COLUMN: When the lines become blurred

From Daniel Fienberg's, "The Fien Print," Fall '98 From Daniel Fienberg's, "The Fien Print," Fall '98The following anecdote is mostly lies. Lies and mendacity. Any resemblance between the characters mentioned in this story and truth is a lucky coincidence for the author. "Lies," he muttered. "Nothing but lies." I thought of asking him what he meant, but the shaking of his hands became too much and the lit Camel fell from his lips. Instantly the old paper burst into flames. Nervously, I walked away. "What heavy-handed and pointless symbolism," I said to nobody in particular, turning my back on my nearly immolating friend. "The idea that a fictitious character could turn the journalistic profession into a towering inferno, having to burn itself to death to stay alive." Old man journalism had a tough summer. Not that there was a lack of news to report, as various Clinton imbroglios, the purported collapse of the world economy and the death of Shari Lewis (and Lambchop) could have filled endless inches of print. But then, generally hidden toward the final pages of the front section, the summer featured a healthy dose of journalistic bitterness, columnists, editors, ombudsfolk all talking (a little too self-reflexively) about the collapse of the journalistic notion of "truth," a notion which isn't in quotations just to suit some stylistic quirk of this paper. "Truth" has become one of those words, like "normal," which people really shouldn't use anymore, or at least they shouldn't use it until somebody knows what constitutes "truth," and if that's really what we want anyway. From The New Republic to CNN, retractions are the order of the day. Publications and networks aren't going out on the limb to say that their workers misrepresented the facts. Much more disturbingly, they're going out to say that the facts never really existed in the first place. And still more disturbing, in many of these cases, from disgraced former Daily Pennsylvanian editor Stephen Glass to Boston Globe columnist Patricia Smith, it wasn't as if these writers secretly replaced their regular "truths" with balderdash for a one-time test to see if their editors, their peers, their readers would know the difference. No. As the summer wore on, it became increasingly evident that some of the best and brightest of our country's young journalists rose in the ranks basing their whole careers on what had once been interpreted as a cutting edge style, but really turned out to be lithe more than garden variety fiction. The Boston Globe certainly experienced the worst of the summer's action. First Smith, a respected columnist whom the paper was pushing for a Pulitzer, was fired for admitting that many of the characters, victims of urban blight, profiled in her columns were fabrications. Then, just months later, the paper's most influential columnist, Mike Barnacle, was asked to resign when it was discovered that several jokes in one of his pieces were cribbed from a George Carlin book. Ooops. Barnacle refused, saying that the jokes had been e-mailed to him by friends. Advertisers threatened to bolt. Letters poured in and even Don Imus checked in with his support. And so days later, the Globe held a press conference and said that while Barnacle had been sloppy with his attributions, the punishment (firing) did not fit the crime. He was suspended for a couple months. A slap on the wrist. Mike Barnacle is a white man. Patricia Smith is a black woman. Though the charges against them were completely different, the Globe was instantly attacked from all sides with accusations of racism and double standards. But a vastly different issue was at stake in Boston, a city which has had more than its share of racial inequity. Rather than being about black and white, this dilemma came down to the difference between ineptitude and imagination, failure in the line of duty and fantasy. (Necessary Note: Little more than a week after the announcement of his suspension, Barnacle resigned in the face of evidence that he had created both quotes and characters for several of his columns. Ooops again.) Stephen Glass. Patricia Smith. Mike Barnacle. That guy from CNN who told me that the US Army used nerve gas in Vietnam. All brilliant creative writers. And yet each worked in a field where a $45,000 salary is considered a pinnacle, while other creative writers like Stephen King, John Grisham and most presidential speech writers rake in hundreds of times that amount. Were these journalists just working in the wrong genre? Depending on your political view, it is either quite comforting or quite disconcerting to believe that the media controls our perception of what is real. What are we to do, then, when our sources of truth come out and admit they're not on level? We hear the stories of corrupt journalists and it becomes possible to believe that somehow reality has been made blurry. But if the journalist's purpose is keeping the eyes of the public open to the problems of the world, and those problems clearly exist, who has been hurt by the lies? If somebody tells you the heel of your shoe is broken, but it turns out that your sole is really worn out, do you thank him or hit him? Who has been hurt? The answer is me. And you. And every writer at the DP. And at Harvard's Crimson. Every graduate of Northwestern or Columbia Journalism school. And every Lois Lane, Jimmy Olsen or Clark Kent trying to break into the intimidating world of a major newspaper or magazine. Doors are closing because editors, advertisers and readers are getting scared. We may be approaching the end of fiction in the newsroom, but we may also be in danger of scaring off originality, innovation and genuine cutting-edge reporting. Has anybody fact-checked In Cold Blood lately? How about All the President's Men? Did Truman Capote or Woodward and Bernstein get away with variations on the truth? Or were they able to get their stories the old fashion way, like being in the right places at the right times? Luck? Truth? Lies? The lines get less clear every day and most publications are too shocked to even tell you what "true" means.