In Defence of Journalism
Politicos are constantly demeaned, but are they responsible for getting it wrong?
We’ve had enough of experts. The London Remainer-metropolitan liberal elite. Islington, Notting Hill, or somewhere that’s stereotypically upper-middle-to-upper-class. Out of touch, of course (a guarantee for journalists, regardless of income or background). Or the fascist nutcases, constantly shouting about boats or flags. All of them are always wrong about the political future of the country. Always biased about political opinions or ideas. Hated by most, loved by few. Is this a fair view of political commentary and analysis in the British media?
This trope is not wholly wrong. Every piece of fiction contains an element of truth. It’s no doubt the ‘shock’ of Brexit, Corbyn, Trump, and to a lesser extent Covid, hurt political punditry’s credibility — if it ever had much to begin with. Genuine mistakes were made in the assuredness of predictions and in the blinding bias of analysis. But The Political Inquiry argues that this wasn’t, and isn’t, necessarily the fault of the institution of journalism in of itself, rather the malpractice of what is truly an undervalued art. An art that is supposedly ‘long forgotten’ to an age of unpolarised, perfect citizens who all have atomic families, well-paid unionised jobs, who read their copy of the daily paper, and watch the news at 6 or 10 (otherwise known as the mirage of the 1960s).
Journalism — and for this context specifically political analysis and commentary — is not about super-forecasting the future. Political commentary cannot muster the perfect policy, nor can it convey absolutely accurately the true machinations of power (power meaning whatever and whoever is making change). What journalists must do is synthesise a picture of power as precise as possible from their subjective view. They must define and refine the driving political forces of the day, week, month, year, decade into simple digestible columns, while also accounting for every discipline inm government, as politics and policy encompasses the entirety of life: from science to economics to immigration.
But regardless of the difficulty of the art, the result of its core function — reporting and analysing — is misunderstood. By studying politics, one is analysing change. There is no news without the journalist, and no journalist without politics. So, if the political facts — on which political commentary is written — constantly changes, is it not inevitable that that commentary is constantly wrong? Print and online articles are written, at a specific time with specific information. It’s not a constantly updating feed, neither a perfect oracle.
Life, and thus politics, cannot be quantified into a simplified prediction based on the statistics of X doing Y. We’d all love it to be so, some even attempt to achieve it. As a result of life’s unquantifiability, society requires a class of journalists that report and analyse, to the best of their ability, change in a qualitative sense. Journalism should not be for personal gain or ideological cause, but practised with a genuine desire to reach the best conclusion of what power looks like, how it’s behaving, and what it may do in the future. This class must be both connected and disconnected. Connected with power enough to understand and analyse it, while simultaneously disconnected enough with power, in order to remain connected with the ‘people’ (whatever the ‘people’ means). A task almost impossible, and thus always wrong to some extent.
The Political Inquiry is not stating that all commentary is admirable, useful or desirable. Most UK media is either too bland or too bombastic. And while it’s better to be bland rather than bombastic, being bland has its own natural political choices. Choosing not to report or analyse a said topic, idea or policy is inherently a political decision; what academics call ‘depoliticisation’ — purposefully not politicising something in order to reduce its salience, or consequences of its discussion.
True political analysis and commentary is having the strength to take a position, one that is well-founded, honest and open. It may fall on left or right, for the status quo or against, but it will have its basis built on an accurate and rational interpretation of the political facts of the time. It will always offer a window into viewing power, and while the window will be a certain tint, the broad picture will be evident and stimulating. And when the facts change, the analysis will too — and not stick dogmatically to a mis-constructed, or now out-dated, take. Humbly admitting defeat, the journalist adapts.
But just because previous political commentaries will inevitably be wrong (as most are), doesn’t mean journalism is inadequate. Being wrong shouldn’t shock or anger, but instead excite. Change, while challenging, is how society progresses. Inertia is not a virtue in politics, and should not be desired even by those who inherently like it. The most powerful conservatives understand the notion of ‘changing to conserve’. So, when change does come, taking your anger out on the messenger of such change, even if depicted badly, is short-sighted.
Fostering and upkeeping a true journalistic class is a key part of democracy. Political commentary cannot supply every answer. It is a difficult vocation, and there are, admittedly, many that misuse it for personal or ideological gain. But if, as a society, we want to better journalism, a start would be to hold a more constructive attitude towards it. An attitude devoid of the impulsive emotions spawned from 280 characters on Twitter or obviously bait headlines. An attitude that doesn’t instantly trust what one reads, which results in anger when what’s been read is instantly proved wrong. Instead, a new attitude should be created that appreciates good journalism, while mistrusting it enough to not be affected by the consequences of change, and therefore it’s resultant invalidation.
Respecting and correctly using political analysis is not about liking or appreciating every commentator or news organisation, or reading every article published. Truly, it’s about appreciating the quality of the art — for which a fair few endeavour so hard to uphold and achieve — and upon which democracy and society depends on.