The Changing World of Ethics in Journalism

By Walker Lundy* 

            I walked into my first newsroom in June of 1960 when I was 17 years old and three days out of high school. I pretty much knew everything there was to know about journalism, ethics, and anything else anybody wanted to talk about.

            I want to tell you the story of how I got that first job because it demonstrates just how much this business has changed in 42 years. I’ll get to the ethics business in a minute.

            I had graduated from high school the previous Friday night. In the fall, I was headed to the University of Florida as a freshman, intending to major in journalism. It was, even at that age, all I had ever thought about doing.

            I walked into the newsroom of my hometown newspaper, the Tampa Tribune. That’s the first thing that was different from today. There was no security guard in the lobby to screen out the terrorists, nut cases, Pulitzer Prize stories, and job candidates. I told the city editor I wanted to apply for a job as a copy boy for the summer. That is another difference. They were all boys then. Now we call them editorial assistants and some of them have master’s degrees.

            The city editor waved a dismissive hand and said he had all the copy boys he needed for the summer, and they were college students, not high school kids.

            “OK, thanks,” I said. Even back then, I was aggressive. I turned to leave when he uttered five words that changed my life. If he had not said them that June day, it’s unlikely you and I would be having this conversation today. I’ll never forget them. The city editor asked: “Hey, kid. Can you write?” Could I write? I had been sports editor of the Henry B. Plant High School newspaper for the past year. I had gotten a B in accelerated senior English. True, I was a crappy speller, but, hell, yes, I could write the tail off a songbird.

            “Yes, sir,” I answered humbly. “I’m a great writer.”   

            The city editor pointed to a door in the back of the newsroom and said, “I think they’re looking for someone in sports who can write.”

            That was for me. So, for the same $1-an-hour the copy boys got, I became a writer. The sports editor gave me a job taking the results of Little League games over the phone. I prided myself in being able to write three dozen brief accounts of the games each night without once using the same synonym for “defeated.”

The last week, the sports editor let me replace the bowling editor while he went on vacation. My best friend and I got to bowl free all night after work at one of those 24-hour bowling alleys. That there might be a problem with being the bowling editor and bowling for free never entered my mind.

            Eight newspapers later, I’m the editor of The Philadelphia Inquirer. It is a wonderful job, although I’m not allowed free bowling.

            Perhaps this story gives you a little insight into how much the newspaper business has changed in my lifetime. It will change at least as much in your lifetime. You’ll have a little tougher time landing your first job, too. Journalism ethics and I have both changed dramatically since then.

I will start with me. In the beginning, I was a trusting soul. I believed everything every journalist wrote and every source said. When someone repeated that old journalism joke about, “If your mother says she loves you, check it out.” I thought it was just a joke.

            I stand here today certainly older and on some days wiser. I have learned to ask questions like:  How do we know that? Why is he telling us that? Does that feel right to you?  I’ve learned to trust that nagging little voice in the back of my head. You know the one. Also, I’ve invented the Two-Minute Mile Rule, which has saved me more times than I can remember. That’s the rule that says: If it sounds wrong, chances are it is.

            Preparing this monologue, I tried to think back over all those years to summarize what I have learned along the way about journalism ethics that you might find useful. I thought I would start by telling you what else has changed over the years—for good and ill—besides how one gets one’s first writing job. Then I will talk about some of the ethically challenged miscreants I have known.  I will conclude by offering you some thoughts you might benefit from hearing.

            What would your mother say if she knew what you were doing? I am not talking about this weekend. That’s your business, although I am suspicious of people who are unethical after work but claim to behave like the Pope on the job. As you encounter colleagues who cut corners—even little corners—and  you are tempted to follow suit, ask yourself first: What would your mother say?

            Now, if your momma is Monica Lowinsky, this may not work. You may have to substitute someone else: your father, your pastor or rabbi, a teacher, a good friend, someone in your life with a steady moral compass. What would this person say about what you’re fixing to do?

            If this test is too personal for you, here is a journalistic substitute: What would the readers say if they knew? If you think they would be OK with it, then include in your story exactly what you did. Let them in on the secret.

            Just once I would like to read a story with sentences like these:

• Although this critic scored free tickets for her boyfriend and herself to attend the concert, that in no way influenced the fact that she loved the performance.
• Or: This sports columnist ate a big honkin’ slab of barbecue provided courtesy of the thoughtful people from the Washington Redskins in the press box before the game, but that had nothing to do with the fact that the critical pass interference call against the ’Skins was the worst example of officiating I have ever seen.
• Or: This reporter had trouble reading her notes when she sat down to write this story so the words in quotation contained herein are approximations of what was actually said.

            (Except do not use words like, “herein.” Editors will not like it if you do.)

• Or: This exclusive interview with the grieving family was obtained after this reporter misrepresented herself as a hospital nurse.

            Now, let’s return to the good old days. Until sometime in the seventies or eighties, many journalists—without really thinking much about it—took whatever material side benefits came with the job. This, we all rationalized, is how the world works. Besides, the pay was lousy, so anything we got on the side was seen as a legitimate bonus: bottles of liquor at Christmas time, free dinners in fancy restaurants, free hotel rooms, free plane tickets, free concert tickets, the loan of new cars to drive, or invitations to social events no journalist could ever qualify for financially or socially. Almost never was anything asked in the way of a quid pro quo. Nothing needed to be, kind of like what the politicians say today.

            There was one noteworthy exception. In the pre-Knight Ridder days at The Philadelphia Inquirer, a reporter named Harry Karafin figured out a way to augment his journalism salary. He was the paper’s investigative reporter. First, he would get the goods on some crooked pol or business. Then he would confront the crook and suggest a way out. As luck would have it, Harry also operated a public relations firm on the side. If the pol would just hire Harry’s PR firm for a very cost-effective $10,000, Harry, the flack, could use his influence to get Harry, the reporter, to kill the story. Another investigative reporter, this one with Philadelphia Magazine, revealed Harry’s scam. He was convicted of extortion and went to prison where he died.

The ethical climate in journalism has certainly changed from those bad old days. Now, to find someone’s hand out even for free tickets is rare. But I know of at least one Pulitzer Prize-winning newspaper whose critics accepted two free tickets to every event they reviewed into the early nineties, and the critics saw nothing wrong with it. No, it was not The Inquirer. Today if you find yourself working for a newspaper that freeloads you will be in the very small minority. Thank goodness for that.

            Now, to the miscreants of yesteryear:

• I once knew a police reporter who had a doctorate in English. He would call the hospital for a condition report of an accident victim and get the information by identifying himself as Dr. Jones. He got away with it.
• I once knew a restaurant critic who marketed his restaurant consulting skills to eateries he would later review. The cost of a consultation that would dramatically increase your restaurant’s chances of a favorable review: $500. When the editor found out, the critic got fired.
• I once knew a political reporter who invented the name of an imaginary legislative representative. That was so he could get his own opinion of a certain bill into the paper. The legislators knew it. His editors knew it. In fact, everyone knew it—except  the readers. He got away with it.
• I once knew a reporter who wrote for a competitor under a pseudonym. He got fired.
• I once knew a reporter who lied to his editors about interviewing someone just because he was too lazy to actually do the interview. He got fired, too.
• I once knew a reporter who made up quotes. He got away with it.
• I once knew a reporter who was covering a labor dispute and suspected a settlement was near. He went into the bathroom, pulled out his pen, drew a circle on the floor, stepped into it and declared: “A settlement is at hand.” Then he went out and wrote, “There is talk in some circles that a settlement is at hand.” He got away with it and joked about it later.
• I once knew a critic who co-produced a play with one of the theaters she covered. She got fired.
• I once knew a photographer who lied about a posed photo being a candid shot. He got fired.

• I once knew a reporter who made up a story about being kidnapped and nearly shot by a drug dealer. Initially, the newspaper offered a $5,000 reward for the arrest of the dealer. Fortunately for the newspaper, its own reporters uncovered the lie before the competing newspaper did. The reporter got fired, but he went on to a terrific career. He became a staff writer for a major national magazine, wrote a screenplay that was made into a movie, and wrote at least one alleged non-fiction book.

            Lately, you have read about a famous columnist who slept with his young sources. He got fired but not until years later.  There was also a wire service reporter who made up sources. He got fired, too. There was a photographer for the world’s greatest newspaper who passed off a posed photo as candid. He’s still on the payroll.

I even faked a walk once for NBC-TV network news. NBC wanted to interview me about a story we had broken in St. Paul about academic fraud on the University of Minnesota men’s basketball team, and they needed something for the voice over. So, they asked me to walk. Where, I asked. Anywhere, the cameraman said. So, like a trained monkey, I walked back and forth in front of the camera until he had something usable. What was I thinking? I am embarrassed telling you the story today.

That’s not as unethical as their hidden camera investigations. But there is not enough time to digress into the conflicts between journalism ethics and TV news, so I will stick to newspapers.

In our business, it’s a little like Ronald Reagan once said about an arms treaty with the then-Soviet Union: Trust but verify.

The business you are entering does not have a perfect ethical record. The truth is, the percentage of dishonest journalists is just about the same as the percentage of dishonest CEOs, accountants, lawyers, politicians, plumbers, cops, bureaucrats and journalism professors. Well, maybe not as bad as journalism professors, but certainly the rest.

Having a byline doesn’t by itself make one’s heart pure. You can trust the vast majority of journalists with your last dollar; but a few have an ethical moral compass that will spin with the wind. The trouble is you can’t always tell them from the honest ones until you are in the foxhole next to them and the incomings are coming in.

            If such blatant crookery is all we have to worry about, why is a discussion of journalism ethics still necessary? Well, the world is changing at warp speed, and, in some ways, the discussions are more relevant today. More than ever now, we live in a world of grays. Here are some examples:

• Take the celebrity on the TODAY show who touts the wonders of some new drug. He says he is speaking from personal experience and he may be. But no one tells the unsuspecting viewer that the drug industry paid the celebrity to appear.
• What about the photographer who suggested the little boy pick up his toy gun so the photographer could get a better photo?
• Then there’s the whole world of possibilities that PhotoShop offers. Forget the old saw: Pictures don’t lie.
• What do you do when a murderer mails your publisher a confession and then kills a handful of people and himself? What do you do with the confession?
• How many words does it take to be plagiarism?
• If free tickets are banned, what if your sportswriters buy tickets for sideline seats from the NCAA to the Final Four—tickets they could not have gotten if they were not sportswriters? They could scalp them for triple what they paid.
• What do you do when your newspaper buys partial interest in the local sports franchise? How do you convince your readers that it isn’t going to influence you?
• How do you write a review of a concert when your newspaper’s sign hangs over the stage as a major sponsor?
• What if the spouse of your political writer goes to work as a volunteer for one of the candidates? What if it’s a paid position? What if it’s a live-in boyfriend? What if it’s just a roommate? Where do you draw the line?
• How do you tell when your coverage of a continuing sensational story has gone too far to be responsible journalism? Reading some of the wild guesses that passed as journalism during the recent sniper story made me wonder. Based on my reading, the sniper was either an angry white man in his thirties, a loner, or a Middle Eastern terrorist.
• The low point for me was when Katie Couric interviewed the brother of the Unibomber and asked what he thought someone should do if the individual knew who the sniper was. Turn him in, the brother advised. Good grief. That may be ethical but it’s stupid.
• Do you have to identify yourself as a reporter at the beginning of every interview?
• Is there a difference between “Jones refused comment,” and “Jones declined comment”?
• What does this sentence mean: “Jones did not return phone calls.” Never, or just to the reporter? How many times did the reporter call? Before 5 p.m. or after 5 p.m.? At the office or at home?
• How many times have you read one of these two observations from neighbors of an accused murderer or rapist? “He was always a little strange.” Or, “He was very quiet and kept to himself.” That describes me and half the people in this room. So, how ethical is it to print that?
• Are you responsible for what happens after your story is published? What if the person who looked bad in the story commits suicide? What if he tells you before the story runs that he will commit suicide if you print the story?
• Is there any situation where you would identify a confidential source? What if the judge fined you and your newspaper each $500 a day until you revealed the source? What if the source gave you bad information? What if he lied to you? What if he called a press conference after your story ran and accused you of making up the story he had given you anonymously? Would you still protect his identity? What if he told you in advance about a crime he planned to commit? What if the crime were a murder?
• Are there any circumstances in which you would commit a felony in pursuit of a story? What if you could steal information showing the exact plans for a terrorist attack on the White House?

                        Things can get pretty gray.

            Well, what can one do in such a hazy world of journalism?            How hard is it to do the right thing?

            Sometimes it is easy. When then-St. Petersburg Times publisher, Gene Patterson, was arrested for drunk driving and the cops gave him the routine one phone call, he used it to call the city desk and dictate a story about his arrest. He demanded the night editor put the story on page one. Never again did he have to worry about someone in town asking for a break when it came to critical news coverage. Of course, sometimes it is not that easy. Sometimes the choices are between one bad decision and another bad decision.

            There are all sorts of professional ethicists who will give you tests to apply in the face of an ethical dilemma. You have probably covered those in your classes here.

            I am going to leave you with some thoughts that have helped me over the years. Maybe you too will find some of them useful.

            The first two you already know: What would your mother say? and What would the readers say?

            There are others:

• What feels right to you? What does that little voice in the back of your head tell you? You know the one.
• What would your colleagues say? Ethical dilemmas are often best decided after brainstorming with a group.
• What would your boss say? I can’t tell you how many ethical problems could have been avoided if the staffer had just asked an editor first.
• Think about each possible outcome and then imagine someone involved calling a press conference the next day. Would you feel OK about an interpretation—not wrong, just an interpretation different from your own—that person could apply to your actions?
• If your city has an alternative newspaper, how might it report on the situation? If you worry that its reporters might find out, I would say that is an indication you are on shaky ethical ground.
• Ask yourself: Who am I working for? The answer is the reader.
• Anticipate where the story is headed and try to make your decisions before you arrive at the ethical crossroad. If you have a story with a confidential source, decide before you publish it whether you are willing to go to jail or pay a fine to protect the source. Make sure your newspaper will back you, because once the story is in print it’s too late for those discussions.

            I encourage reporters to call some confidential sources—if  I think a subpoena could ensue—and tell them that: We will protect your identity until the last dog dies. We will fight any court order or subpoena. But, if  we are given a legal court order or subpoena and if we face jail or a fine for not answering, then, and only then, will we reveal your identity.

            It’s amazing how many confidential sources—especially if they know the reporter—will say, “Yes, then you can reveal my name. I don’t want you going to jail.”

            My last pieces of advice work for real life as well as your life as a journalist. The most important asset a newspaper—and you—have is a reputation for honesty and integrity. Even if you and your newspaper are honest and ethical, you are going to be accused of unscrupulous behavior. It goes with the territory these days if you cover the news aggressively. You must be absolutely honest and ethical in everything you say and do, in every corner of your personal and professional life, in every confidence you share, in every question you ask, and in every sentence you write.

            Start today. If it means cheating, go ahead and flunk the test. Editors do not look at your GPA anyway. If the waiter forgets to charge you for the soup, offer to pay. If you find someone’s purse in the theater, track her down and give it back. Your ethical compass must always point in the right direction.

            There are four reasons to live this way: 

            1. It’s the right thing to do.

            2. It’s a whole lot easier. Remembering more than one version of the facts will be a challenge as you get older.

             3. At some point in your career, someone—a  source, a reader, a colleague, an editor—will raise a question about your integrity. Count on it. You will be shocked, but it will happen. When that day comes, you will want everyone who knows you to say, “Nah, not her. She would never do anything like that. Never.”

             4. Last—you  know this one already—it’s what your mother would want you to do.