A Noble Calling!

"You ought to go into a newspaper office."

The speaker inserted a glottal stop before the last word, as her daughter studied [unclear: elocution]. I replied that journalism was my main goal in life. I longed to write, to publicise my ideas, to see the world that only a reporter sees. I reveiled in the words of Arthur Mee and Low Warren. . . .

Then one morning as I stood on a dray and pushed off swedes, my brother came running with a letter. My application for work on a city daily had been accepted. Next evening I sat at [unclear: as] desk in the reading-room, learning the difference between a shriek and a half-double. I was a journalist at last, and would not have changed places with the archangel Gabriel.

Four years later I left, as a chance had come to me (as to few journalists) to become an honest man, or at least to be dishonest at my own discretion.

For while there is no nobler calling than a Journalist's, there is no greater social evil than the Press. What should be a mighty force for culture has become an instrument for pandering to and fostering the lowest instincts men share. No one is quite immune from vanity, greed and fear, and these form what has been called the "lowest common denominator," to which the Press directs its appeal. Analyse your daily paper including the advertisements and society notes and see how these instincts are played upon. No reporter can avoid being party to the crime. "Public interest" is the only criterion of reporting; the public good is of no concern. Let us consider the effects of these standards on the reporter.

He enters the profession only because be loves writing—the pecuniary reward is low. Contributing to this love of writing is a desire to see a great deal of life. He finds himself among men like himself, sensitive but unsentimental, who know society better than anyone else. But they are bitter and pessimistic men too, and he soon discovers why I did.

A newspaper rarely tells deliberate lies. The reporter is not asked to He or even to suppress the truth. The latter is done by the management when his material is sub-edited.

"Suppressio veri, suggestio falsi": I soon saw that this is one process, not two. The proverb is elliptical.

The reporter soon learns not to write what will merely be blue-pencilled.

For instance: in 1937 I saw something of the work of the State Placement Service. The success of such a service depended on wide publicity—obviously a Job for the Press. I mentioned this to a superior officer, who said: "No. We're not giving them much space. They pinch our advertising. But you can write a par, if you like." I did, and my paragraph went into a "sub's waste-paper basket. One example from many.

Whatever his feelings of responsibility to humanity, the journalist must, to obtain experience, lend himself to an industry that damages society for profit.

He may report social chatter, sport, fires, court cases and anything that makes no demands on the understanding He may also write about religion, politics or sociology bill unless his views suit the directors he won't get them printed. He in like a musician who loves his art but is engaged to play only commercial jazz.

So, if you meet a reporter, be kind to him. Shout him a drink, for he is an unhappy man.

And if you meet a newspaper director, shoot him. You will be hanged, but you'll go straight to heaven.—H.W.G.

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