By Christine Rosen
Monday, June 22, 2020
The New York Times op-ed page has featured
contributions from Vladimir Putin, pedophiles, and the Taliban without a peep
from the paper’s staff, so it might seem odd that an opinion piece by Senator
Tom Cotton was the one that would spur a professional revolt. But Cotton’s
op-ed argued for using the American military to help local police quell violent
unrest in the wake of the killing of George Floyd in Minneapolis. In the eyes
of hundreds of Times staffers, that view—shared, according to one poll,
by 3 in 5 Americans—could not be permitted.
Black journalists at the Times claimed that the
op-ed literally endangered their lives (“Running this puts Black @nytimes staff
in danger,” many of them tweeted), a sentiment other journalists outside the Times
endorsed on social media. 60 Minutes correspondent Wesley Lowery tweeted
that black Times employees “deserve so much better than to have their
own employer endangering not only their lives but the lives of their friends
and families and millions of other Americans.” He continued, “American
view-from-no-where, ‘objectivity’-obsessed, both-sides journalism is a failed
experiment. We need to fundamentally reset the norms of our field. The old way
must go. We need to rebuild our industry as one that operates from a place of
moral clarity.”
E. Alex Jung of New York magazine went one
further, posting on Twitter that “the entire journalistic frame of
‘objectivity’ and political neutrality is structured around white supremacy.”
He later reveled in the news that op-ed chief James Bennet had “resigned” from
the Times, tweeting, “mediocre white men everywhere are shaking.” As Atlantic
contributing writer Jemelle Hill described on CNN recently: “Journalism is not
a profession of being friends. Journalism is a profession of agitation.”
For these reporters, the reaction (and the removal of
Bennet) was seen as a bracing and welcome new wave of change for newsrooms. As
the Times’ media critic, Ben Smith, described, “Lowery’s view that news
organizations’ ‘core value needs to be the truth, not the perception of
objectivity’…has been winning in a series of battles, many around how to cover
race.” In truth, the supposed moral clarity claimed by these new arbiters of
how journalism should be pursued has led to muddled and, in some cases,
hypocritical news gathering that is not compatible with fact-based journalism.
A position of moral clarity assumes one already knows certain unwavering
truths; any questions asked will have emerged from those truths and be guided
by them.
In this view, objectivity is either a pretense or a lie,
since the truth is already understood by those who have reached a state of
moral clarity. Thus it is seen as appropriate to downplay facts about the
looting and rioting and violence that were committed during supposedly peaceful
protests; or to memory-hole the efforts of reporters to shame Americans
protesting extended pandemic-related lockdowns who then praised those gathering
in far larger crowds to protest police brutality. The defense: The “truth” of
these events outweighs the tired and tiresome rules governing honest reporting.
Moral clarity is also uncomfortable with nuance.
Describing the reaction to a Times reporter’s description of Michael
Brown, who was shot by a police officer in Ferguson, Missouri, in 2014, as “no
angel,” Smith noted that “it set off outrage on Twitter, as a symbol of a style
of journalism that seemed too ready to explain away police violence.”
But as an exhaustive investigation by the Obama Justice
Department found, this characterization of Brown, although blunt, wasn’t wrong.
Brown attacked a police officer and was trying to seize the officer’s weapon
when he was killed. The mythology that arose around the event, including the
claim that Brown had been shot in the back, or that his hands were up (which
sparked the enduring protest phrase “Hands up. Don’t shoot”) was based on a
fiction.
Likewise, moral clarity can lead its practitioners to
ignore uncomfortable facts. Consider the violence and looting that occurred
across the country in the wake of George Floyd’s death. Asked for her thoughts
on the subject on CBS News, Times staffer Nikole Hannah-Jones responded,
“Violence is when an agent of the state kneels on a man’s neck until all of the
life is leached out of his body. Destroying property, which can be replaced, is
not violence. To use the same language to describe those two things is not
moral.”
Hannah-Jones is right that what happened to George Floyd
was an appalling act of violence, and one nearly all Americans agree has
revealed serious problems in policing; but she’s wrong that the rioting and
looting did not also result in violence. Several people have been killed as a
result of the rioting and looting, including a retired black police captain who
was shot while defending a business from looters. Many more people have lost
their businesses and their jobs—some permanently—and it will take some of these
communities decades to recover from the damage that was done.
It’s not just what is happening right in front of us that
our new moral arbiters wish to police; it’s the language we use to describe it.
The Associated Press style guide urged reporters to “limit the use of the word looting”
in their reporting as it had “racial overtones.” Others raised similar
objections to the use of the words “thug” and “riot,” which is why the New
Yorker’s David Remnick referred to the lawlessness as “an uprising.”
Policing speech in this manner isn’t done merely to shut down the use of
inappropriate words. It’s an attempt to make verboten certain ideas by eliding
distinctions and erasing inconvenient facts.
The new moral clarity, as bracing as it may be for the
journalists who pursue it, ultimately undermines the argument they are trying
to present by embracing hyperbole over uncertainty. It’s worse than rank
punditry or naked partisanship, which at least concedes or reveals its
motivations. It conceals complications and offers a false depiction of harsh
realities.
If it’s true, as an activist whom Lowery quotes
repeatedly in an Atlantic article claims, that our current
law-enforcement systems “were created to hunt, to maim, and to kill black
people, and the police have always been an uncontrollable source of violence
that terrorizes our communities without accountability,” then how do we explain
another persistent fear in black communities: the violent gangs that terrorize
law-abiding residents in their own neighborhoods?
As Jamil Jivani recently noted in City Journal:
“Reformers and revolutionaries alike often struggle to accept the reality of
persistent hardcore criminality among a minority segment of the black
community. Not wanting to play into racist stereotypes, they refuse to
distinguish the gangsters who terrorize black communities from the vast
majority of law-abiding black people.” As a result, crucial voices in these
communities are not given space to tell their stories because doing so would
complicate the morally clear narrative the journalists have already
established.
In the 1970s, the New Journalism pioneered by writers such as Tom Wolfe drew on personal observations and used some of the techniques of fiction to tell stories, transforming nonfiction narrative journalism in the process and not necessarily in a good way. Today, Lowery and his peers practice a New Moralism, and the consequences for anyone who just wants to know what’s going on in the world are going to be parlous.
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