Copyright 2008 Ben S. Pollock
My main club — only because inclusion means adherence to its rules before and beyond any others — is the Journalist Club. The name for the rules collectively is Conflict of Interest. Being an ethical person from early childhood, even teaching a semester of journalism ethics to UA undergrads, demonstrates I easily accept the avoidance of Conflicts of Interest.
We journalists, funnily enough, don’t quite agree on the extent of Conflicts of Interest. At one extreme, senior people at The Washington Post don’t even vote though that’s by design a secret act. At the other extreme, no publication or broadcast entity dares interfere with a correspondent’s choice or intensity of worship (though like in any profession one is surprised by the ignorance of educated people). They also don’t object to The Society of Professional Journalists, which not only takes stands but issues press releases.
My current employer forbids gifts of value, and that’s a good idea, though vague. A coffee is nothing, but a full dinner is out of bounds (so pay your share or pay for his and expense it out). You make an ethics course lively by debating where an elaborate espresso drink fits in.
A long time ago, at the Irving Daily News (now fully absorbed into The Dallas Morning News) I wasted a third of an interview appointment at a cafe explaining to the city official why he could not buy me a coffee, yet he refused to let me treat. This paper had strict rules. Either he was truly dense or deliberately killing minutes. I did not realize I should have let him treat after the first objecton so we could move on to the topic — because my editor would not know to ask me if I’d been a good boy. Most people figure this out by age 12; it took a couple of years after the coffee shop incident for me. No wonder the saying was, “Don’t trust anyone over 30”; it was about age 29 when I realized no one else reads minds, either.
The issue becomes more prominent because this is an election year. News media sites have noted several newspapers have forbidden journalists from participating in party caucuses in those states that have them. The reporter will be seen, for example, at a Democratic caucus site and therefore must be biased against Republicans. Worse, in its open format, the public can see if he voted for Clinton or Obama and would be biased against the other.
Makes sense, yes. Open endorsement is just that. Most news media outlets forbid employees from bumper stickers, yard signs and the like that support or oppose a candidate or issue. Including mine. Some, including mine, don’t want family members of newsroom personnel sporting the same. Your spouse drives you somewhere, and, whoops, that bumper sticker is in plain site. My Beloved is not happy about it. This is America with the First Amendment she says. My ethical boundaries end where hers begin, or don’t.
While perceived conflict of interest has a theoretical legitimacy, in fact, the people who see bias in the news very often announce discoveries of far subtler signs of it, many of which do not exist. Thoughts along this line do need elaboration, which puts non-journalists quickly to sleep, except for those non-journalists who are “Brothers Keepers” who’d just say we’re lying anyway.
I am comfortable with avoiding public shows of bias. It rebuts sincere accusations of partiality. But mainly, when you’re a journalist who’s settled in a place and come to know a lot of people, these rules not only keep you out of trouble but also from much awkwardness. MB and I were just asked to post a yard sign for a mayoral candidate, and it was convenient to be able to say, good luck on your race, but we’re not allowed.
The only true way to show oneself and one’s journalistic outlet as overall fair is in consistently thorough news coverage. Week in and week out, most readers trust my newspaper. Those citizens (they’re not necessarily readers) who don’t, also seem to believe with enough effort they can turn back time among other delusions. People around town with whom I’ve opined about leaders and issues at gatherings also know I am scrupulously if not annoyingly fair. I don’t wear my politics on my sleeve because that’s fake anyway.
Newsroom management’s obsession on political conflicts of interest conveniently avoid one fact of American life: Everything is political if someone wants to make an issue of it: Clothes, diet, favorite TV shows, Wal-Mart versus The Mall.
Outsiders may judge where you worship, but some fellow congregants act as if they have clout to advise you on what and how something is covered. My yard has no signs, but the lack of chemical pesticides and fertilizers is obvious. That might mean I have a stewardship bent and call weeds native grasses. Or I might be lazy. My 1995 Geo Prizm (the kind of car you drive also carries a political statement) has two bumper stickers, signifying I am an alumnus of the University of Arkansas and Stanford University. MB and I have the Arkansas woodpecker license plates. Brothers’ Keeper sorts may think I am a romantic believing in rural urban legends. Or that I believe my car is more than plastic and steel for there’s irony, too.
In my wallet are cards for AAA and AARP. Their services are cheap but their politics only occasionally my own. My newspaper would freak out if I carried an ACLU card — I don’t — but AAA and AARP to which I have sent dues have viewpoints that are political.
You’ll also see a half-dozen coffee punch cards. Please don’t judge me by Fayetteville’s Jammin Java, the national Panera, and Fort Smith’s Sweet Bay (caution, audio). Oh, you’re wondering where the card is for Atlanta Bread Co. or Arsaga’s? Hey, I don’t like ABC, and Arsaga’s charges for refills. Go ahead, snitch; I’ll deny favoritism. -30-
