MATTERS OF HONOUR
The press:
Paul Johnson replies to
a ludicrous slur
WRITING a column about the media is not easy. In the first place, editors, pro- prietors and journalists — to say nothing of the publicity-conscious bigshots of televi- sion — are extraordinarily sensitive to criticism. I am often often amazed at the importance they attach to what is written here, ,which after all is only the view of one highly opinionated person, and the vehe- mence with which they react to my stric- tures. One also has to be particularly attentive to getting the facts right, for editors, while none too keen to put the record straight in their own publications, are quicker than most to write indignant letters about the smallest inexactitude in others. As I have pointed out before, I run a cottage industry, employing no assistants or research people, and I do occasionally make mistakes.
There is also the permanent dilemma which confronts anyone who discharges the role of critic in his own trade. If I did not practise newspaper, magazine and televi- sion journalism, I would discover very little of what is going on in these fields, and I could not write this column at all. As it is, I know a great many people in the business and am constantly in and out of newspaper offices and television studios. On the other hand, it might be said that having dealings with such people undermines my objec- tivity as a critic. In fact, this causes fewer problems than you might think. Pro- prietors and editors, and still more televi- sion tycoons, do sometimes get sore when I go for them, but to do them justice their resentment is short-lived and it has never had the slightest effect on my personal or professional relationships with them. No one likes being criticised, but people in the media, I find, are willing to accept it provided it is done honestly and even- handedly.
All the same, I am glad I determined, when I ceased to be an editor in order to become a freelance writer, that I would spread my wares as widely as possible. It is advice I earnestly press upon other would- be freelances. I see to it that my income comes from a variety of sources: journal- ism, books, television and lecturing in roughly equal proportions, and that within each of these categories I sell my work to a large number of different outfits. Hence if necessary I am always in a position to tell an editor or proprietor or network boss to go to hell. At all events, I have never actually found myself in a conflict of interest, and no one has yet had the temerity to suggest I might be involved in one. Until last week, that is, when such an accusation was made by, of all creatures, a gossip columinist and in, of all papers, the Observer.
Now it is well known that I detest gossip columns and I have a particular abhorrence of this form of journalism in supposedly quality journals. I deplore journalists who stoop to this kind of employment. I have frequently castigated them in the past. I will continue to do so. Of course they resent my strictures, and in their own puny way retaliate. But their incorrigible habits of idleness and inaccuracy make their ripostes poor stuff. Not long ago the gossip man on the London Standard related some nonsensical conversation I was alleged to have had with an ex-Balkan monarch. Apart from the fact that I had exchanged a couple of harmless sentences with this king, the item was a complete invention and not the smallest attempt had been made to check it with me. The editor of the We're taking a late vacation to sample your wonderful traditions, your Royals, your castles, your teachers' pay talks.' Standard, Lou Kirby, who is a sensible and very experienced fellow, should kick this delinquent's arse.
Hardened as I am to the malfeasance of gossip columnists, I never cease to be surprised by their lack of professional care. Recently the Times had to publish a peculiarly humiliating letter from Norman Tebbit, correcting a malicious and untrue item in their gossip column. I beg the paper's new editor, Charlie Wilson, to kill this deplorable feature, and set an example to the rest of Fleet Street. Again, the Sunday Times gossip columnist was made to look a complete idiot this autumn by a woman posing as Meryl Streep. Of course the Sunday Times man does not have to worry much since his competition on the Observer is even more hopeless. His col- umn is mostly a hodge-podge of stale and inaccurate media rumours, a sure sign of idleness.
What this journalistic paragon says is that because I have written a book about a company which has interests in South Africa it is improper for me to criticise the media for its recent coverage of the riots there. His facts are wrong — needless to say he made no attempt to check them and I do not follow his logic. I undertook the book because, like many writers who pontificate about economics, I felt I did not know enough about business, and this was an excellent opportunity to learn. I did learn quite a lot, and among other things I learned a good deal about South Africa too, and it is precisely because I now know more than I did that I feel impelled to criticise what I see as deplorably one-sided coverage. I will continue to keep a sharp eye on this subject.
The notion of anyone's journalistic stan- dards being questioned by gossip col- umnists, who spend most of their, time being entertained by the worst kind of PR flak — it is the only kind of invitation they are ever likely to receive — is ludicrous enough in itself. But it almost passes belief that one of this tainted sept should raise the matter in the pages of the Observer, owned by a man who has extensive and special trading relationships with African states. I must admit that when Tiny Row- land got control of the paper I thought he might liven it up a bit. But I was quite wrong. It is now clear to me that he is not a suitable person to control a national news- paper, or any other, and his influence on the Observer has been wholly deplorable. I cannot comment on the campaign the paper is running against his business enemies, because it is, or shortly will be, the subject of litigation. No do I blame the editor Donald Trelford and the paper's City editor for the indignities to which they have been exposed. But it is clearly desirable that this famous, honourable and still in many ways admirable paper should be taken out of Rowland's hands, and I intend to return to this topic. In the meantime, I apologise to readers for writ- ing about myself. It will not happen again if I can help it.
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