Posted in March 2009

Paying for it

The headlines and comment pages are still full of Mr Smith’s misjudged evening in. If it was purely outrage over a public servant playing the expenses system, then Jacqui Smith’s demise should have been confirmed by the second home. But the home secretary’s husband expensed porn, and porn is embarrassing and discrediting. When we’re watching the headlines rather than writing them, it’s always fun to point to the other business interests of the Express‘s parent company. “Dirty Desmond floated up to his current ‘status’ on a sea of pornographic effluent”, says this blogger.

sun-smith-porn-cover

The biggest shock isn’t that Mr Smith watched porn, or even that he haplessly charged his entertainment to the public purse: it’s that he paid for it at all. Why didn’t he just sting the Commons for a laptop and download his erotica for nothing? Like the rest of the culture industry, pornography is anxious about what the internet is doing to its business model: illegal downloading is part of it, but so is competition from freely-distributed amateur product. “The barrier to get into the industry is so low: you need a video camera and a couple of people who will have sex,” points out Paul Fishbein, a professional observer of the adult film industry.

Pornography has always helped to drive changes in media: the availability of porn on VHS was instrumental in bringing entertainment out of the theatres and into the home, and pornography expanded rapidly online, with sites like YouPorn and XTube working on the free-content model and aiming to make profit out of adverts. But while pornography has been good at delivering viewers (YouPorn claimed 15 million unique visitors in May 2007), how to turn hits into money has been less obvious: “It doesn’t make any sense! They’re giving porn away. You can’t make money on this”, says Steve Hirsch of porn giants Vivid.

The fact that I can read Hirsch’s quote for free in a full-text version of an article from a magazine I’ve never bought suggests that it’s not just the porn industry struggling with the trade off between easy distribution and vanishing profits. The internet changes the value of information enormously. A digital copy is less expensive to make than a paper or disc version, so consumers can reasonably expect downloaded product to be cheaper; the ease of digital sharing means that a relatively large number of people are going to be obtaining the product for free anyway (although it’s impossible to quantify gains and losses through free downloading); it’s easier to get your product to consumers, but then it’s also easier for competitors to do the same.

And those competitors might not even be professionals. They might be totally happy to do for free what previous operations have charged for. They might even do it better in some ways. Here’s Greta Christina – porn writer, sex columnist, and not shy of paying for what she enjoys – explaining why the personals on Craig’s List are one of her favourite sources of fantasy material. So if the porn industry – an industry specialising in opportunistic profit-making – hasn’t found a reliable way to turn hits into coin, what is the rest of the media planning on doing? The newspapers should be holding up Mr Smith as a hero for becoming the (involuntary) public face of paying for it. Or at least, getting someone else to pay for it.

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It’s not the BBC, it’s you

Are you interested in newsprint, the survival of print journalism and the impact of online communities on news distribution? Don’t bother with Nick Cohen’s column in the Observer this weekend, then. It’s not just Nick who comes over as clueless: the same issue features Barbara Ellen sniping on Twitter as a pointless tool of “uber-narcissists”, and a full-page feature of recipe-tweets (ah, not so pointless when you’ve got some ink to spill). But if the Observer is still reeling from the shock of the tweet, surely they’ve had time to reconcile themselves to the idea of blogging?

Oh no, not Nick. Starting with a metaphor that makes no sense and skittering on to a conclusion that has no depth, Nick’s column reads like a howl from the bowels of ignorance:

Professional journalists in the age of the internet look as doomed as blacksmiths in the age the combustion engine. Local newspapers are disappearing. National newspapers and commercial TV stations are seeing the web take their advertisers.

Even the gloomiest forecasters expect there will still be a few reporters around in 2025, but as with blacksmiths, we will be curiosities.

Leaving aside Nick’s self-identification as a reporter (you’re a columnist, Nick: say it with me, own what you are), let’s sharpen our teeth on that opening analogy. Journalist = blacksmith, internet = internal combustion engine. Blacksmiths made a product that was essential for the use of horse-drawn transport but unnecessary with motorised vehicles; journalists make a product which can be transmitted through newspapers and broadcasting, and which can also be transmitted via the internet. So a more appropriate version of Nick’s figure of speech would be something like, “Professional journalists in the age of the internet look as doomed as grain merchants in the age the combustion engine.” Sure, it lacks that alarmist edge, but at least it’s tending to accuracy.

Nick’s really worried, though (this week, anyway). Here’s why:

The best reason for wanting my colleagues to survive is that serious reporters and broadcasters offer a guarantee that what they say is true. If they stray, their editors impose journalistic standards and insist on objectivity. They may not have the best or fullest story or the most vivid account, but readers should be able to assume their work is reliable, while a blogger’s commitment to objectivity can never be assumed.

I know. Here’s Nick Cohen, scribbling away for the newspaper that sold the MMR and WMD scares with the ferocity of a blind bear with a bee up its arse, telling everyone else about the very serious journalistic standards that stop him and every other hack from telling outright untruths. Astonishing. It’s possible that it’s not the internet so much as the incompetance that’s been herding consumers away from newspapers. But Nick, with another badly thought-out non-story to trample through, is too busy kicking the BBC to take a self-reflexive look at the journalistic failings of his own medium.

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Self-destruction and self-regulation

Earlier this week, I was blogging about the reporting of suicide. This weekend, Ben Goldacre’s Bad Science column is a much more thorough treatment of the same subject. On the 20 November last year, many UK newspapers carried a story taken from the Press Association about a death by suicide. Complaints were lodged with the PCC against 14 of these papers; 12 complaints were upheld; one of the reports found against was in the Telegraph, and this is the one Goldacre writes about:

“Man cut off own head with chainsaw” was the headline: “A man cut off his head with a chainsaw because he did not want to leave his repossessed home.” What followed this headline was not a news story: far from it. What the Telegraph published was a horrific, comprehensive, explicit, and detailed instruction manual.

In fact this information was so appallingly technical and instructive that after some discussion we have decided that the Guardian will not print it, even in the context of a critique. It gives truly staggering details on exactly what to buy, how to rig it up, how to use it, and even how to make things more comfortable while waiting for death to come.

I’ve read the article: if I was contemplating suicide and looking for a method, I now know everything necessary to copy this example. By the PCC’s own guidelines, it should never have been published. According to the PCC’s judgement, I shouldn’t be able to read it now:

[The Telegraph] suspended the article from its website following the contact from the PCC.

Which is funny, because I took this screengrab today (handbook bits blacked out):

Screengrab 28 March 2009

So, to review this cascade of twattery: the PCC has guidelines on how suicide should be reported. These guidelines were ignored in 12 cases. The PCC was especially critical of the manner in which the Telegraph‘s online article breached the code, and “expected that the situation would not be repeated”. Two months later, the material is still there and still extravagently explicit. Excellent self regulation there. Fearsome and authoritative as ever.

In the comments thread on the Bad Science blog, this was quickly dragged into freedom of speech bickering. “Freedom speech is not a zero sum game”, said one exasperated commentator: “Free speech and freedom of information is not freedom to shout about it.” This story could have been a news-in-brief. It could have excluded all the detailed instruction derived from the coroner’s report. It could have followed The Samaritans’ simple guidelines for reporting suicide in the least damaging way possible.

Not only did it fail on every particular, but the online article goes on to make things astonishingly worse. Have a look on the left at the “related articles” box: if death-by-chainsaw doesn’t appeal, a thoughtful Telegraph sub (or handy algorithm) has picked out five more power-tool and self-destruction related stories. How about making an exit via wild herbs? Hanging? Seriously, your suicide method could be just a click away, and the Telegraph‘s editorial policy is apparently to make sure you’ve got every detail you need to clinch your own fatality.

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Eye blinks

Back before Christmas, Ian Hislop gave an interview to the Simon Mayo show while he doing the rounds promoting the Private Eye annual, and he said a lot of the same things about his publication as Terence Eden did in this comment. The Eye is fortnightly so they have time to decide what’s important rather than being forced to follow the saturation cycle of 24-hour news. The cartoons and gossip draw readers in, but the investigative reporting (In The Back and Rotten Boroughs especially) are the meat of the mag. And it’s a strange and successful combination: Anthony Sampson’s description of the Eye is a really good account of what makes it such a scrappy and admirable institution:

One oddball paper has appeared almost impervious to the hazards and pressures. The fortnightly Private Eye, which was established 40 years ago, looked the most ephemeral of all, with its shoddy newsprint, makeshift headlines and gossipy items. But it survived enemies and libel suits and maintained its eccentric style under only two editors, Richard Ingrams and Ian Hislop, with its bohemian offices in Soho and fortnightly lunches at the Coach And Horses. It was not dependent on big advertisers or big business interests, and it retained its crucial ingredient: it was close to the curiosity and conversation of its readers.

Who Runs This Place?, p. 239

Who Runs This Place? is five years old, so Sampson doesn’t have as much to say about the online threat to papers as a similar writer would now, but I’ve often admired the determinedly aloof strategy of the Eye on the net. They don’t give away their content for free, and despite slight year-on-year drops, they’ve remained the top-selling current affairs title. That’s impressive.

Not everything about the magazine is so inspiring, though. In the Mayo interview, Hislop seemed slightly confounded when asked about MMR. Unlike another commenter (who’s working on a nice webcomic if you click through), the Eye‘s credulous coverage of  Wakefield didn’t put me off the magazine entirely, although it did knock my trust in their other campaigns and causes. Hislop’s line in the interview (audio via Black Triangle) is that the Eye‘s medical correspondent believes there’s no link, there were questions that needed to be asked, there’s nothing else the magazine can add to the debate, and he’s not sorry about the line they took.

I think that’s a pile of balls, and poisonous balls at that. And it’s something that I could tolerate, just about, as an error of over-enthusiastic criticism; but it’s consistent with an alarmingly suspicious attitude to statistics. “A lot of the medical experts who said it [MMR] is absolutely safe were statistitians reviewing other papers by experts which they hadn’t done themselves”, says Hislop, as if that discredits their work. (Here’s Ben Goldacre explaining what meta-analysis is, how it works and why it’s important.) Recently, the author of the Eye‘s Medicine Balls column, MD, has adopted a sympathetic line on complementary medicine in the NHS:

A year-long pilot scheme in Northern Ireland found impressive health benefits for patients offered complementary therapies, so why were it’s findings not released for more than a year? [...] The trial wasn’t randomised or controlled [...] The fact that the Northern Ireland health board hasn’t released the results in a big fanfare suggests it just doesn’t have the money to extend the service.

Private Eye, “Medicine Balls”, no. 1231

The best way for CAM to get NHS funding is to produce conclusive trial evidence, and the NHS now has a vast GP research database that can be used for randomised observational studies of “real-life” patients, rather than the more artificial environment of controlled trials.

Private Eye, “Medicine Balls”, no. 1232

There’s a typical leap of Eye logic in the first column: despite the obvious positive interpretation (the study hasn’t been pimped to the press because it’s not a proper study), MD suggests that it’s been suppressed to limit expenses. Then in the second column, written in defense of the first after critics like David Colquhoun took a big swing at MD in the letters page, MD proposes something that sounds a bit like a study because it would mean drawing information from a large body of research, but is probably more like mining for anecdotes.

So, if the Eye‘s attitude is that self-reported experience rates above peer-reviewed cumulative data for deciding NHS funding, and there’s no editorial appetite for self-criticism over the MMR debacle, how much confidence are we supposed to have in their investigative work? If I want critical reporting of a medical story, I’m better off looking to the Badscience bloggers

The Eye‘s strategy of holding the internet at a critical distance has worked out ok for them so far, but the increasingly spaced-out alignment of the small ads suggests that they’re taking some of the same hit that’s injured the local press. The Eye is insulated from internet competition – for advertising and for content – to a certain degree by the strong reader community Sampson recognised. But it can’t survive by treating the internet as a refuge of scandal and plagiarism like it does now. It’s true that every magazine has ups and downs over 50 years, but the Eye seems to be  hitting a down patch and not attending to some serious threats at the same time. And if the Eye goes on the blink, who’ll be left to scoop up the rotten boroughs and PFI disasters?

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Rawrrr!

Turning a picture-book into a live-action feature seems like a hellishly hard thing to do: as well as translating two-dimensional illustrations into a three-dimensional world, the film has to somehow stretch out a 30-line narrative to fill 90 minutes. The trailer for the adaptation of Maurice Sendak’s Where The Wild Things Are (a Paperhouse bedtime regular) says that Spike Jonze found a way to do it really, really well.  Am I having my heart tweaked by the Arcade Fire song over the top? Is the scratchy-charming hand-lettering beguiling my font-addled eyes? Will it work out for the full running time? Yes, yes, and I am really looking forward to finding out. I haven’t been this excited by a trailer since High School Musical 3, and that turned out amazing.

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Burned

newswipe-grab

Newswipe, episode 1 on iPlayer (until 1 April 2009)

I got a Private Eye subscription for Christmas. The biggest perk of being an Eye subscriber is having cancellation as the ultimate threat if they do something I really dislike, so obviously ever since January I’ve been looking out for something to inspire a tart letter and a stopped direct debit. And handily,  it turns out that I do think the Eye is flagging a bit.

They didn’t feature anything about the Dunblane story in the last issue. It looked like they swiped the Glen Jenvey story from Bloggerheads without crediting it (unforgiveable really when the Ad Nauseum column makes so much play of calling out advertisers who thieve from Youtube). They did a parody of Steven Fry’s lift tweets that misunderstood the @ tags, and consequently totally overlooked the usefulness of Twitter as a tool for spreading information. As a media watchdog they look badly outpaced by the internet, the takedown of churnalism in Flat Earth News was more comprehensive than the Eye‘s fortnightly digs, and however doggedly they refuse to do a proper online version, the classified pages definitely look less packed than they used to.

I’m not cancelling my sub yet, but I’m only holding out until Charlie Brooker’s Newswipe becomes a rolling service. Last night’s show was purgingly funny and properly revelatory – especially the big finish about reporting mass murders. It’s sickening to see Dr Park Dietz’s comments juxtaposed with the news footage that explicitly ignores his advice. Don’t cut the story as a drama. Don’t cast the killer as an anti-hero. Don’t give blanket coverage to massacres… oh no, they already did.

The degree to which new reporting ignores its own role in making stories while asking “why?”  is obscene: newspapers did exactly the same over the Bridgend suicides, grimly demanding an explanation for all the deaths while they made front-page heroes of the deceased and publicised the methods used. (“Look, all your friends are doing it, and we’ll even show you how!”) There’s actually a set of guidelines in place for reporting suicides that should prevent that sort of covert incitement – and good luck to you getting some compensation out of the PCC for the loss of a loved one. These stories are the definition of self-sustaining flat earth news, and you’d hope that when people are actually dying the media would notice that it’s doing something wrong.

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Taking offence

I got pulled up in the comments earlier (actually, I got pulled up twice, but one thing at a time):

Great post, but I have a slight issue with this though…

“Won’t regulate itself or answer to its public”

I see what you mean in relation to Express/Dunblane, but that line sounds a lot like the same charges that are levied at stuff like Chris Morris. Agree the regulators are fail, but working out who gets to decide what’s okay and what’s not is quite the shit sandwich to chomp on.

As I might have mentioned on this blog, I’m quite keen on explicit and potentially offensive material, and consequently pretty anti most censorship. But then, if the Press Complaints Commission was able to regulate anything, I don’t think censorship would be an issue: it should be possible to deal with journalistic process without touching on questions of taste. And as well as liking the big swears and dirty bits, I’m pretty hot for people being able to complain when they don’t what they see.

Unlike the PCC, Ofcom is an institution that does a decent job of making complaints heard. Tim mentioned Chris Morris: I’d have been almost disappointed if nobody complained about Paedoggedon. I don’t think any of the complaints Ofcom investigated were justified, but the programme covered a delicate subject and people found that distressing. The actual judgement itself is an elegant thing, combining an understanding of satire with consideration for the complainers. Even Mediawatch armchair reactionaries deserve that much sometimes. Even when they’re utterly, miserably wrong.

The PCC don’t offer anything close to that level of engagement. Even though newspaper editors frantically stress the importance of the press in scrutinising public life, their self-regulatory body is massively reluctant to consider reporting in the context of any sort of lofty civic purpose. Even when addressing a case where the press had obviously and callously infringed justice and privacy, like the reporting of the McCanns, the PCC only reflects on its ability to wring apologies out of malefactors and doesn’t touch on the problem with a press that produced that sort of journalism in the first place. And that narrowness of scope is compounded by the minutely constrained range of complaints they’re willing to examine in the first case. So, even though the press claims many of its freedoms on the basis that it’s serving a public interest, the PCC won’t follow up on complaints from the actual public.

The willingness of the PCC to cut the Northern And Shell titles (the Express, Star and OK) loose becaue “rogue proprietor” Desmond won’t pay his subs shows how intensely useless self-regulation can be. It works for the rest of the press to be able to declare these papers outcasts – but for the people who are harassed, slandered or misrepresented by Desmond’s titles, the only alternative to the PCC is court. And while the Press Gazette notes that this will mean “additional costs” for the papers, it doesn’t mention that this will also mean prohibitive expense for complainants, fewer complaints and less restitution. Brilliant!

Anyway, while I’m doing Chris Morris, Northern And Shell, criticism of the press and failed journalistic responses, here’s a treasure from history: the Star condemns Brass Eye and splashes on a teenager’s tits.

charlotte

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New favourite song: Teenage Feeling

I’ve been listening to the new Neko Case album a lot lately. And, also, listening to her older albums. And the ones she did with her Boyfriends. And the New Pornographers. And just mostly listening to Neko Case, really – especially That Teenage Feeling. This song’s so brief (only 2:43) and sung with so much understatement it’s almost a sigh. “Now that we’ve met, we can only laugh at these regrets” croons Case, all romance, all detachment. “Now my heart is green as weeds, grown to outlive their season” – this tailing down to a low note as the lyrics minutely catch the feeling of youthful wants outgrown by time and circumstance. “It’s hard, it’s hard” she sings out at the end, carrying a treacherously long and high phrase as though it was the airiest thing possible.

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Dog sniffs dog, gently

Dog doesn’t eat dog. That’s always been the rule in Fleet Street. We dig into the world of politics and finance and sport and policing and entertainment. We dig wherever we like – but not in our own back garden.

Flat Earth News, p. 1

Which might be one explanation for the strange mismatch in the Guardian media section’s reaction to the BBC’s treatment of Chris Moyles after an Ofcom judgement against the DJ (“How long can the BBC continue to stand by its man?”, says John Plunkett), and its reporting of the Express‘s barely-adequate sorry as a “strongly-worded apology”.

The apology was self-congratulatory and short-sighted. It dealt exclusively with the offence caused to the subjects of the shabby reporting and readers of the paper: there was no acknowledgement of systemic failings in editorial policy, never mind a promise to do better next time, and no one on the Express‘s staff has taken responsibility for this and stepped down. But the tone of the Guardian report is that the Express apology has fixed everything – and as far as it goes with the self-regulatory Press Complaints Commission, it probably has.

That’s because the PCC (whose board is dominated by newspaper men) maintains a preposterously narrow remit. They look at the extent to which a newspaper’s reporting is untrue, unfair or improperly obtained only within the complained-about article – and the risible sanctions the PCC will impose are no deterrent for newspapers with a systemic culture of abusing the truth. Publishing a correction or a retraction is enough to have a complaint classified as resolved. If all you have to do to get out of trouble is to say sorry in a very small voice, where’s the incentive to be good in the first place?

And because the PCC will only investigate complaints from the direct subjects of reports, they’re able to discount most of the reports they receive: only the two complaints from people mentioned in the Dunblane article really count for the PCC’s purposes, even though 10,000 people have signed the petition to say they are disgusted by it.

The press is every bit as responsible to its audience as the broadcast media, so why shouldn’t the PCC follow Ofcom and accept complaints from any party who feels offended by a piece? You don’t have to be Will Young – you don’t even have to like Will Young – to think that the joke lyrics broadcast by Moyles were inane and unpleasant. And you don’t have to have been nearly murdered in a Scottish schoolroom to think it’s inappropriate for a newspaper to run a story like the Express‘s Dunblane one.

But while the press won’t regulate itself or answer to its public, at least the readers and the bloggers have taken an interest and acted as a self-organised, informal watchdog. And it’s beginning to be recognised that the papers can’t get away with this sort of thing forever: an active community of critical readers online means that malpractice can be spotted, recorded, and made available to anyone who searches for it. Like Anton Vowl, I think that the traditional outlets of print and broadcast journalism are irreplaceable. Reporting, properly done, is one of the checks and balances that makes a democracy work. I want a strong press and an honest press, and if the PCC can’t make that hapen, bloggers are the best hope we have of getting newspapers to fix themselves up.

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Oh, must we?

Blair portrait by Jonathan YeoOur ex-prime minister thinks we must all do God. This comes up in a column for an edition of the New Statesman guest edited by Tony Blair’s former chief apparatchik Alastair Campbell, so maybe the commissioning of this is part of the new cuddly Campbell routine. He used to bully and swear, now he’s all smiley-smiley and did-I-mention-my-nervous-breakdown. And the man who announced that “We don’t do God” now gives Blair a platform to tell us all why we should, in fact, be doing God.

I suppose that’s because religion is such an undeniably sympathetic thing. If Campbell’s open to doing God now, he really must be reformed. And God is a nice salve for the damage that the Iraq war should properly have done to both Campbell and Blair. After all, how can a man who prayed to God to do the right thing really be ill-intentioned – even if he ignored the evidence, then misrepresented the case for war, and caused the deaths of thousands of people, at least he can say he’s got it all squared off with a highly implausible Judeo-Christian deity. At least he meant well.

There’s a very thin glaze of usefulness to Blair’s observations. Diplomacy – and basic courtesy – requires that governments be sensitive to the beliefs of the states they deal with. But that doesn’t mean that religion needs to become ever more important. And Blair sounds depressingly enthusiastic when he talks about what he perceives to be the growth of faith in politics – like a man who thinks he’s picked the winning team:

Religious faith and how it develops could be of the same significance to the 21st century as political ideology was to the 20th.

Or religious faith had in the middle ages? That worked out well, didn’t it? Anyway (and you’ll have to get the full version from the print edition to find this out), all this is leading up to a description of the Tony Blair Faith Foundation, set up “with the aim of promoting greater respect and understanding between the greater religions, to make the case for religion as a force for good, and to show this in action by encouraging interfaith initiatives to tackle global poverty and conflict.”

I’m all for prompting greater tolerance and respect. I’m super keen on tackling global poverty and conflict. I think “making the case for religion as a force for good” is massively self-serving and indulgent. If religion generally is generally good, then it can go right on and show that by acts instead of words – or it can carry on demonstrating its capacity to damage lives with unsubstantiated dogma. Blair, though, seems terrifyingly positive about religion’s influence:

The 21st century will be poorer in spirit and ambition, less focussed on social justice, less sensitive to conscience and the common good, without a full and proper recognition of the role that the great faiths can and do play.

I don’t think this is slightly true. Even without getting all choked about receiving instruction on conscience and social justice from (well, you know), I’d say that nothing anyone does is done better for believing in hugely unlikely things. And the more we let scripture and liturgy divert us from humane and rational considerations, the worse our decisions and actions are likely to be. Which, interestingly, is something that Tony Blair is qualified to lecture people on.

Text © Sarah Ditum, 2009

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