“The search for truth is, as it always has been, the noblest expression of the human spirit. Man's insatiable desire for knowledge about himself, about his environment and the forces by which he is surrounded, gives life its meaning and purpose, and clothes it with final dignity.... And yet we know, deep in our hearts, that knowledge is not enough.... Unless we can anchor our knowledge to moral purposes, the ultimate result will be dust and ashes—dust and ashes that will bury the hopes and monuments of men beyond recovery.”—Harry Emerson Fosdick
A poll conducted between June and September 2003 asked people whether they thought Weapons of Mass Destruction had been discovered in Iraq since “major combat operations” ended. They were also asked which media sources they relied upon. Those who obtained their information primarily from Fox News were three times as likely to believe that evidence confirming Weapons of Mass Destruction had been discovered in Iraq. Bottom line: The U.S. would have never gone to war without the "help" of the media.
Those who relied on public broadcasting sources were one third more likely to believe that evidence confirming WMD had been discovered in Iraq than those who primarily watched CBS.
Edward R. Murrow personified televised American journalism in the 1950s that evolved into the considerable personage of Walter Cronkite by the 1960s, until down the line when despite (or because of) Mike Wallace the Columbia Broadcasting System began to lose its way.
A contrast between old and new, two films presently occupy the unique canon that has been unintentionally reserved for CBS-News. Eschewing the inessentials for being a bigger picture, the network oeuvre currently consists of GOOD NIGHT, AND GOOD LUCK (2005) and THE INSIDER (1999)—each featuring tight knots of anxious professionals with scraps of useful information creating some concern that by degree and gravity puts a crisis in their laps.
Thematically unpretentious and shot with time-tested skill—but without heavily worked images or blaring soundtrack—the movies quickly count down to pay off sharply via smart editing and real-time photography.
Directed by George Clooney, the film portrays the conflict between veteran radio and television journalist Edward R. Murrow and U.S. Senator Joseph McCarthy of Wisconsin, the latter running as far as he must in crusading against anti-Communist actions among politicians and other by using the bailiwick of the Senate Permanent Subcommittee on Investigations.
Cloaked in contemporary sociological relevance, the theme of the movie is media responsibility to voice dissent against the government. The title is adopted from the routine closing line of Mr. Murrow when ending his broadcasts.
“I thought it was a good time to raise the idea of using fear to stifle political debate.”—George Clooney
During the 1950s, the early days of broadcast journalism, Edward R. Murrow and his staff (producer Fred Friendly and reporter Joseph Wershba) defied pressure coming from CBS News and its corporate sponsorship in discrediting tactics used by Senator Joseph McCarthy during his crusade to root out communist elements within the U.S. government. A very public feud developed between journalist and politico. Under fear of reprisal, Murrow and his crew carried on tenaciously, striking historic blows against “McCarthyism”.
Not actually about the abuse of political power, more than anything the film paints a portrait showing the process by which Murrow and his team brings down the self-destructive McCarthy while exemplifying how journalist should behave.
Reporting the facts without fear or favor, Murrow was intrepid…if not flawless.
Edward R. Murrow (born Egbert Roscoe Murrow on April 25, 1908 – April 27, 1965) came to prominence on radio news broadcasts during World War II followed by millions of listeners in the U.S. and Canada. His colleagues considered Murrow the most honest journalist marked by integrity in delivering the news. A pioneer of TV news journalism, Murrow had achieved great celebrity status resulting from his war reports. The future British monarch, Princess Elizabeth in 1940 said to the Western world in a live radio address during the bombing of London, “…good night, and good luck to you all.”
So, in ending one of his broadcasts, Murrow closed the segment by saying, “Good night, and good luck." He stuck with it and a catchphrase was born.
Following the most successful career in radio, Murrow began his television career appearing in editorials on the tail-end of CBS Evening News and in covering special events, despite misgivings he had about the new electronic medium and the emphasis on “pictures” over ideas. He represented an “old team trying to learn a new trade.”
By 1953, Murrow had launched a weekly TV series of celebrity interviews—Person to Person setting the standard for such personality puff pieces while creating a format still in easy use today.
Another program, See It Now guided the audience through a series of reports on any number of controversial issues during the 1950s, but best remembered for criticizing Senator Joseph McCarthy and “the Red Scare” that contributed to his public censure and political downfall. The broadcast caused a nationwide backlash against McCarthy, and is now seen as the turning point in the history of television news.
The hard-hitting approach to the news on See It Now scored on occasion with high ratings when tackling an especially contentious or notorious subject. But generally it didn’t do well on primetime television, particularly when the “quiz show” took TV audiences by storm in the mid-1950s. It’s when Murrow could see that the days were numbered for keeping his weekly time slot for hard news.
After its sponsor withdrew support, the show continued with “special” news coverage that would come to define the television documentary. Still, the network had trouble securing regular sponsorship, since the show aired only occasionally, so could not develop a regular audience.
Murrow’s reportage repeatedly brought the journalist into conflicts with William Paley, the chairman of CBS, with See It Now coming to an end in the summer of 1958 in the aftermath of a particularly loud clash in Paley’s office. (Paley complained that he did not want a constant stomach ache every time Murrow covered a controversial subject.)
The show’s final broadcast aired July 7, 1958…
Three months later in a speech he delivered before the Radio and Television News Directors Association in Chicago on October 15th, Edward R. Murrow blasted TV's emphasis on entertainment and commercialism at the expense of the public interest; warning with admonition not to squander the potential of the medium or quash its potential to inform while educating the public.
“During the daily peak viewing periods, television in the main insulates us from the realities of the world in which we live. If this state of affairs continues, we may alter an advertising slogan to read: Look now, pay later.”—Edward R. Murrow
The harshness of his speech irreparably damaged his relationship with William Paley, who accused Murrow of disloyalty, which broke up an abiding friendship between the CBS boss and his most respected journalist.
Although he continued to work on documentary broadcasts for CBS Reports, Murrow narrated his final report (and milestone) on the plight of migrant farm workers in the United States in late 1960, the show airing after Thanksgiving.
Resigning from CBS to accept a position offered him by President John F. Kennedy, as head of the United States Information Agency, he viewed the offer as a “gift”. And while Murrow’s celebrity gave the agency a higher profile, which helped the organization to earn more funds from Congress, the journalist having transferred to a governmental position did cause some embarrassment. Taking the job compelled Murrow to ask the British Broadcasting Company not to air an exposé he had written and narrated for CBS, “Harvest of Shame” reporting on the plight of migrant farm workers in the United States.
Suddenly steering the middle course on the issue of news coverage, Murrow acquainted himself with the polarized environment of politics that successfully pounds away at integrity.
His final milestone came on September 16, 1962, when Murrow introduced “educational television” by way of a maiden broadcast in New York City for TV station WNDT, which would became WNET.
A heavy smoker throughout life, Murrow burned through roughly three packs a day. Ironically, See It Now was the first television program to have a report about the connection between smoking tobacco and lung cancer. During the broadcast, Murrow commented: “I doubt I could spend a half hour without a cigarette with any comfort or ease.” He lived for two more years after developing lung cancer and following an operation that removed his left lung.
Edward R. Murrow died at his home on April 27, 1965 two days after his 57th birthday.
“He was a shooting star; and we will live in his afterglow a very long time."—Eric Sevareid
60 Minutes is the investigative television newsmagazine, airing on the CBS network since 1968, created by long-time producer Don Hewitt and set apart as investigative journalism centered on the reporter. A top-rated TV program for much of its 40-year run, the broadcast has garnered both awards and preeminent in the United States. And currently is the longest running continuous program on network prime-time television. The signature icon of the Aristo stopwatch is the show’s only “music” that opens with the title and closes with the credits.
Myron Leon "Mike" Wallace (born May 9, 1918) has reported for 60 Minutes since its inception. During that time, he has interviewed a wide range of newsmakers; his role as lead reporter carried a cache of run-ins with many of his interviewees. Wallace retired as fulltime correspondent in 2006 after 37 years with the program—but continues working for CBS News as “Correspondent Emeritus.”
Early in his career, Mike Wallace worked as a radio announcer, and by the late 1940s employed these skills on staff with the CBS radio network. During the 1950s, not yet known as a broad journalist, he hosted any number of game shows (common enough for “newscasters”) as well as serving as “pitchman” for an array of commercial products.
From 1963 to 1966 Wallace anchored an early version of the CBS morning news, during which time he conducted a noteworthy 1964 interview black activist Malcolm X who commented, “I'm probably am a dead man already.” Shortly thereafter he was assassinated.
Manuel Noriega, the former president of Panama, once called Wallace “the epitome of sabotage journalism.” Among his many controversies, Wallace had interviewed General William Westmoreland for the CBS special report, The Uncounted Enemy: A Vietnam Deception. Westmoreland sued Wallace and the network for libel. But while the case was still in court, CBS offered an apology after an internal investigation determined that the producers of the show had not used the proper standards of fairness. Westmoreland accepted the apology to settle the case. And a Vanity Fair magazine news article, “The Man Who Knew Too Much” by Marie Brenner accused Wallace of capitulating to corporate pressure in killing a story on the dangerous practices of a cigarette manufacturer. Wallace, for his part, disliked his on-screen portrayal and still maintains he was in fact very eager to have the story aired uncensored.
Directed by Michael Mann, the movie stars Al Pacino and Russell Crowe in this adaption of an article published in Vanity Fair magazine, retelling the true story of a 60 Minutes television broadcast by CBS-News that exposed the tobacco industry through the eyes of former company executive, Jeffrey Wigand. The 60 Minutes program offered an “alternate version” of Wigand’s unwitting (and, at first, unwilling) admission in November 1995 after the president and owner of CBS, Laurence Tisch objected.
The show would later air February 4, 1996 unexpurgated.
60 Minutes producer Don Hewitt and journalist Mike Wallace accused director-writer Michael Mann of extreme dramatic license in transforming Lowell Bergman into a hero at their expense. Particularly upset that the film did not portray him in the most flattering light, Wallace had read an early draft of the screenplay, objected to how quickly he changed his mind, how publicly he criticized CBS, and continued to voice concerns that he was being portrayed unfairly in the film, denouncing the portrayal as inaccurate to his stance on the issue.
The central controversy in real life (and dramatic weight of the film) centers upon Jeffrey Wigand, formerly vice president of Brown and Williamson’s Research and Development, who provided 60 Minutes producer Lowell Bergman information that indicated how B&W systematically hid the health risks in smoking their cigarettes, alleging foreign agents (fiberglass and ammonia among others) had been introduced to enhance the effect of the nicotine.
Not quite the ticking-clock suspense of a compact story narrating a high-tension situation, "There's a major difference between All The President's Men and The Insider", Bergman said of the comparison between the former 1976 film on Watergate and the latter Hollywood's version of events at CBS-News. "In All the President's Men, the editors and reporters are heroes. That's not the case here."—Lowell A. Bergman
Lowell A. Bergman born on July 24, 1945, is an American investigative reporter with The New York Times and producer correspondent for the documentary series Frontline seen on the Public Broadcasting System. His career spans more than 35 years. From 1978 until 1983 he did investigative reporting for ABC-News, and in 1983 joined CBS to produce programs for the weekly newsmagazine series 60 Minutes. Over 14 years he produced more than four dozen news stories, including the first U.S. televised interviews with Lebanon's Hezbollah leadership.
It’s the story of Bergman’s investigation of the tobacco industry for 60 Minutes, a low-tech thriller, that not only chronicles the controversial decision to not air the story, but it also led to Bergman being virtually blacklisted from the program. But his work, especially in recent years, demonstrates how investigative reporting by students (their work guided and facilitated by veteran reporters) can raise the standards of journalism in the United States.
After producing the Wigand exposé, Bergman ran into opposition from Don Hewitt, along with CBS lawyers, fearing a billion dollar lawsuit from Brown and Williamson at a time when CBS was being “courted” by Westinghouse Electric Corporation. In addition to any number of people expected to benefit from a corporate takeover (including company lawyers and executives in the CBS News division), the son of CBS President Laurence Tisch stood among the people from “Big Tobacco” in the risk of being caught having committed perjury when testifying before a congressional subcommittee about the addictive nature of nicotine in cigarettes.
In the climatic scene of the movie, Lowell Bergman (Al Pacino) speaks with Mike Wallace (Christopher Plummer) about the compromised Wigand exposé and interview: “What got broken here doesn't go back together again.”
60 Minutes, according to the New York Times, had “betrayed the legacy of Edward R. Murrow.”
Walter Leland Cronkite, Jr. (born: November 4, 1916) began his early years at CBS-News in 1950, recruited by Edward R. Murrow who had previously tried to hire Cronkite away from United Press during World War II. In April, 1962, Cronkite succeeded in becoming the news anchor for CBS Evening News. And when the program expanded from 15 to 30 minutes on September 2, 1963, Cronkite became the anchor of American network television’s first nightly half-hour news program. By 1969, Cronkite’s broadcast of the Apollo space flight received not only the best TV ratings but also made CBS the most-watched network covering the mission.
Due to his professional acumen and experience, the man affectionately known as “Uncle Walter” generated avuncular warmth, and was cited in opinion polls as the most trusted man in America, remembered for his signature when signing off: “And that's the way it is…”
Cronkite had become the standard-bearer for objective journalism built upon the bedrock laid by Edward R. Murrow for TV journalism that mindfully avoided scoffing opinion and rank commentary while delivering the news. Venerated for 19 years (1962-81) on the CBS Evening News as the most trusted figures in the United States, he covered the most important news events of his era, and so effectively that his image (but mostly his voice) remains closely tied to the Cuban Missile Crisis, the Assassination of President John F. Kennedy, and the Vietnam War. The extent of his impact upon the war may never be known, but Cronkite’s 1968 editorial in early March following the Tet Offensive—that the Vietnam War was unwinnable—had caused President Lyndon B. Johnson to conclude: “If I've lost Cronkite, I've lost Middle America.”
Before the end of the month, the president had declined to run for reelection, another unintended consequence of the Tet Offensive.
THE TET OFFENSIVE:
General Westmoreland had become the public face of the war by November 1967, where in a speech before the National Press Club he bolstered flagging support by declaring a point in the war had been reached “where the end comes into view.” So the public was shocked and confused when Westmoreland’s predictions were trumped by the Tet Offensive.
The sinewy General Westmoreland personified the American fighting man, instituted the huge buildup in Vietnam of American armed forces, drew up battle plans, and infused the troops with his personal view of U.S. responsibilities to the Vietnamese, and goals for the war.
But by January 1968, General Westmoreland’s forces had been lured into the hinterland by the PVA and NLF that broke “the truce” which traditionally accompanied the Tet holiday (Lunar New Year) in launching a surprise “Tet Offensive” in the hopes of sparking a national uprising.
Over 100 cities were attacked, with retaliatory assaults on Westmoreland’s headquarters and the U.S. embassy in Saigon. The U.S. and South Vietnamese taken aback by the sheer scale of the urban offensive, responded quickly and effectively by decimating the ranks of the NLF.
However, in the former capital city of Tet , the deeply complex communist insurgency combined troop strength in capturing the Imperial Citadel and much of the city. During the interim between capturing the Citadel and ending the battle, the insurgents massacred as many as 6,000 unarmed civilians. Indeed, the Tet Offensive had inflicted grave damage to the NLF forces.
The American media, which had been largely supportive of U.S. efforts, rounded on the Johnson administration for what had become an increasing credibility gap.
Despite its military failure, the Tet Offensive became a political victory for the communist insurgence and helped end the career of President Lyndon B. Johnson, who declined to run for re-election. Johnson's approval rating slumped from 48 to 36 percent.
Tet contradicted media pronouncements of progress made by the Johnson administration and the military. The offensive was the turning point in America’s involvement in the Vietnam War. It had a profound impact on domestic support for the conflict. The offensive constituted an intelligence failure on the scale of Pearl Harbor.
Throughout the offensive, the American forces employed massive firepower. Where the battle was the fiercest, that firepower left 80% of the city in ruins. Maj. Booris of the 9th Infantry Division is the alleged anonymous, unauthenticated source of the most famous quote from the Vietnam War, after the military lay to rubble the village of Ben Tre: “It became necessary to destroy the village in order to save it.”
By 1968, President Johnson’s refusal to send more troops to Vietnam was seen as tacit admission that the war could not be won by an escalation acceptable to the American people.
The dangerous illusion of victory by the United States, noted Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara, was therefore dead. If the Tet Offensive—and a commentary by a respected journalist—began the difficult process of taking the United States out of the Vietnam War, an incident in one of the provinces would seem to uphold the American tradition of the news media taking the country to war.
Gulf of Tonkin is an arm of the South China Sea; the Chinese mainland lies to its north. The gulf is notably shallow, a depth of less than 60 meters. In August of 1964—some 66 years after the sinking of the Maine—U.S. President Lyndon B. Johnson accused North Vietnamese forces of twice attacking American destroyers in the gulf. Although there was a first attack, exaggerated claims in the U.S. news media of a second assault were historically proven unfounded and since has become known as the Gulf of Tonkin Incident, which led to the open involvement of the United States in the Vietnam War under the mandate “The Gulf of Tonkin Resolution”.
Nearly 40 years on, following the Gulf of Tonkin Incident, the next generation of American media seemed similarly predisposed to vector military action on behalf of certain political factions anxious for intervention that led to the invasion of Iraq and overthrow of its leadership by strongly promoting phantoms like WMD.
Despite latter-day criticism of the Internet platform Twitter, unique and powerful in alerting millions around the world within the decentralized Internet, there are more reasons for concern about traditional news flow when the mainstream media facilitates unnecessary panic about a perceived military threat. To cite the best example that aptly points up the extraordinary control “news and information” can have over the populace (and its politicians) can be seen in the run-up to the Spanish-American War. The power of news reporting arousing the public into hectoring its government for a military solution best exemplifies the media’s knack for creating a world-wide non-event following the sinking of the USS Maine.
THE SPANISH-AMERICAN WAR:
The Spanish-American War was the first conflict in which military action precipitated U.S. expansionism by media involvement, coupled by the familiar linchpin of mutual self-interest. As newspapers fanned the flames of imperialism, politicians took the country to war, fabricating atrocities to justify intervention in a number of Spanish colonies worldwide.
Armed military conflict between Spain and the United States in 1898 began as a revolution between the Spanish military and citizens of their Cuban colony, but served as pretext for America’s strong “expansionist” sentiment that motivated the U.S. government to develop a plan for annexation of Spain’s remaining overseas territories. It was the rejection of U.S. demands for resolution of “the Havana revolution” that initiated the U.S. sending the warship U.S.S. Maine as a show of “national interest”.
Agitation among the American people didn’t rise until the USS Maine exploded—when “yellow journalism” accused the Spanish of oppression throughout their colonies. Many “stories” published by Joseph Pulitzer's New York World and William Randolph Hearst's New York Journal blamed the Spanish military for the destruction of the Maine.
These “falsehoods” agitated public opinion with a confused sense of retribution, striking a discord throughout the country with the American people unwittingly driven into a divisive frenzy; a large group wanting to attack the Spanish, and another willing to wait for confirmation. Americans that wanted a show of aggression hoped to do violence in removing Spain from power in Cuba and Puerto Rico that approximated the United States in the Caribbean.
When yellow journalism (which stands for everything that Murrow and Cronkite would someday dispense with) managed to prevail, American troops were sent to Cuba, and the war ended in a matter of months after victories for the United States. On December 10, 1898, signing the Treaty of Paris gave the U.S. control not only of Cuba and the Philippines Islands but also Puerto Rico and Guam.
“There is nothing new in the world except the history you do not know.”—Harry S Truman
American journalism, especially after the turn of the 20th Century, has been notoriously shameless in promulgating yellow journalism; and 21st Century TV “breaking news” shamefully notorious in operating under the mandate, “If it bleeds, it leads.”
And when it stops bleeding—the story is put on life support.
Political bias among media outlets viewed Weapons of Mass Destruction as a singular menace, failing to distinguish between weapon programs and the actual weapons themselves; or to address the real differences among those chemical, biological, nuclear, and radiological bludgeons.
Once fate scuttled ambition, the larger question lurks beneath the truth.
The true story of the War in Iraq is the observable fact in its preamble. The premise that WMD not only existed in that country but was capable of being launched against Israel, and could reach the United States…in 45 minutes. A false premise to be sure, but one nonetheless that produced endless stream of “stenograph” reports given no careful examination or substantial framework for the issues discussed by which to measure the scope and scale of the “perceived” threat, to weigh policy options, and to proffer alternative perspectives about the official story.
Could the United States ever have gone to war in Iraq over the attack on September 11, 2001 without media involvement?
TV news often set the table for national debate, enlisted the viewing audience then leaves the conversation. The problems with critical delivery of information, particularly since the advent of 24-hour cable outlets, has been exacerbated by prioritizing so-called “breaking news” that inverts the journalistic pyramid, perverts the paradigm for telling the whole story, so leaving the viewer with headlines and captions snaking across the screen without sufficient content or context.
“Freedom of the press” is an illusionary promise of the U.S. Constitution. Somewhat more abstract for those devoted to the First Amendment, political speak is what’s actually protected.
Nevertheless, since 2001, news reporting has become increasingly strategic and less linear, perhaps out of fear of angering “the body politic” that once occupied the White House of George W. Bush. Paranoid about limited media access, reporters stayed in lockstep with the administration (well inside the box) and far away from critically examining the official record, while hurrying with opinion based on incomplete analyses.
When reporting becomes an act of simplification, exaggeration or invention, the information being disseminated is rendered a series of judgment calls and “news” as an expression becomes a blank, meaningless term.
The worst of what has already been said here is when false rings true. Reporting opinion (and rant) as a formula for news delivery is the product of tired journalistic conventions and general laziness based not an immeasurable set of values. If this sounds like blame ceding to the notion of beating a dead horse, then what’s left—Twitter? That’s something the seer didn’t see coming.
And what would Edward R. Murrow have to say about the Internet and this digital era? Probably the obvious: “Good night, and good luck.”
Frederick Louis Richardson
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