Writer, editor and publisher Tim Bousquet on why you’re either a journalist, or part of the problem,
I normally write about local issues, but when I read Kevin Donovan’s report in the Star detailing Evan Solomon’s breach of trust with the Canadian public — Solomon has been using his position to connect interview subjects to an art dealer and (secretly) collecting hundreds of thousands of dollars in finder fees for-completed sales — I felt compelled to write.
Look, I’m just some dude in Halifax, far from the corridors of power. But I’ve spent my life trying to figure out how to be a reporter and how to do it correctly. I’ve never made anywhere near the six-figures-plus that Solomon made, and have no desire to, but so what? This is what I’ve always wanted to do. Throughout my career, I’ve wrestled with issues of ethics and tried to stay true to the old school journalistic principles. It’s high in my mind. Enough about me. I watch reporters entering the field, earnest young people, in the best sense of the word. They’re writing freelance, making 80 bucks an article, living on ramen and dealing with difficult editors. I’ve seen the spark in their eyes, the desire to learn, to understand, to get it right. They’re selftaught, acquiring skills I never even imagined as a young reporter — HTML, audio, video, social media and more. The job market is beyond tight; most move on to other careers, but the best of them get hired as reporters at 25 or 30K a year. They do this because they value journalism, and my respect for them is boundless.
I know a lot of CBC reporters, too, some full-time, some on contract work. They get paid a pittance, and fear they’ll lose their jobs at the next round of budget cuts, while the corporate brass get big bonuses for reducing costs. Still, the reporters work hard and produce amazing copy, the day-in, day-out coverage that we’ve come to rely on and, beyond the call of duty, the pieces that make a real difference in the world.
Yet the repeated scandals among the celebrity hosts bring disrepute onto the entire network, and on to their work.
Last month I visited the Newseum, the news museum in Washington, D.C. On one floor, tastefully removed from the more dynamic exhibits, was a memorial to journalists killed on the job. Part of the memorial consists of a giant photo mural of reporters murdered in recent years. Each face is contained in a 10-centimetre frame, and the mural stretches six metres wide and 12 metres high. I sat in horror at the loss of life, and in awe of the commitment of my colleagues.
Reporters Without Borders puts figures to those faces: it says 71 reporters were killed in 2013. Another 826 were arrested for doing their jobs. Thousands more were threatened and beaten. Already this year, 30 reporters have been killed.
People die for this thing we do. And Solomon’s diddling around with side art deals?
Yes, we get it: you can throw ethics to the wind and parlay your reporting connections into meaningful cash. But you know what? There’s much more money to be made working directly for power. You want money? Go into PR. That’s where the real money is.
If every media outlet in the country were to disappear tomorrow — all the newspapers out of business, TV and radio news shows taken off the air — the governments and corporations would still get their message out just fine. They don’t need reporters for that. Nobody is paying you to brown-nose power, or to rewrite press releases, or to be an uninteresting twerp. Your job is to be difficult, to call BS, to explain how the powers that be are abusing their positions. And, sorry, you won’t get paid well for it. That’s part of the deal.
You’re either a journalist, or you’re part of the problem.
I’ve spent my life trying to figure out how to be a reporter and how to do it correctly