Tuesday, November 4, 2008




Media's Presidential Bias and Decline
Columnist Michael Malone Looks at Slanted Election Coverage and the Reasons Why
Column By MICHAEL S. MALONE
Oct. 24, 2008 —


The traditional media are playing a very, very dangerous game -- with their readers, with the Constitution and with their own fates.

The sheer bias in the print and television coverage of this election campaign is not just bewildering, but appalling. And over the last few months I've found myself slowly moving from shaking my head at the obvious one-sided reporting, to actually shouting at the screen of my television and my laptop computer.
But worst of all, for the last couple weeks, I've begun -- for the first time in my adult life -- to be embarrassed to admit what I do for a living. A few days ago, when asked by a new acquaintance what I did for a living, I replied that I was "a writer," because I couldn't bring myself to admit to a stranger that I'm a journalist.

You need to understand how painful this is for me. I am one of those people who truly bleeds ink when I'm cut. I am a fourth-generation newspaperman. As family history tells it, my great-grandfather was a newspaper editor in Abilene, Kan., during the last of the cowboy days, then moved to Oregon to help start the Oregon Journal (now the Oregonian).

My hard-living -- and when I knew her, scary -- grandmother was one of the first women reporters for the Los Angeles Times. And my father, though profoundly dyslexic, followed a long career in intelligence to finish his life (thanks to word processors and spellcheckers) as a very successful freelance writer. I've spent 30 years in every part of journalism, from beat reporter to magazine editor. And my oldest son, following in the family business, so to speak, earned his first national byline before he earned his drivers license.

So, when I say I'm deeply ashamed right now to be called a "journalist," you can imagine just how deep that cuts into my soul.

Now, of course, there's always been bias in the media. Human beings are biased, so the work they do, including reporting, is inevitably colored. Hell, I can show you 10 different ways to color variations of the word "said" -- muttered, shouted, announced, reluctantly replied, responded, etc. -- to influence the way a reader will comprehend exactly the same quote. We all learn that in Reporting 101, or at least in the first few weeks working in a newsroom.

But what we are also supposed to learn during that same apprenticeship is to recognize the dangerous power of that technique, and many others, and develop built-in alarms against them.

But even more important, we are also supposed to be taught that even though there is no such thing as pure, Platonic objectivity in reporting, we are to spend our careers struggling to approach that ideal as closely as possible.

That means constantly challenging our own prejudices, systematically presenting opposing views and never, ever burying stories that contradict our own world views or challenge people or institutions we admire. If we can't achieve Olympian detachment, than at least we can recognize human frailty -- especially in ourselves.

Reporting Bias

For many years, spotting bias in reporting was a little parlor game of mine, watching TV news or reading a newspaper article and spotting how the reporter had inserted, often unconsciously, his or her own preconceptions. But I always wrote it off as bad judgment and lack of professionalism, rather than bad faith and conscious advocacy.

Sure, being a child of the '60s I saw a lot of subjective "New" Journalism, and did a fair amount of it myself, but that kind of writing, like columns and editorials, was supposed to be segregated from "real" reporting, and, at least in mainstream media, usually was. The same was true for the emerging blogosphere, which by its very nature was opinionated and biased.

But my complacent faith in my peers first began to be shaken when some of the most admired journalists in the country were exposed as plagiarists, or worse, accused of making up stories from whole cloth.

I'd spent my entire professional career scrupulously pounding out endless dreary footnotes and double-checking sources to make sure that I never got accused of lying or stealing someone else's work -- not out of any native honesty, but out of fear: I'd always been told to fake or steal a story was a firing offense & indeed, it meant being blackballed out of the profession.

And yet, few of those worthies ever seemed to get fired for their crimes -- and if they did they were soon rehired into even more prestigious jobs. It seemed as if there were two sets of rules: one for us workaday journalists toiling out in the sticks, and another for folks who'd managed, through talent or deceit, to make it to the national level.

Meanwhile, I watched with disbelief as the nation's leading newspapers, many of whom I'd written for in the past, slowly let opinion pieces creep into the news section, and from there onto the front page. Personal opinions and comments that, had they appeared in my stories in 1979, would have gotten my butt kicked by the nearest copy editor, were now standard operating procedure at the New York Times, the Washington Post, and soon after in almost every small town paper in the U.S.
But what really shattered my faith -- and I know the day and place where it happened -- was the war in Lebanon three summers ago. The hotel I was staying at in Windhoek, Namibia, only carried CNN, a network I'd already learned to approach with skepticism. But this was CNN International, which is even worse.

I sat there, first with my jaw hanging down, then actually shouting at the TV, as one field reporter after another reported the carnage of the Israeli attacks on Beirut, with almost no corresponding coverage of the Hezbollah missiles raining down on northern Israel. The reporting was so utterly and shamelessly biased that I sat there for hours watching, assuming that eventually CNNi would get around to telling the rest of the story & but it never happened.

The Presidential Campaign

But nothing, nothing I've seen has matched the media bias on display in the current presidential campaign.

Republicans are justifiably foaming at the mouth over the sheer one-sidedness of the press coverage of the two candidates and their running mates. But in the last few days, even Democrats, who have been gloating over the pass -- no, make that shameless support -- they've gotten from the press, are starting to get uncomfortable as they realize that no one wins in the long run when we don't have a free and fair press.

I was one of the first people in the traditional media to call for the firing of Dan Rather -- not because of his phony story, but because he refused to admit his mistake -- but, bless him, even Gunga Dan thinks the media is one-sided in this election.

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not one of those people who think the media has been too hard on, say, Republican vice presidential nominee Gov. Sarah Palin, by rushing reportorial SWAT teams to her home state of Alaska to rifle through her garbage. This is the big leagues, and if she wants to suit up and take the field, then Gov. Palin better be ready to play.

The few instances where I think the press has gone too far -- such as the Times reporter talking to prospective first lady Cindy McCain's daughter's MySpace friends -- can easily be solved with a few newsroom smackdowns and temporary repostings to the Omaha bureau.

No, what I object to (and I think most other Americans do as well) is the lack of equivalent hardball coverage of the other side -- or worse, actively serving as attack dogs for the presidential ticket of Sens. Barack Obama, D-Ill., and Joe Biden, D-Del.

If the current polls are correct, we are about to elect as president of the United States a man who is essentially a cipher, who has left almost no paper trail, seems to have few friends (that at least will talk) and has entire years missing out of his biography.

That isn't Sen. Obama's fault: His job is to put his best face forward. No, it is the traditional media's fault, for it alone (unlike the alternative media) has had the resources to cover this story properly, and has systematically refused to do so.

Why, for example to quote the lawyer for Republican presidential nominee Sen. John McCain, R-Ariz., haven't we seen an interview with Sen. Obama's grad school drug dealer -- when we know all about Mrs. McCain's addiction? Are Bill Ayers and Tony Rezko that hard to interview? All those phony voter registrations that hard to scrutinize? And why are Sen. Biden's endless gaffes almost always covered up, or rationalized, by the traditional media?

Joe the Plumber

The absolute nadir (though I hate to commit to that, as we still have two weeks before the election) came with Joe the Plumber.

Middle America, even when they didn't agree with Joe, looked on in horror as the press took apart the private life of an average person who had the temerity to ask a tough question of a presidential candidate. So much for the standing up for the little man. So much for speaking truth to power. So much for comforting the afflicted and afflicting the comfortable, and all of those other catchphrases we journalists used to believe we lived by.

I learned a long time ago that when people or institutions begin to behave in a matter that seems to be entirely against their own interests, it's because we don't understand what their motives really are. It would seem that by so exposing their biases and betting everything on one candidate over another, the traditional media is trying to commit suicide -- especially when, given our currently volatile world and economy, the chances of a successful Obama presidency, indeed any presidency, is probably less than 50/50.

Furthermore, I also happen to believe that most reporters, whatever their political bias, are human torpedoes & and, had they been unleashed, would have raced in and roughed up the Obama campaign as much as they did McCain's. That's what reporters do. I was proud to have been one, and I'm still drawn to a good story, any good story, like a shark to blood in the water.

So why weren't those legions of hungry reporters set loose on the Obama campaign? Who are the real villains in this story of mainstream media betrayal?
The editors. The men and women you don't see; the people who not only decide what goes in the paper, but what doesn't; the managers who give the reporters their assignments and lay out the editorial pages. They are the real culprits.
Bad Editors

Why? I think I know, because had my life taken a different path, I could have been one: Picture yourself in your 50s in a job where you've spent 30 years working your way to the top, to the cockpit of power & only to discover that you're presiding over a dying industry. The Internet and alternative media are stealing your readers, your advertisers and your top young talent. Many of your peers shrewdly took golden parachutes and disappeared. Your job doesn't have anywhere near the power and influence it did when your started your climb. The Newspaper Guild is too weak to protect you any more, and there is a very good chance you'll lose your job before you cross that finish line, 10 years hence, of retirement and a pension.
In other words, you are facing career catastrophe -- and desperate times call for desperate measures. Even if you have to risk everything on a single Hail Mary play. Even if you have to compromise the principles that got you here. After all, newspapers and network news are doomed anyway -- all that counts is keeping them on life support until you can retire.

And then the opportunity presents itself -- an attractive young candidate whose politics likely matches yours, but more important, he offers the prospect of a transformed Washington with the power to fix everything that has gone wrong in your career.

With luck, this monolithic, single-party government will crush the alternative media via a revived fairness doctrine, re-invigorate unions by getting rid of secret votes, and just maybe be beholden to people like you in the traditional media for getting it there.

And besides, you tell yourself, it's all for the good of the country &

This is the opinion of the columnist and in no way reflects the opinion of ABC News.

Michael S. Malone is one of the nation's best-known technology writers. He has covered Silicon Valley and high-tech for more than 25 years, beginning with the San Jose Mercury News as the nation's first daily high-tech reporter. His articles and editorials have appeared in such publications as The Wall Street Journal, the Economist and Fortune, and for two years he was a columnist for The New York Times. He was editor of Forbes ASAP, the world's largest-circulation business-tech magazine, at the height of the dot-com boom. Malone is the author or co-author of a dozen books, notably the best-selling "Virtual Corporation." Malone has also hosted three public television interview series, and most recently co-produced the celebrated PBS miniseries on social entrepreneurs, "The New Heroes." He has been the ABCNews.com
"Silicon Insider" columnist since 2000.

Copyright © 2008 ABC News Internet Ventures
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we did. did you?

Thursday, October 16, 2008

the closest spot

I ran to Kroger today on my lunchbreak to pick up a cliff bar for lunch [thank you Katie]. The clouds were threatening rain and I was in a hurry. I spied an open spot near the door and of course, I did what I always do: rejoiced in my good fortune and parked without a second thought. I finished my shopping and headed for the car. It wasn't raining hard yet so I was relieved - Until I realized something. Walking in front of me, struggling to lug her two sacks of groceries and hold her hood up at the same time, was this precious little woman. She wasn't that old, but was sort of feeble - maybe she's been sick or experienced some other type of misfortune in life. I started to feel really bad when I realized as I walked to my car in the second closest space, that she was walking to the end of the lot. The store was pretty busy for a Thursday at noon, and the lot was quite full. And I was just selfish enough to think that because I was in a hurry and not wanting to get wet, I had a right to park in that close spot.

Humbling.

Now I know what you may be thinking, if I hadn't taken that spot, someone else just like me might have. We live in a society that teaches us to circle the mall lot for hours (figuratively), looking for the perfect spot. But the thing is, I have the fortune of being in relatively good health. It doesn't cause me pain to walk an extra 100 yards, and you know - it doesn't inconvenience me that much to do so. I feel awful inside that it might have been because of me that that poor woman had to walk so much farther in the cold windy mist...and I was just a hop skip and a jump from the door.

Think about it. I know I have been.

Monday, October 13, 2008

You don't know me starbucks! (by Trevor)

It is officially my favorite time of the year. If there is weather in heaven it will be Autumn all the time. The leaves will always be a multitude of colors, there will always be football games or highlights on the tube and you will always have the option of the "shorts and a sweatshirt" combo. One more thing that makes this season the best is coffee tastes so much better when it's cold.

Enter Starbucks.

Starbucks has become tradition on a Lubiens' Sunday morning. It also typically makes us late to choir and orchestra run-through, but at least we have our priorities in line. In the last couple months I have started to notice that Starbucks has made a change in their protocol. It was a minor irritant at first but has grown into and proven to always be a very awkward experience.

Starbucks is teaching their employees to be mind readers. And not doing a very good job I might add. Lately when you pull into the drive-thru the barista working the headset will say something along the lines of, "Welcome to Starbucks, this is Kim and Christina. How are you doing today?" First of all, are you Kim or Christina? And secondly, do you want to know who all is in the car with me and how all of us are doing? Of course I will say I'm fine and then ask how they are today. Then comes the crystal ball time.

With the addition of the shakes and energy drinks and taking into account double and triple shots, short, tall, grande, venti, sugar, raw sugar, sweetener, all the flavored syrups, all the sugar free syrups, decaf, skim milk, whole milk, half n' half, iced drinks and all the other additives and subtractitives, the ammount of options could be in the hundreds of thousands. Still, without failure, Kim or Christina will take a hack at guessing my drink of the day.

"How about I make you a grande caramel frappe?"

Seriously?!? You haven't even seen me! I promise you I do not look like a caramel frappe guy. Now that I'm thinking about it, I don't know what kind of a coffee guy I look like. If I had to guess, and if I worked at Starbucks I would have to, I would say I am a venti mocha guy. I'm not, but that is what I think I look like. After seeing some people you could make a good guess as to what kind of drink they like but not by simply hearing their muffled drive-thru voice!

This Sunday was a little different. Jamie stayed home for first service to get ready to sing in a concert later that night. So I made a solo coffee run without my wife. I pulled into the drive-thru and sure enough the guessing game started with me trying to figure out if the man wearing the headset was Daniel or Stephanie. He, who I can safely assume was Daniel, asked if my morning was going well and I told him that it was so far. And then, Daniel took a stab at my drink.

"Can I get you a pumpkin spice latte today?"

Without my wife who is my socially acceptable filter I replied,

"Nope! Guess again!"

Daniel did not want to guess again. Apparently there is one guess per customer limit.

Starbucks, I love you. Without you I would be forced to drive many miles and drink gamble coffee until I found something that tastes close to what you have. You have fallen away from the artistry that is specialty coffee but you are so consistently great. Just one simple question, what's wrong with the good old fashioned "Welcome to Starbucks. What can I get for you?" Please oh please stop pushing your seasonal drinks in a guessing format and just let me order what I want.

Friday, October 3, 2008

tea time



it's fall in a cup and a bright spot in my otherwise -eh- afternoon.

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

getting picked

Yesterday I (Jamie) recieved an email confirming my acceptance into The Nashville Choir. I already knew I was "in" because they told me so at the end of my audition. I didn't want to tell anyone because I wanted to wait for the confirmation email just to be sure. You know...better to announce it a little late than to have to retract an announcement if something fell through. It feels good to get picked though. Really good. I'm very excited about this opportunity, as it will mean singing all over town, backing various artists, and allowing me to gain valuable experience in performance and maybe even recording.

I found out today that I didn't get picked for the Nashville Symphony Chorus. To be honest, I knew it was a long shot from the start. I haven't sung classically in almost 4 years - and I knew they would know that. I had a great audition though, and am pleased with the effort I put in. Sure, it would have felt great to get picked for this, the most prestigious choir in Nashville, but I feel good knowing that I did my best. So maybe getting picked isn't the only thing that matters afterall. :)

If you'd like to check it out, The Nashville Choir has a website: www.thenashvillechoir.org. Our first performance is backing Michael W. Smith and other artists at his 25th Anniversary Celebration. I'd be fibbing if I said I wasn't a smidge excited...

Monday, August 25, 2008

If I could

Last night we went to a praise service as part of welcome week for Trevecca Nazarene University. I think we went mostly because the service was being held in our brand new Family Life Center at church and we wanted to see how the space would accommodate large services. As the service began, we enjoyed the high energy music and lights, dreaming of a time when we might be able to hold a weekly college service of our own in the new facility. The music stopped, and onto the stage stepped a cute young girl with brown hair. I recognized her from Carrie's dorm and settled into my seat, figuring that this was the testimony that would come before the message and that we would all get to know what powerful things the Lord was doing in this girl's life. She proceeded to tell about how her parents had recently separated and how she didn't know how she could ever handle it. She was so vulnerable and finished with something like, "I don't know how to find God in this situation," and walked off the stage. Instantly I was transported back to being a 13 year old girl, scared and confused about the turns my life was taking, trying to be brave for the others...I cried. And cried. And cried some more. At one point, I had to leave the service. I finally pulled myself together until we were headed home and Trevor asked me if I was okay. I cried again. I cried for my hurt, and I cried for the hurts of all the others around me who were affected by my situation. I cried for the girl who had opened up and shared her heart in the service. Honestly, it felt good to let a little more out. But it made me wonder: how much more is in there? How is it that even when I feel my life is so put together, one little thing can trigger all the hurt I thought I had sorted through?

This morning I still feel a little like that teenager, trying to find my way through my circumstances, but I was reminded of a song. A song that was so precious to me and through which Jesus made Himself real to me in the midst of my trials. I want to share it with you:

When I cannot feel
When my wounds don't heal
Lord I humbly kneel hidden in You
Lord You are my life
So I don't mind to die
Just as long as I'm
Hidden in You

If I could just sit with You awhile
If You could just hold me
Nothing could touch me
Though I'm wounded though I die
If I could just sit with You awhile
I need You to hold me
Moment by moment
'Til forever passes by

I hope it will bring some comfort into your weary soul today.