PressEthic

It may seem inhumane to characterize Hurricane Katrina as another reason to scrutinize American media. But - just like 9/11 before it - the storm’s devastation, its floating bodies, its cries for government-sent relief, demonstrate a critical function of the press not at all cruel in its intentions:

We’re in the business of humanity.

Journalists train for huge ethical dilemmas, learn does and don’ts of anonymous sourcing. They want to be the next Woodward and Bernstein; many of them spend their careers writing about the local school board.

It’s a vital job for the press, of course. But when that big story ends up being about the councilman who doesn’t want his ward rezoned, it’s not difficult to remain objective.

Then two planes obliterate the World Trade Center. Or another crashes into the Pentagon. Or a hurricane survivor watches helplessly as his wife floats away because she insists he let go of her hand and “take care of those kids.” And journalists, the good ones at least, remember why they chose this profession.

Objectivity is something to strive for, but to take it as the ultimatum for good journalism misses the point. Journalists, in a utopian world, right the wrongs. Speak for the speechless. Help the helpless.

A few critics, like Paul Brownfield, argue that reporters like CNN’s Anderson Cooper are getting too wrapped up in their own emotions. Others, like Howard Kurtz and USA Today’s Peter Johnson, feel the gravity of the Hurricane Katrina coverage has elevated journalism:

“Maybe, just maybe, journalism needs to bring more passion to the table -- and not just when cable shows are obsessing on the latest missing white woman,” Kurtz wrote in The Washington Post.

Passion is not the same as subjectivity. And, in Brownfield’s case, it’s not the same as self-indulgence. Reporters in Louisiana and Mississippi were journalists playing one of their finest roles: the civic watchdog.

We journalists aren’t easy to convince. We’re skeptical, we’ll question every answer we get and, if you’re a government official with a five-word title, we might not believe anything you say. After days of watching people die and hearing that help is on the way, the only logical question for a journalist to ask is, “Why isn’t it already here?”

Otherwise, FEMA and the rest of the federal government isn’t held accountable, just like U.S. intelligence wouldn’t have been held accountable when journalists asked, “How could this have happened?” in the wake of 9/11.

And then it’s someone else’s wife floating away, someone else’s home razed by rain and winds.

It might not be exemplary objectivity to cry while giving a news report, or to comfort the mother that breaks down during an interview because she can’t find her son. But it’s human nature, and journalists need human nature to do their jobs.

Without it, they’re not just objective; they’re isolated.