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Canongate Books - Alan Rusbridger

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176 pages

English

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A society that isn't sure what's true can't function, but increasingly we no longer seem to know who or what to believe. We're barraged by a torrent of lies, half-truths and propaganda: how do we even identify good journalism any more?At a moment of existential crisis for the news industry, in our age of information chaos, News and How to Use It shows us how. From Bias to Snopes, from Clickbait to TL;DR, and from Fact-Checkers to the Lamestream Media, here is a definitive user's guide for how to stay informed, tell truth from fiction and hold those in power accountable in the modern age.

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Publié par	Canongate Books
Date de parution	26 novembre 2020
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781838851620
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0400€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Alan Rusbridger is editor of Prospect . Previously he was Editor-in-Chief of Guardian News & Media from 1995 to 2015. He launched the Guardian in the US and Australia as well as building a website which today attracts more than 100 million unique browsers a month. The paper’s coverage of phone hacking led to the Leveson Inquiry into press standards and ethics. Guardian US won the 2014 Pulitzer Prize for public service for its leading global coverage of the Snowden revelations. He is the author of Play It Again and Breaking News . He lives in London. He was for six years Principal of Lady Margaret Hall, Oxford, and chairs the Reuters Institute for the Study of Journalism. He is a member of the global Facebook Oversight Board, which regulates content on the social media platform. @arusbridger | arusbridger.com
Also by Alan Rusbridger
Breaking News
Play It Again

The paperback edition published in Great Britain, the USA and Canada in 2021 by Canongate Books First published in Great Britain, the USA and Canada in 2020 by Canongate Books Ltd, 14 High Street, Edinburgh EH 1 1 TE
Distributed in the USA by Publishers Group West and in Canada by Publishers Group Canada
canongate.co.uk
This digital edition first published in 2020 by Canongate Books
Copyright © Alan Rusbridger, 2020
The right of Alan Rusbridger to be identified as the
author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance
with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available on
request from the British Library
ISBN 978 1 83885 443 0 eISBN 978 1 83885 162 0
Contents
Preface
A–Z
Bibliography
Acknowledgements
For the Committee to Protect Journalists, whose mission is, sadly, ever more necessary
Preface
Who on earth can you believe any more?
I am writing this at the peak – or so I hope – of the most vicious pandemic to have gripped the world in a century or more. The question of what information you can trust is, all of a sudden, a matter of life and death.
As an average citizen you have four choices about where to find information on this new plague.
You can believe the politicians. That might work if you live in, say, New Zealand or Germany – less so if you are in Brazil, Russia, China, Hungary or the United States. And maybe not so much in Britain.
What about the scientists? As politicians have struggled for authority – or even understanding – some leaders thrust scientists and doctors into the limelight. We began to absorb many lessons in epidemiology, immunology, exponential curves, antibody tests, vaccines and the modelling of viral infections. And we learned that scientists disagree with each other. They harbour – and value – doubts. They even change their minds. To some this is reassuring; to others, confusing.
Or we can turn to our peers. As always, there is good and bad on social media; expertise and madness; inspiration and malicious nonsense. New words have been coined – infodemic and infotagion are just two – to describe an environment of viral information chaos which nevertheless has proved massively addictive as people the world over stumble in search of light.
And then there is journalism. There has been much to admire here: some brave reporting from inside hospitals and on the streets; some clear and honest analysis; some tough investigations into governmental advice and inaction; some brilliant visualisation of data and some admirably simple explanations of complex concepts. The best news organisations have performed a real, vital public service.
But – as with social media – there is bad to counter the good. Some were slow to grasp the immensity of what was happening. There will be a special place in journalistic hell for Fox News and its initial torrent of Trump-echoing propaganda. That coverage will have helped contribute to numberless deaths. There was lamentable confusion about how to cover the nightly parade of presidential lies, sulks, boasts and vainglorious irrelevance that flagged itself as public information. There was uncertainty about how to communicate risk.
Some news outlets – initially, at least – seemed unable to imagine the scale of what was happening: it was easier to report on what videos Boris Johnson was watching in his hospital bed than on the hundreds dying every day all around. The newsrooms that had jettisoned their health or science correspondents struggled. The idiots who suggested that 5G phone masts could be spreading the disease encouraged arson and trashed their own brand. So, it was a mixed picture.
Covid-19 could not have announced itself at a worse time in terms of the question about whom to believe. Survey after survey has shown unprecedented confusion over where to place trust. Nearly two-thirds of adults polled by Edelman in 2018 said they could no longer tell a responsible source of news from the opposite.
This was not how it was supposed to be.
The official script for journalism was that once people woke up to the ocean of rubbish and lies all around them they’d come back to the safe harbour of professionally-produced news. You couldn’t leave this stuff to amateurs or give it away for free. Sooner or later people would flood back to the haven of proper journalism.
This official narrative was not completely wrong – but nor was it right in the way the optimists hoped it would be. There was a surge of eyeballs to mainstream media sites, but it was too soon to judge if the increased traffic would remotely compensate for the drastic loss of revenues as copy sales plummeted and advertising disappeared. It normally didn’t.
At the very moment when the UK government recognised journalists as essential workers, the industry itself looked more fragile than ever. Surveys of trust showed the public (especially the older public) relying on journalists, but not trusting them. Another Edelman special report in early March 2020 found journalists at the bottom of the trust pile, with only 43 per cent of those surveyed holding the view that you could believe them ‘to tell the truth about the virus’. That compared with 63 per cent for ‘a person like yourself’.
As the pandemic wore on, so trust in both UK politicians and news organisations slumped. Between April and May 2020, according to Reuters Institute for the Study of Journalism (RISJ), trust in the government plunged a full 19 points – partly, it was thought, as a result of newspaper investigations which appeared to show double standards between what the government was saying and what its top advisers were actually doing. But if reporters expected gratitude for their efforts they were disappointed: the same period saw an 11-point fall in trust in news organisations.
I spent most of my working life in journalism: I would like people to believe the best of it. I like the company of journalists and, as an editor, was frequently lost in admiration for colleagues – on the Guardian and beyond – who were clever, brave, resourceful, quick, honest, perceptive, knowledgeable and humane.
But it was impossible to be blind to so much journalism that was none of those things: editorial content that was stupid, corrupt, ignorant, aggressive, bullying, lazy and malign. But it all sailed under the flag of something we called ‘journalism’. Somehow we expected the public to be able to distinguish the good from the bad and to recognise it’s not all the same, even if we give it the same name.
The official story paints journalists as people who tell ‘truth to power’. But ‘truth’ is a big word, and we seldom like to reflect on our own power.
Now, four years on from being full-time in the newsroom, I want to bring an insider’s perspective to the business of journalism, but also look at it from the outside. How can we explain ‘journalism’ to people who are by and large sceptical – which is broadly what most of us would want our fellow citizens to be? This book aims to touch on some of the things about journalism that might help a reader decide whether it deserves their trust, and offer a glimpse to working journalists of how they are viewed by the world outside.
What follows is in alphabetical form and is, inevitably, quite subjective and a bit random. It deals with some aspects of how journalism – at its best and worst – is practised, thought about, paid for, owned, controlled and influenced. To many insiders these are givens: to many outsiders they are mysteries.
A decade or more ago none of this would have needed spelling out quite as much as it does today, with mainstream news such an easy target for deliberate and concerted denigration. But journalism has, it seems to me, always struggled to describe itself honestly, if at all. As long as the readers were there and the bottom line looked healthy, there didn’t seem much need for the public washing of dirty linen. And, anyway, some of it was too complicated really to get into. Mix in the unhealthy omertà which can sometimes provide a shield from the uncomfortable scrutiny editors like to visit on others, and many aspects of journalism go oddly unexamined.
That feels like a strange thing to write in an age in which the sometimes obsessive social media microscope can be focused on the work of newspapers and individual journalists. It is also true that there is a small industry in the academic consideration of media. But – valuable as the best of it is – the harsh truth is that most of that research will never be read by a single working journalist, let alone the average reader.
So, some of what follows may feel terribly basic. What is a journalist? That is, in a way, the most elementary question of all – which doesn’t mean it invites a simple answer. You can train to be a journalist, but you don’t have to. We who think of ourselves as journalists can’t quite decide if we’re a craft or a profession, or neither. You can work for the Daily Star or the Sun and call yourself a journalist – bu