Cable Street,” about the 1930’s Britishfascist leader Sir Oswald Mosley, Ilearned most from running and rerunningsections of the interview. His paternalhabit of widening his eyes whentelling you certain things became moreand more sinister as my editor and Irealized when and why he did it.A most extreme case of what adocumentary can reveal—and perhapsset in motion—was Alan and SusanRaymond’s series in the 1970’s, “AnAmerican Family.” While filming thedaily lives of the Louds, a family chosenas representative of American whitemiddle-class life, the son announcedthat he is gay, the husband proved acompulsive womanizer, the wife filedfor divorce, and the family went intomeltdown.When the series went on the air,critics and audiences alike were convincedthat manipulative filming andthe family’s desire to make a high dramaticimpression had colluded to createthese changes. And who knows thatthey were entirely wrong? All observationchanges what is being observed,but being filmed 14 hours a day forseven months probably changes it morethan most. When the Louds signed on,they were unaware of the crucible theywere entering, although the Raymondsinsist they duly warned them.The public outcry surely affectedhow family members saw themselveson the screen. The Louds did not seethe filmmakers’ perspective emerginguntil the programs were broadcast and,as a result, began to see each other in adifferent light. Shocked to discoverwhat had been created from their input,some of the family objected bitterly,saying they felt like victims ofalchemy and treachery. Lives werewrecked, careers broken, and for yearsthe cause of the intimate TV documentaryseemed irretrievable.Like journalism, documentary filmmakingrelies on distilling a story fromwhat is remembered or recorded andinvolves reduction, simplification, rearrangementand re-creation—all hazardousto the truth. Who is to say thatmy notes and memories of an eventcoincide with those of anyone else whowas present? Journalism is researchand memory, assisted by notes andresting on subjectivity. Diligent journalistscheck facts and consult numeroussources to gain the increased perspectiveof multiple versions, but thewriter’s point of view can only be minimized,never eliminated.It is less easy to quarrel with a filmedrecord, but responsible documentariansfeel accountable for fairness totheir subjects and being fair aboutthem—seldom the same thing, as theLouds found out. By their nature, documentaryfilms often transform what ismessy and contradictory in life intotidy and effective narrative. For example,if a film crew follows a personwho is trying to buy a house, and asecond film crew concurrently followsthe sellers, there are now two strandsof story to be intercut. Placing the salientparts of each story against oneanother—the buyer deliberating whilethe seller decides on the price—createsa juxtaposition for which no arbiterexists. A single decision during editingcan make the seller appear venaland the buyers naive, or vice versa.Films contain dozens of such juxtapositions,and similar ones are certainlypossible in print, as well.The impulse to record and transmittruth always faces compromise becauseit rests on the quirks of memory, onethics, on the ability to draw a widerperspective, and on the enduring needto tell a good story even when representingthe real world. Knowing this,during the past two decades some documentarianshave tried to show not onlythe result of their work but how theycreated it, and so have examined andshared the deceptions that reality, andfilms about reality, practice upon theirmakers and audiences alike.Such transparency of the process bywhich documentaries are made is encouragingsince, as with journalism,the more the public understands howa story is constructed, the more likelythey are to ascribe fairness to it. Andthis is, after all, more than objectivity—is, after all, what journalists and documentaryfilmmakers should strive toproduce. ■Michael Rabiger was a foundingmember of the BBC Oral Historyseries “Yesterday’s Witness” and isthe author of “Directing: Film Techniques& Aesthetics,” “Directing theDocumentary,” and “DevelopingStory Ideas.” During the past fouryears, he has chaired the film/videodepartment at Columbia College inChicago.mrabiger@aol.com64 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Journalist’s TradeCutbacks. Lay-offs. Buyouts. Early retirement packages. Offered under different names andcircumstances, the bottom-line objectives are similar: trim the staff to keep the enterprise afloat.Few journalistic homes have been spared cuts in staff during this economic slump, thoughnewspapers, especially those belonging to the Knight Ridder chain, are experiencing deeper andmore rancorous downsizings. We ask, in this issue, whether such cutbacks mark the correct pathto long-term survival and what effect they have on the content and quality of the journalism beingproduced.Thrity Umrigar, who writes for the Akron Beacon Journal, a Knight Ridder newspaper, takesus inside the newsroom during this year’s second round of staff cutbacks. She writes of its funerealatmosphere: “And, indeed, something had died—that naive and idealistic belief that the folks whoran newspaper companies realized that theirs was more than a business—it was a sacred charge.”Jim Naughton, president of The Poynter Institute who held numerous editor positions at ThePhiladelphia Inquirer (a Knight Ridder paper), tallies up the losses from cutbacks at his old paperand shares concern about how they jeopardize that paper’s high-quality journalism. ChuckLaszewski, a projects reporter at the St. Paul Pioneer Press (a Knight Ridder paper), reports thatthe corporate decisions to reduce the newshole size, cut sections, and remove bodies “to keepprofit margins astonishingly high, won’t leave much of a newspaper for our readers to use.”Deborah Howell, Washington bureau chief for Newhouse Newspapers, describes Knight Ridderbudget seminars she attended as an editor at the St. Paul paper. Though she knows more abouthow journalism is financed, “it’s not the reason I got into it. It’s not the reason I stay in it,” shewrites. Working now for a privately held company, she reports that “I am lucky. I haven’t had to doanything this year that I think is wrong or long-range stupid….” William W. Sutton, Jr., a deputymanaging editor of The News & Observer in Raleigh, North Carolina, urges corporate medialeaders to keep the value of staff diversity in mind as cuts are considered.Media analyst John Morton examines how newspaper owners react to the tug of Wall Streetpressures and the consequences that decisions made today might have a few years down the road.McClatchy Company president and CEO Gary Pruitt explains why pleasing shareholders at hiscompany has meant neither newshole nor staff cutbacks. And Jay Smith, president of CoxNewspapers, describes how a privately held company reacts to economic hard times with freshapproaches to news coverage. Michigan State journalism professor Stephen Lacy links changes insocietal trends—public ownership, decline of newspaper competition, societal diversification, andgrowth of electronic media—to the financial decisions that confront newspaper executives today.Gilbert Cranberg, co-author of “Taking Stock: Journalism and the Publicly Traded NewspaperCompany,” suggests workable ways that issues of journalistic quality can be become central to thedecisions made by corporate directors. Joseph Bower, professor of business administration atHarvard Business School, describes the special strengths of newspapers and writes that decisionmakingby corporate leaders should never imperil newsgathering that lies at the heart of itsenterprise’s unique mission within its community. “Credible news presented to attract readers isthe golden goose,” he writes. “For that reason it should be at the core of any sensible economicdecision-making about the newspaper business.” ■Nieman Reports / Fall 2001 65

Journalist’s TradeA Feeling of Being Set AdriftAt the Akron Beacon Journal, more buyouts create more uncertainty.By Thrity UmrigarThe atmosphere is carnival-like.There is a joviality in the room,an hysterical hilarity that hasbeen missing from my newsroom formany months. For a few minutes, I amstunned, angry even, at this abruptchange in mood. We have just beentold that the Akron Beacon Journal islooking to offer buyouts to 14 newsroomemployees in an attempt to furtherreduce staff. And yet the atmosphereis totally different than it was atthe staff meeting a few months earlierwhen tearful, grim-faced editors announcedthe first-ever layoffs in thepaper’s history.Cynically, I think, “Nothing like tossingaround a few thousand bucks tomake people forget that this buyout ismerely a layoff with sugar coating.”We are in the J.S.K. room, namedafter legendary Beacon Journal editorJohn S. Knight. I turn to the personsitting behind me. “Wow,” I say, withthe proper degree of sarcasm. “Can’tremember the last time we had somany folks in this room without anyoneluring us with free food.”My colleague’s eyes are steady andserious. “Take a good look around,” hesays. “It’s probably the last time therewill be so many people gathered in thisroom.”His words land like a punch to thestomach. Now when I look around theroom, I see it with new eyes. I hear thebitterness behind the jokes, see thatwhat I thought was hilarity is actually akind of desperate fatalism. The truth isthis: By the end of July, our newsroomwill lose 14 more people. This, in additionto the eight laid off in April and thenine others who took voluntary resignations.Since the buyout rewards seniority,we will lose the kind of experience,wisdom and institutional memorythat make newspapers great. Thethought saddens and scares me.To some degree, the buyout announcementalters the landscape ofthe newsroom. For the first time inmonths, the heavy depression that descendedlike a fog after the first roundof cuts seems to lift. I’m not sure whythat is. Perhaps it is the thought that,unlike the first round of layoffs, whichaffected the newest and most vulnerablehires, this buyout will benefit someof our colleagues. Whatever the reason,the mood is different.Earlier this year, coming to workdaily had felt like attending a closefriend’s funeral. And, indeed, somethinghad died—that naive and idealisticbelief that the folks who ran newspapercompanies realized that theirswas more than a business—it was asacred charge. A fellow reporter said itbest: “How strange it is,” she mused.“This paper made it through the Depressionand World War II withoutlaying anyone off. And now we can’tsurvive a lousy recession.”My colleagues spoke openly aboutseeing therapists and starting to takeantidepressants. Editors told reportersthey would help them find jobs if theywanted to leave, and reporters sharedinformation about available jobs. Thelines between “us” and “them” blurredand disappeared as senior managementwalked around looking as ashen andshell-shocked as the rest of us felt; likeus, they admitted to anger, disillusionmentand powerlessness.There was a feeling of having beenset adrift, as if some invisible hand hadcut loose our belief in the invincibilityof the press. Our shoulders sagged andthat defiant, optimistic spirit that hadalways made the Beacon Journal “TheLittle Paper That Could” seemed todisappear. With apprehension, wewatched our shrinking newshole—wehad already lost our beloved Sundaymagazine in January—and wonderedabout our new, scaled-back role. Reporterscomplained about how lightand flimsy the Sunday paper felt comparedwith that of our competitor, The(Cleveland) Plain Dealer. The newsstaff was reorganized; beats such associal issues were folded in with otherbeats. Some reporters were suddenlytold to cover ludicrously wide geographicalareas. The worst part waslooking in the eye the eight colleagueswho were to be laid-off, knowing thatthe day of their departure was fastapproaching.Spurts of defiance occasionally torethrough our despair. The entire newsroomwore black the day Knight Ridderexecutives visited the newsroom. Wehanded these same officials a long listof concerns and pointed questions. Wesent Tony Ridder letters and a stack ofclips of work done by our laid-off colleagues.When Jay Harris resigned asthe publisher of the San Jose MercuryNews, our newsroom sent him flowers.But once it was clear that KnightRidder would not even extend us thecourtesy of responding to our questionsin a respectful way, our spiritssank again.Some of us told ourselves that thewhole process was an invaluable politicaleducation—an insider’s look at theworkings of a system based on pleasingthe masters of Wall Street. After all,what was happening was being replicatedthroughout the industry. ReadingKamala Markandaya’s “Nectar inthe Sieve” I was struck at the parallelbetween the feudal system that allowedIndian landowners to take the samepercentage of the sharecroppers’ yield,regardless of famine or flood, and thecapitalist system that allows Wall Streetto expect the same percentage of prof-66 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Newspaper Cutbacksits through good times and bad.But cynicism and disillusionment isagainst the nature of most journalistsbecause journalism is ultimately anidealistic profession. It is based on thehopeful belief that if readers know thetruth, they will make intelligent, informeddecisions that will changethings for the better. The power of thepen, the freedom of the press, the FirstAmendment, are optimistic, even joyous,ideals.And so it was that the winter of ourdiscontent passed. No, that is too simplistica reading of our current situation.Rather, our discontent haschanged to a different kind of defiance,a kind of self-reliance. The Society ofProfessional Journalists recently namedus “Best Newspaper in Ohio.” Evenwhile we celebrate the honor, we realizethat the award was based on lastyear’s work. But we’re going to try tobring home that prize next year, too,with or without corporate’s support.After all, it is those of us who are inAkron who have been charged to upholdJohn S. Knight’s proud legacy.Yet there can be no question thatour coverage has shrunk. Most of thetime, reporters don’t even bother toask if we can report on out-of-stateevents because the answer is inevitablyno. And there is a real fear that once the14 people leave, we are going to haveto redefine who and what we are. Indeed,we are living in a state of suspension,waiting for the other shoe to dropas the deadline for the buyouts looms.But there’s an old rule in urbanplanning—when you can’t build out,you build up. The Beacon Journal mayno longer be able to build out—theentire state may no longer be our tramplingground, as it once was. But nobodycan stop us from building upward.And when you do that, the sky isthe limit. ■Thrity Umrigar, a 2000 NiemanFellow, writes about medical issuesfor the Akron Beacon Journal. Hernew novel, “Bombay Time,” wasrecently published by Picador USA/St. Martin’s Press.Tumri@aol.comThe Philadelphia Inquirer: Cuts Jeopardize Quality‘One of journalism’s top destinations has become a departure lounge.’By Jim NaughtonDespite a reputation for puckishbehavior, the reason I wore abrown dinosaur costume at ThePhiladelphia Inquirer in late 1995 hadnothing to do with our newsroom antics.Nor did I intend to symbolizeacceptance of the muddle-headed viewthat newspapers are becoming extinct.I needed something in which I mighthide while announcing that I wouldstep down from a job I loved as aneditor, the hardest thing I’ve ever done.I didn’t want anyone to notice if Istarted bawling.One of my stated reasons for resigningwas to get out of the way of youngerleaders. The Inquirer was full of them:brilliant editors who understood thatit took time, resources and encouragementto gather and tell the most importantstories, the kind that Gene Robertsused to say oozed rather than broke.The stories Roberts led and inspiredhad enabled the paper to attract moreand more of the most remarkable talentsin journalism. An assignment atthe Inquirer had become one of thecraft’s coveted jobs. A few people leftThe New York Times or The WashingtonPost for the Inquirer. Properly ambitiouseditors like Bob Rosenthal andButch Ward deserved a chance to lead.Another reason I gave but soft-pedaledwas that it had become less funbeing a journalist in Knight Ridderthan it ought to have been. After decadesas the big newspaper companythat cared about quality, Knight Ridderhad become more avaricious, determinedto rank toward the top ratherthan in the middle of the most profitablepublic media companies. At PhiladelphiaNewspapers Inc., it had becomecommonplace to be ordered tore-budget several times each year, andwe were under pressure to ramp upthe margin in 1996 from eight percentto 12.By the end of 2000, Knight Ridderhad figured out how to wring 20 percentout of Philadelphia. There arethree ways to get from eight to 20 infive years: develop substantial newsources of revenue, dramatically increaserates, or cut expenses, includingstaff. There was no huge new revenuesource. Rates went up, but notstartlingly. That left cuts.When I contemplated leaving, wethought we were running out of placesto trim without doing lasting damage.We were just cutting capillaries then;now they slash arteries. Foreign andnational bureaus are dark. Suburbanzones tailored to communities of interestacross a tapestry of more than 500municipalities have been supplantedby the cheaper, easier and less relevantcountywide zones of the 1980’s. TheSunday magazine, once a showcase forinternational photojournalism, wasmerged with the TV book into onepublication whose attractive designcannot mask its vapid content. Circulationplummets.Nieman Reports / Fall 2001 67

Journalist’s TradeAnd what of those talented editors?Butch Ward, who rose to managingeditor, just took the mid-2001 buyout.With family reasons to remain in Philadelphia,that means he’s probably outof journalism, a tragedy. DavidZucchino, who won a Pulitzer as aforeign correspondent and latercoached other talented writers throughenterprise projects, took the buyout,too. So did Marc Duvoisin, one of thesmoothest deadline writers in the businessand more recently assistant managingeditor for enterprise. As did GilGaul, whose analytical skills and singlemindedpurpose animated his own andothers’ ambitious accounts of systemicproblems in our society. And while hewas no youngster, Don Drake at 66 wasstill the most energetic apostle of narrativejournalism in the business, buthe took the buyout and went off towrite stage plays.If those had been the only departuresin the only staff reduction at theInquirer it would have been badenough. But there were previousbuyouts, including one earlier this yearthat ended the career of Lois Wark,who’d spent a quarter-century nurturingcomplex and important nationalenterprise projects and their reporters.That same buyout sidelinedJonathan Neumann, who’d won aPulitzer as an investigative reporter andfor two decades had coached otherInquirer writers through the intricaciesof investigative coverage.Before that, the newspaper lost SteveLovelady, a gifted story editor whoselasting contribution to journalism willbe his editing of groundbreaking investigativereporting of Don Barlettand Jim Steele. Barlett and Steele, ofcourse, also left the Inquirer. So didSteve Lopez, the best local columnistin America. So have fine young staffersof promise, like graphic artist ArchieTse, or foreign correspondent BarbaraDemick, or national correspondentRichard Jones, or rising managers likeDavid Tucker and Fran Dauth. All gonein the five years since I’d intended toget out of their way. One of journalism’stop destinations has become a departurelounge.Here is one way to gauge what hashappened to The Philadelphia Inquirer:Every editor whose leadership had adirect effect on reporting that was honoredby a Pulitzer Prize is gone—excepttwo, Dorothy Brown, who directsscience and medical coverage, and ExecutiveEditor Bob Rosenthal, whosegreat instinct is for jumping on bigstories. Rosey spends much of his timegoing to meetings.There still are talented people in thewhite-spired building on North BroadStreet. Many are dispirited, some broken.I once heard a senior vice presidentof Knight Ridder say, without realizingI was within his hearing, thatthe company meant to “get control” ofGene Roberts’ newsroom. Roberts hasbeen gone 11 years. Maybe, in the end,the tribute is how long it took. ■Jim Naughton, president of ThePoynter Institute, spent 18 years asnational, metro, managing andexecutive editor of The PhiladelphiaInquirer after 15 years as a reporterfor The (Cleveland) Plain Dealerand The New York Times.swami@poynter.orgWhen the Cheering Stops and Anger Sets InAt the St. Paul Pioneer Press, beats will disappear and photos won’t be taken.By Chuck LaszewskiWhen John Schueler resignedon May 22 as publisher of the(Minneapolis) Star Tribune, Icheered. At last, our competitor, 10miles away, would begin cutting staffand resources. Three weeks later, Iapplauded again when our editor announcedwe would have to cut onlyeight staffers from the newsroom, notthe 23 originally announced by KnightRidder.It took me a few days, but when Ifinally snapped out of it, I couldn’tbelieve what I was doing. Instead ofbeing angry at the short-sightedness ofthe Knight Ridder corporate bosses inSan Jose, I was cheering when othersfollowed our lead or we were given aslight reprieve. I was falling victim tosome kind of business version of theStockholm Syndrome. I had been takenhostage and was now identifying withmy corporate captors.The situation reminds me of thestory former Arizona CongressmanMorris K. Udall used to tell about thewealthy man who was getting ready toleave for a month. He asked a neighboringfarmer how much he wouldcharge to board his horse. The farmersaid it would be $50 a month, and hewould keep the manure. The rich manthought that was too high, so he wentto the next farm. There, he was told thefee would be $40 a month, and thefarmer would keep the manure. Notingthe downward trend, he went anothermile to a ramshackle farmhouse,and the farmer there said the fee wouldbe five dollars. The wealthy man agreedimmediately, but before leaving, askedwhy the farmer hadn’t demanded tokeep the manure. “Well, mister, at fivedollars a month, there ain’t going to bemuch manure.”The rush by the newspaper chains—not just Knight Ridder—to reduce thesize of the newshole, to cut sections, toremove bodies in order to keep profitmargins astonishingly high, won’t leavemuch of a newspaper for our readers68 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Newspaper Cutbacksto use. And make no mistake; the readersare not fooled.In St. Paul, in Minneapolis, andacross the country, newspaper publishersare distraught over stagnant ordeclining circulation. They look everywherefor the scapegoat. Theyblame television, the Internet,the busy two-worker families.Seems to me it’s readers sayingthey will not be played forchumps. At the same time theSt. Paul Pioneer Press cut backthe newshole and reduced thescope of our successful suburbanzoning, we were also raisinghome subscription prices. Idon’t have an MBA, but I’velived in the capitalist culture myentire life. I am sure very few companiesenlarge market share by giving thecustomer less and charging more.We’ve been locked in a classic wrestlingpose with the (Minneapolis) StarTribune for years, hands on each other’sarms, looking for a way to throw theother to the mat. In 1987, the StarTribune announced what they thoughtwould be a double-leg takedown. Theywould pour money into St. Paul circulationand open up a full-scale St. Paulbureau. The advertising and journalismgurus in the Twin Cities soon pronouncedthat there would only be onenewspaper left in 10 years. The bettingwas heavily in favor of the Minneapolispaper surviving.Those bets didn’t pay off. At ourpaper, editors and division heads cameup with innovative ways to make thepaper competitive and a must-buy foradvertisers and readers alike. KnightRidder allowed us to keep more of ourmoney for the improvements. Circulationheld and even grew for a while. Wewon Pulitzer Prizes. The Star Tribunequietly retreated. The readers were wellserved. They had a choice of whichpaper to buy, based on anything fromthe comics to the editorial stances.All of this began to change last fall.First came the word that positions atour newspaper were being frozen. Thenthe news trickled down that KnightRidder corporate was requiring thepublisher to redo his budget with newfigures that would keep the profit marginobscenely high, especially at a timewhen advertising was tumbling. Finally,in late April we were told there wouldbe early retirement and buyout packages.But if not enough took it, theleast senior people would be laid off.The mantra of newspaperCEO’s that these latest cutswill fatten profits while nothurting our coverage is a lie.You cannot cut newsholewithout leaving out stories.The newsroom essentially stoppedfunctioning for weeks. The younger,least senior people couldn’t concentratebecause they were hurt and worriedthat they would soon be fired. Theoldest hands had visions of jackpotsdancing in their heads. There was lowgradesniping between the generations.And everywhere was the question, whydoesn’t the Star Tribune seem to becutting back?When Schueler turned in his resignation,the rumor spread rapidly that itwas because he was unwilling to makethe cuts corporate owner McClatchywas seeking. The new guy undoubtedlywould cut bodies and newshole. I,and many of my colleagues, were nowcheering on a race to the bottom of thejournalistic barrel. In early July, a newpublisher was named. A hiring freeze isin effect and everyone is waiting to seewhat else might happen. Meanwhile, atour paper, when the early retirementpackage finally was announced in lateMay, it was generous, and the eightbodies that would be permanently cutfrom the newsroom would be reachedwithout layoffs. The younger stafferswere spared.We are wrong to applaud. We alreadyhave lost too many newspapersand newspaper jobs during the past 20years. The loss of any more weakensour craft and hurts the millions of readerswho still look to us for informationand perspective on their towns andtheir world. Walker Lundy, the St. PaulPioneer Press editor, has been candidabout how the loss of eight bodies willaffect our paper. While he hasn’t yetdetermined exactly how the newsroomwill be reorganized, he said there willbe beats we cover now that will disappearin the coming month ortwo. There are photos that won’tbe shot.It must stop. Newspapers area different business than buildingcomputers, cars or refrigerators.We have an obligation,protected by the First Amendment,to inform the public.Newspaper companies arehandsomely rewarded whiledoing that. The mantra of newspaperCEO’s that these latestcuts will fatten profits while not hurtingour coverage is a lie. You cannotcut newshole without leaving out stories.Indeed, in order not to pay overtime,we missed a committee vote on avolatile gun issue during the legislativesession in March. The Star Tribunestayed and reported the vote. Our readersnoticed the omission.Finally, we all know Wall Street isnever satisfied. Give them 50 percentprofit margins and they will want 55.It’s time for the people running thenewspaper companies to tell the analystsand investors that they will getbushel baskets full of money duringthe good times, but only buckets full ofmoney during the down times. Whetherthe times are good or bad, we will tendthe franchise, putting money into it soit will be strong, vital and profitable foryears to come. If we don’t, there notonly won’t be any manure left, therewill be darn few horses. ■Chuck Laszewski is a projects reporterat the St. Paul Pioneer Press.A reporter for 22 years, Laszewskihas spent the past 20 years at thePioneer Press where he has coveredcops, courts, the environment andcity hall.claszewski@pioneerpress.comNieman Reports / Fall 2001 69

Journalist’s TradeEditors Need to Care About Words and BudgetsJournalists rarely talk about the business, except when it’s bad.By Deborah HowellIknow exactly when it was that Irealized I needed to be more savvyabout the newspaper business. Itwas late one afternoon in the 1980’s,and all the lights had gone out in apower failure at The Miami Herald.And the teacher was getting totally exasperatedwith the few of us who stilldidn’t understand break-even analysis.I was struggling through a KnightRidder seminar called “Financial Managementfor Nonfinancial Managers.”There were production and circulationand advertising people and a feweditors—John Carroll, now editor ofthe Los Angeles Times; Jerry Ceppos,now the vice president/News of KnightRidder, and Lou Boccardi, now thepresident of The Associated Press.We were separated into teams to dosimulated computer exercises on newspaperbudgets. We had to come upwith the right, profitable answers. Iremember looking at my team memberBoccardi as we realized our team hadto cut newshole, and I knew this wasgoing to be the hardest part of my newjob as executive editor of the St. PaulPioneer Press.I knew then and I know much morenow that the newspaper business is abusiness. But it’s not the reason I gotinto it. It’s not the reason I stay in it. Icare deeply about the business; all goodeditors do. We care about our newspapersbeing prosperous. We care aboutincreasing circulation and advertising.We want to be team players, though weneed to curb the arrogance that wecould run all the business departmentsbetter than the people in them.But, hey, admit it, business sometimesbores our collective ass unlesswe’re writing about it. It will neverthrill us like a great story. We say itinterests us when we’re around business-sidefolks, but it’s almost neverwhat we talk about among ourselvesexcept when business is bad.Business sucks this year, so we talkabout it a lot.Lots of editors are having to do thingsthey don’t want to do. I am lucky. Ihaven’t had to do anything this yearthat I think is wrong or long-rangestupid and neither have otherNewhouse editors I talk with daily. Wehave the luxury of working for a privatecompany that doesn’t have to meetWall Street expectations.I think the issue that most disheartenseditors under intense financial pressureis this: When the pressures are toostrong, it is hard to make decisions onwhat is right or wrong journalistically.We make the decision on how muchsomething costs. We worry about havinga big story break, because we knowit will demand overtime and newsholethat will break our budget. We areoften caught between a newsroom thatresents the cuts and a publisher or acorporate manager who thinks thenewsroom is not doing its part.So when the crunch comes, editorshave to understand business or lose allcontrol over how the money is allocated.We can’t slough off the publisheror corporate management. Ournewsrooms expect us to do battle overbudget cuts and might even blame usfor them, but we know there’s only somany battles we can wage.I do not know one editor who lovesbudgeting. We do it because we have todo it, and if we’re clever enough, wecan use it to help our journalistic purpose.I think my present employers areprinces for knowing I’m an editor first.Besides my present employers, oneof my favorite people in the newspaperbusiness, Larry Jinks, talks about “unifyingthe enterprise.” Jinks, a retiredKnight Ridder editor, publisher andcorporate executive, is fond of sayingthere are ways to bring journalism andbusiness together productively. And,indeed, he is right. I’ve participated inseveral of them—dreaming up specialsections with the advertising department,having the circulation folks involvedwith news and deadline decisions.But editors are editors, and they’llnever be as good at business as businesspeople. And I don’t expect businesspeople to be good editors. Afterthat long-ago seminar, I was proud thatI learned how to do the newsroombudget on my own, but it never cameanywhere near the pride I felt in breakinggood stories, investigations thatmattered and, frankly, in winning acouple of Pulitzers.But then, at Newhouse, I was givenboth the financial and journalistic oversightover Religion News Service, awonderful little band of journalists whocover the world of faith and moralsbetter than anyone in the world. And Icare deeply about it. I was and am incharge of making sure it is at least abreak-even enterprise. I tell the editorwhen he is spending too much money.I worry about new sources of revenue.I don’t want to lose a customer.It took a few years but, thank God,we are mostly in the black. Break-evenanalysis, don’t fail me now. ■Deborah Howell is Washingtonbureau chief for Newhouse Newspapersand editor of Newhouse NewsService, which owns Religion NewsService. She formerly was the editorof the St. Paul Pioneer Press and thecity editor of the late MinneapolisStar.deborah.howell@newhouse.com70 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Newspaper CutbacksDiversity Can Be Improved DuringThis Economic DownturnFor that to happen, a diverse newsroom must become a focus of corporate leaders.By William W. Sutton, Jr.The media industry should beashamed of itself. All of this talkabout the economic downturnhas, once again, caused publishers, topeditors, general managers and newsdirectors to review the options andimplement buyouts, cost-cutting, hiringfreezes and more as advertising hasfallen. It’s not a shame that people withthe best interest of these enterprises inmind are focusing on such actions toprevent a painful situation from becomingeven more painful. No, what’sa shame is that the potential impact ondiversity is not receiving much attentionas all of this takes place.Ask black journalists how they perceivetheir situation in the midst ofthese cutbacks—as we did in July onthe Web site of the National Associationof Black Journalists (NABJ)—andtheir dissatisfaction becomes quicklyapparent. About 80 percent of thosewho responded to our unscientific pollfelt black journalists are bearing thebrunt of the buyouts, hiring freezes,and layoffs. There were no written responses,but many black journalistshave expressed their view that the fewamong us who have been affected bythese cutbacks are being affected disproportionatelybecause of the size ofour representation in the larger mix.I won’t pretend there is any harddata to back up this perception. But Ican confirm that when we see a blackperson walk out the door, it has greaterimpact because there are so few of us.And if that person covers an importantbeat, or holds a critical production job,or has an important supervisory job,the impact is more dramatic. We feel asthough we’re losing a game that wasstacked against us.As corporate leaders at media companiesconsider what they can do toimprove the bottom line, they shouldalso consider what they can do to improvethe quality of employee relationsand of the content they providereaders and viewers. At the heart ofthat consideration should be diversity.It is not the answer to the economic…when we see ablack person walkout the door, it hasgreater impactbecause there areso few of us.downturn. Nor is diversity the answerto the future success of all media. Butit surely is an important part of theanswer to both, and too many medialeaders are either ignoring it or notunderstanding its significance.This industry has done a woeful jobin newsroom diversity staffing duringeconomic good times. This leaves journalistsof color feeling distrustful: Howcan we expect good things to happenduring these more difficult times? Butit doesn’t have to be that way. Medialeaders can change that perception bycreating a new reality.Some might think the suggestions Iam about to offer are outrageous. Tothem, I ask whether they are any moreoutrageous than linking editors’ compensationto gains (or decreases) incirculation and readership? Or moreoutrageous than tying some of aneditor’s income to top quality coverage?I don’t think so, but take a look atwhat I suggest and, if you see somemerit in these suggestions, talk aboutthem with your publisher, editors andstaff, particularly with staffers of color.• During this economic downturn,every publisher and general managershould require top editors tohave at least two out of three finalistsfor every position be journalistsof color. Normally I’d require one,but with the few chances anyone hasto be hired this year, two seemsmore realistic. Not enough diversityin the pool? Sorry, no hire. Or anews outlet could link an exceptionfor this hire to a commitment to hiresomeone of color for the next openingin that department.• Every publisher and general managershould require top editors tofill at least 50 percent of all vacancieswith journalists of color. Why somany? Because we are so behind,and we can’t afford to fall fartherbehind during these rough times.• Publishers and general managersshould tie more of an editor’s incomeor a news director’s income todiversity through management-byobjectiveor bonus/incentive programs.Make it at least 15 to 40points and there will be results.• Don’t get rid of summer internshipsat newspapers and television stations;enhance them. Newspapersshould refocus their paid summerinternships on those newsroom areaswhere journalists of color areneeded most: copy editing, design,graphics and photography. Broadcastersshould change their industryNieman Reports / Fall 2001 71

Journalist’s Tradeculture and start paying for summerinternships, identifying the studentsof color they want in their shops,and giving them a valuable, handsonexperience in broadcast writingand producing—the two areas inwhich journalists of color are neededmost. Make a commitment to havingat least 50 percent of all internshipsfilled by students of color as a way ofsignificantly improving the chancesthat the industry will become morepopulated with journalists of color.• Support journalists of color as theyseek training and development opportunitiesthrough various in-houseprograms and elsewhere. Supportyour staffers by supporting their attendanceat conferences and conventionsof the Asian American JournalistsAssociation (AAJA); theNational Association of Black Journalists(NABJ); the National Associationof Hispanic Journalists (NAHJ);the Native American Journalists Association(NAJA), and the NationalLesbian and Gay Journalists Association(NLGJA). If you can, offer themconference registration, time off, andsome travel money. If you have to dosomething less than that, give themtime off and a stipend of enoughdollars to cover a night or two ofhotel bills and/or the registration.Don’t make the mistake of thinkingthat because a lot of people “looklike each other” or “act like eachother” or “think like each other,”that these are not professional developmentopportunities. Like theAmerican Society of Newspaper Editors(ASNE), the Radio-TelevisionNews Directors Association(RTNDA), the Investigative Reportersand Editors (IRE), and othermedia industry groups, there arethose conference-goers who go toplay and others who attend to learn.Don’t assume the worst for yourown staffers. Ask them to bring somethingback as you invest in theirprofessional development. If theyfail to do so, consider that the nexttime they ask.Diversity is critically important. Nonprofitmedia organizations can’t makediversity happen and work in newsrooms.It remains the job of individualmedia outlets to make these criticalhiring and promotion decisions one byone, position by position. Of course, itis important to assess the overall pictureas portrayed by newsroom censusreports of such organizations as theASNE and the RTNDA. But that tellsonly part of the story, because somepublishers and editors and some generalmanagers and news directors don’tparticipate in those surveys. And therewill be other outlets that should havean even greater focus on diversity becauseof the market in which they operate.Individual market leaders must beheld accountable for diversity, as mustthe corporate executives who decidewhether and how to make diversity aprimary focus of their organization, inboth good times and bad.There are too few black publishersand top editors, too few black generalmanagers and news directors. The sameis true when it comes to our colleaguesof color who are Asian, Hispanic/Latino,and Native American. We are, of course,proud to see Paula Madison as an NBCvice president and general manager ofKNBC-TV in Los Angeles and DeanBaquet as managing editor of the LosAngeles Times. We’re proud to see PhilDixon as managing editor of The PhiladelphiaInquirer and Gerald Boyd asmanaging editor of The New YorkTimes. Each of these promotions sendsimportant signals to those of us whoaspire to do more to help our peopleand our industry at a higher level. Butstill it is not enough.Some of these news organizationsare making great strides. Madison,Baquet, Dixon and Boyd are not alone.There are others of color in their newsrooms,and they helped get them there.Their newsrooms still need more diversityand they know it. But whatabout the rest of the newsrooms thatremain much too lily-white? It is criticalthat efforts be made in those newsroomsduring these difficult times.This industry has done a woeful job innewsroom diversity staffing during economicgood times. This leaves journalists of colorfeeling distrustful: How can we expect goodthings to happen during these more difficulttimes?There were more than 1,700 dailynewspapers in 1950 and now there areabout 1,480. In 1950, there were 98television stations; now, there are1,290. There were no cable systems in1950; now, there are 10,481. Thesemedia outlets provide plenty of opportunityfor journalists, but as we emergefrom this economic downturn, the truemeasure of success for journalists ofcolor will be whether and how well thecorporate leaders managed to turnthings around with diversity as a centralfocus. That means having more ofus in positions of newsroom leadershipand on staff than when the downturnbegan and with more accurate,balanced and fair coverage of our communities.■William W. Sutton, Jr., a 1988Nieman Fellow, is a deputy managingeditor of The News & Observer inRaleigh, North Carolina, aMcClatchy newspaper, where hesupervises the features design, newsdesign, graphics, photography andnews copy desks. He was editor andmanaging editor at Knight Ridder’sPost-Tribune in Gary, Indiana,before joining The N&O and spent 10and one half years with The PhiladelphiaInquirer as a reporter andeditor.sutton@newsobserver.com72 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Newspaper CutbacksOwnership Guides a Newspaper’s MissionResponding to Wall Street’s demands can erode long-term quality.By John MortonThe current fear about the impacton newspaper journalism of thisyear’s wave of newsroom reductionsand other cost-cutting—in responseto lowered profits—is rootedpartly in differing perceptions of ownershipresponsibilities.Conventional wisdom, especially innewsrooms, is that after making a profitthe primary function of a newspaper isto be a guardian of democracy, withprotection under the First Amendmentto provide the citizenry with the informationit needs to make responsibledecisions. This traditional view of anewspaper’s role is perhaps best exemplifiedby the policies of The UnionLeader and New Hampshire SundayNews in Manchester.The Union Leader persists in deliveringits daily editions throughout NewHampshire at great cost to its potentialprofitability, since readers distant fromManchester do not attract much advertising.The Union Leader also printsevery letter to the editor it receives—literally pages of them—so long as thewriter does not libel another or criticizeanother’s religious views. This toois costly, in newsprint and editing time.These policies are followed becausethe paper’s publisher, Joseph W.McQuaid (and his predecessors), believesit is the newspaper’s duty toprovide its journalism to as many citizensas possible and to allow everycitizen the chance to speak out. It isworth pointing out that the UnionLeader is not owned by a large mediacorporation; its ownership is vested ina family trust designed to keep thenewspaper forever independent.Most daily newspapers today,though, are owned by a large corporation;fewer than 300 of the nation’s1,480 dailies are locally owned. Forthese corporately owned papers, thenotion of a newspaper’s duty is vastlydifferent from conventional wisdom.While these corporate newspapers stillgive a nod to the duty of informing thecitizenry, they now also emphasize theneed to satisfy shareholders. And ifsatisfying shareholders in difficult timesmeans shorting the traditional notionof what newspapers should be, so be it.This brings us to 2001, a year whichcorporate owners are decrying as theworst for the newspaper business in adecade. Advertising revenues are down,newsprint costs are up, profits areplunging, and the prospects for recoveryare uncertain. These are the reasonsgiven for buyouts, early retirements,outright layoffs, cutting backon news space, and other reductions.Especially aggressive in these actionsare most of the publicly owned newspapercompanies, which account for50 percent of total national daily circulation.How bad a year is this for the newspaperbusiness? It is true that loweradvertising and higher costs are producinglowered earnings. In the firstsix months of this year, the publiclyreporting companies suffered a 21 percentdecline in operating earnings attheir newspaper operations. And, indeed,operating profit margins (thepercent operating earnings are of revenues)have dropped as well—by fivepercentage points on average, down to19 percent. One wonders if Ford MotorCompany or General Motors or anynumber of other nonmedia companieswould be happy with that. They would.In a good year, which this one is not,U.S. companies on average achieve anoperating profit margin of about eightpercent.Thus the financial fortunes of thenewspaper industry have not collapsedthis year. They just are not so strong asWall Street would like. Of course, theyear is not over, but even if advertisingrevenue does not improve notably therest of the year, comparisons with lastyear’s revenue and earnings performancewill be significantly easier duringthe rest of the year. The reason:Last year brought booming performance,but most of it was concentratedin the first half of the year.The easier comparisons and the factthat newsprint prices have started todecline should ensure that the newspaperindustry in this year of downturnwill perform much better than in1991, the core year of the worst recessionfor newspapers since World WarII. In that year, the average operatingprofit for the publicly owned newspaperswas 12 percent. That too was ayear in which there were widespreadhiring freezes and layoffs, increases incirculation prices, and deliberate cutbacksin distant circulation to save newsprint.All these actions set up the newspaperindustry for a decade of decliningcirculation, but they also brought adecade of steadily improving profitmargins.There was a time, before the 1990’s,when it was almost unheard-of for newspapersto impose layoffs or reducenews space for economic reasons.There might have been some slownessin filling vacancies and other modeststeps to reduce costs, but generallynewspapers just carried on and waitedfor an improvement in local economies.That there is such a markedchange in how the large newspapercorporations react to economic slowdownsspeaks to great changes in thenature of newspaper ownership andan increased sensitivity to the shorttermorientation of Wall Street investors.Newspapers now are more focusedon the bottom line than everbefore—at the publicly owned companiesbecause of the need to please WallStreet, and at almost all companiesNieman Reports / Fall 2001 73

Journalist’s Tradebecause of the need to pay for the highnumber of acquisitions of recent years.Newspaper ownership has been consolidatinginto larger and fewer companies,a process cheered by some executivesas long overdue in an industrywith a long tradition of fragmentedownership. Managements of the largenewspaper companies, for example,recognize the economic and marketingefficiencies in clustering of ownershipsin specific geographic regionsand do not hesitate to buy and swapproperties toward that end as if theywere so many pork bellies. And thereare undeniable benefits from economiesof scale as companies get larger.Gannett can buy everything that a newspaperneeds, from paper clips to pressesto newsprint, at prices far lower thanpaid by smaller companies. Bigness byitself has significant economic rewards.Many newspaper companies, ofwhatever size, still produce good journalismdespite the current cost cutting.But in this era of falling circulation,with newspaper readers dying offfaster than they are being added to,investing less rather than more in journalisticquality is not a smart strategyfor the long run. But it is a strategy thatmost of the industry is stuck with.One can hope that once the economyimproves newspaper companies willshift their emphasis more toward thetraditional notion of serving the publicweal and less toward pleasing shareholders.Indeed, even some of the publiclyowned companies have not takentheir eyes off this central reason for theexistence of newspapers. McClatchyNewspapers, while tightening in someareas, has eschewed taking steps thisyear that would undermine journalisticquality in the conviction that in thelong run good journalism is good forbusiness.The Washington Post Co. likewisehas refrained from reacting strongly tothe ups and downs of the economy.Katharine Graham, in the early years ofher company’s public ownership,alarmed Wall Street investors by tellingthem she would rather the companyreached a higher value of its assets inzigs and zags than reaching a lowerlevel in a steady progression. This soupset some institutions, devoted asthey were to steadily rising profits, thatthey immediately unloaded their holdings.This turned out to be a big mistake:When she spoke, the company’sstock sold for $19; recently it was $576.When it comes to ownership, perhapsBen Bradlee, retired editor of TheWashington Post, said it best when heeulogized Graham at her funeral lastJuly: “Maybe not all of you understandwhat it takes to make a great newspaper.It takes a great owner. Period.” ■John Morton is a former newspaperreporter and president of MortonResearch Company, Inc., a consultingfirm that analyzes newspapersand other media properties.Newspaper Economics 2001: The McClatchy WayThe company is weathering the financial storm with a different strategy.By Gary PruittThe sudden reversal of fortunesthat befell the newspaper industrywith the economic slowdownof 2001 appeared largely without warning,turning boom into gloom for manycompanies within the span of a singlequarter. It has since asserted itself withunfamiliar ferocity: Thousands of jobshave been lost and hundreds of pageshave disappeared from American newspapers.These layoffs and newsholereductions are now commonplace announcementsand the frequent focusof Web pages created with the exclusivemission of chronicling this newspaperretrenchment.Almost alone among our publiclytraded peers, McClatchy has eschewedboth of those management options forhandling the downturn. We’ve optedto steer a course intended to avoidacross-the-board layoffs and to maintainnewshole space at 2000 levels. Wehave chosen our strategy not becausewe are naturally contrary—thoughthere is some reason to believe weare—but because we’re convinced thatby doing what is best for readers andthe communities we serve will prove,once again, to be best for McClatchyshareholders.While our reluctance to go the routeof cutbacks remains a distinctly minoritypoint of view in the industry, there’sample evidence and solid theory tosupport it. Indeed, our behavior now issimply a continuation of the strategywe pursued when advertising dollarswere flowing freely. At our strategy’score is a belief that in an unavoidablycyclical business, the best course is tomanage consistently and operate efficientlyin good times and bad. Thepayoffs of avoiding the boom-or-bustroller coaster ride show up in employeemorale, the newspapers’ momentum,and corporate profits.We’re fortunate to operate in a countryin which economic expansions faroutdistance contractions, but experienceshows there are bound to besome of each. To safeguard and accomplishnewspapers’ essential FirstAmendment mission requires independence,so it is imperative that we operatestable, profitable businesses. To dothis requires continuous balancing ofsupport for quality journalism andawareness of financial demands.Commitment to quality journalismcomes easily at McClatchy; it’s been aprominent part of our corporate DNAfor 144 years. Financial success can74 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Newspaper Cutbackssometimes seem a more elusive objective,but our experience suggests thatthe two reinforce one another overtime. Fortunately, many investors seemto recognize this, too.But while such results can be congruent,they aren’t automatically so.Balancing these sometimes opposingdemands has led us to design an operationalstructure we refer to as “athletic.”This means we strive to keep ouroperations trim and fit overall, butstrengthen our muscles at the pointsthey’re needed most—in reporting andsales. When done right, we put salespeople on the streets and phones tokeep the revenue enginechurning while supportingthe journalistic needsof reporters, photographersand copyeditorsnecessary to ensure highqualitynewspapers.Financial disciplinemeans that to some eventswe won’t send as manyreporters as we might have during moreprosperous times. And we won’t addpages as rapidly as we might have. Butwe haven’t pulled back from the publicservice journalism that definesMcClatchy. This is evidenced in ournewspapers devoting time and spaceto unraveling a complex subsidy arrangementfor a private developer inMinneapolis and the publishing of dozensof stories to cover the world gamesof the Special Olympics in Anchorage.Meeting reader needs for consistent,quality information isn’t optional.How have we gone about doing thatin the current economic climate? Theanswer is in a five-part strategy webelieve will see us through the downturnintact and position us to takequick advantage of the recovery whenit arrives. In fact, we think there areopportunities that can leave McClatchyin stronger shape after the downturnthan we were heading into it.First, we need to keep the muscleneeded for sales and service, focusingparticularly on those revenue categoriesover which we have greatest controland influence, even in down times.In current conditions, that means retailand classified display advertising.Second, we seek to extend our marketshare during this period. Yes, thetotal advertising pie is shrinking, butby accomplishing goal number one,we can ensure that our share of thesmaller pie grows. Our newspapers arethe primary advertising buys in theirlocal markets, and they should sufferless than should the secondary providerscompeting with them.We also believe we can extend ourInternet publishing leadership in ourlocal markets. We operate the leadinglocal Internet sites in all our regions,which puts us in an especially strongposition as online competitors either…we strive to keep our operations trimand fit overall, but strengthen ourmuscles at the points they’re neededmost—in reporting and sales.fold or retrench in tough times.The emergence of the Internet as analternative publishing medium undeniablycomplicates economic life fornewspapers; its presence representsthe biggest single difference betweenthis economic contraction and some ofthe tough times we’ve weathered inthe past. But interactive media alsopresent opportunities. Unlike earlierrecessions, this time newspaper companiesmust manage more than onebusiness and need to balance competingdemands. Failure to do so forfeitsimportant advantages that we will needlater on.Our fourth imperative is a familiarone: to cut costs aggressively whereverpossible, consistent with our continuingstrategy. Like other media companies,our profits are way down thisyear. There is no responsible alternativeto determined, line-by-line costreductions to help make up the difference.All our businesses are avoidingnon-essential hires, allowing vacanciesto remain open, cutting capital spending,limiting travel, and so forth. Whatwe don’t intend to do is allow shorttermsavings to affect the quality ofwhat we offer customers or our abilityto generate revenue.For example, we think resorting tobuyouts and layoffs in response to cyclicaleconomic conditions is often amistake. The Harvard Business Reviewrecently highlighted a study by Bain &Co. of how 377 Fortune 500 companiesnavigated through economicdownturns during the past two decades.The authors questioned the financialsense of using layoffs to trimcosts. They wrote: “Consider that voluntaryemployee turnover averages15% to 20% per year in the UnitedStates, that sales volume was depressedby less than 10% in 85% of all industrydownturns from 1977to 1999, and that theaverage recession duringthat period lastedonly 11 months. Giventhose facts, you have towonder why there wassuch a scramble tofire—and then rehireand retrain—so manyemployees.”The roller coaster response usuallyproves costly in terms of money spenton severance, and it also damagesmorale within the company. And thatcan retard momentum needed to respondwhen economic conditions improve.Similar logic applies to the tactic oftrimming the newshole to save moneyin the short run. What is the long-termrationale for cutting the quality of theproduct at a time when readers needgood journalism more than ever, forcingthem to turn elsewhere for information?As veteran newspaper executiveDavid Laventhol argued recently,“Cutting back [sends] the wrong message—notto journalists but to readers,who don’t need more reasons not tobuy a newspaper.” As lineage falls, we’lluse less newsprint, and if the downturnis prolonged, newsprint priceswill generally fall—just as they are doingtoday.As the Bain study concluded, “Costsdo have to be managed carefully, butthe key is consistency. A companyshould not act one way in good timesand another way in bad times.”Finally, we’re determined to findNieman Reports / Fall 2001 75

Journalist’s Tradeways to do more than preserve ourproducts; we want to continue to improvethem wherever possible and togrow circulation. Economic conditionsforeclose some costly investments inquality, but others remain available.For example, when we made the moveto the narrower pages—now becomingan industry standard—we coupledthe change with redesigned newspapersthat improved readers’ navigationthrough them and with added features.Reader reaction was positive in all ourcommunities.We haven’t abandoned the quest forcontinued circulation growth, either.The Readership Institute at NorthwesternUniversity has turned insights fromour industry’s best research into a blueprintfor increasing newspaper readership.The recommended focus includesspecific improvements in content, promotion,service, presentation, brandand workplace culture. It offers us ideasabout how to build circulation despiteeconomic constraints—especially if wepreserve vital, high quality operationsthat continue to meet readers’ needs.We’re working hard to extendMcClatchy’s industry-leading recordstring of 16 consecutive years of dailycirculation growth. We consider thisgrowth a central barometer of communityservice and franchise health and,not incidentally, a key to maintainingflexibility of advertising rates.While our response to this economicdownturn is somewhat contrary, webelieve it is based on sound businessstrategy and provides the foundationfor McClatchy to be a stronger entityonce the economic recovery begins. ■Gary Pruitt is chairman, presidentand CEO of The McClatchy Company.gpruitt@McClatchy.comMaking Change Work Away From Public PressuresAt Cox newspapers, economic hard times bring fresh approaches to news coverage.By Jay SmithTough economic times hit privatelyowned newspapers, too.How they respond—especiallywhen employment ad revenue falls 40percent, newsprint prices grow bydouble digits, and there’s no elasticityleft in circulation rates—explains whyI wouldn’t trade my job as president ofCox Newspapers with any of my peersin publicly owned companies.We might not have to answer analysts’questions or issue quarterly financialreports, but we watch the bottomline every bit as closely as they doat the public companies. Our newspapersdeserve nothing less. Poor newspaperswhisper; healthy newspapersspeak in a firm, clear voice. Put anotherway, a financially healthy newspapercan afford to take risks, to do the bravethings that great newspapers have alwaysdone. Neither public nor privatenewspapers are immune from this journalisticfact of life.Our owners, enlightened by 103years in the business, know good timesfollow bad. That’s why they stress thelong term, doing what’s prudent toweather a recession until the economyclears. We’re equally fortunate to bepart of a company with broadcast andcable holdings and the world’s largestauto auction company among its assets.When one part of our companysuffers, there’s another one doing wellenough to pick it up.A long-term view and a diversifiedportfolio may provide comfort, but theydon’t ease the challenge of publishingfinancially strong newspapers in adownturn. If anything, sibling pressurecan be as intense as anything WallStreet offers. Who wants to be the laggardat the next board meeting?The pressure to perform is there,but it is self-imposed. It is private, andthat makes all the difference. Not havingto please an outsider every 13 weeksallows plans to develop into realitybefore they must be sacrificed on thealtar of investor expectations. Fear, thegreatest impediment to success, getsreplaced by careful risk-taking—somethingencouraged, not punished, bywise owners like ours.Ten years ago, in the depths of theworst advertising recession any of ushad known, I guided our flagship newspaper,The Atlanta Journal-Constitution,to its worst-ever year-over-yearperformance. We were fighting a NewYork Times-owned newspaper that investedmightily and vowed to drive usout of Atlanta’s rich northern suburbs.Our owners’ instructions were clear:Win the battle and weather the storm.We accomplished both tasks by askingourselves what we could live without,and we controlled costs by eliminatingthose things. For example, wesaved five million annually by endingsubsidies that supported distant circulation.We cut some jobs because theywere no longer needed to sustain circulationthat neither Atlanta readersnor advertisers valued. Our egos werebruised, but we used these savings tobeat this competing newspaper whileinsuring a brighter, better future forthe Journal-Constitution.Subsequent years of record-settingperformances were reward aplenty. Alesson learned, it spread throughoutour newspaper group. The people whorun our newspapers today are the samepeople who ran them 10 years ago.That’s another feature of privatelyowned newspaper groups. They didn’twait until the first hint of economicsoftening to prepare for this down-76 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Newspaper Cutbacksturn. Their work began even as theywere enjoying the boom years of the1990’s. Newspaper publishers and editorslearned from each others’ successesand failures. They identified bestpeople and best practices and sharedthem liberally. They built an Intranetthat links our 18 daily and 30 non-dailynewspapers. Work that appears in Atlanta,Austin, Palm Beach or Daytoncan run simultaneously in Waco, Texas,Grand Junction, Colorado, orGreenville, North Carolina. It’s a wayof sharing quality and spreading costs.Leaders at our newspapers spentthe past decade getting better and gettingready for the next slowdown. Whenit became apparent as early as the latesummer and early fall of 2000 thattough times were ahead, they wereprepared. Without fanfare, they battenedthe hatches, yet continued topublish newspapers every bit the equalsof those produced in good times.Two examples illustrate how cooperationensured quality and promotedefficiency, even as belt-tightening hadbegun.Our Austin American-Statesman hadmore than a passing interest in lastyear’s presidential election which, withTexas Governor George W. Bush running,became as much a local as anational story. As the south’s largestnewspaper, our Atlanta Journal-Constitutioncould stake its own coverageclaim. And, as events unfolded, ourPalm Beach Post found itself in thecenter of, perhaps, the greatest votecountingstory ever. Perhaps in anothertime, egos would have won outand three or more Cox reporters wouldhave covered the same campaign trails.Not this time.Because our large newspapers, includingthe Dayton Daily News, agreedto an approach coordinated by ourWashington bureau, our journalistsseldom tripped over each other. Zonecoverage of the candidates freed reportersto pursue other important electionstories. Reporters like Austin’s KenHerman, who covered Bush as governor,provided a talent that benefited allof our newspapers. Never, our editorslater agreed, had our election coveragebeen better.On a lesser scale, our newspapers’sports editors met earlier this year andmade some unprecedented coveragedecisions. Atlanta’s sportswriters wouldcover the Masters Tournament on behalfof our newspapers, while PalmBeach would cover Wimbledon. Nodoubt, some reporters and columnistsgrumbled, but did coverage suffer?Were the $40,000 saved in air fares andhotels on these events worth it? Askthat question of a recently laid-off personat another newspaper, and theanswer becomes obvious.Again, there is nothing extraordinaryabout such cooperation. It’s justeasier to achieve free of the distractionsso many public companies face.Smart newspaper people know whatto do. And that is to remain an indispensablepart of readers’ lives. Thebest private and public newspaper companiesrecognize this and provide theresources, latitude and protection tolet it happen.It’s never easy to stare down toughtimes. But it’s a lot less lonely whenyou are certain of what your ownershipwants and can move with confidence.For me, that is the way it has been for30 years with Cox. It’s something Iappreciate, but never take for granted—especially in times like these. ■Jay Smith is president of Cox Newspapers,a subsidiary of privatelyheld Cox Enterprises, Inc. in Atlanta,Georgia. Cox publishes 18 daily and30 non-daily newspapers. A newspapermansince the age of 17, Smithbegan his career with Cox 30 yearsago as a reporter for the DaytonDaily News.Jay.Smith@cox.comNewspapers Confront a Barrage of ProblemsSocietal trends make business decisions more difficult.By Stephen LacyIn the media maelstrom that followedJay Harris’s resignation aspublisher of the San Jose MercuryNews, writers and critics most oftenhave framed the issue behind his leavingas a battle between profit and journalism.They have expressed a concernthat resources flowing to stockholderscome from the newsrooms and reducethe quality of journalism. Though thisis a legitimate way to define the debate,it concentrates attention on corporatemanagers’ decisions and downplaysthe impact of four important trendsthat are currently reshaping the newspaperindustry.These four trends—two within thenewspaper industry and two outsideof it—involve increased public ownershipof newspapers, a decline in competitionamong newspapers, greaterdiversification in society, and thegrowth of electronic media. Let’s brieflyexamine each.• Public ownership: Led by Gannettduring the 1960’s, most large newspapercorporations now trade theirstock publicly. This has moved controlover a corporation’s goals froma relatively few family members tomanagers of large institutional investmentfunds and to stock analystswho advise investors. As a result,publicly held newspapercorporations must produce consistent,high profit margins. If expecta-Nieman Reports / Fall 2001 77

Journalist’s Tradetions are not met, stock value declines.• Decline of newspaper competition:Because of economic factors, competitionbetween dailies in the sametown or city has practically disappeared,and competition across cityand county lines is declining becauseof clustering. While this providesmore profit for companies, itreduces the perceived need to investin the newsroom and diminishescompetition among individualjournalists who thrive on it.• Diversification of society: During thelast half of the 20th century dramaticchanges occurred in U.S.women’s lives. Career options andlifestyles choices are much greaterfor them today. In addition to increasedgender diversity in the workplace,a higher birth rate for minoritygroups and immigration havecreated more racial diversification.By midway through the 21st century,no racial group will be a clearmajority of the U.S. population. Thisdiversification leads readers to demandthat newspapers offer a greatervariety of news and information,something more difficult and expensiveto do than when those needsemanated from a relatively homogeneouscommunity. Increased coverageof a particular group of readersrequires either more space to beadded to the newspaper or space tobe taken from the interests of othergroups. The former is expensive;the latter tends to lead to lowercirculation.• Growth of electronic media: Peoplehave more ways of getting informationnow than at any time in history.The boom in cable and the Internetgives individuals the ability to focuson narrow topics of interest andavoid spending time sifting throughmore generalized news presentations,thus fragmenting the audience.Shrinking audiences and circulationscause businesses to buyadvertising from a larger number ofmedia outlets to reach the numbersof people they want as customers.Newspapers increasingly must competewith other media for the advertisingdollar. And this intermediacompetition comes at a time whennewspaper managers felt they weregaining more market power becauseof declining newspaper competition.Understanding the nature of andresponding to intermedia advertisingcompetition remains difficult fornewspaper managers.Industries constantly face change,but the current newspaper situation isunusual because the two industrytrends are pushing newspapers towardhigher profit margins, but the two societytrends are working in the oppositedirection. At this point, it seems likelythat the two social trends will overpowerthe industry trends.In such a time of fundamental marketand societal change, the criticalissue concerns whether the desire forshort-term profits will force some currentcompanies out of the newspaperbusiness. The demand of institutionalinvestors and stock analysts for consistent,high profit margins is well documented.Newspapers initially were ableto meet these profit demands becauseof increasing technological efficiencyand declining competition amongnewspapers. With declining competition,newsholes and newsrooms shrankand newspapers became more aggressivein hiking advertising prices. Decliningcost and savings from technologyoffset losses of circulation and thedecline in the percentage of all advertisingdollars spent on newspaper advertising.But the ability to cut costs and increaserevenue will decline as the impactof the social trends accelerates. Ifnewspapers expect to attract advertisingdollars in increasingly fragmentedand competitive markets, they mustmaintain their circulation relative tothe audience of other media outlets. Ina diverse society, this requires largernewsholes, as well as larger and morerepresentative newsrooms. Peopleseeking more narrowly focused newsand information will find little of interestto them if newspapers cut space tosave money. The loss of readers willlimit the ability of newspaper managersto be aggressive in advertising pricing.Businesses already have expresseda reluctance to pay these aggressive adprices as circulation declines. This reluctancewill only increase.Newspaper corporations face achoice. They can try to reduce profitexpectations to reflect the changingnature of society. Or they can maintainshort-run profit margins at the risk oflosing their readers and permanentlydamaging the value of their companies.Thomson chose the latter for itsU.S. newspapers and ended up sellingthem when management could notraise profit margins above 17 percent.The profit margin declined to 17 percentin the early 1990’s after more thana decade of 30 percent or higher margins.Thomson paid for its aggressivecost cutting to maintain high marginswith a significant decline in circulationand penetration during the 1980’s.Neither of these choices will be easy,and it is impossible to predict accuratelywhen a newspaper company hascut so deep into its newsroom that itpermanently damages its franchise.However, research and experience supportthree propositions:• First, the smaller the newspapermarket, the more quickly permanentcirculation damage will occurfrom cost cutting. Losing 2,000 circulationfrom a base of 14,000 willhave a greater impact than losing2,000 from a base of 100,000.• Second, the higher the profit expectation,the greater will be the negativeimpact on the quality of thenewspaper over time. It is true thatmonetary investment in a newsroomdoes not necessarily result in a proportionateincrease in quality. Newsroomshave waste and diminishingreturns on investment after a point.But even if the outcome is not proportionate,research supports thatinvestment in content that meetsthe needs and wants of its communitywill increase circulation, all elsebeing equal.• Third, no one really knows howmuch newsroom investment isneeded to maintain and/or expandcirculation. If we did, it would beeasier to make a case to investors for78 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Newspaper Cutbackssome balance in the distribution ofprofit between making such investmentsand returning money to ownership.It is this uncertainty that allowsWall Street to press for the highmargins it demands.In the long run, newspapers will notbe able to sustain the current level ofprofit margins. One economic rule remainsclear across time and will affectnewspapers—as intermedia competitionfor advertising dollars increases,newspaper profits will decline. Themarkets, driven by the two social trendsdiscussed above, will force smaller marginson newspaper companies. Thequestion will be whether managementinvests enough in the newsroom, anddoes so in constructive and strategicways, to maintain a profit that willsustain the newspaper across time, orwhether high short-run profits resultin the company being forced out of thenewspaper business.A strong point of the market systemis that demand will be served. Thepublic wants journalism that meets itsinformation needs and desires. In thelong run, companies will meet thatdemand or they will falter. At issue iswhich of today’s newspaper companieswill continue to meet those needs30 or 40 years from now. ■Stephen Lacy is a professor in theMichigan State University School ofJournalism, where he teaches mediamanagement and economics. He hascowritten or coedited four booksand more than 75 scholarly articlesand papers about media economicsand management. He worked atweekly and daily newspapers beforebecoming a professor.slacy@msu.eduWorking Together, Journalists Can Have a Say inCorporate PolicyIt is important to redefine what constitutes a ‘journalism issue.’By Gilbert CranbergJay Harris brought editors to theirfeet at the annual meeting of theAmerican Society of Newspaper Editorsin April with an on-target attackon the profit pressures that make somany of their professional lives miserable.The question now is whetherjournalists will back the applause withaction.Harris quit as publisher of KnightRidder’s San Jose Mercury News toprotest company orders for biggermargins. Geneva Overholser’s experienceas editor of The Des Moines Registera decade or so earlier illustratesthe limits (and perils) of plain talk toinfluence policies that produce theorders. At a 1990 meeting of Gannettbigwigs, who had just honored her asGannett’s Editor of the Year, Overholserspoke boldly of her journalistic vision.[Please see her remarks on page 81.]The Register recently had won forGannett an all-too-rare Pulitzer (forpublic service). Nevertheless,Overholser’s plea, as pertinent now asit was then, went over like the proverbiallead balloon. Overholser, for personaland professional reasons, leftGannett five years later. The company’snewspapers have pretty much shunnedher nationally syndicated column.Randall Bezanson, John Soloski andI interviewed many newspaper editorsfor our recently published book, “TakingStock: Journalism and the PubliclyTraded Newspaper Company” (IowaState University Press) and found them,by and large, not to be happy campers.“I have a fantasy,” one told us, “that Iwin the lottery, buy the paper, andreduce the profit margin. I need a biggernewshole.” Another bridled at the“micro-managing bunch” at headquarterswho put him through “agony.” Itwould be surprising if very many ofthese and other working journalists,who voiced their frustrations to us oncondition that they not be identified,publicly bite the hands that feed them—at times very well.Overwhelmingly, editors told us theynever think about stockholders: Theirconstituents, first and foremost, arereaders. Editors know the needs oftheir papers and know how best toserve readers. Since knowledge ispower, they are in key positions toshape the future of newspapers. Despiteobstacles to activism, there areeffective ways for editors and otherjournalists to work for change, individuallyand collectively, without puttingtheir heads on a chopping block.The focus of “Taking Stock” is thepublicly traded segment of the newspaperindustry. By both reach and influence,the companies are a major andimportant part of the journalism business,accounting for more than 40 percentof daily and about half of Sundaycirculation. What sets the segmentapart, of course, is that stock in thecompanies is a market commodity,traded mostly by large institutional investors.Thus, this “different kind ofbusiness” is evaluated and treated inthe marketplace the same as any otherNieman Reports / Fall 2001 79

Journalist’s Tradeenterprise, and it behaves, for the mostpart, accordingly. A number of ourrecommendations, therefore, are peculiarto publicly traded companiesbut many are applicable to the pressgenerally.We found this “different business”actually to be little different in the wayit is governed than other non-newspapercorporations. While journalism isat the heart of the publicly traded newspaperenterprise, seldom do peoplewith journalism backgrounds serve ascorporate directors. Thus, rarely is anyoneacquainted with newspapers amember of the board’s compensationcommittee, the panel with criticallyimportant responsibility for the incentivesfor management that denote thevalues of a company. And these valuesare what drives corporate decisionmaking.If quality of news presentation,for instance, is a goal, then salaries,bonuses and stock options shouldbe awarded in significant part on achievingcertain measurable quality-relatedgoals, such as non-advertorial newsholeor training. Instead, we found that theincentives in place are so top-heavywith rewards for achieving financialgoals that “it is possible to study a[compensation] committee reportof how top managers are rewardedand not realize that the enterprisediscussed is engaged in journalism.”A noteworthy exception is theMcClatchy Company, in which fourof the company’s nine outside directorshave worked as journalists andone of them, veteran editor Larry Jinks,serves on the compensation committee.At McClatchy, compensation rewardsindividual achievement and companyperformance, which is measuredby financial results as well as othercriteria. These include “growth in circulation,product excellence and marketacceptance, sound strategic planning,development of new productsand services, and community involvementand good corporate citizenship.”Even if they are inclined to speakout like Harris and Overholser did,individual editors can have little influenceon needed structural changes incorporate governance. Not so with organizationsthat represent journalists.The American Society of NewspaperEditors (ASNE), for one, founded “towork collectively for the solution ofcommon problems,” has among itsmissions “helping editors maintain thehighest standards of quality.” Few decisionshave a more direct bearing onnewspaper quality than the choice ofpolicymakers for newspaper companyboards of directors and the compensationpolicies they adopt.ASNE and other journalism groupsthat usually concern themselves withnuts and bolts journalism issues needto act on a cardinal reality: What goeson in boardrooms directly impactsnewsrooms. They should, therefore,scrutinize the composition of theboards of newspaper companies andcampaign for journalists to be placedon the boards as outside directors andalso as members of compensation committees.Similarly, compensation committeereports, now buried in proxystatements, should be publicized byjournalism organizations and by thetrade press.The incentives adopted for uppermanagement too often are carried overWhat goes on inboardrooms directlyimpacts newsrooms.to the newsroom. Almost all the editorswe interviewed receive bonuses,many of them sizable, and they oftenare tied at least in part to financialyardsticks, such as meeting profit targetsor staying under budget. The bonusesof only a tiny minority of editorswere geared to strictly editorial objectives.Many editors have a voice inshaping the criteria for their bonuses.That gives them the opportunity tomake a strong pitch for bonuses relatedto achieving journalistic goals.Inasmuch as many editors told us thatthey regarded circulation to be an importantmeasure of their paper’s quality,we concluded that circulation isproperly such a goal—as it also shouldbe, but seldom is, for CEO’s and otherhigher-ups.About three-fourths of the editorswe spoke with received stock options.Editors who make their views knownon compensation should say thanks,but no thanks, to the options. Stockoptions are intended to align the interestsof recipients with those of stockholders,thereby to encourage measuresto boost profits, hence the stockprice. Editors have no or negligibleinfluence on stock prices, and if theyattempted to they could be broughtinto conflict with their obligations toreaders. For instance, ASNE’s Statementof Principles (“The primary purposeof gathering and distributing newsand opinion is to serve the generalwelfare by informing the people andenabling them to make judgments onthe issues of the time. Newspapermenand women who abuse the power oftheir professional role for selfish motivesor unworthy purposes are faithlessto that public trust.”) can be understoodto frown on stock options;ASNE and other journalism groupsought to object to them on principle asinappropriate for news personnel.For better or worse, editorsnowadays do not just attend newsmeetings. Often, as members oftheir paper’s operating committee,they have a place at the tablethat deals with company-wide issues.Therefore, they have a voicethat ought to be heard on the subjectof audience segmentation.“Taking Stock” chronicles how the pressurefor profits has led newspapers tofocus on the affluent readers most desiredby advertisers. The consequencesare zoned editions—news coverage andmarketing targeted at the well-heeledto the neglect of the inner city.Journalism groups have been aggressivein urging employment by newspapersof minorities, but entirely toopassive about the short-changing ofthe less affluent in coverage by refusalsto deliver to public housing and bysuch marketing practices as denial ofdiscounts in low-income areas. Theseand similar strategies amount to a formof redlining. Journalism organizations,not least those representing minority80 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Newspaper Cutbacksjournalists, ought to be critiquing newspapercirculation and readership practicesand encouraging editors to usetheir clout to advocate for service tothe whole community.“Taking Stock” makes a variety ofother recommendations, many ofwhich would be altogether appropriatefor organizations of journalists toadvance. Some recommended steps,such as those concerned with corporateboards and compensation, wouldtake old-line journalism groups intonon-traditional territory. But in a journalismworld awash with stock analystsfixated on financials, incentive packages,excessive profit goals, and pressurefor short-term results, it would bemyopic to remain mired in the statusquo and not redefine what constitutesa “journalism issue.”The publicly traded newspaper,which first came on the scene in 1963,is a recent phenomenon to which journalists,individually and collectively,are still learning to adapt. The decisionby ASNE to give Jay Harris a forum, andthe enthusiastic reception to his message,are signs of an evolution in thinkingabout journalism. The are evidencealso of the relevance to editors of measuresto reform the way journalismcorporations perform. It remains nowfor groups like ASNE to update theiragendas and take the next logical stepby joining, if not leading, a reformmovement. ■Gilbert Cranberg, former editor ofThe Des Moines Register and The DesMoines Tribune editorial pages,retired in 1982 to teach journalismat the University of Iowa. He is theGeorge H. Gallup Professor Emeritusat its School of Journalism and MassCommunication. Coauthors withCranberg of “Taking Stock” arecolleague Randall Bezanson, aprofessor at the College of Law, andJohn Soloski, former director ofIowa’s journalism school and nowdean of the University of Georgia’sHenry W. Grady College of Journalismand Mass Communication.Prescient Words Delivered a Decade AgoOn December 10, 1990, GenevaOverholser spoke to a gathering ofGannett executives. At this dinner, shewas presented with an award asGannett’s Editor of the Year. At thetime, she was editor of The Des MoinesRegister. Overholser now writes forThe Washington Post Writer’s Group.Excerpts from her remarks follow.…Gannett, I am proud to say, is arisk-taking, history-making company.When all other newspaper companieswere solidly fitted with blinders thatkept them from seeing anything butthe old traditions, Gannett launchedUSA Today—and remade the face ofAmerican newspapers.And, while everyone preached butno one acted as to how white and maleour newspaper staffs were, Gannettput its policies where its mouth was—and remade the shape and complexionof American newsrooms.Well, here’s my dream for the nextrisk-taking, history-making endeavor:Let Gannett show how corporate journalismcan serve all its constituencieswell in hard times. As we sweat out theend of the ever-increasing quarterlyearnings, as we necessarily attend tothe needs and wishes of our shareholdersand our advertisers, are we worryingenough about the other three?About our employees, our readers, andour communities?I’ll answer that: No way. And we’renot being honest about it. We fret overdeclining readership and then cut ournewsholes so that we have insufficientspace to do the things we know readerslike.We fret over a decline in service toour customers and then pay reporters(and others throughout the company)wages that school districts would beashamed of. (That’s one way to makesure we’ll have fewer men and morewomen in the newsroom, I’ll tell you.)And we fret about our lack of connectednesswith our communities and thencut the support that we once gave forcultural and social activities in them.Our nation is crying out for leadership,our communities are crying outfor solutions, and newspapers canhelp—newspapers that are adequatelystaffed, with adequate newsholes. Butnot newspapers where underpaidpeople work too hard and ad stackssqueeze out editorial copy.I’m blessed to be the editor of agreat newspaper, but too many peoplein my newsroom think the greatestyears are passed, and we’re just hangingon by our fingernails. Too often byfar, being an editor in America todayfeels like holding up an avalanche ofpressure to do away with this piece ofexcellence, that piece of quality, so asto squeeze out just a little bit moremoney.Yet we work in a business in whichhard times mean a 25 percent profitmargin cut to 18 percent. We need tobe honest about the impact of this facton our communities, our employeesand our readers, as well as our advertisersand our shareholders.I want to see Gannett prove thatcorporate journalism can serve all theseconstituencies just as well as familyownednewspapers did.I say, who better than Gannett tolead the way on reinvestment in an erawhen reinvestment seems crazy? Whobetter than Gannett to prove that corporatejournalism needn’t bring theills its critics call inevitable?I want Gannett to be the companythat shuns lip service, rewards brutalhonesty, and goes against the grain inhard times. Bold, risk-taking? Daring?Foolhardy? A hare-brained idea? Naive?From what I’ve heard, they said thatand more about USA Today. And now,most of its critics are copying it.Thank you. ■gilcranberg@yahoo.comNieman Reports / Fall 2001 81

Journalist’s TradeNews is Strategic in the Newspaper BusinessNewsroom cost cutting should not imperil its special strengths.By Joseph BowerThe headlines sound grim. “U.S.newspaper groups cut costs asad revenues fall” in the FinancialTimes. In the United States, the wordswere more precise: “Knight Ridder ToCut 1700 Jobs; Cuts Follow EarlierLosses of 400.” The stories reveal thatin response to drops in advertisingrevenue and increases in the cost ofnewsprint, papers are cutting staff inorder to reduce costs. The subplot isthat they might be cutting newsroomstaff and thereby cutting quality. But aNew York Times story on this topic byFelicity Barringer, appearing as a frontpagebusiness story, concludes thatpapers—publicly or privately owned—have displayed varying strategies as faras commitment to quality news, andthose differences continue to play outover this business cycle as in the past.What is the appropriate investmentin gathering and presenting news remainsa continuing question of importancefor newspapers. And the correctanswer is not independent of the economicequations that newspaper publishersmust confront. If the disseminationof news is not going to depend onthe philanthropic spirit of wealthy individuals,then the newspaper businesshas to generate profit. Since 75percent of newspaper revenue comesfrom advertising, and staff at 16 percent(of total cost) is the most importantcost after newsprint, it is not surprisingthat publishers resort to layoffswhen advertising turns down. And sincea large proportion of a newspaper’sstaff is in the newsroom, it is also possiblethat some of the cuts occur there.The questions, of course, are how deepand where are the cuts, and whetherthey are really necessary.A look at the numbers suggests thatthe industry is healthy but facing challenges.The balance sheets are strongwhen judged against history. But circu-lation is declining, readership is declining,and classified ads—the corerevenue source for the local newspaper—arealso declining. Young adultsdo not get their news from newspapers,middle-aged adults have less timeto read, and the Internet has proved animportant competitor for employmentlistings and person-to-person sale ofitems. These trends suggest that publishersshould examine their long-termstrategies as well as their income statements.The current downturn hurts,but a look into the future reveals fundamentalchallenges to present-dayrevenue streams.Three questions appear central: Willpeople continue to buy newspapers?Will advertisers continue to believe thatnewspapers are a good place to reachpotential consumers? And how willnews reporting at newspapers changein response to these economic andcultural pressures?Why do people buy newspapers? Tobegin, they are a uniquely good placeto get easily accessible, timely informationnecessary for everyday life. Withintheir pages, most papers offer reasonablycomprehensive local news, retailand entertainment ads, radio, TV andother schedules, interpretative sportsreporting, and the comics. The lattertwo may not be necessities, but theyare a regular aspect of everyday life.Along with this package of informationcome investigative reporting and nationalnews. Former Washington Postpublisher Katharine Graham capturedthe relationship between the two packagesneatly when she explained to meseveral years ago that it was the wonderfullyintrusive and gossipy Style sectionof the Post that attracted the readerswho, in turn, attracted theadvertisers that paid for the first sectionof national and international news.But another point is clear fromGraham’s autobiography. The missionof a newspaper goes beyond simplymaking money and to earning credibilitythrough its content. The Post is notPeople magazine precisely because ofthe dedicated readership of its frontsections.For local advertisers, retailers andpurveyors of entertainment and sports,newspaper readers are their targetmarket, and papers provide a costeffectiveway of reaching them. IfInternet sites become “friendlier”places to buy food, household goods,and tickets, that relationship couldchange. Newspapers are also a naturalplace for classified ads—especiallywhen it is easier to find what one islooking for. But Monster.com and eBaypose real challenges. Their search enginesare a competitive advantage overthe crowded small print of theclassifieds. Papers might need to createfriendlier formats.In this broader business context,what is the role of news? Pretty fundamental.Properly selected, edited andpresented, news differentiates thenewspaper from other sources of usefulinformation. Comprehensive localnews is what TV news doesn’t have.Nor does television devote special coverageto sub-sections of a metropolitanarea. And investigative reporting is notthe strength of either TV news or theInternet. While some of the TV newsanalysts provide useful analysis—CNNcarried a marvelous 15-minute interviewwith Robert Zoellick on trade mattersthe weekend that I am writing thisarticle—it cannot compare with thefeatured and in-depth analysis possibleon a daily basis in a newspaper. TheInternet has developed a reputationfor carrying anything, anywhere, whichhas made it difficult to establish credibility.With newspapers, credibility hasbeen established through decades of82 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Newspaper Cutbacksreporting and editing.Now, consider the budget for news.My conclusion would be that most ofthe news gathering, writing and editingthat does not contribute to anewspaper’s unique mission for itscommunity of readership is strategicallyvulnerable. For example, it is hardfor me to understand why any newspaperother than those competing for thenational audiences would assign itsown reporters to gather national orinternational news. This is particularlytrue for those who belong to a largegroup of papers, as well as fornewsmagazines. As long as there arethree or four high quality international/national news services, why create asmall reporting team of one’s own? Itis, however, essential to have local figures—bylinereporters or the equivalent—whocan interpret these nationaland international events in local terms.But not reporters in the field. Thetypical news conference in which hundredsof reporters compete to ask questionsof the same celebrity, politicianor entertainer is economic nonsense.Quality is not enhanced by these hugenumbers of journalists assembled tohear and disseminate similar news.In business, we are entering an erain which General Motors and Fiat willcompete with each other by sellingcars that use identical engines andpower trains made in jointly ownedfactories. A Gateway computer is anIntel motherboard with Microsoft operatingsystems and application software,assembled in a third party’s factory.Compaq might or might not useprecisely the same components. In thiskind of an environment, companieshave had to be very clear as to whatactivities they should conduct for themselves;it is those activities, and onlythose, that create value.Newspapers are no different. Thereis no reason for the fifth or the 35threport of a political crisis in Indonesia,usually written by a journalist far lessskilled and experienced than thosewriting for Reuters or the Far EasternEconomic Review. Newpapers can contributeunique value through their reportingof the events in their territory,especially when it comes to helpingreaders judge the quality of local governance.If the cuts in staff include cuts in thenewsroom made in response to strategicconclusions of this sort, thenwhether or not they work out, they canbe judged sensible by intent. But if theyare simply cost cutting, and they actuallyreduce that paper’s ability to differentiateitself as a source of information,then it will be the owners, thejournalists whose jobs are impacted,and citizens who are dependent on aneffective press who will pay the price.A recently published exploration ofthis very question, “Taking Stock: Journalismand the Publicly Traded NewspaperCompany,” [See article on page79 by one of its authors, GilbertCranberg] provides no grounds foroptimism. The authors 1 conclude thatin response to the pressures of publicownership, particularly by institutionalinvestors seeking short-term financialreturn, newspaper groups have tailoredtheir product and cut their expenseswith revenue in mind, not focusing ontheir unique abilities to gather anddisseminate news. With reporters andeditors motivated like business managersby incentive compensation structures,owners have focused on the profitabilityof the news business, increasingprofit margins to new heights.Like banks that do not provide loansor automated teller machines for thosewho live in poor neighborhoods, newspapershave adjusted their product andcirculation to address the needs of advertisers.Where they have enjoyed alocal monopoly, it is the local newsthat has borne the brunt of cost cutting.These authors argue that economicincentives have led papers toseek a target audience of consumersrather than the “public audience” andthat the news is chosen for these audiencesbased on their stated preferences.In places where audiences are not attractiveto advertisers, that segment ofcirculation is not sought.The logic of their analysis is prettypowerful, and they use cases to documenthow the pressure for earningspenetrates the structural arrangementsof certain publishing groups. But theyoffer no systematic assessment of thequality of the news. Nor is there anyempirical study of the size of thenewshole. The authors argue thesepoints without providing specific examplesor references to their data. Thisis a problem, since a strategic focusingof news resources and imaginative useof technology could be associated withbetter news, lower costs, and variablecompensation based on profit.Neighborhoods and communities doget involved in civic activities whenthey are informed about forces affectingtheir situation—a polluter, a newroad, new opportunities to shop, andthe accomplishments of their neighbors.In some localities, this need iscurrently being met by local newspapersor Web sites. It is not the fate of thenation that is in the balance, but stronglocal coverage might be a first step torestoring public interest in politics.And if national and international newswere assessed for local impact, ratherthan just packaged as small news blurbs,that could also make a positive difference.Gathering and interpreting news isa distinctive competence of newspapers.Intelligent business managementshould not pose a threat to that activity,but that certainly doesn’t guaranteethat any particular newsroom assignmentis safe. Credible newspresented to attract readers is thegolden goose. For that reason it shouldbe at the core of any sensible economicdecision-making about the newspaperbusiness. ■Joseph Bower is Donald Kirk Davidprofessor of business administrationat Harvard Business School. Heresearches, writes and consultsextensively on top managementchallenges and public policy. Sincethe 1970’s, he has worked withNieman Fellows to understandchanges in the world economy.jbower@hbs.edu1The authors of “Taking Stock” are Gilbert Cranberg, Randall Bezanson and John Soloski.Nieman Reports / Fall 2001 83

Words & ReflectionsWashington Post editor and columnist Meg Greenfield put it this way in her posthumousautobiography: “Few journalists have much appreciation of the enormous impact wehave on the lives of those we write about.” In a speech “NBC Nightly News” anchor TomBrokaw gave earlier this year at Harvard University, he said: “If I could, I would takeanyone who comes to power in American journalism and make them subject to a[front-page] news story. Then they would have a keen understanding of what so manyinteresting people go through.”In this issue of Nieman Reports, we feature the perspective of people who, because ofextraordinary circumstances, found themselves in the glare of the national media. Whathappens, we wondered, when journalists arrive? We pair these stories with those ofjournalists who have explored this topic in their reporting. And we also examine whathappens when information about an issue that is as sensitive and explosive as the effectschild care has on children’s development erupts into the media’s spotlight.On Saturday, January 27, Audrey McCollum’s life was transformed by the murdersof her neighbors, Dartmouth College professors Half and Susanne Zantop. For the nextfew months, as she mourned the loss of her friends, she also became someone to whomjournalists turned for information and comment. She recounts her experiences as sheexplores whether her attempt to “honor dear friends actually caused harm?” AsChandra Levy’s disappearance became the summer’s biggest story, Kim Petersen,executive director of the Carole Sund/Carrington Memorial Reward Foundation, helpedChandra’s parents deal with the avalanche of media requests. She writes about this andabout how the coverage affects the Levy family. Robert Salladay, a political reporterfor The San Francisco Chronicle, observed coverage of the Santana High Schoolshootings from a different perspective as he sat in the hospital room of his nephew, whowas injured in the shootings, and fielded calls from the media. Barbara Schardt, themother of a junior at Santana High School, writes about what it is like to watch her 17-year-old son, John-David, become a source on which many in the media relied.Barbara Willer, deputy executive director for the National Association for theEducation of Young Children, writes about what happened when preliminary findingsfrom a long-term child-care study erupted into misleading headlines and sounds bites.In his work as television writer and media critic for The (Baltimore) Sun, DavidFolkenflik realized that some of the toughest people to interview were TV reporters,who expected others to answer their questions, but were muzzled when it came toanswering his. As he writes, “I am not suggesting that anyone should be required tospeak. But for journalists, in particular, I think it can help restore trust with the public.”And Ike Seamans, a senior correspondent at WTVJ (NBC) News in Miami, reveals whathe learned when he reported a story about what people don’t like about local news.84 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

In our Books and Commentary section, journalists write about either a book theyhave written or a book they’ve read. Carol Polsgrove, a former Associated Presswriter and now professor at Indiana University’s School of Journalism, borrows fromresearch she used in writing her book, “Divided Minds: Intellectuals and the Civil RightsMovement,” to describe the ways in which editors at influential national publications allbut silenced the voices calling for racial integration after the Brown v. Board ofEducation decision in 1954. As she writes, “At a time when national magazines mightwell have been leading the way to change, they instead opened their pages to those whoresisted it.”William F. Woo, former editor of the St. Louis Post-Dispatch who teachesjournalism at Stanford University, writes about Jack Lule’s book, “Daily News, EternalStories: The Mythological Role of Journalism,” in which he examines how a lot ofnewspaper stories can be read as versions of our oldest myths. But Woo wonders (andworries) aloud about how these eternal stories are also journalism. “How will thistheory be reflected in the news product?” he asks. “How will they play out in the day-todaywork of assigning, reporting, writing and editing stories?” Warren Watson, anewspaper reporter, editor and designer for 26 years, observes that Kevin G. Barnhurstand John Nerone’s book, “The Form of News: A History,” examines “how social,economic and cultural forces led to the development of the modern, professionalproduct we call today’s newspaper.” Nancy Day, director of Advanced JournalismStudies at Boston University and a freelance editor and writer, describes what makes“Beyond Argument: A Handbook for Editorial Writers,” a worthy companion for“editorial writers [who] enter the craft suddenly and without formal preparation.”Dallas Morning News writer Dianne Solís, who reported from Mexico City from1991 to 1997 for The Wall Street Journal, read “Looking for History: Dispatches FromLatin America,” a compilation of essays by Mexican journalist Alma Guillermoprietoand reports that the author is at her best “in her psychological portraits of LatinAmerica’s unconventional politicos.” Wilson Wanene, a Kenyan-born freelancejournalist in Boston, introduces us to “This House Has Fallen: Midnight in Nigeria,” abook by Karl Maier, the Africa correspondent for The Independent of London from1986 to 1996. “The reporting is a skillful mixture of recent Nigerian history, carefullyselected interviews, and vibrant local color,” Wanene writes. John Herbers, who for24 years was a reporter and editor at The New York Times, reveals what he learnedabout Daniel Schorr when he read his autobiography, “Staying Tuned: A Life inJournalism.” ■Nieman Reports / Fall 2001 85

Words & ReflectionsA Neighbor Wonders About Her Role as a Media Source‘Had my attempt to honor dear friends actually caused harm?’By Audrey McCollumTears well up as I start writingthis—sadness and horror surgethrough a veil of persisting disbelief.On Saturday, January 27, my husband,Bob, our daughter, Cindy, herhusband, John, and I gathered arounda gently bubbling cheese fondue incelebration of Bob’s 76th birthday. Aswe toasted his future, someonepounded on our door. When Cindyflung it open, a Dartmouth Collegeprofessor—almost incoherent—begged for help. She had gone to ournearest neighbors for dinner and foundthem, Half and Susanne Zantop, collapsedon a bloodied floor.Cindy and Bob, a physician, spedover while I called 911. Then I waited,wondering what had befallen our cherishedfriends and whether my familywas in danger, too. I waited until mydread spurred me to phone the oneperson who might tell me something—the Sunday editor of our regional newspaper,the Valley News. Since I wroteoccasional features for the paper, Iknew about scanners that monitor policecommunications.“Steve, something awful has happenednext door; have you heard anythingon the scanner?”“No,” he said. “Oh, wait a minute.”Silence, then his somber voice.“They are saying ‘two down at 115Trescott.’” “Down” is police talk fordead, I think he added.An eternity passed. I looked out thedoor every few minutes, as though Icould will Bob and Cindy back. Then Isaw them dragging along the driveway,heads bowed, shoulders slumped. Apoliceman walked behind them, butwhen I rushed out calling, “Don’t tellme they’re dead,” he turned away.“Mom, come in the house,” Cindysaid, and she told me Half and Susannehad been murdered.We went through robotic motionsuntil the Valley News editor phoned toask if I would give an interview. Withouthesitation, I agreed. I wanted toshield Bob and Cindy, who could barelyspeak. And I believe in the mission ofthe press: to inquire, to inform, tofoster understanding.In 1945, I was the editor in chief ofmy college newspaper, aiming for acareer in journalism. But my mother’spuzzling psychiatric illness steered myinquisitive mind toward psychologyinstead. I practiced psychotherapy for50 years, but continued writing, too.My Valley News editor was a strict mentor,insisting on clarity and accuracy inevery phrase. His high standards, alongwith daily perusal of the Valley Newsand The New York Times, shaped myconfidence in the press.“I’m sorry to have to ask you aboutthis,” the reporter said when he arrived.“It’s really alright,” I reassured him.Me, the mom, me, the therapist, me,the fellow writer. Me, still strangelycomposed.His story, published the next morning,was factual and dignified. Thatday, requests for interviews began comingin by phone, e-mail, fax and byknocks on our door—we finally lostcount at 47.“Mom, write a statement to handout to the media,” Cindy advised beforeshe and John left for home, butthat sounded too mechanical. I wantedto honor Half and Susanne with spontaneous,heartfelt words.At five a.m. on January 29, the technicalcrew for “Good Morning America”began setting up satellite connections.At 8:15 that morning, Bob and I werebeing interviewed live.“Ms. McCollum, you were friends ofthe Zantops, you’ve been neighborsfor a number of years. Tell us somethingabout them, if you would,” saidJack Ford, the host.“A few minutes ago, they were describedas active members of theDartmouth community,” I said. “Theywere, in fact, active members of theworld, and I think for that reason theloss is an international loss, a tragedyfor the world. What I mean by that is—partly because of their background asGermans, their learning about theHolocaust, their awareness of what canhappen to a country if the citizenry arecomplacent about what goes on—theywere passionately involved in everyaspect of life. They were politicallyextremely aware, astute; they were catalysts;they energized a wide circle ofcolleagues and friends to learn aboutthe political process, to learn about thesignificant issues—to get out and vote.And they became citizens of the U.S.only three years ago after agonizingover it because they were deeply rootedin Germany.”Jack Ford broke in: “It sounds likeit’s not an understatement to describethem as beloved members of theDartmouth community.” He didn’t getit. This intelligent, experienced newsmandidn’t comprehend. I poundedthe sofa in frustration.But when I viewed the tape as Iprepared to write this article, I saw himglancing at his watch, perhaps scarcelyhearing my words. Yet he had allowedme one minute, 16 seconds for mymessage. I thank him for that.In contrast, we worked with “Dateline”for five and a half hours, resultingin a glimpse of my tearful face and veryfew words. Other interviews werescheduled, cancelled, rescheduled,then some shows were never aired. Ididn’t see all the coverage, but in termsof my aim of portraying two remarkablepeople, our grueling TV timeseemed mostly squandered.86 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

When Journalists Arrive…Much of the early print coveragethat I saw was responsible and broadlyaccurate, although words I never usedwere attributed to me: “pool of blood,”for example—the image revolts me.But a grievous miscommunication waspublished in The (London) Times.Combining material from our 90-minute interview with information fromothers, the reporter wrote a detailedstory that I read online. My gaze frozeon these words about Susanne: “Thisvigilance took the form of a lifelongdetermination to dissociateherself from Germany andits history.”Wrong! Susanne dedicatedher scholarly life toexploring German literatureand the history that shapedit; she took students to Germanyon terms abroad; she visited herfamily. I was angry and embarrassedthat this misconception seemed to emanatefrom me.Worse, though, was my sense ofbetrayal in an interview with a Bostonjournalist. I told all reporters that thepolice had asked my husband not todescribe what he saw that dreadfulnight and most accepted that. Thiswriter guided me through a thoughtfuldiscussion of the Zantops, her mannerearnest and respectful. Then, after anhour, she suddenly blurted, “Is it truetheir throats were cut?” I almost threwup. “For God’s sake! These were mydear friends!” I protested.She flushed, apologized and describedthe relentless pressure she andcolleagues were under to supply everydetail to their editors. Her newspaperand others were competing intenselyto attract the most readers.Relentless pressure for us all.Most mornings, my husband and Iwent skiing, renewing our sense of lifein the bracing air, enjoying our rhythmicbody movements, spotting tracksof tiny critters in the snow. But our 46-year marriage was strained by the mediademands. The interviews torturedBob, reviving the ghastly memory ofthe sight he had seen next door. Theyinterfered with his style of coping: compartmentalizinghis pain, not allowingit to engulf him. I urged him to avoidthe sessions, and at times he did. Still,he was bombarded by phone calls:“Just one question, Doctor McCollum,”a frenetic reporter would plead.For me, the more thoughtful interviewswere therapeutic, allowing me togo over and over the tragedy like atraumatized child after surgery. Thereiterations slowly anchored my senseof reality; I’d been sliding in and out ofdisbelief, as though this must be a filmlike Alfred Hitchcock’s “Psycho”—a filmthat would end.‘I find the media spins hurtful,painful and your participationseems to me to feed the frenzy.’Yet the intense discussions took theirtoll, and Bob worried as I developedwhat I called “mediatitis”: a hoarsevoice and dry cough. I kept misplacingthings and, normally fleet of foot, Ibegan staggering. One evening I slidinto a hot bath to soak the aches away,and 90 minutes later Bob found meslumbering in an empty tub. Fortunately,the drain had slowly leaked.“Why are you doing all this?” Hisvoice was harsh with irritation.“Because I need to,” I snapped. Sincelate childhood, when I tried to be thelinchpin holding together a severelytroubled family, the capacity to meetchallenges has been a foundation ofmy self-esteem. This seemed like anothertraumatic time in which I couldbe useful, and I had received notes ofappreciation, one from Dartmouth’spresident and his wife.Yet I couldn’t fully answer Bob’squestion. I needed to sort through themedia experience, so I began workingon an article that ran in The Dartmouthon February 22.But on February 16, The BostonGlobe published a story that sunderedthe community. In part, it read, “Investigatorsbelieve the killings…werecrimes of passion, most likely resultingfrom an adulterous affair involving HalfZantop, according to authorities closeto the case.”On February 21, a retraction appearedon the front page of the Globe.But those words failed to assuage theanguish stirred among the couples’friends and daughters. There was outrage,too, and some of that leaked onme.“Audrey, I think it is really best notto talk to the media at all. They sensationalizeabsolutely everything andmisquote everyone.” This e-mail messagecame from one of the Zantops’intimates, a brilliant scholar, a wiseand warm mentor to students, and afriend of mine. “I do thinkyou should know that theresponse to your statementshas not been uniformly positive….I find the media spinshurtful, painful and your participationseems to me to feedthe frenzy,” she wrote a fewdays later. “I don’t see what can comeout of telling the press and TV thatSusanne and Half were wracked byprofessional anxieties—the Globe usesthat to imply that Susanne’s work habitsdrove Half to affairs….”Reading her words, I felt drenchedwith shame.I searched the Globe. For a backgroundstory, I had indeed mentionedthe Zantops’ academic worries. But sohad others. “The way [Susanne] pushedherself all the time was very hard on alot of us, including Half,” said a colleague.I felt relieved that I wasn’t alonein painting a realistic portrait of theirlives.Had I stoked the media frenzy? Hadmy attempt to honor dear friends actuallycaused harm?Frantic, I put these questions to aNewsweek correspondent who hadinterviewed me, then stayed in touchby phone and e-mail. In his communications,I had sensed integrity. “Hereare my thoughts about whether yourcomments ‘feed’ the media frenzy,” hewrote in reply. “I don’t think they do.What they do is feed the frenzy surroundingyou specifically, because oncereporters see you quoted, more willcall…. But as to the story as a whole,your participation…has no effect…onthe media’s appetite for reporting thestory. If you don’t talk, they move on tothe next potential source…. We’ve al-Nieman Reports / Fall 2001 87

Words & Reflectionsready seen the sorry effects of an informationvacuum…. Sadly, the lack ofinformation fuels speculation and rumorand, inevitably, error. That’s aproblematic dynamic in the media, butone that persists independently of yourchoice to take reporters’ questions….No, you have not abetted the media’sintrusions into the community.” I senthim an e-mail hug.But after the Globe fiasco, I felt waryof the press. And when two teenagerswere arrested as suspects in the murder,and media spotlights shifted towardthem, I was relieved. Yet the selfdoubtstirred by my friend’s reproacheslingered on and infiltrated my griefabout Half and Susanne. Grief is composedof sadness and longing, andoften anger, too. When guilt is stirredinto the psychic stew, clinical depressiontakes over. For two months, Iteetered at the edge, ruminating often.I hadn’t experienced “the media” asa juggernaut: Nobody forced me tospeak. Others in the community didfeel harassed, especially when reportersbegan tracking rumors. I don’t knowif those distressed people exercisedtheir options—to hold a press conference,hand out written statements, say“no comment.” One group did hire asecurity guard.For me, it was startling to discoverthat in speaking with one reporter Imight essentially be speaking to 20;that is, I was unaware of the transmissionsof wire services and of affiliateswithin TV. Each time my commentswere relayed, changes of context orwording could occur. Quotation markswere excessively and carelessly used.Most reprehensible, though, was theGlobe’s choice to publish a defamatorystory attributed to anonymoussources—an account of alleged adulterythat some readers still believe.True, I cite unidentified persons in thisarticle. Yet their comments were privatecommunications to me. Their viewpointsand roles are important, but nottheir names. In contrast, the Globe’sinformants made statements for publicconsumption, but were unwilling toaccept responsibility for them. Combinedwith market pressures to attractreaders with sensational content, theuse of such sources leads to a seriousblurring of fact and fiction—an abrogationof responsibility to the public.For my part, in identifying with journalistsand in using reporters as quasitherapists,I had been somewhat selfserving.Yet I also did some damagecontrol, quashing at least one viciousrumor and diverting some pressurefrom those unwilling to speak. And Idid contribute to several richly texturedportraits of two remarkablepeople.In crisis, I did the best I could. Thatrealization brought peace. ■Audrey McCollum is a retired psychotherapistand the author of fivenonfiction books including “SmartMoves: Your Guide Through theEmotional Maze of Relocation,” and“Two Women, Two Worlds,” a memoirof her 16-year friendship with amountain dweller in Papua NewGuinea struggling to lead womeninto the modern world. This articleis an expanded and updated versionof “Mediatitis,” published in TheDartmouth on February 22, 2001.audrey.mccollum@valley.netThe Chandra Levy StoryWhat does media coverage look and feel like from the other side?By Kim PetersenAs executive director of the CaroleSund/Carrington Memorial RewardFoundation, I found myselfin the midst of the top story in thenation—the missing Washington, D.C.intern—when the family turned to usfor help. Our organization was establishedin memory of the three womenmurdered outside Yosemite NationalPark in February 1999 to assist familieswhose loved ones are missing or havebeen murdered. While our primaryfunction is to post reward money forfamilies in these circumstances whodon’t have the resources to do so, wealso act as a media liaison.Our work with the media encompassesanything from providing a familyspokesperson when the family isunable to speak with members of themedia to assisting with fielding mediacalls and scheduling interviews for thefamily. Families who find themselvesin these circumstances have no ideawhat to do or where to begin. So it wasfor the Levys when they contacted usonly a few days after reporting theirdaughter missing.Our experience with missing persons’cases has taught us the importanceof getting the media involved asquickly as possible. Time is of the essence,and often someone who mighthear or see a report might have heardor seen something that could help locatethis person. Within hours of ourfoundation being contacted, localbroadcast media began calling me onmy cell phone to cover the story at therequest of their affiliates in D.C.A press conference was quicklyscheduled in the Levy home that afternoon.Two days later Mrs. Levy wassharing her daughter’s story with thecountry on “Good Morning America.”Soon the case of the missing 24-yearoldintern was being aired across thenation as rumors of a potential roman-88 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

When Journalists Arrive…tic relationship with a congressmansurfaced. I’m not certain how the rumorsstarted, although many reporterscalled to ask me why CongressmanGary Condit posted a $10,000 reward.As word traveled that a trip to Washington,D.C. was scheduled for herparents and myself, the story skyrocketed.We received a glimpse of whatwas to come when, just before ourdeparture from California, we werepaged and asked to deplane to take aphone call. Airline agents in Baltimorestated that they were being besiegedwith media calls and crews wanting tospeak with the Levys upontheir arrival at the airport.Baltimore airport officialsworked diligently duringour cross-country flight toprepare for this media onslaughtand to have appropriatesecurity measures inplace.Upon landing, wedeplaned first and weregreeted at the gate by securityand airport personnelwho notified us thatthe media were gatheredand anxiously awaiting ourarrival. With security surroundingus, we walkedthrough the airport to thepodium to make a fewcomments. After severalminutes of comments andquestions, we were on ourway to our waiting car withsecurity, camera crews,and reporters on all sides.One cameraman who was walking backwardsin front of us fell over a largeplanter in his quest to videotape ourwalk to the car. While he fortunatelywas not injured, it showed us just whatlengths those in the media would gothrough to cover this story.Being surrounded by media andsecurity in the airport was a new andoverwhelming experience for theseparents in the midst of such difficultcircumstances. They were both emotionallyand physically exhausted, yetthey knew it was critical to get the wordout about their missing daughter.During our stay in D.C., our hotelprovided a press room in which toconduct interviews. While we werethere, media camped out at our hoteland either preceded our arrival or followedus to every meeting and appointmentwe had scheduled. Instantlythe story of Chandra Levy, the missingintern, was the top story in the nation.Nearly every show called requesting aninterview—“we need just a couple minutesof the Levys’ time,” they’d say. Mycell phone rang nonstop at all hours.When I would attempt to listen to mymessages, both lines of my cell phonewould ring nonstop, preventing meChandra Ann Levy, Congressman Gary Condit, and Jennifer Baker shownin a November 2000 personal photo taken on a visit to Condit’s officebefore Jennifer Baker became an intern in his office. Photo courtesy of TheModesto Bee.from clearing my messages to allowroom for more.These moments proved a good reminderof why our foundation providesmedia liaison services. A family inthis situation could never handle themedia requests while they tried to getthrough each day. As it was, I washaving a very difficult time and gettingby on about three hours of sleep eachnight: Interviews began in early morningand continued late into the evening.Having worked with media on severaloccasions in the past, I am fullyaware of the competitiveness betweenthe networks, particularly the morningshows. I understand how critical it is tobe the “first” to air the story or to be theshow that gets the “live” shot. Evenbefore this experience, I’d been in themiddle of two of the morning showshaggling over which one gets the liveshot and who has to pre-tape and whichgets the optimal location because ofhaving to share space.But this story was different. Thenetworks and crews seemed to trulyunderstand the pain this family wasexperiencing and worked together inways I’d never experienced. They understoodthe family’s desire to get theirdaughter’s story out tothe public in every waypossible and were willingto do their part tohelp them accomplishthat goal. They workedtogether to minimize thestress on the family evento the extent of sharingcameras for live shots soMrs. Levy wouldn’t haveto move to a new locationor miss getting herdaughter’s story on anothershow due to timeconstraints on the partof the networks. It wasamazing to witness anda great example of howmuch can be accomplishedwhen peoplework together toward apositive goal.Not only did thecrews and reporterswork together and notargue over who got the first shot or thebest location; they treated the Levyswith great compassion both on and offcamera. It helped to make an incrediblydifficult and painful circumstancejust a little easier for the family toendure. Many people, including somein the media, don’t realize that as familiesin difficult circumstances, such asthe Levys, tell their story over and over,it’s like reopening a very painful wound.It’s extremely difficult, but they do itbecause they recognize its importanceand are therefore willing to endure thepain. Understanding this emotionaltrade-off that families go through canNieman Reports / Fall 2001 89

Words & Reflectionshelp journalists be more effective whenworking with people who are in suchdifficult and painful situations.While the majority of the bookers,producers, crews and reporters havebeen a pleasure to work with and veryunderstanding of the emotional strainChandra’s parents have been under,unfortunately there have been a fewwho went too far. There were the media“stalkers,” reporters who followedthe family or myself wherever we wentand yet claimed to have arrived at theparticular location by chance. Therewas also a crew that followed the Levyson a weekend getaway when it hadbeen agreed upon that they would beleft alone for the weekend. The poolcamera stayed, yet some individual networksfollowed them on their own.At times, the media cooperated witheach other while they camped out infront of the Levy home. The networkshad agreed to use a pool camera outsidethe home to help alleviate theadditional stress and strain of havingmultiple cameras, crews and reportersthere and minimize subjecting the parentsto the same questions over andover again. That was a tremendoushelp. At other times, relations wereless than friendly. Occasionally, onenetwork would complain to me aboutthe behavior of another network—never anything major, but just enoughthat I would hear about it.With the barrage of media calls acase like this elicits, it’s impossible tocooperate with each broadcast or printrequest. Rumors also abound as eachnetwork attempts to provide the verylatest in the story. On several occasions,media outlets broadcast storiesin which reporters cited another mediaorganization as the source beforelooking into it themselves.This kind of shoot-from-the-hip journalismoccurred all too frequently. Oneproducer with whom I had been workingcalled and yelled at me, accusingme of lying to her because she saw ashow announcing that they had an“exclusive” that I knew nothing about.She hadn’t taken time to find out theauthenticity of the report or assess mypossible knowledge of the situation.Instead, she called to yell and swear atme. Though I am well aware that alarge and very critical component ofher job is to establish a positive workingrelationship with me so as to acquireinterviews for her network, ourrelationship and the trust level I hadwith her were greatly compromisedafter this incident.There have also been several occasionswhen reports have been madethat human remains were located orthat they had credible information asto where Chandra’s body was buried.These reports turned out to be incorrectbut, understandably, have beenvery painful for the family. It’s so difficultin high-profile cases to take thetime to adequately research these tipsbefore reporting them due to the pressureto be first to report new information.But practicing this type of unsubstantiatedreporting is not only verystressful for the family involved butcan, over time, erode public confidencein the news journalists convey.The cable news channels have coveredthe story nonstop from the beginning.They cover it on several of theirshows and often break into their showsto bring something live whenever theyfeel it could be of value. Often whenthey break into coverage with importantnews, they do so prematurely andend up having to explain that the tip orinformation was a hoax or turned outnot to be related to the case. Thiscoverage has been painful for the Levys;friends or family members see it air andcall the family to tell them to turn it on.Watching these breaking news detailson television, then having them turnout to be nothing, further jolts theiremotions.Many of the cable talk show hostshave been discussing the case withpanels of experts with varying degreesof expertise. While their ongoing discussionsabout the case have keptChandra’s story in front of the public,these often turn into battles and argumentsin which no one’s point is heardas they are all talking over each otherand so emotional, with little control onthe part of the host.Both print and broadcast media haveshown a photograph of Chandra andCongressman Gary Condit. I’ve evenread and heard reports in which they’vestated that a picture of the congressmanand Chandra was found in herapartment. Actually, this picture wastaken of Chandra, the congressman,and a friend of hers, but some newsorganizations cropped it to show onlyChandra and the congressman. Thistype of reporting is very misleading tothe public; it deceives the viewer bytelling the part of the story the mediawant to emphasize. Displaying the realphotograph with the three of thempresents a very different scenario thanshowing Chandra and the congressmanalone.In looking back over the past threemonths, working with the media incovering this case has been both apleasure as well as an exhausting adventure.Being in the midst of a case ofthis magnitude is quite an experience.I’ve learned a lot and believe that manyin the press have learned as well. Myhope is that the compassion and caringattitude shown to Dr. and Mrs. Levyduring this very difficult time couldcarry over and be offered to anyonebeing interviewed at tough times intheir lives.This experience also demonstratesagain the immense power of the mediato inform the entire nation, not tomention much of the world, and to doso at a speed that can be breathtaking—withpositive or negative impacts.Solving a missing person’s case requiresteamwork among law enforcement,families, the media, and the public.When media do their job responsiblyand, as in this case, compassionately,the extraordinary strain on families suchas the Levys will be eased. ■Kim Petersen is the executive directorof the Carole Sund/CarringtonMemorial Reward Foundation(www.carolesundfoundation.com)which works with families whoseloved ones are missing or have beenmurdered. She serves as an advocateand a liaison to law enforcementagencies for victims and their families.Sundfund@thevision.net90 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

When Journalists Arrive…A Bullet, a Boy, a Story, and a Reporter’s ObservationsA journalist with an injured family member witnesses the press in action.By Robert SalladayAbullet went through mynephew’s chest and out his sidewithout much medical fuss. Twostitches on either end and he left thehospital with a bottle of Vicodin. Hisheart was just missed, and the familywas thankful for the randomness ofcertain trajectories.Triston Salladay, the 14-year-old sonof my brother, was injured at SantanaHigh School in San Diego County lastMarch. In a country of 281 millionpeople, our family was chosen to takea hit for the strange subculture ofstressed-out teenagers, reporters, gunsand the reassuring narcotic of TVsociobabble.Within minutes of the shooting, thecountry moved into position. It hadbeen practiced, done before. I took myplace as well, as a reporter, family member,and media confessor for a day.At about noon on March 5, my stepmotherphoned the Sacramento bureauof The San Francisco Chronicle.She informed me that what I’dbeen watching on CNN allmorning had meaning. Tristonhad been shot and might bedead. I went to San Diego andspent the next day with Triston.When I returned that night,my editor gingerly asked me towrite about the experience.Nothing I have ever writtenhas produced as much response fromreaders, in part because the Chronicletook the unusual step of printing acritique of itself and other newspaperson the front page. The headline read,“A Reporter Sees Tragedy From theOther Side.” Any given story will promptfive or six e-mails. My first-person articlefor the Chronicle, which was reprintedin several newspapers andonline news sites, produced 250 responses.I’ve saved most of them on acomputer disk for Triston.Many of the messages offered prayersfor Triston, or personal stories of beingsubject to media scrutiny. In nearlyevery instance, family members andvictims said they felt betrayed andpreyed upon, particularly by TV reporters,who promised them insightful,compassionate coverage and thenproduced cliché-ridden stories. Formerreporters wrote to say they left thebusiness because they felt guilty forembracing these victims for a singleday, then moving on to another story.I told a friend, an editor for the SanJose Mercury News, about the response.He replied in a half-joking way: “Congratulations.This shooting has beenreally good for you.” He was right. I feltguilty for so publicly revealing the innerworkings of our family at the sametime I contemplated the intrusivenessof the media. Had I been using Triston’sshooting to advance my career, to makea point at his expense? I wrote the storyfor several reasons. I wanted to make aDeadlines force trivializationand inexactitude. Perhapspeople should look elsewherefor their meaning.point about the media and had theopportunity to get very close to a nationalstory. I knew that I could getdetails nobody else could get. But thedecision to write the story came after Ireturned from San Diego, after it wasclear Triston would be okay.I found it easy to stop being a journalistduring the week after the shooting.On the day after the shooting, thefour or five smokers in Triston’s thoroughlydisjointed family gathered outsidethe hospital. There was some silencein our circle. We hadn’t seeneach other in years. I barely recognizedmany of them.A local TV cameraman quicklywalked by with his gear. He didn’t stop,but blurted out: “You guys family?”Triston’s 24-year-old half brothersoundly said, “No,” even before theman was finished speaking.The cameraman whirled around andsaid, “Hey, we’re not the enemy. We’renot the enemy, man.” He’s upset at us.It’s a nice little package, effortless inits efficiency. Roles are taken. Defensesare offered.Triston’s other half brother, who is19, received 41 phone calls from themedia on his answering machine theday of the shooting. A producer fromone national morning show said hemust call them back or they will showup at his doorstep and stick a camera inhis face.Even the threats seemed clichéd.The New York Times called my brotherin the hospital. He handed thephone to me, the media expert.Embarrassed that other familymembers might hear me, I neverthelesstold some of the storyas Triston had related it to me.A student had comfortedTriston while he pressed asweater down on his chest tohold the wound closed.That’s what she probably wanted,stories like that. But somehow onlyplatitudes and story fragments cameout of my mouth. I even knew that ateacher or some school employee hadbrusquely discounted Triston’s claimthat he had been shot after he ran upscreaming amid the chaos. She retreatedinto a classroom, leaving Tristonoutside. I didn’t say anything about it,nor my brother’s seemingly naturalwish that the shooter should be killed.Newspapers rarely get it exactly right,Nieman Reports / Fall 2001 91

Words & Reflectionsbecause people act like I did that day.The reporter asked three times for thename of this Good Samaritan who helddown Triston’s wound. She explainedhow Triston might want to get somerecognition for this young man whomight have saved his life.All I could think was: “You’re tryingthat ploy on me? I know that tactic. I’veused it. Think of some benevolent reasonfor this person to give up the name.Then move on to another person’sprivacy, another anecdote.”The day reminded me of the finalscene in “Six Degrees of Separation,”the play about a wealthy New York artdealer and his wife who shelter a youngman found bloody at their door. Asevery East Side matron hungrily demandsdetails from their incredibletale, Ouisa Kittredge, the wife, standsup at a dinner party to say: “This wasnot an anecdote! It was an experience.”If we’re looking for an explanationfor the Santana shooting, let’s startwith a culture that strips away meaning.Everything must be talked about.Risk factors must be examined. Patternsmust be found. The day after theshooting “TalkBack Live” did “WhenKids Kill: Who’s to Blame?” Governorsand presidents are shocked and saddened.The shooter is labeled a coward.The Chronicle conducts an onlinepoll asking people if the shooter shouldbe executed.It’s all placed into position, devoidof real feeling and emotion. It takes ona shiny professionalism. I found thatwhat I wrote for the Chronicle, muchof which is reprinted here, took onsheen as well. It made me uncomfortable.I later wished it had been hiddensomewhere inside the paper; I felt uncomfortabletelling my brother that Ihad written about his son. Triston andI have never talked about the piece.I don’t know what could have beendone differently by the newspapersand TV stations that covered the shooting.Deadlines force trivialization andinexactitude. Perhaps people shouldlook elsewhere for their meaning.Triston’s mother found the descriptionof her son in the San Diego newspaperto be a little cold. The reporterhad found a single friend who describedhim as “funny.” The story about Triston,the drama, centered on getting his father,Greg, back to California throughan East Coast storm.The little paragraph about thewounded should have, perhaps, readsomething like this: “Triston Salladay,14, shot in the chest. Good conditionUCSD hospital. Friends and family saidTriston is bold with his affection despiteerratic and occasionally distantrelatives. His family tree looks somethinglike a cross section of a lung. Hisfather married a woman with six children,and he already had three halfbrothers. Triston has a remarkable,charismatic way of silently piercing youwith his gaze after telling you somethingmundane.“He has a writer’s way of findingironies, such as the teachers whobanned Harry Potter books, callingthem too childish, but read the booksthemselves. Or the high school associatewho constantly teased and harassedhim, but called almost in tears after theshooting to say how worried he was.Triston has four major scars from skateboardingand other outside activities.Now he has two scars from a bulletwound and his own story to tell.” ■Robert Salladay covers state governmentand politics for The San FranciscoChronicle. This article updatesand expands his original Chroniclearticle. He has worked for The (SanFrancisco) Examiner and The OaklandTribune.bsalladay@sfchronicle.comMy Son Became a Voice the Media Relied onFor mother and son, ‘the tug-and-pull of the media was unnerving.’By Barbara SchardtMarch 5 began like every otherMonday morning, except I wason call. If I didn’t receive aphone call by seven a.m., I’d have theday off. That hour came and went withouta call, so my mind turned to thinkingabout all I could get done that dayas I went to get my 17-year-old son,John-David, out of bed. “You have 20minutes to get to school,” I told him.Our drive to school went as it usuallydid, with about eight minutes ofconversation with topics ranging fromwhat concert might be in town towhether John-David had lunch moneyor the books he needed. Invariably, hehad forgotten either a book or, morerecently, his camera, since he was nowpassionate about photography. We saidour good-byes, and I watched him hurryoff to class.Later that morning, John-Davidcalled me at home. Before the phonewas to my ear, I heard him say,“Mom…there’s been a shooting at theschool….” I heard yelling and screamingin the background, then deadlysilence. He was no longer on the phone.My heart stopped beating. I had tocatch my breath. I hung up the phone,told myself to remain calm and not topanic.Turn the TV on, I told myself. A localstation was doing a live news feed.There had been a shooting at SantanaHigh: Two students were dead, othersinjured. Students were being evacuatedto a staging area across the street.I heard the words without quite believ-92 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

When Journalists Arrive…ing what I was hearing. I tried callingthe school, knowing I wouldn’t getthrough. I didn’t, and decided to callthe sheriff’s department, where theyconfirmed the news. I made one morecall to my former husband in San Francisco,who is a police lieutenant withthe San Francisco Police Department. Icertainly did not want him hearingabout this second hand. He asked meto contact him as soon as I made contactwith John-David.Santana High is only a few minutesfrom our home. I drove there havingno idea what happened to my son. Hemanaged to call me within minutes ofthe shooting, but I knew nothing more.Was he hiding? Was he in danger? Amillion scenarios ran through my mind.All I could think about wasColumbine and the studentswho hid out and made phonecalls to their parents.Tears were flowing as I approachedthe intersection atMast and Magnolia whereemergency vehicles were everywhere.Many parents wereon foot, charging toward theschool. All of this was becomingall too real to me, despitethe surreal environment.In this sea of people, alllooking for someone, Isearched for John-David. Afterabout 20 minutes I found him.As I walked towards him, I almostlaughed inside. This was,in part, a sign of my relief atfinding him alive and unhurt,but also because members ofthe media were encircling him, leavinghis face all but hidden by a sea ofmicrophones. He was telling storiesthat he’d tell again and again, as themedia remained fixated on telling theSantana story.Little did John-David or I know thathis life was about to change in ways wecouldn’t have imagined. But duringthe next week, it felt as though we wereriding a roller coaster as John-Davidbecame a voice to which many in themedia turned for storytelling and comment.As his parent, I wanted to let himhandle this situation in ways that feltright to him, but I also felt protective.At times, the tug-and-pull of themedia was unnerving: It seemed everyreporter wanted a piece of John-David,and they wouldn’t leave him alone.Our phone rang at all hours of the dayand night, and everyone expected himto respond to them immediately. Therewere times when all of this becamefrightening for me and for John-David.He handled it well and remained respectfulto all, but at times I was worriedthat the media had taken control.Or so it seemed.Upon returning home from schoolthat day, we were confronted at ourfront door by a newspaper reporter. Ifound that extremely scary, and I beganto understand how relentless membersof the media were going to be inBarbara Schardt’s son, John-David, being interviewed by themedia in March 2001. After many days of being interviewed, hetold a reporter, “I’m sick of myself.” Photo by Monica Almeida/NYT Pictures.getting their story. I remember thiswoman from CBS’s morning show. Shefollowed us—literally stalked us—throughout the entire day while John-David did interviews. She wanted an“exclusive,” she said, and was rude andpushy in her approach. Another womanwith CNN’s “Larry King Live” tried toentice us with an offer of another exclusive.She went as far as getting LarryKing on the phone to talk with us.It became apparent to me I had toregain as much control as I could. Anexclusive was given to “Good MorningAmerica,” and John-David agreed toappear on “Nightline.” We decided todo these particular interviews becauseof how we were approached; I did notfeel threatened by the people whospoke with us from these programsand appreciated the ways in which theywent about gaining our confidence andtheir willingness to tell the story correctly.In fact, after we had agreed to dothe ABC morning show, they providedus with a person who “ran defense” forus; if someone from another networkapproached, our “defense person” toldthem we were doing their show andthat was that. Having this person tohelp us was a big relief. With“Nightline,” the producer kept his distance,provided us time to think aboutwhat we wanted to do, and didn’t followus around all day. Those personalqualities were what convincedJohn-David to go on thatshow.John-David also did severallocal broadcasts on TVand radio and also on radiostations in San Francisco andLos Angeles. We received numerouscalls from news mediaoutside of California. Ourvoice mail stopped taking newmessages on that first dayonce it reached 35 messages.They were all calls from membersof the media. John-Davidreceived requests to be interviewedfor several articles:The New York Times, USAWeekend magazine, andUpfront (a magazine gearedfor teens). He was invited toappear on “Politically Incorrect”with Bill Maher.To be caught in this media frenzycould be overwhelming for anyone. Iknew my son had reached a burnoutpoint when he began declining interviews.At one point, in fact in an interviewhe did with The New York Times,John-David said, “I’m sick of myself.”To me, he confided, “I just don’t wantto give another interview. I’m done fora while.”At that point, members of the media,for the most part, respected hiswishes and left him alone. The respectshown by most in the media to thisdecision sent an important signal toNieman Reports / Fall 2001 93

Words & Reflectionsus; having already discovered the sometimesheartless nature of the beast,John-David now had a chance to seeanother side, a more compassionateone. This is perhaps one reason thatthe experience, in the end, served tointerest John-David in possibly workingin the media one day.Many students and parents successfullyavoided the blitz of the media.Some parents chose to keep their childrentotally away from contact with themedia, but this was not possible for usafter John-David did the initial interviewsat the school. It had been hisdecision in those early moments tospeak with the press, and he was, in myview, doing a good job in trying torespond to their questions. Every studenton campus that day had a story totell, as did every parent. Each storyoffered a unique perspective, but Iunderstand that some did not want toget involved in telling and retellingwhat had happened.I remember thinking that morningwhen I arrived at the school that everyonestanding there was fair game forthe media. Every time I looked up, Isaw reporters talking with students orparents or bystanders, then moving onas they “targeted” the next person totalk with. As they approached, thatperson had the right to talk or not talk,but not talking to the media got harderand harder to do as more reportersarrived, each seeking sources of information.My sense at the time was that ifpeople remained at the scene, theywere fair game for the media. If theydidn’t want to be hounded by the media,then my feeling was they should gohome and stay away from the school.For John-David, much that is positiveemerged from the tragedy at hisschool. His experience in coping withwhat happened, and in working withthe media, has made him grow in manyways. He is still taking pictures,freelancing for a newspaper, and willbegin an internship with a local TVstation in San Diego. He graduatesfrom high school next year and beginsanother journey in his life. But I knowhe will carry with him forever thatMarch morning and how it changed hislife. I know I will. ■Barbara Schardt works in hospitaladministration for a major HMOand is the mother of John-David,who attends Santana High, where hewill be a senior this fall.SFGRK@aol.comWith Child-Care Stories, It Still Comes Down to MothersNegative findings grab the headlines.By Barbara A. WillerThe number of mothers workingoutside the home has grown dramaticallyin recent decades. Today,nearly two-thirds of mothers ofchildren under age six are in the laborforce. With more than 13 million preschool-agechildren in some form ofnon-parental care, the need for childcare is clear. But one wouldn’t knowthis from observing recent news coverageof a child-care study in which somein the news media seemed willing touse selective findings to bolster unrealisticand outdated notions about workand family.In April, the National Institute forChild Health and HumanDevelopment’s (NICHD) “Study ofEarly Child Care” released preliminaryfindings from one phase of its longterminvestigation. Among them was afinding that young children who spentmore time in child care were slightlymore likely to show signs of aggressiveor assertive behavior than comparablechildren not in child care.For a number of reasons, it is not asurprise that this negative news—unlikeother more positive findings aboutenhanced language skills announcedin the same study—quickly filled newspaperheadlines. “Child Care BreedsAggression,” “Child Care Leads to Bullying,”and “Day Care Linked to Aggression”were typical examples. It is certainlytrue that the media have a wellestablished tendency to focus on thenegative and to oversimplify the oftencomplex details of scientific studies.Also, in this instance, reporters whofiled the initial stories had no publishedreport to help them put thisstudy’s array of preliminary findingsinto a broader context. Instead, thefindings were presented by several ofthe researchers in a telephone conferencecall. Then, there were deadlinepressures to conend with to get a storyinto the paper, on TV or the radio.What is more surprising, and disappointing,was the underlying theme ofmuch of the news coverage. It effectivelyblamed parents—and more specificallymothers—of young childrenfor needing child care in the first place.Not long after the inflammatory headlines,many reports—especially on television—featuredinterviews with guiltriddenworking moms confessing howbadly they felt for leaving their childrenin these horrible situations. Somedescribed how the study’s reportedfindings confirmed their worst fears ortouched too closely their ambivalenceabout such parenting decisions.The days and weeks after the releaseof the study brought more balancedcoverage. (The Dallas Morning Newswas one of the few newspapers that94 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

When Journalists Arrive…brought commendable balance to itsinitial coverage with a headline thatread, “‘Smart and Nasty’ Study; ChildCare Breeds Aggression, EnhancesAbilities.”) Reporters talked with researcherswho noted that the 17 percentof children in child care whoshowed signs of aggression is the samepercent one would find in the overallchild population. Others figured outthat 83 percent of children in child caredidn’t show signs of aggression. Andsome follow-up stories included otherfindings, for example that children whospent more time in child-care centerswere more likely to display better languageskills and have better short-termmemory, or that children in higherqualityprograms were less likely toshow signs of aggressive behavior.While reporting of these smallerdetails improved, the larger theme—pointing to working mothers as thecore of the “child-care dilemma”—remainedin place. This is hard to excuse.Reporters might not be experts in thenuances of early childhood development,but they should be able to conveya basic understanding of the socialand economic realities confronted bymany families with young children.Many of the millions of children inchild care today are from two-parentfamilies in which both parents are strugglingto meet the family budget. Othershave single parents facing even toughersituations. And many are headed bysingle parents who were recently toldthat welfare reform meant they had tofind child-care arrangements and go towork. Yet a consistent theme of thismedia coverage was that if child careleads to behavior problems, parentsshould take their children out of childcare. Often the stories seemed to ignorethe fact that for millions of familiesthat “solution” is not an option.Part of this theme stems from thepropensity of journalists to cover childcareissues anecdotally. There is logicto this approach, because it helps connectthe audience with the topic, andchild care is a crucial issue for parentsand families. But the debate about childcare is never just personal; it’s also acritical public policy issue with importantramifications for children’s educationand well-being and for the abilityof employers to find and retain qualifiedworkers. In fact, the NICHD studyis part of a growing body of researchshowing how high-quality child careand other early education programshelp provide young children with astrong foundation for learning.When a study reveals potential problemswith child care, it seems strange—given our nation’s social and economiccircumstances—that the initial roundof headlines and stories should pointtoward the unrealistic conclusion thatmothers should stay home. Instead,reporters should try to assess the ampleevidence that exists about child careand inform people about the challengesthe field faces in offering high-qualitycare for more children as well as thebenefits to children and families thatthis kind of care can provide.The easy story for a reporter is onetelling us that negative findings aboutchild care have mothers concerned.The tougher, and more important story,is one that explains why that reportshould concern all of us and how constructivechanges might occur. ■Barbara A. Willer is the deputyexecutive director for the NationalAssociation for the Education ofYoung Children (NAEYC), thenation’s largest organization ofearly childhood professionals.bwiller@naeyc.orgJournalists Ask Questions, Then Refuse to Answer Them‘How can we have the guts to run a controversial story and then put a muzzle onstaffers to comment?’By David FolkenflikAspokeswoman for a small butinfluential local branch of a majorAmerican corporation washelpfully trying to explain why all mycalls to employees are deflected to her.“If we get a call, it’s routed through PR,and we assess who the best person torespond is,” she told me. “If you calledevery company around the city, you’dfind that, normally, those calls gothrough PR.”But hers is not just any company.She works for Baltimore’s CBS televisionstation, historically the city’s leadingnews channel. And the folks fromwhom she is deflecting my questionsare journalists who spend most of theirday asking questions of others—andexpecting to receive answers.Turn on the news on that station orany of its competitors and you’ll likelyfind one of the following: a victim’s sobstory, an apparent wrongdoer’s indignantdenial, a public official’s crusade,a parent’s whipped-up worries, aballplayer’s lament. Each of these storiesshare a single ingredient: Theyinvolve interviews. Once the tape isrolling, most reporters and producersdisplay little compunction about askingquestions that delve into the mostprivate, painful reaches of people’slives. It makes for what’s consideredgood television. Every now and then, iteven makes news.During the past year, I’ve coveredNieman Reports / Fall 2001 95

Words & Reflectionsthe television news business as a reporterand media critic. When I callreporters and producers, they routinelytell me they’re not allowed to comment.For some, just the suggestion ofa conversation over coffee stirs fear fortheir jobs. The culture of TV news is sofirmly tethered to whim and pique,they say, that they could be fired if theirnames were to appear in print. Thesubject of the story almost doesn’tmatter. Sounds like the caprice foundin a movie studio—or the CIA.The CBS station’s spokeswomeninadvertently led me to two extraordinaryinsights into the thinking of manypeople who are in charge at the nation’snews outlets.First, the news business, to them, isa business whose product happens tobe news. If that means they’re seen asproviding a public service, so much thebetter. But it’s not required. That’swhy many local stations have standingorders for all inquiries to be referred topublic relations departments. Nationalnetworks, too, try to exercise tight controlover which employees commentabout what topic and when they do sountil they get too big to corral. (Thoseprominent journalists who are willingto criticize themselves, or their peers,often get tagged as troublemakers.) Indoing so, these companies are followingthe pattern set by General Motorsor General Electric in hyper-managingthe company’s image.Second, there’s a fundamental lackof trust. These networks and stationspay their staffs to sort through complexstories, often turning their subjects’lives upside down in the process.But they don’t trust those same newsprofessionals to act competently—tobehave themselves, really—when theythemselves are questioned. If there’smore tangible evidence of the contemptwith which some media companiesregard those who report andpresent the nation’s news, I haven’tcome across it.These attitudes prompt some importantquestions. If the companies donot trust their own reporters and producersas professionals, why shouldtheir viewers? And if those staffers arenot ultimately worthy of trust, doesn’tthat undermine the credibility of newscasts—the“product” these companiesare hawking?It would seem that over time badethical positions prove bad for business.Such aloofness (from the public)and distrust (of their own staffs) doesnot explain the erosion of ratings onbroadcast television. Cable stations andVCRs probably have much more to dowith it. But it doesn’t seem as thoughthe networks and local stations aredoing themselves any favors by imposingthis kind of silence at a time ofindustry-wide anxiety.The networks were probably prettycontrolling back in the day of EdwardR. Murrow and Walter Cronkite, too.CBS broadcaster William Shirer (authorof “Reich: A History of Nazi Germany”)left the network because of histangle with disapproving bosses. Butthe recent absorption of so many mediaoutlets by major corporations can’thelp this situation. The entertainmentmega-companies Viacom and Disney,respectively, own CBS and ABC. Themanufacturer and defense contractorGeneral Electric owns NBC, whichteamed with Microsoft to createMSNBC. Rupert Murdoch’s News Corporationholds the Fox network andthe Fox News Channel along with amovie studio, a satellite TV venture,and other interests. The online, entertainmentand publishing behemothAOL/Time Warner owns CNN.None of these parent companiesdisplay particularly journalistic impulsesof the kind that might recognizethe value of allowing those whose jobit is to ask questions to answer them aswell.A few months ago, prompted by thesituation in Baltimore, where I live andwork, I wrote about this phenomenon.Two of the four local stations withnewscasts maintain not exactly a “nocomment,” but a “don’t comment”policy. The rule is that if an outsidercalls to ask about a story on the air, thenew station jingle, the meatloaf at thecompany cafeteria, or the cube root of27, that call should be bounced wordlesslyto the general manager or spokesman.One of those two stations sometimesallows its reporters and staffersto talk about general journalism issues.The other almost invariablydoesn’t.The story generated strong response.The readers were, understandably,outraged. The professional journalists,equally angered, were pleased to seethis usually ignored topic receive publicexposure. From a newspaper’s TVcritic: “It’s bad here in Philly—and gettingworse.” From a magazine editorwho is a former big-city newspaperreporter: “How can we have the guts torun a controversial story and then puta muzzle on staffers to comment?” Froma network producer: “Even in the placeswhere there is no set policy againstspeaking to the press, one is still verycautious. It’s not merely hypocrisy, it’salso a) cowardice and b) hyper-awarenessof how reporting works.”In the column, I quoted an MSNBCspokesman who jokingly said the cablenews channel put no locks on thephones. Keith Olbermann, once ananchor there, suggested otherwise. In1998, Olbermann delivered the convocationaddress at Cornell, his almamater. He gave a talk excoriating hisindustry, his station and himself forcoverage of the Clinton-Lewinsky scandal,intending to deliver a message ofpersonal responsibility.After his remarks received criticismfrom others in the media, the cablenetwork forbade Olbermann from commentingpublicly. By Olbermann’s account,he wasn’t allowed to return acall from a newspaper reporter whomhe had known for years. He was evenrebuffed after offering to allow a publicrelations staffer to listen in on a differentextension. Olbermann was not longfor MSNBC.At The Sun, our public relationsdirector likes to know who gets interviewedfor what, although it appears tobe more of an attempt to prove to ournew owners, the Tribune Co., that we’repart of the great multi-media bandwagonthan any effort to silence reporters.I am not suggesting that anyoneshould be required to speak. But forjournalists, in particular, I think it canhelp restore trust with the public. Whena writer for the Columbia Journalism96 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

When Journalists Arrive…Review requested an interview withJeff Gerth, the talented but controversialinvestigative reporter for The NewYork Times, Gerth initially insisted thathe speak only off the record. Whenchallenged, he relented. Yet Gerth’spartner on stories about the Wen HoLee spy charges, James Risen, declinedto comment for that piece, even thoughserious questions had been raised aboutthe fairness of their coverage. The Timesfelt compelled to publish a story dissectingthe implications of its own articles.In doing so, it sought to redeemits credibility by demonstrating to readersits fairness.Policies intended to button reporters’lips, whether explicit or not, serveto keep the decision-making of newsorganizations mysterious and obscure.Such a policy further distances themedia from the viewers and readers.Journalists should not be forced torespond to requests for interviews. Butthey might win some converts if theywere to offer some insight into howthey make decisions about their coverage.At worst, they might think thingsthrough a bit more thoroughly the nexttime.All of this should go without saying.But it shouldn’t pass without comment.■David Folkenflik is the televisionwriter and media critic for The(Baltimore) Sun.david.folkenflik@baltsun.comViewer Dissatisfaction Understates the Anger atLocal TV NewsA journalist reports on audience concerns, but is anyone else paying attention?By Ike SeamansIn ancient Greece, and later in Rome,messengers carried news throughoutthe empire. If recipients didn’tlike it, they’d kill the messenger. We, inthe media, are descendants of thosemessengers and now many viewers andreaders want to kill us.What they don’t like is that we provideinformation they don’t want and,worse, we fail to deliver news they dowant. This might be the main reasonwhy newspapers and TV news—networkand local—have been for yearslosing audiences at an alarming pacewith no end in sight.Local television news is by far thefavorite whipping boy. According to a1999 study by the Project for Excellencein Journalism, affiliated with theGraduate School of Journalism at ColumbiaUniversity, “Survey after surveyreveals it [local TV news] to be themost trusted source of news inAmerica…. Yet many critics deride it asthe worst of the American news business.”In a more recent, scathing report,Thomas Patterson of theShorenstein Center on the Press, Politicsand Public Policy at Harvard Universityargues that local TV news is“deliberately shortsighted, is rooted innovelty rather than precision, and focuseson fast breaking events ratherthan enduring issues.”At many stations, according to theProject for Excellence study, news hasdegenerated into simplistic, sensationalizedcoverage of “eye candy, stunts,and hype.” A lot of newscasts presentimportant stories by accomplished journalists,but they’re often buried underan avalanche of irrelevant and insignificantminutia—usually crimes, accidentsand fires—because consultantsand managers are convinced this socalled“breaking news” is the best wayto “grab” viewers despite ratings thatcontinue to spiral downward, provingpeople aren’t buying it.As if to prove the critics correct, aMiami news director boasts of doing allthis in abundance, cynically saying theaudience is afflicted with ADD (AttentionDeficient Disorder), their attentionspans so short they can usuallyonly handle easy to grasp stories.“A lot of good journalism is goingon,” says Terry Jackson, Miami HeraldTV critic. “The Firestone tire story wasbroken by a Houston TV station. However,they get sidetracked in this rushto be immediate, to beat or to matchthe competition. That’s where localnews falls down.”I’ve been hearing harsh criticismabout how local TV does its job fromviewers since I returned to Miami fromNBC eight years ago. It’s getting moreintense. After writing an op-ed piecefor The Miami Herald about what localTV is doing wrong, my station askedme to do a similar investigation for ournewscast. This assignment was unprecedentedin an industry not known forself-criticism. Usually what we do is fallback on well-worn rationalizations toexplain why audiences are disappearing,even though several recent prestigiousstudies have identified the realculprit: It’s us. Plain and simple, viewersdon’t like what local TV news is anddoes.I talked with people of all ages inmost socioeconomic groups. To a person,but from their particular vantagepoints, people described local TV newsas being distorted and poorly reported.Nieman Reports / Fall 2001 97

Words & ReflectionsA rabbi said there’s not enough Jewishnews. An African American charged thatonly bad events are covered in hisneighborhood. A Colombian womanobserved that newscasts lump Hispanicstogether. A man who is gay recountedhow “stupid” TV reporterscall his orientation a “lifestyle.” And ateacher who believes TV news is irrelevanturged her students not to watch.What I found were not people disconnectingfrom local TV news; formany, a connection to their lives andconcerns had never been made. Notunrelated was the realization that despitea plethora of TV news outlets, itturned out that I was the first televisionjournalist most of the people in mystory had met.I visited kids at a high-school newspaper.In love with journalism, theywere confused by local TV news. Studenteditor Geraldine Rozenmanlearned one thing from textbooks aboutnews coverage, then saw another onTV. “So much sensationalism,” she said.“Helicopters swooping in, breathlessreporters on the ground, and for what?An accident on I-95? Please. They coulddevote those resources to somethingimportant.”Pericles Jude, born in Haiti, raisedin Miami’s predominantly black LibertyCity, was disillusioned. “They’realways covering a drug bust, crime or arobbery, especially where I live. I’veseen the TV guys. They can’t wait toleave.” Romina Garber was livid. Lastyear, she covered a huge gay rights rallybefore a crucial county commissionvote on a human rights ordinance.Thrilled, she immediately started lookingfor local news reporters. “Nothing,nobody, and the organizers were hopingsome local TV station would come,”she remembered. “It was so relevant.An attack against one group is an attackagainst everybody. No TV. I guess theywere covering something violent.”David Burkhard hoped violencewouldn’t visit his neighborhood. But acouple of years ago, a violent murderdid happen to a family across the street.TV trucks and reporters descended,badgering the victim’s family. Theypounded next on Burkhard’s door.“Have they no decency? The questionsweren’t even good. ‘Did you know thevictim?’ ‘How does it feel to live nearby?’When they went ‘live,’ the reporterswere superficial, relying on a policespokesman. I like breaking news, Iwant to know what’s going on, butlocal news is extreme and tacky,” thiscollege professor said. “This wasn’tsomething that affected the entire community,anyway.”Again and again, viewers recountedexamples of isolated stories impactingfew people that wound up leading theshow for no other reason than to titillatethe audience for a moment. Beforesome of the better reported storiesappeared, these viewers had alreadysurfed to a different station, concluding“Local news is no good.”“It’s sensationalism that appeals tothe lowest common denominator,”contractor Michael Jordan told me.“How about some substantial issuesthat don’t involve murder and mayhem,most of which should be put in a30-second segment at the end of theshow?”“Is posing a reporter outside a hospitalor government building hoursafter the news is over supposed tomake us think something’s still goingon?” asked retiree David Thornburgh.He’s exactly right. Producers have beentaught that “live shots” project immediacyand excitement, providing a sensethat a story could “break” again at anymoment, even though their news judgmenttells them it won’t.There’s always been a fine line betweenTV news and entertainment. Thatline’s been wiped out on some localnewscasts. “Don’t dumb down youraudience,” said Karelia Carbonell, aprivate school counselor. “Intellectually,we want more.” When she occasionallywatches TV news, “all stationslook the same.” After I let her knowthat some stations do it right, she’stuning in again, but cautiously. A smallvictory.No one I spoke with wants “happytalk” or “family-friendly news.” Few seeanything offensive about a car chase ora murder scene, if the story is reportedintelligently. Cover everything, theytold me, but keep it in perspective and,above all, stop blowing routine newsout of proportion just because there is“great picture.”All of this advice is easier said thanacted upon, particularly when many inlocal stations are convinced that viewerssuch as these aren’t telling the truth.“People say they don’t like what we do,but secretly they love mayhem andfluff,” is the mantra heard constantly innewsrooms.In other businesses, a long-term failureto increase customers because executivesignore mounting evidence ofwhat people say they don’t like aboutthe product would result in dismissalsor demotions. But this doesn’t happenin local news, where tired excuses fordwindling audiences seem to thrive onrepetition. “There are too many demandson viewers’ time,” some conclude.“They get home too late for theearly news and can’t stay awake for thelate news,” others say. And, more recently,we’ve heard a lot about “thecable option.”If newscasts offered solid content,perhaps more viewers would tune ininstead of turning off or seeking alternatives.But if the audience continuesto shrink, concerns like the ones peopleexpressed to me won’t matter because,eventually, nobody will be watching.But I hope it doesn’t have to go that farbefore local news responds to whatviewers tell us they want, and we improvehow our reporters treat peoplein gathering news and how the newswe do report gets conveyed to ourviewers. ■Ike Seamans is senior correspondentfor WTVJ (NBC) News in Miami. Ajournalist for 35 years and a formerNBC News correspondent and bureauchief in Tel Aviv and Moscow,his reporting appears on NBC andMSNBC. He also writes op-eds andbook reviews for The Miami Herald,is a columnist for several communitynewspapers in South Florida,and writes a weekly commentary forhis station’s Web site.Ike.seamans@nbc.com98 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Books and CommentarySilencing Voices for Racial Change During the 1950’sNational magazine editors published those urging moderation and the status quo.By Carol PolsgroveNot long after the 1954 Brown v.Board of Education decisionopened the door to racialchange in America, Georgia authorLillian Smith received what seemed toher a peculiar request. The AntiochReview, a little literary magazine, hadsent along to her a piece the editorproposed to run and asked if she wouldrespond to it. The article, by a NewYork-born, white Alabama professor,was little more than an exercise incontempt.“[M]ost Alabama Negroes,” NormanA. Brittin wrote, “live in crowded hutsand shanties, they are ignorant, theyare dirty, they are frequently drunkenand immoral, their reading matter istrashy or nonexistent, their speech isan ungrammatical patois.” The articlethen went downhill: “By and large,Alabama Negroes are still primitives.”Smith, one of several whitesoutherners invited to respond to theseviews in the same issue, was appalled.This was the stuff of demagoguery.Publishing it only encouraged it. Refusingthe invitation, she asked theeditors, “What has happened to theintellectual life of Antioch?”Whatever had happened at theAntioch Review had happened at othermagazines. In a November 1956 AtlanticMonthly article (identified by aneditorial note as “the fundamental casefor the white South”), Herbert RavenelSass maintained that the United Stateswas “overwhelmingly a pure white nation”and ought to stay that way. Desegregationof the schools would inevitablylead to “widespread racialamalgamation.” To balance the article,the Atlantic published the words ofwhite historian Oscar Handlin who,curiously, accepted Sass’s premise—the undesirability of social mixing. Buthe argued that school desegregationwould not necessarily lead to it.In January 1956, Harper’s, generallya liberal magazine, ran an article inwhich a South Carolina newspapereditor, Thomas R. Waring, attributedan array of faults to African Americans—venerealdisease, illegitimacy,crime, intellectual backwardness.Harper’s prefaced the article with adisclaimer: The editors did not agreewith Waring, but published the essay inthe interest of “dialogue.”In a book titled “The Cold Rebellion:The South’s Oligarchy in Revolt,”published just a few years later in 1962,African-American journalist Lewis W.Jones would offer Waring’s words asan example of the many such articlesthat placed African Americans “in anunfavorable light” at this bend of theroad. At least, he said, Harper’s editors“had taken pains to point out theauthor’s errors of fact and logic. Mosteditors do not undertake to commenton the half-truths and innuendo withwhich these articles are often crowded.”At a time when national magazinesmight well have been leading the wayto change, they instead opened theirpages to those who resisted it. Whensouthern white novelist WilliamFaulkner wanted to ask the North to“go slow” in pressing desegregation onthe South, he turned to Life, and Liferan his plea in the spring of 1956. Butwhen Lillian Smith cabled Life andasked for space to respond, the magazineturned her down.It is not hard to see why Life put itspages at Faulkner’s disposal. He was,after all, a Nobel Prize winner, highlyrespected by the literary establishment.At the same time, Lillian Smith, too,had a right to be heard. Not as gifted anovelist as Faulkner, she had neverthelesswritten two bestselling books aboutrace in the South, “Strange Fruit” and“Killers of the Dream.” Both books hadreached a wide audience.Yet Smith, clear about her own supportfor desegregation, watched whileFaulkner and southern newspaper editorsRalph McGill and Hodding Carter,Jr., published their cautious views inmagazines with circulations in the millions.Before the Brown decision, neitherMcGill, editor of the Atlanta Constitution,nor Carter, editor of a smallerpaper in Greenville, Mississippi, hadfavored desegregation outright. Althoughthey had spoken againstsegregation’s worst abuses, they hadnot spoken against segregation itself.Now, since change must come, theyspoke for change, but in good time.They, cautious and cautioning, and notLillian Smith, were speaking for thewhite South in the big magazines.Novelist Robert Penn Warren joinedtheir moderate voices in a 1956 Lifearticle that then appeared as a book,Nieman Reports / Fall 2001 99

Words & Reflections“Segregation.” Reviewing it, LawrenceReddick, an African-American historyprofessor at Alabama State College,wrote in The New Republic that Warrenoffered up no more than a politeversion of the southern picture painted“in cruder colors in the extremist pressof the Deep South: The mistakes of theNorth are emphasized; the weaknessesof the Negro are underscored; and,above all, there is the determination ofSouthern white folk, they say, that‘nobody’s a gonna make us.’”That, he said, was the substance ofWarren’s closing remarks: that desegregationwould only come when thewhite people themselves decided theycouldn’t go on living with their dividedminds. “This is the way it goes,” Reddickremarked with palpable bitterness.“Countless editors, scholars and menof letters, in and out of the South, whopersonally might shrink from killing aninsect, give their sanction to the intransigenceof the racists. Is it too much tosay that there is a connection betweenthe essays, editorials and novels of theliterary neo-Confederates and the howlingmob that blocks the path of littleNegro children on the way to schoolintegration?”Reddick had put his finger on ashameful truth. For two years after theBrown decision, as the white resistancegained strength, white southernmen, ambivalent or worse, had led thecommentary on race in the nationalmagazines. True, The New Republic letReddick speak his piece and, beforethe Brown decision, Look magazinedid try to get United Nations officialRalph Bunche, formerly a professor atHoward University, to write on segregationin the schools. The Nation didrun commentary by African AmericansFor two years after the Brown decision, as thewhite resistance gained strength, whitesouthern men, ambivalent or worse, had ledthe commentary on race in the nationalmagazines.involved in the NAACP and other politicalorganizations. But the most powerfulvoices in the big circulation magazineswere, as Lillian Smith observed,southern white gradualists.When The New Republic finally letSmith have her say in 1957, she spokeof the “magnolia curtain” that haddropped down between the South andthe North. She mocked the magazines’approach to racial change: “[D]on’t letone intelligent white Southerner whoopposes segregation speak. Keep themsmothered….” As one who felt shuntedaside, Smith fixed on the exclusion ofdesegregationists like herself, but theexclusion of African Americans constitutedno less a political act. As “InvisibleMan” author Ralph Ellison understood,rendering African Americansinvisible was one way of disempoweringthem.If whites did not notice the onesidednature of the dialogue, AfricanAmericans certainly did. In “Cold Rebellion,”published in England just afew years later, Lewis W. Jones observedthat “Negroes are frequentlyunhappy in having their case presentedby ‘moderates’ or ‘liberals’ whom theysurely would not identify as being eithermoderate or liberal.”Kenneth B. Clark, the social psychologistwho had helped the NAACPLegal Defense Fund make its case forBrown, protested a 1954 Reader’s Digestarticle by Hodding Carter, questioningthe editors’ judgment in selectingCarter as an authority. “While Mr.Carter might feel competent to speakin the name of ‘moderate’ whitesoutherners, it is presumptuous, patronizing,and not justified by recentevents for him to attempt to speak forNegroes.”Why, at this important time, werethe nation’s magazines—still the primaryvehicle for serious national politicaldiscussion—so much more interestedin southern whites’ discomfortthan in the longstanding injustice sufferedby African Americans? Why werethey so little interested in what AfricanAmericans themselves had to say aboutwhat was happening?Editors were, of course, journalistswith their ears pricked for conflict, andwhites were the ones providing conflictby resisting the Supreme Court.Nevertheless, there was somethingaskew in the national media’s fixationon the white South’s response toBrown—and something more thanaskew in magazines’ publication of articlesportraying African Americans asdegraded and unworthy. It is hard toescape the predictable, dreary fact thatwhite editors, in this challenging hour,were unable to think outside the termsof their own race. Enclosed in theirwhite worlds, instead of leading theway to change, they settled in behindthe lines. ■Carol Polsgrove is the author of“Divided Minds: Intellectuals andthe Civil Rights Movement,” publishedin May by W.W. Norton. Aformer Associated Press writer, shehas been an editor at Mother Jonesand The Progressive and has contributedto other national magazines.She is on the School of Journalismfaculty at IndianaUniversity, Bloomington.cpolsgro@indiana.edu100 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Books and CommentaryJournalism and MythDo They Create a Cautionary Tale?Daily News, Eternal Stories: The Mythological Role of JournalismJack LuleThe Guilford Press. 244 Pages. $17.95.By William F. WooJack Lule has written a very good andengaging book about journalism andmyth, and because of all the things toadmire—the clarity, originality, scholarshipand becomMing intellectualmodesty of the author—I put it downwith a sense of foreboding. Even now,journalists somewhere must be enduringa PowerPoint presentation: “Myth:How to Write It and Why.”In my imagination, I see a newsroomstill aglow from the recent workshopsto reconnect the paper with citizens(readers or the public, in a simplertime). A new sense of purpose suffusesthe place. Received truth once morehas asserted itself. Nonetheless, somethingis amiss. The editor frowns as heworks over the Sunday take-out. Thecopy is clean enough to eat from. Thefacts are in order. But what is this? Trythough he may, the editor cannot findthe myth.There is no Trickster, no GoodMother. He searches in vain for one ofthe great Master Myths—the Victim,the Hero, the Scapegoat, even theFlood, though this story happens to beabout a fire in the projects. Finally, inexasperation, he summons the reporterin hopes of negotiating a rewrite.Had this burlesque occurred, JackLule would be appalled. His book,“Daily News, Eternal Stories,” is notmeant as a guide to newsroom practice.A former journalist and now chairof the Department of Journalism andCommunication at Lehigh University,Lule offers an interesting way of lookingat the news by demonstrating thatthe stories we put in the paper can beread as versions of our oldest myths.Even so—and here my scalp beginsto prickle—Lule asserts that “any at-tempt to address the crisis [in journalism]that does not recognize the mythologicalrole of journalism is destined tofail.” The information model of journalismis bankrupt, he suggests.“Newspeople think they are in the informationbusiness…. But newspeopleprimarily are in the story business. Andnews will remain a subject of crisis aslong as it strays from story.”Myths, of courses, are the universal,eternal stories. But how are they alsojournalism? Like this, Lule suggests:“Myths,” he writes, “draw upon archetypalfigures to offer exemplary modelsthat represent shared values, confirmcore beliefs, deny other beliefs, andhelp people engage with, appreciate,and understand the complex joys andsorrows of human life.” So, of course,do news stories, and in them, Lule says,we can hear “the siren song of myth.”Seven case studies are provided fromThe New York Times, which Lule callsour State Scribe, “society’s privilegedand preeminent storyteller.” Lule’sexhaustive work describes how thedetails and themes of hundreds of storiescoalesce into myth. Here’s an example.In the coverage of the murderof Leon Klinghoffer, the elderly Americantourist killed in 1985 by Palestinianterrorists, Lule found the recreation ofa compelling myth, the sacrifice of theVictim.The story begins with Klinghoffer,who was confined to a wheelchair,among the hostages aboard the cruiseship Achille Lauro. Then he is killedand the tale focuses on the widow’sagony. A more detailed portrait of thevictim emerges, and he is transformedfrom a most ordinary man into a hero.(A headline: “Aged Victim, Portrayed asHelpless, is Recalled as a Strong, HappyMan.”) The president calls to offer sympathyand strength. The body is broughthome, and the governor, the mayorand two U.S. senators are there.Klinghoffer has become “a symbol ofrighteousness in a world filled with eviland cruelty.”We can now find meaning in seeminglysenseless and random violence:The Victim’s life was sacrificed for others.“In the face of chaos,” Lule writes,“order is established. In the face ofdeath, life is affirmed. In the face oftragedy, news becomes myth.”By examining with similar meticulousnessthe degrading stories aboutthe death of Huey Newton, a founderof the Black Panthers, Lule finds themyth of the Scapegoat and its warningNieman Reports / Fall 2001 101

Words & Reflectionsto those who challenge social orthodoxy.Mark McGwire and his “quest”for the home run record recall themyth of the Hero from humble origins;Mother Teresa becomes the mythologicalGood Mother, “blessed amongwomen;” the boxer and rapist MikeTyson is seen as the Trickster, “theoriginal savage/victim;” the coverageof Haiti evokes the myth of the strangeand frightening Other World; a hurricanein Central America provides themyth of the Flood, the devastation setloose upon a people by elemental forcesbeyond their control and because oftheir iniquity (in this case the corruptgovernment and corporate policies thatallowed houses to be built in unsafeareas).Lule argues his cases skillfully andprovocatively. But did the writers andeditors of the Times set out to recreatethese myths? It scarcely matters. Newsstories almost always develop in waysthat are familiar, and what are myths,after all, but the most familiar, the mostfundamental, of all stories? Yet, not allstories are myths, as Lule acknowledgesby quoting an indelicate remarkthat Freud is supposed to have made—that sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.Sometimes the news is just the news.This is a book that will intellectuallyengage any journalist. My concerncomes from what reporters and editorsmight do with it. The premonition Idescribed earlier arises from that concern.As an editor, and now as a teacherof aspiring reporters, my question alwaysis, how will this theory be reflectedin the news product? Civic journalismis an interesting theory. Howwill it play out? The theories of thenonfiction prose narrative and of mappingare interesting. How will they playout? A theory linking myth and journalismis interesting. But how will it playout in the day-to-day work of assigning,reporting, writing and editing stories?As an editor, too, I came to acquirea wariness of theory in the hands ofsudden true believers. Reporters andeditors would go to this or that workshopon writing and return from themountain top with the dogma du jour,Long before Lule wrote about myths and journalism, we had itdrummed into us that there were not many stories, only themerest handful: the love story, the death story, the betrayalstory, the redemption story, the triumph-over-adversity story.And which one, exactly, were you, the young reporter, trying towrite just now?which in turn inspired the hereticallyinclined to nonconformity and rebellion.Pronunciamentos would be utteredat the ever more frequentgraveside services for the inverted triangleand other relics of tradition. Andconsultants would come through, andwhen they finally went their way again,we had more new theories to apply. Tomake the newsroom “work,” we wouldsearch for the “Identified Patient.” Wehad not known that the techniques offamily therapy were to be used in journalism.We were only editors and reporters,but how earnestly we wishedto learn enough to drive back the gatheringnight.Long before Lule wrote about mythsand journalism, we had it drummedinto us that there were not many stories,only the merest handful: the lovestory, the death story, the betrayal story,the redemption story, the triumphover-adversitystory. And which one,exactly, were you, the young reporter,trying to write just now?I think of myself as a fundamentalistwho hears always the stern voice of hisfirst editor saying, “Just write what happened,”a fundamentalist who still believesin the power of truth to set usfree and that the truth we journalistsare after is what happened, not whatmight have happened or what we wouldlike to have happened or what the wellmadestory or recreated myth requireto have happened. The truth is theinformation in the story; it is not thestory. It is the content, not the carton.I also happen to believe, along withJack Lule, that myths are infinitely enriching,arising as they have from thousandsof years of a common humanexperience.Where we caneasily go wrongas journalists isby trying toohard to retell themyth—or theUr-story, as editorswill soon becalling it—when we reporton the city councilor the homerin the ninth or the suicide of teenagelovers. Jack Lule surely would agree.The simplest obituary, the plaineststory about the violent thunderstormthat walked across the town last night,the most straightforward accountingof the longtime iron-fisted mayor whowas unexpectedly tossed out by a nobody—allthese can touch the universalsubconscious if they are told withoutembellishment or pretense.Read and enjoy this good book. Butjust write what happened. Scrupulously.The myths will take care ofthemselves without any help from us.They have for centuries. ■William Woo, a 1967 Nieman Fellow,has taught journalism atStanford University since 1996. Heformerly was editor of the St. LouisPost-Dispatch.wioux1@stanford.edu102 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Books and CommentaryThe Evolutionary Growth of Newspapers’ Look and Feel‘Readers appreciate the design and feel of a publication before assessingits contents.’The Form of News: A HistoryKevin G. Barnhurst and John NeroneThe Guilford Press. 326 Pages. $35.By Warren WatsonOh, what a difference a century makes.One hundred twenty-five years ago,crowds numbering in the tens of thousandswere astonished by the speed,power and ingenuity of a working newspaperprinting press on display at theCentennial Exposition in Philadelphia.Visitors, standing in awe, witnessedthis technological marvel, a manifestationof the might of a 100-year-oldnation just moving into the world limelight.In less than a century, the newspaperhad a respected and feared monopolyin the information business, aninstitution like no other.Kevin Barnhurst and John Neronerecall this unique moment in “The Formof News,” their well-referenced newbook on the history of the Americannewspaper from colonial times till thepresent.Of course, today, no one is in awe ofthe newspaper, not even an insider.Competition is everywhere, and thenewspaper suffers further from a lackof interest from a non-reading public.The technology appears primitive bymicro-chip standards, and publisherscannot seem to satisfy the profit expectationsof Wall Street as they cut staffand content. As Barnhurst and Neroneremind us, it wasn’t always that way.The press “was a source of peculiarenergy of the newly imperial public,”they write.“The Form of News” is not yourusual newspaper history, often heavyon personality, family squabbling, andpolitics. It is quite light on the colorfulmoments that make newspapers sucha special institution. The book is anacademic, sometimes clinical and dispassionate,examination about howsocial, economic and cultural forcesled to the development of the modern,professional product we call today’snewspaper.The authors dispel popularly heldnotions that technological advanceshave driven change in the look and feelof the newspaper. They claim that inventionssuch as the telegraph (wirenews) and the telephone (rewritedesks, different ways of writing) werefactors but not shaping forces. Whetherone agrees or not (the point may bebest decided in bars frequented byjournalists), the authors put in commendableresearch in the developmentof the book, which delves into therelationship between democratic civicculture and the look and feel of thenewspaper.By form, the authors mean “everythinga newspaper does to present thelook of the news. …We mean the persistingvisible structure of the newspaper,the things that make The NewYork Times, for example, recognizableas the same newspaper day after dayalthough the content changes,” theywrite.So in many ways the book is a historyof the layout and design of news, includingtypography, habits of illustration,and use of photography. But italso tracks genres of reportage andhow newspapers compartmentalizedto meet the needs of a busy public.At times, the text places too muchimportance on underlying culturalforces as the driver of change, and notenough on the pioneer writers andeditors who shaped the newspaper andits history. Surely, Hearst and Pulitzer,and Greeley and Scripps, characters allbut important figures to a one, deservesome mention in the transformation ofthe newspaper as a mass medium.Nevertheless, Barnhurst and Neronecover ground that has rarely been treadbefore. And they do it with a keen eyeon historical context. I’m a formerwriter who calls himself a born-againnewspaper designer. I came late to thevisual form, appreciating later thanmost that readers appreciate the de-Nieman Reports / Fall 2001 103

Words & Reflectionssign and feel of a publication beforeassessing its contents.So I was intrigued in learning howillustration and photography developedin newspaper pages, that it tookmany years for objective photographyto supplant often-subjective drawings,long after the technology had beenmastered. How bylines developed. Howheadline styles evolved to the pointwhereby they capture the essence ofstories rather than provide an outlineas they did in 1900. And I found itfascinating that most of the creativeleaps forward in the look of newspapersfound their way through advertising,not news.The authors contend that a designrevolution did not take place duringthe 1970’s and 1980’s, despite the factthat most newspapers made significant(and sometimes overnight) strides increating a more organized, colorfuland attractive look. They see thosedesign forces gradually infiltrating culturethrough the late 19th and earlypart of the 20th century, only movingat a faster pace when the modern artmovement arrived with the ArmoryShow of 1913, which showcased theart and design ideas of Europe. Thiswould surprise some newcomers tothe craft, who think the design movementbegan with the introduction ofUSA Today in 1982.And I was impressed at how theauthors have skillfully broken downthe American newspaper developmentinto a series of stages—printerly newspapers(“bookish and homemade”),Victorian newspapers (“crowded andbusy”), and modern newspapers (“purposefuland organized”). Further, theytrace the type and style of the newspaperfrom Industrial to Professional toCorporate, with improvements alongthe way.The authors, in their forward, saythey have attempted to mirror the riseand decline of American civic culturein this work. I’m not sure they havesucceeded here, but they have kickedup loads of interesting facts along theway.We do know one thing. Today’snewspaper is a product of a developingmarket revolution that started longago. The authors talk about how newspapersfirst wrote about marketchanges, then were cheerleaders forthem—at least in terms of modern improvementsin transportation and communication.Of course, those commercialforces took years to become thedominant determining factors in U.S.culture.But that is the case today. Fewerfamily-owned enterprises remain, andmore and more dailies are part of publiclyowned chains that are drivenlargely by forces connected to the bottomline. We’re trying but, on the whole,it’s becoming more and more challengingfor anyone to practice effectivejournalism. Look what we’ve unleashed.Yes, the newspaper is not the guardianof civic culture as it once was. Andit will be increasingly difficult to recapturethat role if we continue to cutbudgets and news staffs to maintainthe kind of profit margins that otherindustries crave. ■Warren Watson is director of extendedlearning at the AmericanPress Institute. A newspaper reporter,editor and designer for 26years, he is the second vice presidentof the Society for News Design andwill be its president in 2003.wawatson@americanpressinstitute.orgEditorials: Pungent, Profound and Path BreakingA book offers practical pointers about how the best in journalism transmit ideas and opinion.Beyond Argument: A Handbook for Editorial WritersMaura Casey and Michael Zuzel, EditorsNational Conference of Editorial Writers. 120 Pages. $24.95.By Nancy DayThe pithier the better: “The basic ideathat all of us ought to have tattooed onsome visible appendage is that the besteditorials focus on a single idea. Justone. Not two,” writes Richard Aregood,who won the 1995 Pulitzer Prize forEditorial Writing at The PhiladelphiaDaily News. After a 28-year career inPhiladelphia, Aregood joined The(Newark) Star-Ledger, where he editsthe editorial page. He is one of 11editorial writers whose visions and practicaladvice are collected in this valuablehandbook, part of the ScrippsHoward Foundation’s “Role ModelSeries.”The National Conference of EditorialWriters (NCEW) undertook thisproject in part because “a good manyeditorial writers enter the craft suddenlyand without formal preparation,”writes Francis L. Partsch, editorial pageeditor of the Omaha World-Herald.Writing with this audience in mindexplains why some of the advice soundsbasic. Other points, however, shouldspark discussion among veteran edi-104 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Books and Commentarytors, writers and managers, especiallythe passages addressing new ways ofdoing business without sacrificing thecore of this oldest form of Americanjournalism, opinion writing.Aregood says one of his all-time favoriteeditorials bore the headline:“Adios, Dictator.” Its full text read:“They say only the good die young.Generalissimo Francisco Franco was82. Seems about right.” In retrospect,Aregood writes, the last sentence issuperfluous.Brevity has its advantages, but inrecent years editorial series, resultingfrom months of enterprise reporting,have made significant and enduringdifferences and gained the attention ofthe Pulitzer board. John Bersia calls hisOrlando Sentinel series, “Fleeced inFlorida,” “the most intensive reportingproject of my career.” And MariaHenson—who is now deputy editorialpage editor of the Austin American-Statesman—worked on an editorialseries for 16 months, including theyear in which “To Have and To Harm:Kentucky’s Failure to Protect WomenFrom the Men Who Beat Them” appearedin the Lexington Herald-Leader.Pungent, profound or path breaking,the editorials cited in this book,along with ways to achieve similar excellence,are important for all journaliststo read. However, the book will bemost helpful to those who must pickup the slack when talented editorialwriters are off doing projects. Practicaladvice ranges from filling the page tokeeping up morale.Though some attention is devotedto electronic media, the emphasis is onnewspapers and their online counterparts.This is, perhaps, because it israre that local or network televisionhas its own editorial board or director.One exception is WISC-TV in Madison,Wisconsin, where Editorial DirectorNeil Heinen says he hopes the station’sonline site will help foster moreinteractivity with viewers.Several writers address the Internet,both as a resource and as a way to getcommunities of all sizes more engaged.As a reference source, the Internet allowseditorial writers to more quicklyand comprehensively examine primarydocuments. Danny Glover (the managingeditor of National Journal’s TechnologyDaily, not the actor) suggestsways to connect opinion pages to theInternet. These include moderated forums,readers’ logs (such as links in JimRomenesko’s daily media column atwww.poynter.org), and interactive editorialboards.Michael Zuzel, co-editor and editorialwriter and columnist for TheColumbian in Vancouver, Washington,calls the editorial page “the originalinteractive mass medium.” Letters tothe Editor are still vital, he says, but herecommends readers use the Web toimmediately access previous stories andbackground on current topics, and hesuggests www.intellectualcapital.com,one of the book’s many tips and usefulreferences. Susan Albright, editor ofthe (Minneapolis) Star Tribune editorialpages, who is credited with conceivingthis book, offers down-to-earthmanagement advice—from bringingdoughnuts occasionally to doing “thosedratted performance reviews on time.Your staff wants your feedback, andthey deserve the raise now.”To this day, too many editorial pagesremain a stodgy and serious gray, alltype and no action. This is a seriousmistake. Even something as simple asrunning the editorial cartoon in colormakes a difference. One clear editorialpoint, surrounded by photos, can havedramatic impact. The Spokesman-Reviewin Spokane, Washington ran biographiesand photos of 35 peoplekilled in 1999 on “The Highway ofHeartache” to accompany an investigativeseries on the deadly Idaho portionof U.S. Route 95. More radical are standaloneeditorial graphics: The New YorkTimes’s “Op Art” is sometimes a singleimage, but on July 3, 2000, the editorspublished 35 close-up photos of peopleholding American flags with the headline,“What is America?”Though Howell Raines, the NewYork Times editorial page editor recentlynamed executive editor of thenewspaper, is quoted in several essays,smaller and mid-sized newspapers areabundantly featured. In fact, severalwriters argue persuasively that editorialboard meetings at some larger newsorganizations get in the way of doing agood job.George B. Pyle, a columnist andeditorial writer for The Salina (Kansas)Journal, was a finalist for the 1998Pulitzer Prize. That year it was won byBernard Stein, who writes for hisfamily’s weekly neighborhood newspaper,The Riverdale Press, in NewYork. The other finalist was ClintTalbott of the Colorado Daily in Boulder.Later that year, these three menappeared on a panel at the NCEWconvention. Pyle writes of their commonground: “‘We noted that each ofus had the freedom to write what interestedand moved us, without the needto first convince other members of aneditorial board.’ Panel moderator PhilHaslanger, managing editor of TheCapital Times in Madison, Wisconsin,instantly labeled this circumstance,‘Room, but no board.’”Paul Greenberg, editorial page editorof the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette,says columnists are better read thanmany of today’s editorials and claimsthat it is the profession’s own fault:“Today’s editorial page oozes prudence,which is too often a euphemismfor fear, especially the fear ofideas.” He advocates scrapping editorialboard meetings: “They’re boringas hell and twice as long.”Nieman Reports / Fall 2001 105

Words & ReflectionsThe book is illustrated with blackand white cartoons by Jeff Danzigerand Signe Wilkinson, and it is notedthat this sparest of forms is representedby staff cartoonists at fewer than onetenthof U.S. daily newspapers. Whileit won’t help the employment situationof professional cartoonists in thecurrent news economy, in this bookthe editors give ways to solicit cartoonsfrom the public—and soundsomewhat surprised that this has actuallyworked.“In the end, the secrets are simpleand the rules are few,” Aregood concludes.“If you have something to say,spit it out. If you don’t, shut up. Therest is mere technique.” ■Nancy Day, a 1979 Nieman Fellow,is director of Advanced JournalismStudies at Boston University and afreelance editor and writer.Nday@bu.eduEssays by a Mexican Journalist Explore the AmericasExposing the ‘nervous system of countries struggling with great change.’Looking for History: Dispatches From Latin AmericaAlma GuillermoprietoPantheon. 303 Pages. $25.By Dianne SolísAmerica and the Americas are oftentwo concepts that those of us living inthe United States have trouble grasping.We think of America as limited toonly the United States. Yet travel thewhole of the Americas and its citizenswill tell you that they, too, are Americanswith their own histories, theirown pursuits of liberty and justice.And so Mexico-born writer AlmaGuillermoprieto tells us simply andbluntly that she wrote her new book,“Looking for History,” with the “convictionthat Latin America has its ownindependent life.”What emerges is a collection of 17essays that take readers through thesad psychological and political battlesof Colombians, Cubans and Mexicans—allfrom countries that shapeU.S. policy like no others in the WesternHemisphere. Interspersed are profilesof the Argentineans Evita Perónand Che Guevara and Peruvian MarioVargas Llosa.Nearly half of the book is devoted toa series of scarcely believable talesfrom Mexico, where Guillermoprietowas born and returned to live in themid-1990’s. All of these essays appearedin The New Yorker and in TheNew York Review of Books between1994 and 2000.In this book, Guillermoprieto is ather best in her psychological portraitsof Latin America’s unconventional politicos.Among them are Vargas Llosa,the Peruvian writer who lost a presidentialbid; Guevara, the icon by whichthe Latin American left defined itself,and Vicente Fox, the Mexican rancherwho dethroned a corrupt politicalmachine to take the presidency.Guillermoprieto makes it clear whyVargas Llosa, an author of inspiringprose, failed miserably in his presidentialbid. He wasn’t much of a patriot,having written, “Although I was born inPeru, my vocation is that of a cosmopolitanand an expatriate who has alwaysdetested nationalism.”Her essay about Vargas Llosa alsoopens up a window into a crueltheme—what Guillermoprieto calls afundamental trait of Peruvians, but isvery much a continuing problem ofLatin America and those in the diasporato the United States. These nations andtheir peoples are constantly immersedin conflict over their mixed blood andclass. It’s “the deep-seated explanationfor the conflicts and frustrations ofPeruvian life,” Guillermoprieto writes.In her artfully handled essay on Che,it’s easy to understand whyGuillermoprieto, with her sympathiesfor the poor, was drawn to Che as asubject matter. Here she dissects threeweighty tomes, published in 1997, onChe. And in doing so she quickly takesthe reader into her generation’s ownpsyche. “Guevara was born in LatinAmerica’s hour of the hero,” she writes.“So many of our leaders have been socorrupt, and the range of allowed andpossibly public activity has been sonarrow, and injustice has cried out so106 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Books and Commentarypiercingly to the heavens, that only ahero can answer the call, and only aheroic mode of life could seem worthy.Guevara stood out against the inflamedhorizon of his time, alone and unique.”She sees Che’s flaws, though. Withhorizon inflamed, a generation of followerswere “incinerated” by their Cheideology. In a very personal passage,she details how those “children of Che”armed in radical revolution would die,including a great friend ofGuillermoprieto’s mother, a poet andfeminist editor named Alaíde Foppa.And by synthesizing details from a bookby Jon Anderson, she shows how Che,this man of the people, was a machistaof an elitist background who wouldhave his sexual way with the familymaids. She writes that Guevara’s slogansnow sound foolish. And she highlightsthat with work from a book byJorge Castaneda, a political scientistwho is now Mexico’s foreign minister.Castaneda’s Che is a man who cannotbear the natural ambivalence of theworld, a world of gray where peoplehave mixed allegiances. As the eventualhead of the Central Bank, for example,Che was flummoxed by day-todayrealities of running a government.“Why corrupt workers by offering themmore money to work harder?” Giventhe region’s history of rickety economies,the reader wonders if a LatinAmerican could be found today whoshares that view.The Mexican section is full of painfulreading. It’s devoted largely to theopera buffa that Mexico became duringthe years that Carlos Salinas reignedin the imperial presidency and the yearsthat followed when the sober economistErnesto Zedillo took over thescript. These are librettos of sex, drugs,murder and guerrilla uprisings, unearthedskeletons, and paid informantswho worked as sorcerers. The materialis interwoven with a few topsy-turvyplot twists in which heroes frequentlybecame villains.The book’s “Losing the Future” is asmall essay about a large tragedy. Itdeals with the assassination of LuisDonaldo Colosio, the virtual presidentof Mexico, in a hilly slum named afterbullfighting in Tijuana. On March 23,This book illustrates Guillermoprieto’s veteranability to rush into what sometimes seemsmadness and expose the nervous system ofcountries struggling with great change.1994, the candidate was shot in thehead at close range. A lynching mobsurrounded the man believed to be theassassin. The details of the hysteria andthe hugely disorganized investigationthat followed in Tijuana are left out ofthe book. Instead, the author focuseson Mexico City and the tremors in theseat of power. The discipline that hadkept the Institutional RevolutionaryParty together for an astonishing numberof years after the Mexican Revolutionno longer exists, she wrote in a1994 dispatch. But it would take anothersix years to fully knock the corruptruling party from power in LosPiños, the pine-studded presidentialcomplex in the polluted capital.And when the reader fast-forwardsto July 2000, there is at last a sense ofoptimism. It is in the portrait of Fox,the rancher who took the Mexican presidencyfrom the ruling party, and in asmaller snapshot of a political activistnamed Sergio Aguayo, who built anorganization called Alianza Cívica toinsure clean, not just cleaner, electionsin Mexico.Guillermoprieto takes note of the“nutty extremes” to which Fox will takehis rhetoric: He is the man who, afterall, first came to the Mexican public’sattention by looping a pair of papervoting ballots over his ears in an attemptto make fun of the protrudingears of then-president Carlos Salinas.The hope comes in her elegant passageswith Aguayo, who as a youngmember of the feared Los Vikingosbattled an opposing gang linked to theruling party in Guadalajara. Aguayo isnow in his early 50’s. The night afterthe elections, the author calls Aguayoto see how he fared in his bid for a seatin Congress. “Isn’t it wonderful?” heasked. Assuming he’d won,Guillermoprieto answered that she wasdelighted to congratulate him on hisvictory. “What, me?” he said. “Oh, no, Ilost. But the PRI lost, too, and that’sjust marvelous.” Finally, a Mexican subjectwith the dignity of a patriot.Guillermoprieto’s reputation washoned in the wars of Central America.As a Washington Post reporter, she wasone of only two journalists to travel toEl Salvador and report on a horrific1981 massacre at El Mozote conductedby a U.S.-trained Salvadoran army.“Looking for History” illustratesGuillermoprieto’s veteran ability torush into what sometimes seems madnessand expose the nervous system ofcountries struggling with great change.While her previous book, “The HeartThat Bleeds: Latin America Now,” dealtwith common experiences of LatinAmericans in a set of chronicles froman earlier period, “Looking for History”deals largely with politics. Thoselooking for heart-that-bleeds chroniclesof windowpane fitters, garbage collectorsand ranchera singers will find fewessays that are similar. One exception:“The Children’s War,” a penetratingessay from Colombia on girl guerrillas,cocaine and U.S. military aid.But this book should more thansatisfy anyone looking forGuillermoprieto’s ear and eye for detailand her poetic metaphors. Andthose wanting to learn more about theregion’s politics will be equally enriched.■Dianne Solís, a 1990 Nieman Fellow,is a writer for The Dallas MorningNews. She was formerly based inMexico City for The Wall StreetJournal in 1991 through 1997.Dsolis@dallasnews.comNieman Reports / Fall 2001 107

Words & ReflectionsA Journalist Allows This Story to Speak for ItselfThis House Has Fallen: Midnight in NigeriaKarl MaierPublic Affairs. 327 Pages. $26.By Wilson WaneneEight years ago a presidential elec-tionwas held in an African coun-try that wasremarkable, given the continent’sgloomy record in holding trouble-freeelections. The outcome surprised many.As the results were being tallied, internationalmonitors declared it the mostfree election ever held in that country.As if this wasn’t surprising enough, thecandidate viewed to have the militarygovernment’s blessing appearedheaded for a major loss. And the votingpattern defied the usual trend in Africa.The leading candidate was drawingsupport outside his ethnic group.But before everyone could reallysavor the excitement, the junta leader,who was not in the running and hadpromised to step aside once a civilianwas chosen, annulled the elections.The military effectively re-asserted itscontrol. The country was suddenlyplunged into a crisis from which it onlyrecently began to emerge. The reasonwhy the whole affair was particularlycaptivating, especially for Africans, wasthat it took place in Nigeria, the mostpopulous nation on the continent.Between the 1960’s, when most Africannations won independence, andthe end of the Cold War, most of themwere either run by autocrats or militarymen. Many scandals were reported byWestern correspondents who were notsubject to the same repression as theirAfrican counterparts. But even a Westernjournalist rarely could manage toget a one-on-one interview with a leadersuspected of ordering an assassination,pocketing a huge cache of public funds,or any other gross misdeed. The idea ofglimpsing a political event, from thepoint of view of an out-of-power leader,is still rare in Africa.This is one example why Karl Maier’s“This House Has Fallen: Midnight inNigeria” is remarkable. Through a wellplacedcontact, he manages to trackdown Ibrahim Babangida, the formerNigerian strongman who canceled the1993 elections. Meeting him at hishometown mansion, Maier conductsan intriguing interview. For example,regarding the annulled elections, theauthor states: “Despite the fact that[Moshood] Abiola broke the mold ofpresidential politics in Nigeria by winningvotes across regional and religiousbarriers, Babangida attemptedto argue that his victory actually threatenedNigeria’s unity…. But Babangida’sversion of events did not bear closescrutiny.”The book is a well-written, enlightening,though sad account of this complexWest African nation, which hasbeen hemorrhaging from years of misrule,repression and extreme corruption.The reporting is a skillful mixtureof recent Nigerian history, carefullyselected interviews, and vibrant localcolor (“As one columnist put it, Nigeriandemocracy had gone‘democrazy.’”) The Africa correspondentfor The Independent of Londonfrom 1986 to 1996, Maier—an American—haswritten two other books onAfrica, “Angola: Promises and Lies,”and “Into the House of the Ancestors:Inside the New Africa.”With 110 million people, one ofevery five black Africans is Nigerian.The nation is a seemingly unwieldycollection of over 250 ethnic groups.Two of the world’s major religions—Christianity and Islam—are well representedin the country. For the UnitedStates, it’s the fifth largest supplier ofcrude oil. Yet it’s one of the 20 poorestcountries in the world, according tothe World Bank. And, according to theU.S. Energy Department, it suffers anexternal debt of between $30 to $34billion and has to pay out $400-$500million each year just to service it.There’s an understandable tendencyamong American foreign correspondentsin Africa to subtly point out—inarticles or books—why their topics areimportant. Implicit is the assumptionthat Africa is quite remote to the ordinaryAmerican. To help readers backhome, pieces are peppered with comparativeexamples. One learns thatKenya is roughly the size of Texas;Democratic Republic of the Congo isequal to the United States east of theMississippi; Burundi is comparable toConnecticut, and so on.What’s interesting about Maier isthat save for the preface, he doesn’treally waste time trying to justifyNigeria’s significance. He just divesinto his story. Perhaps this is due to hishaving worked for a British paper, orhe simply feels that the book will mostlybe read by those with a pre-existinginterest in Africa. Whatever the case,108 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Books and Commentarythe result is refreshing and proves thatthere really isn’t a fixed way of reportingon Africa. A good journalist will getthe story out, one way or another. Andthe story will speak for itself.The Nigeria that emerges, as withmuch of sub-Saharan Africa, is causefor sobriety. Despite a bloody threeyearcivil war in the late 1960’s, whichleft a million people dead, ethnic tensionsstill simmer and claim lives. Communitiesin the oil producing regionsof the country, such as the Ogonis, feelnone of the benefits have come tothem, and their poverty is shocking. Abreakup of the country cannot be ruledout. Abiola, the presumed winner ofthe 1993 presidential elections, diedthree years ago while imprisoned bythe authorities for declaring himselfNigeria’s legitimate leader. In 1999Olusegun Obasanjo, a retired generalwho ruled Nigeria from 1976 to 1979,was sworn in as a civilian presidentfollowing an election that was supposedto put an end to military rule.But it’s too early to tell whether democracywill take root. The countryhas been run by soldiers for all but 13years since it won independence fromBritain in 1960.Maier, at the beginning of his book,hints at Nigeria’s attractive side. It hasproduced prized art works; acclaimedwriters like Chinua Achebe and theNobel laureate Wole Soyinka; talentedsports figures such as HakeemOlajuwon of the Houston Rockets, andinternationally recognized singers likeSade, Seal and Fela Kuti, whose careerand life were cut short by AIDS in 1997.However, the author chooses to focuson the dire challenges presently confrontingwhat he terms “perhaps thelargest failed state in the Third World.”And it’s to his credit that he maintainsthis focus, for one is forced to wonderhow a country can squander so muchpotential. And the urgency to find remediesis keenly felt. He suggests thatonly if the present government is deadserious about reforming the country,and allows for a wide-ranging nationaldialogue, will disaster be averted. ■Wilson Wanene, a Kenyan-bornfreelance journalist in Boston,writes on African media and politicalissues.wwanene@reporters.netHe Displeased His Bosses, Not to Mention Those He CoveredDaniel Schorr writes about his tempestuous career as a reporter.Staying Tuned: A Life in JournalismDaniel SchorrPocket Books. 345 Pages. $26.95.By John HerbersAmong the ever critical editors andreporters who work for newspapers,Daniel Schorr may well be the mostadmired broadcast journalist of ourtime. In a reporting career stretchingback to the 1940’s, he has been astaunch defender of the First Amendment,a tireless searcher for the truth inboth domestic and foreign affairs, anda brilliant analyst of the increasing complexitiesconfronting a domestic society,the latter a role he continuesthrough National Public Radio.A reader of his memoir, “StayingTuned: A Life in Journalism,” mightwonder how his career would havediffered had he found his first majorjob on The New York Times rather thanwith CBS News. He writes that hewanted most of all to be a foreigncorrespondent for the Times, whichrepeatedly turned him down. At onepoint he was told that after lengthyconsultations with the newspaperTurner Catledge, then the executiveeditor, had ordered a freeze on hiringadditional Jews on the foreign staff forfear it might hamper the paper’s coverageof any mid-East war. The ban wassoon canceled, and Schorr was theonly person affected by it.On other occasions, any number ofreasons for his rejection might havebeen at play on a paper, then and now,constantly besieged by job seekers.Certainly it was not lack of talent. Havinglater worked for the Times, I believethat had Schorr gone on the staffhe would most certainly have been anoutstanding correspondent and wouldeventually made a top editor or columnist.But he would not be recognizedas a celebrity by leaders and othersaround the world and, of course, hewould have had less material wealth.On the other hand, he would not havehad to undergo the excruciating treatmenthe received from television executivesand owners. After establishinga distinguished record at CBS News, hewas fired for passing a secret CIA reportto The Village Voice after the networkrefused to let him broadcast it.The falling out, however, went muchdeeper than that. CBS executives weredispleased that some of his reportingoffended government officials who dulyNieman Reports / Fall 2001 109

Words & Reflectionscomplained to the network’s headquarters.Schorr took that in stride, acknowledgingthat because broadcastersare government regulated they donot have the freedom that newspapersenjoy. Some of his difficulties, however,stemmed from standard networkpractices. Reporters, given two minutesto explain a complicated development,were encouraged to end thesegment with a statement of what itmeans. Too frequently the reporterwould state the facts, briefly, then signoff with a one-sentence editorial.In reporting Nixon’s statement to apublisher’s convention in 1974 that“your president is not a crook,” Schorrconcluded in his broadcast, “The evidenceindicates otherwise.” No printreporter could get away with that. Heor she would be expected to write whatthe evidence was and let the readerdecide. But not TV.This and other broadcasts by thenetwork caused CBS Chairman WilliamPaley to order the abolition of“instant analysis” of Nixon appearances,but his order would have no effect onoverall TV news practices. Schorr wastoo conscientious and prickly to thrivein that culture.After leaving CBS at the age of 60, hecoasted “on the momentum of fame”by lecturing, teaching at Berkeley, andwriting a newspaper column. But noneof these satisfied his appetite for reporting.So when Ted Turner, who wasthen in the process of creating anaround-the-clock television news service,came to him with a job offer, hesuccumbed to the opportunity and wassoon back on the television screen forCable News Network (CNN).If there was ever an odd couple itwas Turner and Schorr. Yet Schorr prosperedand renewed his fame for a fewyears. But when CNN tried to eliminatea clause from his contract that gave himthe right to refuse an assignment,Schorr balked and CNN let him go. Thenetwork asked him to return the largesatellite receiver dish that Turner hadgiven him six years earlier, before cableservice was available.Schorr replied, “I would be glad toreturn the dish, but since it had been apersonal gift from Turner, I would likea letter from him requesting it. Also Iwould expect CNN to pay for relandscapingafter it was dug up. And, sincethe dish had attracted local newspaperattention when it was first installed,the removal probably would be notedby the media.”A CNN manager called to say, “Keepthe f— dish.” Schorr noted, “It stillstands there, a memento.”It is obvious throughout the bookthat Schorr has a very large ego, whichhe acknowledges. The book would havebeen improved had it been shortenedby a third. Time after time Schorr relatesthe details of assignments he carriedout around the globe that addlittle to his story. He is a consummatename-dropper. The index reads like alisting of people of prominence in thelatter half of the 20th century.But, unlike most self-absorbed celebrities,there is another side to him.He has a deep concern about socialjustice. Perhaps that was due to theinfluence of his wife, Lisbeth BambergerSchorr. He was 50 years old when theywere married. He had worked mostlyabroad and she, a social scientist, wasemployed in Lyndon Johnson’s War onPoverty. He began to take on domesticassignments that had none of the glamourof the international arena he wasaccustomed to following. I observedhim at the 1972 Republican NationalConvention covering the platform committeewith a vengeance, an assignmentmost reporters shunned as irrelevantto the process of nominating apresident.Years later, President Clinton puthis hand on Schorr’s shoulder and said,“Dan, marrying Li was the smartestthing you ever did.” Clinton had talkedto her at length about a book she hadwritten, “Within Our Reach: Breakingthe Cycle of Disadvantage.”Schorr dutifully reports this, but hestops short of saying—perhaps he doesnot know—that her book is considereda signal achievement among herpeers that could have a more lastinglegacy than anything her husband did.Toward the end of his book, Schorrobserves that his view of his and hisfamily’s accomplishments is shifting.“In the twilight of a life and a career, Ifind new enjoyment in the way mywife, my son, my daughter have distinguishedthemselves by serving the publicweal,” he writes.Schorr continues to make an impressivecontribution with his reportingand analysis on NPR, which reachesan audience interested in advancinghumane and lasting values. “In the olddays,” Schorr concludes, “people wouldrecognize me and say, ‘I’ve seen you ontelevision.’ In recent years it is morelikely to be someone who swivelsaround in a restaurant and says, ‘Iwould know that voice anywhere,’ andthen something like ‘Thank you forexplaining things.’ I find that most satisfying.”■John Herbers was for 24 years areporter and editor at The New YorkTimes and covered civil rights,urban affairs, congress, nationalpolitics, the White House, and demographictrends. He is a 1961 NiemanFellow.110 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Nieman NotesCompiled by Lois FioreNieman NotesNieman Fellows Take to the Road in Korea‘For 10 days we changed from being reporters to being diplomats of our profession.’By Stefanie FriedhoffThe Nieman Fellows meet SouthKorean journalists in a conferenceroom on top of Seoul. Oldlinoleum floors, new microphones, anda view that strikes the eye: skyscrapers,flashing screens, roof decorations inglass and steel. A huge banner says,“Welcome Niemans!” in English, andin Korean, which to me, the Germanfellow, could be ancient Greek. Afterour flight halfway around the world,we’ve entered a world many of us havenever been to before—Asia.On our first day visiting Korea, ourtopic is online journalism. Soon welearn about Ohmy news, a journalisticWeb site that recently scooped the leadingnational newspapers with storieslike the one about some governmentofficials using public money to pay forprivate amusements. One of the SouthKorean journalist explains: “The Ohmynews site is received as the only trulyalternative source of news right now.”In Seoul, half of the homes have Internetaccess.My body clock tells me it’s nighttime,time for bed, but my mindcouldn’t be more awake. I did notexpect any discussion at this morningmeeting—or at any other meeting inKorea—on one of the more delicateissues in the country, the media andthe government.South Korea, long headed by a militarygovernment and its propagandamachine, had its first presidential electionin 1987. Freedom of the press wasintroduced—but disassembling asettled media bureaucracy is never easy.Three big conservative newspaperscontrol 70 percent of the newspapersales. A week before we left Cambridge,The New York Times reported on acontroversy with an odd twist: Currentpresident Kim Dae-Jung, a former dissidentand devoted liberal elected in1997, was accused of stopping themajor papers from criticizing him. Kim,the story noted, believes there is needfor “media reform” and regards the oldplayers as too powerful.In this muggy conference room ontop of Seoul, it seems as if some agreewith the president. One of the Koreanreporters says that “It is public opinionthat Korean news do not have a truthfulobjectivity.” That is one reason whyOhmy news works well, with citizensacting as reporters. Ten thousandpeople contribute to this Web publication,while some 30 people edit thecopy that comes in.But this leaves me wondering howthis Web site can publish articles withoutchecking facts. Didn’t we talk duringour Nieman year about the ways tomaintain quality in online journalism?By a few days into our trip, I find myselfrealizing how differently we think aboutthese issues in countries like the UnitedStates and Germany. In a place likeSouth Korea, where freedom of expressionand of the press has yet tobecome a protected reality, Ohmy newsprovides a perfect platform to say whatcannot yet be said in the regular media.It seems like a signpost along the roadto democracy, and people here havemore important things to do than tocreate false news.Later in our trip, we board a train tohead east. Here we are, 10 Niemansfrom nine countries—including Nigeria,Bosnia, Chile and India—CuratorBob Giles, his wife, Nancy, and U.S.-South African novelist and Niemanwriting instructor, Rose Moss. This journeyhad been arranged and is headedby Lee Dong-Kwan, our Nieman colleague.His aim is to try to bridge thecultural gaps between our backgroundsand his.If Lee seems slightly nervous, he hasevery right to feel that way. Our delegationis two-thirds female, and in a traditionalcountry like South Korea, thatmight be considered almost improper.“Interesting!” the deputy major of theancient city of Kyungju calls it. “Oh,how unexpected!” says the chief of theKorean Information System. Anotherissue: Instinctively, we don’t like thepopularity assigned to us. Whereverwe go, we’re introduced as “extraordinaryand world famous journalists,” ina tone that sounds a lot like: “May weproudly present: Madonna!” That weare expert in questioning authoritiesdoesn’t seem to matter. Suddenly, weare treated as the officials whom weuse to grill. Banners, newspapers, eventhe TV news talk about us. We receivegifts from politicians, CEO’s, even fromPresident Kim. Can that be good?To Lee’s relief we don’t revolt, butgrab our nametags and do what we dobest—observe. After all, we are here toexperience the culture. If this treatmentis part of it, let’s touch, smell andNieman Reports / Fall 2001 111

Nieman Notesanalyze it. Food and gifts are a sociallanguage, not just in South Korea, andsince our group provides a uniquewindow to many different nations, weare, of course, being pampered. We areserved the king’s soup, the finest jellyfish,and little somethings in a bag—awristwatch, a book. We smile, observeand begin to understand.South Korea is a country of change.It is a traditional culture encounteringglobalization, an Asian Tiger still digestingthe 1997 stock market crisis,and a product of the Cold War trying toopen a dialogue with its communistbrother in the North. It is a youngdemocracy unraveling the strings of atotalitarian past. To me, it often feelslike East Germany in the years after thewall came down, with its subtle chaosand strong contradictions. Along thestimulated by the nature of our group.In the end, it was a journey thatrepeatedly pushed all of us beyond ourown cultural, intellectual and emotionalborders. And that was the beautyof it.We were Niemans on the road, andthough nobody quite understands whatthat means, it gives new dimensions toan old idea—to promote and elevatethe standards of journalism. Today,that means global journalism. ■roads, I see poor farmers, then some ofthe most sophisticated farming techniquesin the global market. There arealmost no women in powerful positions,but there are some courageouswomen performing “The Vagina Monologues”on stage in Seoul every night.It could be said that we survived atrip of clapping, business attire, andfive official appointments a day. But I’dmuch rather say that for 10 days wechanged from being reporters to beingdiplomats of our profession. Wechanged from practicing journalism toparticipating in the globalization ofjournalism. And South Korean officialsendured us as well, this multi-cultural,outspoken group of men and women,as they sat through some never-endinginterviews and were baffled by PresidentKim extending his time with us, sfriedhoff@aol.comStefanie Friedhoff is a 2001 NiemanFellow who is a science writer andcorrespondent for German newspapersand magazines. She is based inCambridge, Massachusetts.—1943—Frank K. Kelly writes, “I must beone of the oldest living Fellows. I wasin the class of 1942-43. I was called intothe army in January 1943 and returnedto finish my fellowship in the spring of1946.”Kelly has been honored recently withthe establishment of the Frank K. KellyEndowed Lecture on Humanity’s Future,an endowment for lectures to begiven annually and published as excerptsor in their entirety to the publicand to world leaders. Kelly writes fromthe Nuclear Age Peace Foundation,“This project was launched at a luncheonhere on my 87th birthday by thedirectors of this Foundation, which Ihelped to create in 1982.”A committee is forming to organizethe inaugural lecture, to be given byKelly himself, and to build an endowmentfor the project. For information,contact David Krieger or Chris Pizzinatat the foundation at 805-965-3443, orvisit the Foundation’s Web site atwww.wagingpeace.org.—1947—Jack Foisie died after long illnesson June 14 at home in Wilmette, Illinoisat the age of 82. Foisie was ajournalist for over four decades andwas especially well known for his warreporting. He got his start at the SeattlePost-Intelligencer, worked at The SeattleTimes and San FranciscoChronicle, and served in the Army, firstas a combat soldier and then as a combatcorrespondent during World WarII. Working for the Chronicle upon hisreturn, Foisie covered the war in Koreaand traveled to Vietnam in 1962. In1964, he was hired by the Los AngelesTimes to be bureau chief in Saigon.In his Los Angeles Times obituary,Robert W. Gibson, the Times foreigneditor who hired him, said that Foisie“was fiercely independent in his thinkingon Vietnam and everything else. Itmade him a marvelous reporter. …Henever took hearsay. If someone saidthe village was being shelled, he wouldwant to go and see it himself. Hewouldn’t report it until he saw it.”David Lamb (NF ’81) said of Foisie,in the Times obituary, “He was softspokenand a gentleman but was bestworking off the beaten track, pickingup information in the field, mixingwith average people. He was the best ofthe old school journalists.”After his retirement from the Timesin 1984, Foisie lectured and wrote commentaryon foreign affairs and continuedto go on occasional assignments.He is survived by his wife, FlorenceMcTighe “Micki” Foisie, three children,seven grandchildren, two greatgrandchildren,and a brother.—1952—John Lawrence Steele died on June13 of cardiovascular and pulmonaryfailure. He was 84. Steele began hisjournalism career in 1939 in Chicago atthe City News Bureau. He worked forUnited Press in Chicago and Washington,D.C., served in the Navy reserveduring World War II, and continued towork for UP after the war.In 1953, he started work with Time-112 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Nieman NotesLife News Service in Washington, coveringthe Eisenhower, Kennedy andJohnson administrations. He movedfrom the position of Washington bureauchief to vice president of TimeInc. and, after 1982, he was a publicpolicy consultant to Time.During his career, Steele wrote onjournalism and public affairs and collaboratedon the book “The PrivatePapers of Senator Vandenberg.” HeNieman Foundation AnnouncesInternational Fellows for 2001-02Twelve international journalistswere appointed to the 64th class ofNieman Fellows at Harvard University.Their names, countries of residence,and interests follow:Waziri Adio, Lagos, Nigeria, editorialboard member of This Day newspaper;the nexus between the press,politics and sustainable development.Owais Aslam Ali, Karachi, Pakistan,chairman of Pakistan Press International;influences of international developmentin Pakistan and the region.Chiba-Nieman Fellow; funding providedby the Atsuko Chiba Foundation.Dejan Anastasijevic, Belgrade,Yugoslavia, senior journalist for Vremeweekly; military structures in contemporaryethnic conflicts and the issuesof democratic consolidation.Kavi Chongkittavorn, Bangkok,Thailand, managing editor of The Nation;humanitarian laws and the developmentof East Asia since the end ofthe Cold War. Partial funding providedby The Asia Foundation.Yuan Feng, Beijing, China, assistantto the chief editor of ChinaWomen’s News; gender and women’sissues as China makes the transitioninto a market-oriented society.David B. Green, Jerusalem, Israel,senior editor/writer at The JerusalemReport; Israel and the Crusades—howthe medieval wars have had an impacton the Arab-Israeli conflict today.Rami Khouri, Amman, Jordan, syndicatedcolumnist and freelance TVwas a commentator on NBC, CBS, theBBC, the CBC, and a moderator andpanelist for the Voice of America.Steele is survived by his wife, Louise,a daughter and two sons.—1966—and radio host; the links between religion,identity, national history, andgovernance systems.Agnes Nindorera, Bujumbura,Burundi, producer at Studio Ijambo;the evolution, since the end of theCold War, of social economy, internationallaw, and human rights in Africa.Paule Robitaille, Mexico City,Mexico, Latin America bureau chief forCanadian Broadcasting Corporation;the causes of civil wars and revolutionsand the consequences of civil conflict,the effectiveness of conflict manage.Martin Wise Goodman CanadianNieman Fellow; funding provided bythe Goodman Trust in Canada and theGoodman Fund in the United States.Geraldo Samor, Rio de Janeiro,Brazil, correspondent for ThomsonInternational/International FinancingReview; the economics of internationalfinancial markets and impacts on localeconomies and development.Giannina Segnini, San Jose, CostaRica, investigative unit coordinator, LaNación; financial markets and informationtechnology and their impact oneconomic and human rights. KnightLatin American Fellow; funding providedby the John S. and James L. KnightFoundation.Jabulani Sikhakhane, Rosebank,South Africa, editor at large, FinancialMail; the impact of South Africa’s reentryinto global markets since democraticelections in 1994. Funding providedby The United States-South AfricaLeadership Development Program. ■Ralph Hancox was awarded theChancellor’s Distinguished ServiceAward at Simon Fraser University, BritishColumbia, on February 16, for hisrole in advancing the Canadian publishingindustry’s support for the CanadianCentre for Studies in Publishing.Hancox, who has been a journalist,editor, a publisher and publishing consultant,retires this year after five yearsas a professional fellow and visitingprofessor at SFU’s Master of Publishingprogram. The Reader’s Digest Associationof Canada, of which Hancox wasonce president and CEO, is to fund aprofessional fellow for the program inHancox’s name.—1974—Morton Kondracke has written abook to tell the story of his wife, Milly,who was diagnosed with Parkinson’sdisease in 1987. “Saving Milly: Love,Politics and Parkinson’s Disease” isabout their love, their efforts to managethe debilitating effects of that diseasesince her diagnosis, and of his eyeopeningexperiences as an advocatefor Parkinson’s research.In an article in The Washington PostMagazine in June, Kondracke wrote,“Ever since Milly was diagnosed withParkinson’s, the nation’s leading neurologistshave been saying that thisdisease could be cured within 10 years.They still say that, but Milly’s time isrunning out.” A long-time Washington,D.C. journalist and commentator andcurrently co-host of Fox TV’s “BeltwayBoys,” Kondracke has increasinglyfound himself on an unfamiliar side ofpolitics—advocacy—as his wife’s conditionhas worsened. Beginning in 1993with a visit to the Clinton’s, theKondrackes have fought to increasefederal funding for Parkinson’s diseaseresearch, and in doing so have had todeal with a convoluted “disease politics”web of activist groups competingfor federal allocations, hotly debatedissues such as stem cell research, andthe politicians whose votes may determinewhether a cure is found yearssooner, or years later.In articles and interviews, Kondrackeis as forthcoming about his politicalefforts as his enduring devotion to Milly.Though the first 20 years were quitedifferent from the past 13, KondrackeNieman Reports / Fall 2001 113

Nieman NotesChris Georges Reporting Scholarship ExpandedThe Christopher J. Georges JournalismScholarship Fund for in-depthreporting is expanding its eligibility toenable more young writers to apply.The award, established in 1999 forinterns at The Wall Street Journal,now is open to any journalist up to age30. The scholarship winner will receive$10,000 to support an independentinvestigative reporting project.This scholarship fund was establishedto enable young journalists toengage in the research and writingthat reflects Chris Georges’ commitmentto in-depth journalism on issuesof enduring social value in which thestories document the human impactof public policy.Georges was an honors graduate ofHarvard and a Wall Street Journal reporterwho died in 1998 at the age of33 from complications related to lupus.He worked in the Journal’s Wash-writes, “In fact, for 33 years we’ve liveda love story….”—1977—Tony Castro’s book, “MickeyMantle: America’s Prodigal Son,” hasbeen published by Brasey’s, Inc. Castro,formerly with Sports Illustrated, spentsix years researching Mantle’s life, interviewingmore than 250 people. Hisprevious book is “Chicano Power: TheEmergence of Mexican America.” Hiswork has also appeared in the LosAngeles Times, The Washington Post,and other publications. Castro lives inBeverly Hills, California.—1978—Ken Freed writes, “After my year inLebanon, I returned to Omaha andtried the life of a Midwestern recluse;reading, tending to my flowers, andstaring into the middle distance. Allvery nice, but as they say about Nebraska—theyards are wide and thehorizons narrow. So, I looked for a wayington bureau, covering politics, economicsand budget issues. His storieson the welfare system in 1997 werenominated for a Pulitzer Prize.The scholarship fund is administeredby the Nieman Foundation.Deadline for proposals is October15, 2001. In addition to a written proposalfor an independent journalismproject, candidates for the fellowshipare asked to submit a resume, a briefbiographical essay, and a selection ofpublished work (please note: selectionsof work cannot be returned).The journalist selected for the scholarshipwill receive a portion of the awardat the beginning of the project and theremainder upon publication of thestory or stories.Proposals should be sent to: ChrisGeorges Scholarship; Nieman Foundation;One Francis Ave.; Cambridge,Mass. 02138. ■out and found it at Ohio University inAthens, Ohio, where I will spend theacademic year as the E.W. Scripps VisitingProfessional in the journalismschool. I will teach one section of basicreporting and editing and an upperlevel course in international reporting.I also will help with a program thatsends interns to work abroad.”—1979—Michael McDowell became SeniorPolicy Advisor to the Fogarty InternationalCenter of the National Institutesof Health on July 10. His long-termgoal will be establishing a large multiyeargrant program for developingcountries and U.S. reporters and editorson international health issues suchas HIV/AIDS, infectious diseases acrossborders, peacekeeping problems inareas of high health risk, and buildingcapacity for medical journals in developingand middle-income nations.“I have become increasingly interestedin the global health side of foreignpolicy, and it is a growing andsalient issue for both the United Statesand other governments and internationalorganizations like the U.N.“This new communications initiativeis innovative and key to tacklingthe growing crisis on AIDS/HIV. It willtake some time to put together, but Ihope to sponsor small and mediumtermprojects before the major programis up and running fully.“I am very excited about this newposition, and I am already using theNieman network to help me with theinitial planning. I would be very interestedin suggestions from fellows fromboth developing and developed countriesabout what kind of training forreportage on global health would bemost useful,” he says. McDowell’s newoffice e-mail address is:Michael_McDowell@nih.gov.—1980—Judith Stoia’s “Between the Lions”won an “Outstanding Achievement inChildren’s Programming” award fromthe Television Critics Association thissummer, an honor that it shares with“Sesame Street.” This is the secondyear running that “Lions” has receivedthe award. Stoia is the program’s producer.“Between the Lions” features a familyof lions—Theo, Cleo, Lionel andLeona—who run a magical library. Withthe help of puppets and other helpers,episodes expose children to the writtenword in a wide range of forms, frompoetry to recipes, based on a comprehensiveliteracy curriculum.For Stoia’s recent article on the showand its evolution, see the Fall 2000issue of Nieman Reports. The show’saward-winning Web site can be foundat www.betweenthelions.com.—1981—Laurel Shackelford was promotedto executive editor of The Monterey(California) County Herald. She hadbeen deputy editor/editorial page editor.Prior to joining the Herald’s staff,Shackelford was an editorial writer withThe Courier-Journal in Louisville, Kentucky.114 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

Nieman Notes—1983—Callie Crossley left ABC News June1, just a few months shy of her 13thanniversary at the newsmagazine “20/20.” Crossley’s ABC career began justafter she completed work as a produceron the acclaimed documentaryseries “Eyes On the Prize.”Crossley took advantage of a buyoutpackage offered by Disney corporateowners of ABC. Throughout her tenureat ABC, Crossley balanced a rigorousproducing schedule with outsideinterests. She says the buyout offeredher “the chance to make those outsideinterests my main focus. I was lookingfor a creative way to reinvent myself.”Callie reports that she is now hangingout her shingle as a media consultant(and no, she assures us, in this caseit is not code for unemployed). She iswrapping up work as a consultant for anew documentary series, “This Far ByFaith: African-American Spiritual Journeys,”set to air on PBS February 2002,and she is pondering other opportunitiesto do more of the same.She is also looking for more opportunitiesto do commentary for radioand TV and to build up her roster ofspeaking engagements. Crossley continuesher weekly stint as a featuredpanelist on WGBH-TV’s “Beat thePress,” which examines media issues.The National Press Club recentlyawarded “Beat the Press” the ArthurRowse Award for Press Criticism.Crossley’s e-mail address isccmemphis@yahoo.com.Gil Gaul writes: “After 18 years,many wonderful, I decided to leaveThe Philadelphia Inquirer in July andjoin the investigative staff of The WashingtonPost, where I will work on nationaland international projects. Themove came as owner Knight Ridderwas slashing costs at the Inquirer, again,and there was a sizable exodus of talentedreporters and editors takingbuyouts or searching for new papers. Iwas fortunate enough to land at thePost, where I work for two extraordinarilytalented editors and am surroundedby smart, thoughtful reporters,including Nieman classmate GuyGugliotta, who covers science.For now, I am splitting my timebetween Washington and our home inCherry Hill, New Jersey. A move willeventually follow.My wife, Cathy, continues to teachart and produce in-house publicationsat Haddonfield Friends School. Ouroldest son Greg is entering his juniorDonald Woods Remembered By Nieman ClassmatesDonald Woods, a 1979 Nieman Fellow,died August 19 in England of cancer.He was 67. A fifth-generation SouthAfrican, Woods had accepted apartheidas sensible policy until, as a lawstudent at the University of Cape Town,he began to comprehend the systematichypocrisy in South African law. Hewas reported to have later called apartheid“the great obscene lie.”Woods practiced as a lawyer, thenworked for a short time for newspapersin England and Canada, and in1960 returned to South Africa to workfor The Daily Dispatch in East London.Within a few years, he became editor.In that position, he hired black journalists,worked to include material expresslyfor the paper’s black readership,and vehemently criticized racistgovernment policies.Woods met Black ConsciousnessMovement leader Steve Biko in 1973.“It was a gradual, at first guarded, friendshipthat grew between Woods and thefiery Biko, but it was a friendship thatwas forged to last,” writes Woods’sclassmate Frank van Riper. In 1977,after Biko was arrested and beaten todeath in interrogation, Woods publishedthe details of the killing. He wasthreatened, banned from writing, andplaced under house arrest. Soon, heand his family fled to England, wherehe campaigned against apartheid inlectures, articles and books, includingthe biography, “Biko.”Van Riper continues, “[Woods] usedhis Nieman year to travel the countrydenouncing apartheid and raising theconsciousness of a whole generationof Americans… To those who praisedhis courage…Donald would argue thatit was not courage but indignation thatdrove him.”John Mojapelo writes, “Unlike manyof his privileged white brethren, Donaldnever elevated himself to the level thathe was a white man who was fightingfor blacks. To him we were all SouthAfricans. His ongoing fight against thepernicious system of apartheid wasaimed at getting rid of an evil systemfor both black and whites.“He was one of the few whites whocould speak Xhosa like a native. SouthAfrican whites, who normally couldspeak…one of the indigenous languages,usually assume because theyspeak the language they automaticallyunderstand the psyche of the natives.That was not Donald Woods. He spokethe language and used that as a tool ofcommunication. Period. This can beseen in his relationship with Steve Biko.There is no truth that he used SteveBiko for his personal aggrandizement.Donald could have made it on his ownwithout cashing on Biko’s name.Peggy Simpson recalls, “I’m notsure we had personal conversationswith him then. He was under attackfrom many U.S. blacks for ‘co-opting’the Biko story and while that woundedhim it was confusing to many of us. I’mnot sure we were as much solace tohim as was the concert piano!”And Peggy Engel writes, “How manyNieman fellows could have pulled offmeeting with the president of Harvardon Tuesday and picketing his office onWednesday? Donald was on campus asa guest of Harvard but that didn’t stophim from joining student rallies andspeaking out at every occasion..…”Woods stayed in touch with SteveBiko’s family and returned last May forthe wedding of Biko’s daughter. Woodsis survived by his wife, Wendy, threesons, and two daughters. ■Nieman Reports / Fall 2001 115

Nieman Notesyear at Princeton. Cary, our youngest,is starting his sophomore year at CherryHill West. He took home major medalsin swimming and track at the JuniorNational Wheelchair Championshipsthis summer at Rutgers University.—1985—Mike Pride, editor of The ConcordMonitor, writes: “I have had two bookspublished this year. One is “My BraveBoys,” which I wrote with Mark Travis,editor of the Monitor’s editorial pages.It is a history of the Civil War regimentthat suffered the most battle deaths ofall 2,000 Union infantry regiments. Weworked on “My Brave Boys” as a hobbyfor eight years. In addition, FeliceBelman and I co-edited “The NewHampshire Century.” Felice is a formerMonitor city editor who is now aneditor at The Washington Post, and thebook grew out of a yearlong series ofprofiles in the Monitor. The UniversityPress of New England published bothbooks in April.“My biggest family news is thatMonique [his wife] and I became grandparentson June 3 when Grace wasborn to Melissa and Yuri, our middleson. Also our oldest son, Sven, a computerengineer who lives in the D.C.area, will be married in October andour youngest, Misha, will be at TheUniversity of New Hampshire in thefall. Monique still teaches foreign languagesin a local school district.—1987—Susan Dentzer was elected chair ofthe Dartmouth College Board of Trusteeseffective June 2001. Dentzer graduatedin 1977 and was elected to theboard in 1993. An on-air correspondentwith PBS’s “The NewsHour WithJim Lehrer,” she covers health-carepolicy, the economics of health care,and other economic and social policyissues. Before her move to PBS, Dentzerwas an economics columnist and chiefeconomics correspondent for U.S.News and World Report and a seniorwriter of business news at Newsweek.—1990—Dick Reavis, “a white Texas male,now of middle age,” joined the civilrights cause in Alabama in the summerof 1965. Three and a half decades later,he tells his story in a memoir, “If WhiteKids Die: Memories of a Civil RightsMovement Volunteer.”Reavis writes in the book’s preface:“What I saw in one small ghetto left meenraged for twenty years…. The storyof the Civil Rights Movement as I knewit has not been told, perhaps because itdoes not end with the lofty victoriesthat are officially commemorated today.The movement’s incompletestruggle will probably not be resumedduring my lifetime, though someday,I’m sure it will, because at bottom, itwasn’t about color, anyway: it was abouthuman equality, the oldest causeknown to man. It is my hope that thiswork will help place the Southern civilrights struggle in a broader and morerealistic context.”—1991—Kabral Blay-Amihere writes, “July1 marked my 25 years as a practicingjournalist. There was no party or fanfareto celebrate. Instead I wrote andpublished a book, ‘Fighting for Freedom:The Autobiography of an AfricanJournalist,’ to mark my silver jubilee.“The book was launched on August17 by Ghana’s new head of state, JohnAgyekum Kufuor, whose policy towardsthe media is progressive. His governmenthas repealed the obnoxious criminallibel law which previous governmentsused to suppress the press.“The other development in my life isthat I have been appointed Ambassadorto Sierra Leone. This appointmentmeans that I am moving on to newfrontiers in my service to Ghana. It hasbeen a hard decision, accepting to becomea diplomat, but I believe that thisnew platform will still afford me everychance to serve my country and mankind.I will always remain a journalistand a writer and will use this new postto write more books.”—1992—George de Lama was named deputymanaging editor/news for the ChicagoTribune in July. De Lama has workedfor the Tribune since 1978, most recentlyas associate managing editor forforeign and national news.—1997—Mathatha Tsedu now works forSouth Africa Broadcasting Corporation[SABC] as deputy chief executive ofnews. There, he joins Nieman alumnusBarney Mthombothi (NF ’94), who isSABC’s head of news. Tsedu writes: “Imoved from The Star where I wasdeputy editor on June 30 and startedhere on July 1. For me it is a significantmove in that I have spent my last 23years as a journalist in print and movingto broadcast has been very challenging.But that is what work as ajournalist should be.”—2000—Dennis Cruywagen writes: “Whiletaking some classes at the KennedySchool of Government during myNieman year, it hit me that althoughSouth Africa has become a democracy,the majority of us have never experiencedliving in a democracy. For example,even the press—which generallyspeaking has to undergo somemore changes before it’s fully representativeof the population—often talksabout acting in the public interest. Yet,somehow, it has taken it years to realizethat it alone could not define orspeak on behalf of the public interest.I wanted to learn more about democracy,democratic norms, values, traditionsand culture.“So, while in Cambridge, I appliedfor a Mason Fellowship to do a MastersDegree in Public Policy and Managementat the Kennedy School. And that’swhere I am right now. If all goes well,I shall graduate on June 6, 2002.“Being back in Cambridge is great.But summer school was grueling. Mademe think: Oh to be a Nieman again.” ■116 Nieman Reports / Fall 2001

End NoteIn Korea, Nieman means prestige. MostNieman alumni became publishers oreditors in chief of major newspapers.Out of 19 fellows, about half haveserved as cabinet members.This is why the 2001 Niemans visitingKorea were pampered everywherewe went. In a society where Confuciantradition of heirarchy is still strong, itreally matters what group one belongsto. Regardless of whether it is good orbad, it is reality. ■—Lee Dong-KwanNieman Fellows in a train’s dining car on the way from Seoul to the ancientcities of Andong and Kyungju.Volunteer guide Dong Ho Kim (right) gives a tour of Seoul’s new soccer stadium toNieman Fellows Consuelo Saavedra (left) and Sayuri Daimon.Nieman Reports / Fall 2001 117