Shall We Talk About Journalism? Part 6: Ethics And The Lack Of Them
Kelvin MacKenzie and the lowest, most venal of standards. Punching up, not down and not bowing to your biases. Contains some Christian Purslow to illustrate when to give someone a kicking in print
Note: I entered journalism without any training at the age of 29 but became Football Editor of The Times. I’ve written for many publications, including columns for The Independent and the Evening Standard. I’m now a freelance writer and host The Athletic’s Liverpool podcast
I OFTEN WONDER why Kelvin MacKenzie wanted to get into journalism. Both his parents worked for newspapers, so maybe it was just a case of following in the family business. I wonder whether they were unethical c**** like MacKenzie. Probably.
MacKenzie is the most egregious living example of the failure of journalistic standards and ethics. That he still gets so much work as a commentator on television and radio is a reflection not only on the industry but on the nation.
In Stick It Up Your Punter, Peter Chippindale’s brilliant, eyeopening book about The Sun, MacKenzie is quoted as describing that paper’s target audience to another staff member:
“You just don't understand the readers, do you, eh? He’s the bloke you see in the pub, a right old fascist, wants to send the wogs back, buy his poxy council house, he’s afraid of the unions, afraid of the Russians, hates the queers and the weirdos and drug dealers. He doesn’t want to hear about that stuff [serious news].”
You’d like to think that people want to become journalists for positive reasons: speaking truth to power, exposing corruption or even the less lofty ideal of telling people something they don’t know. But no, there are still too many mini MacKenzies in the trade, cowardly bullies who rarely face the consequences of their actions.
To some of us, though, ethics are important. Having been on the wrong end of MacKenzie’s ‘The Truth’ headline after Hillsborough, I understand how it feels to be demonised by the press. I’ve lost count of the number of people over the years who’ve said something like, “Come on, you can admit it to me. You were all drunk and broke down the gates and nicked stuff from the dead. I used to go to the match in the eighties and I know what it was like…”
There are people who still believe the sick headline from 1989. The power of the media is strong.
Before the advent of social media, you could go for long spells where there was no feedback on articles you had written. Yes, the odd letter containing a razor blade or dogshit would arrive at the office – rare but unsettling incidents – but on a day-to-day basis it could feel like you were writing in a vacuum and no one noticed the screeds of words you were committing to newsprint.
Whenever you write anything for public consumption, it is important you consider the impact that those words might have on the subject of the piece. The witty barbs that seem clever and funny to you can wound individuals and embarrass them. Here’s an example.
About 15 years ago, I wrote an article about Christian Purslow, who was at the time the managing director of Liverpool. It was a pretty drastic hit job. The best line was that the players called him Forrest Gump because of his tendency to put himself at the centre of everything that happened. There was lots of detail about the self-styled “Fernando Torres of Finance.”
The players would bet on whether Purlsow would schmooze Torres or Steven Gerrard first when the managing director made his inevitable entry into the dressing room after a victory. The hedge-fund egotist wanted to be mates with the superstars. It all added up to behaviour unbecoming of serious executive.
A few days after the article appeared, I was at a lunch with one of the most powerful men in the English game. When I arrived, he motioned me to sit beside him. After a few minutes, he said, “I saw your piece on Christian.”
I waited. “Christian and I have many mutual friends,” he said. “They were all highly amused by your article. I would never say that you got his personality down to a T, but they did. And I would never say that everyone in football found it funny… but they did.” At that point he rolled his head back and roared with laughter.
So yes, I did a hatchet job on Purslow. All his friends and family would have either read it or heard about it. Before I wrote a single word, I thought long and hard about whether he deserved this treatment. I decided he did. He was, and is, a twat.
Later, he was one of the men behind a blacklist that referred to a number of journalists and Liverpool fans who were opposed to George Gillett and Tom Hicks’ ownership of the club as a “Scouse Khmer Rouge.” He sneered at members of the Spirit of Shankly supporters’ union, known as SOS, as “sons of strikers.”
I’ve no shame about putting the boot in on him in print.
If you are going to land blows on people through journalism, punch upwards, not down. The media is filled with stories about dole scroungers, illegal immigrants, single mothers and one-parent families. Demonising easy targets is cheap and MacKenzie-like. Consider who your victims are carefully before you commit an opinion to print or film. Ask yourself, do these people deserve a cruel spotlight on them?
Journalism should be inspiring. One night, I was having a drink with two younger tabloid reporters – neither, by the way, from The Sun. They were discussing phone hacking and where aghast that I did not know how to do it and had never used what they considered a tool of the trade. My response was to point out that if they were using hacking to bring down a corrupt government, to expose an arms dealer or highlight collusion between crown forces and terrorists in Northern Ireland, I’d be cheering for them. But to get details of a football club’s transfer activity? Really boys, I suggested, it’s time to look in the mirror. They were suitably abashed.
I know one football reporter who was hacked by someone from the same media group and received a payout from his employers. That still astounds me.
Much of the phone hacking saga concerned “exposes” of the private lives of celebrities, involving such newsworthy tales as relationship breakups. Most of it was so trivial that it’s hard to imagine how those involved could justify it to themselves.
That’s one side of the coin – the unscrupulous types for whom nothing is sacred. Nearly as bad are those who refuse to challenge their own sacred cows.
We see this in football when some “journalists” produce little more than PR for the club they support. In politics, the same thing happens. There are columnists out there who will slaughter their opponents but make excuses for similar behaviour from those with whom they align themselves.
As my career has been primarily in football, I’ve seen this happen all too often. I always prided myself in holding Liverpool to higher standards – not because there’s any sense of superiority, but simply because I support them. I want my team to be better, even though I know they are no different to anyone else.
This can be difficult. Sometimes you have to be critical of people you consider mates. But one of the driving forces in journalism should be the quest to tell the truth. You need to treat your friends and enemies in an even-handed manner. If you don’t, you’re a hypocrite. And never write anything about a person you would not say to their face.
Perhaps this sounds sanctimonious to you. Well, as someone who has felt the impact of the worst of journalism, I don’t give a toss if you think that.
The media should be better. It needs to be better. And I didn’t have to think too long before venting spite against MacKenzie. The man is a stain on our profession. Don’t be like him.
Next Monday: Using information from contacts without ruining the relationship
Week 1: How to start writing
Week 2: Life as a reporter
Week 3: Sub-editing, the highs and lows
Week 4: Columns, interviews and features
Week 5: Match reporting under pressure