Media in peril if Trump playbook falls open here

Observe carefully how American President Donald J. Trump systematically weakens the ability of journalists to hold him to account. He is creating a playbook for others to follow.

It would be easy to tut-tut, shake one’s head, and utter statements about “poor America”. Yes, the United States will be much the poorer through the actions of the most undemocratic president it its history. However, our concern should be driven as much by self-interest as concern for the good people in the country formerly known as Land of the Free.

Trump’s assault on media could be replicated in New Zealand. Perhaps not by our current government, but by the politicians we have yet to meet.

For that reason, we need to develop a Trump filter and ensure we develop safeguards that prevent the misuse of power we are seeing played out in Washington. The protections will need to be robust. Who would have imagined that the Constitution of the United States and the First Amendment would have proved impotent in the face of presidential assault?

Trump has employed multiple levers to weaken and intimidate his country’s news media: De-funding, withdrawal of accreditation, intimidation, and ‘lawfare’ (the use of legal strategies to harass and silence news media). Continue reading “Media in peril if Trump playbook falls open here” →

Six decades on, death knocks remain vivid memories

The hardest assignment faced by many journalists is the death knock, knowing that the face on the other side of the door will be streaked with grief at the loss of someone close.

Twice last week I was reminded of the strain of such assignments and the indelible memories they leave on reporters.

The first trigger was the Texas floods in which the bodies of 130 people have been recovered and a further 160 remain missing. Watching interviews with the families of victims was harrowing: Anguished faces and tremulous voices were interspersed with images of joyful eight-year-old girl campers and their pretty teenage counsellors. All gone.

The second was the front page of Saturday’s Waikato Times. It was devoted to a story about an 18-year-old apprentice jockey who died when his dirt bike and a car collided at a Hamilton intersection. In it, his mother spoke of a life of determination and promise cut tragically short. Reporter Avina Vidyadharan had clearly let the woman unburden her grief, speaking of her son’s life, attributes and achievements along with the premonition she had that he had died.

I needed no further reminders, but a Facebook post of a Guardian story of Palestinian children killed in Israeli airstrikes renewed images of the unutterable tragedy that has played out since the government of Benjamin Netanyahu exacted from innocent civilians an awful and unremitting revenge for the Hamas attack on an Israeli music festival last October. Those reporting it are confronted every day by grief at every level, none more so than the journalist covering the story of a doctor who lost nine of her 10 children.

I have vivid recollections of my own experiences as a reporter asking the bereaved to share personal and sometimes intimate recollections of someone suddenly removed from life. The one that is seared into my memory has been there for almost six decades. Continue reading “Six decades on, death knocks remain vivid memories” →

Numbers, damned numbers…and the smell of gaslighting

Numbers are curious figures: They can be up or down, big or small, true or misleading, good news or bad, welcome or unwelcome.

In the past week or so New Zealand’s media had been enveloped in something of a numerical avalanche about itself, And what was good news for some was decidedly the opposite for others.

But, first, let me get something else off my chest.

Labour leader Chris Hipkins’ reference to “your Tory owners at NZME” on Newstalk ZB was about as clever as thinking a hand grenade was something you hold after pulling the fuse. It was just plain dumb. Continue reading “Numbers, damned numbers…and the smell of gaslighting” →

Bad and sad memories from an alcohol-fuelled age of journalism

Journalists have described it as a lubricant, a marinade, a shield, a solace, and a curse. I’m talking here about alcohol – the demon drink.

The recent death of a former colleague – and one-time drinking companion – called to mind the role that alcohol played in the early decades of my journalistic career. In the three decades following the Second World War, it was an ever-present component of newsroom life…and death.

The colleague who recently died had been a gifted member of the craft. He made highly skilled operations look effortless, and brought judgement and wit to both newspaper and magazine production. He went on to challenging management roles where he was working against the odds.

Throughout much of his adult life he was a drinker. Early on, I tried to keep pace with him in the pub and in the Press Club. While he may not have surpassed me in one or two journalistic skills, he certainly beat me in the drinking stakes.

Later, I had to make a choice between alcohol and the woman I loved (and still do). I had to admit I had a drinking problem, deal with its challenges, and stop drinking alcohol. Admitting I had a problem – and making no bones about it – was an important step.

Years later, I was interviewed by Metro editor Warwick Roger on my appointment as editor of the New Zealand Herald. “I hear,” he said in a slightly accusatory tone, “that you’ve had … ah…a problem with…the drink.” I replied: “Yes, that’s right. What can I tell you about it?” Nothing, he said, and moved on. I always wondered whether he was a little miffed that I had not made a pointless denial.

Broadcaster Patrick Gower has been extraordinarily candid about his own battles with alcohol, and I have admired his fortitude and openness – far more publicly than I had ever done – in dealing with what has seemed to be an occupational hazard.

My recently deceased colleague did not deal with his demons, and I have little doubt that it foreshortened what could have been a stellar career in journalism.

I hesitate to say that he and I were victims of the drinking culture that pervaded our early careers: No-one forced us to spend time in the pub. However, I think it is fair to say that we were (willing) products of an environment in which excessive consumption and inebriation were normalised. Continue reading “Bad and sad memories from an alcohol-fuelled age of journalism” →