From the public editor’s perch, the state of newspapers can look dire.
You live in a world of readers complaining about everything from comics to front-page choices. Within newsrooms, you see the hand-wringing over losing credibility. And you can’t help but worry about newspapers’ declining readership and growing Web competition.
But it only takes what’s happened the past two weeks to help you see the flip side, the marvel of journalism. You see how stories move people to act:
The small story of the theft of a 4-year-old boy’s wheelchair causes Portland readers to respond with generosity. The ongoing coverage of methamphetamine abuse is prodding changes in drug policy and practice. A series of stories on home construction is stirring lawmakers to reconsider how homes are built. And, on a national stage, belated investigative stories play a role in addressing a 4-decade-old racial injustice.
That’s not just exhilarating for journalists, but more important, for citizens. Newspapers provided information that citizens needed to act on. As the motto of the Scripps Howard newspaper chain says, “Give light and the people will find their own.”
People found a small news item about Brendon Ngo’s wheelchair being stolen and within hours were calling to help.
For months, members of Congress have been relying on information unearthed about meth by reporter Steve Suo, even using it to lobby for international changes. He reported last week that the drug industry and Congress are moving toward cold products that don’t rely on materials that can be made into meth. U.S. Rep. Brian Baird credits the reporting as the catalyst, calling it “must reading.” In Oregon, anti-drug experts say it is spurring tighter restrictions on cold medicines abused by meth cooks.
More than 160 readers responded directly to reporter Jeff Manning’s stories last week on moisture problems damaging new homes. So did lawmakers in Salem, where one pushed for a review of building codes.
I cite these examples not to boast about the newspaper, but rather to celebrate the potential of newspapers, especially amid the industry malaise, and to urge The Oregonian and others to do even more journalism that can help readers and leaders make a difference.
“This is what we’re here for,” says reporter Michelle Roberts. “This is our whole calling.”
Roberts’ reporting on Oregon State Hospital helped spur officials to close the children’s ward; order a review that could lead to the hospital’s closure; seek the proper interment of the remains of 3,489 patients stored in cans; and pass legislation that bars public agencies from making confidential settlement agreements.
“To shed a light in the dark corners, that’s why I got into the business,” Roberts says. “That is journalism to me.”
That means asking more questions when answers aren’t apparent, when systems seem broken, and when the most vulnerable are hurting.
When more than half the calls alleging child abuse and neglect in Oregon are not investigated, the paper needs to ask why. When a 10-year-old boy takes a gun to school, the paper must ask how that could happen. And when the education for Oregon children compares poorly with what’s offered their peers elsewhere, the paper has to explore fully what isn’t working.
Not doing so carries a high cost.
Newspapers didn’t ask tough questions when civil rights workers were slain outside Philadelphia, Miss., in 1964; in fact, many covered up developments.
But when they finally did, it made a difference. Many credit The Clarion-Ledger newspaper in Mississippi for unearthing new information in the late 1990s that helped revive the investigation that led to last week’s conviction of Edgar Ray Killen in the deaths of the three young men.
The verdict, however tardy, resonated as clearly as an editorial in The Neshoba Democrat in 2000 that called its community to action, declaring, “Come hell or high water, it’s time for an accounting.”
