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ETHICS

Louis Alvin Day

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ETHICS IN MEDIA COMMUNICATIONS

5 T H

E D I T I O N

ETHICS IN MEDIA COMMUNICATIONS CASES AND CONTROVERSIES Louis Alvin Day Louisiana State University

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B R I E F

C O N T E N T S

Preface xv Introduction xvii

PA RT O N E : CHAPTER CHAPTER CHAPTER

F O U N DAT I O N S A N D P R I N C I P L E S

1 Ethics and Moral Development 2 2 Ethics and Society 23 3 Ethics and Moral Reasoning 54

PA RT T W O : C A S E S I N M E D I A CO M M U N I C AT I O N S CHAPTER CHAPTER CHAPTER CHAPTER CHAPTER CHAPTER CHAPTER CHAPTER CHAPTER CHAPTER

4 Truth and Honesty in Media Communications 78 5 The Media and Privacy: A Delicate Balance 132 6 Confidentiality and the Public Interest 178 7 Conflicts of Interest 211 8 Economic Pressures and Social Responsibility 247 9 The Media and Antisocial Behavior 282 10 Morally Offensive Content: Freedom and Responsibility 319 11 Media Content and Juveniles: Special Ethical Concerns 353 12 Media Practitioners and Social Justice 381 13 Stereotypes in Media Communications 417

Epilogue 449 APPENDIX APPENDIX APPENDIX

1 Society of Professional Journalists: Code of Ethics 455 2 American Advertising Federation: Advertising Principles of American Business 457 3 Public Relations Society of America: Code of Ethics 458

Selected Bibliography 463 Index 467 vii Copyright 2006 Cengage Learning. All Rights Reserved. May not be copied, scanned, or duplicated, in whole or in part. Due to electronic rights, some third party content may be suppressed from the eBook and/or eChapter(s). Editorial review has deemed that any suppressed content does not materially affect the overall learning experience. Cengage Learning reserves the right to remove additional content at any time if subsequent rights restrictions require it.

C O N T E N T S

Preface xv Introduction xvii

PA RT O N E : CHAPTER

F O U N DAT I O N S A N D P R I N C I P L E S

1 Ethics and Moral Development 2

Requirements of a System of Ethics 28 Shared Values 28 Wisdom 29 Justice 29 Freedom 29 Accountability 30 The Social Compact and Moral Duties 30 The Two Levels of Moral Duty 30 Deciding among Moral Duties 31 The Nexus of Law and Ethics 33 Institutional Autonomy and Social Responsibility 35 The Libertarian View 36 Social Responsibility 37 The Challenges of the Information Age 42 Convergence: New Media and Old Media 42 The Ethics of Cyberspace: Old Wine in New Bottles 43 The Media as Socially Responsible Institutions 45 Codes of Conduct 46 The Ombudsman System 47 News Councils 49 Summary 50 Notes 51

The Study of Ethics: An Overview 2 The Three Branches of Ethics 4 Ethical Communication 5 The Value of Ethics Education 7 Contents of a Course in Media Ethics 8 Developing Ethical Fitness 9 The First Principles of Moral Virtue 10 Credibility 10 Integrity 11 Civility 12 The Formation of Ethical Values and Attitudes 13 Defining Values and Attitudes 13 Sources of Values and Attitudes 15 Personal Values and Professional Ethics 17 The Ethical Dilemma: Conflict of Values 18 Summary 20 Notes 21 CHAPTER

2 Ethics and Society 23

The Need for a System of Ethics 23 Society and Moral Anchors 23 The Functions of the Media within the Ethical System 26

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER

3 Ethics and Moral Reasoning 54

Moral Reasoning and Ethical Decision Making 54 The Context of Moral Reasoning 55 The Philosophical Foundations of Moral Theory 56 The Greek Connection 56 Ethical Perspectives and Traditions 57 Care-Based Ethics 57 Kant and Moral Duty 57 The Appeal of Utilitarianism 58 Ethics as a Social Contract 59 Feminist Ethics 60 The Rise of Relativism 60

Ethical Theories in Moral Reasoning 61 Deontological (Duty-Based) Theories 61 Teleological (Consequence-Based) Theories 62 Virtue Theories: Aristotle’s Golden Mean 64 Critical Thinking in Moral Reasoning 65 A Model of Moral Reasoning 66 The Situation Definition 66 Analysis of the Situation 67 Decision 68 A Sample Case Study 69 Situation Definition 69 Analysis 70 Decision 73 Summary 73 Notes 74

PA RT T W O : C A S E S I N M E D I A CO M M U N I C AT I O N S CHAPTER

4 Truth and Honesty in Media Communications 78

A World of Limited Truth 78 Truth as a Fundamental Value 80 The Importance of Truth 82 Media Practitioners and the Truth–Falsehood Dichotomy 84 Truth in Journalism 84 Where Truth and Fiction Collide: The Docudrama 96 Truth in Advertising and Public Relations 98 Public Relations and Journalism: A Love–Hate Relationship 100 Intellectual Dishonesty 101 Truth Telling and Approaches to Moral Reasoning 103 Truth and Deception: Hypothetical Case Studies 104 CASE STUDIES CASE

105

4-1: Undercover Advertising in the Public Square 105

4-2: Crisis Management on the Web and the Framing of Truth 107 CASE 4-3: Hidden Cameras and the Journalist as Social Conscience 111 CASE 4-4: Political Communication on the Net: Is Voter Targeting Responsible Behavior? 115 CASE 4-5: The Careless Chaperons and the Unbridled Teens 117 CASE 4-6: Digital Photography and the Manipulation of Reality 119 CASE 4-7: Tainted Research and the Right to Know 122 CASE 4-8: Vow of Silence 125 Notes 128 CASE

CHAPTER

5 The Media and Privacy: A Delicate Balance 132

Ethics and Privacy: The Search for Meaning 132 The Value of Privacy 133 The Emergence of Privacy as a Moral Value 134 Privacy as a Legal Concept 136

CONTENTS

The Need for an Ethics of Privacy 137 Basic Principles 137 Data Mining and Privacy in Cyberspace 139 Privacy and the Journalist: Some Special Problem Areas 140 Contagious Diseases and Disabilities 141 Homosexuality 142 Sex Crimes 143 Juvenile Offenders 145 Using Children as Sources 146 Suicides 147 Secret Cameras and Recorders 149 Accidents and Personal Tragedies 150 Computers and Database Journalism 151 The Search for Journalistic Guidelines 153 Advertising and Privacy 154 Privacy: Hypothetical Case Studies 155 CASE STUDIES

155

5-1: News Values versus Privacy: The Case of “Designer Baby” Anna Marie 155 CASE 5-2: The Supreme Court Candidate’s Untimely Withdrawal 158 CASE 5-3: The Pregnant Place Kicker 161 CASE 5-4: The Massacre at Langdale High and Laura’s Secret Diary 164 CASE 5-5: Electronic Billboards on the Freeway and Motorist Privacy 167 CASE 5-6: The Right to Die with Dignity 170 CASE 5-7: Cyberspace Data Mining as a Public Relations Tool 172 Notes 175 CASE

CHAPTER

6 Confidentiality and the Public Interest 178

The Principle of Confidentiality 178 The Justification for Confidentiality 181 Seeking Disclosure: the Moral Position of the Actor 182 Confidentiality in Journalism: Some Special Concerns 184 The Case for and against Confidentiality 184

A Delicate Balance: Confidentiality and Competing Interests 187 Changes in the Reporter–Source Relationship 187 The Principle of Confidentiality: Hypothetical Cases 188 CASE STUDIES

189

6-1: Guarding a Secret about a Military Hero 189 CASE 6-2: A Public Relations Challenge: Fraud in a University’s Basketball Program 193 CASE 6-3: Allegations of Sexual Harassment: Newsworthy or Political Dirty Tricks 196 CASE 6-4: Gender Norming and the Admiral’s Public Relations Problem 198 CASE 6-5: Attorney–Client Privilege and the Public’s Right to Know 202 CASE 6-6: Client Confidentiality in Radio Sales 205 CASE 6-7: The Student Newspaper and Faculty Evaluations 206 Notes 209 CASE

CHAPTER

7 Conflicts of Interest 211

Conflicts of Interest: Real and Imagined 211 Recognizing Conflicts: The Most Troublesome Terrain 213 Conflicting Relationships 213 Conflicting Public Participation 219 Vested Interests and Hidden Agendas 223 Approaches to Dealing with Conflicts of Interest 225 Conflicts of Interest: Hypothetical Case Studies 225 CASE STUDIES CASE CASE

226

7-1: The PR Practitioner as Political Activist 226 7-2: DNA Testing: A Journalist’s Call for Justice 228

xii

CONTENTS

7-3: The NABJ and Divided Loyalties 231 CASE 7-4: A Witness to Genocide 233 CASE 7-5: A Television Station’s Conflicting Messages 236 CASE 7-6: Campus Journalists and the Tobacco Wars 238 CASE 7-7: Switching Sides in Public Relations 241 Notes 244 CASE

CHAPTER

8 Economic Pressures and Social Responsibility 247

Economic Interests versus Moral Obligations 247 Concentration of Media Ownership 248 The Alliance of Mass Media and Marketing 251 The Role of Advertising 255 The Media’s Lifeline: The Ethical Challenges of Commercial Sponsorship 255 The Challenges of Cyberspace 258 Product Placements 259 Economic Pressures: Hypothetical Case Studies 260 CASE STUDIES

260

8-1: Sports Reporting: Who Controls the Content? 260 CASE 8-2: Web-Based Ads and the Search Engine’s Search for Financial Stability 263 CASE 8-3: Impotency Drugs and the Promotion of Sexual Pleasure 266 CASE 8-4: The Alumni Magazine: Journalism or Public Relations? 269 CASE 8-5: Product Placement in Prime Time 272 CASE 8-6: Slain Civil Rights Heroes as Commercial Props 274 CASE 8-7: The Junket as a Public Relations Tool 276 Notes 278 CASE

CHAPTER

9 The Media and Antisocial Behavior 282

The Influence of the Media on Behavior 282 Media Lessons and Moral Responsibility 283 Antisocial Acts and Professional Obligations 283 The Media’s Influence on Antisocial Behavior 284 The Media and Civility 293 Uncivil Behavior 293 Hate Speech 294 Dirty Tricks 296 The Media and Antisocial Behavior: Hypothetical Case Studies 297 CASE STUDIES

297

9-1: Animals as Mediated Entertainment: Property or Moral Beings? 297 CASE 9-2: Online Ads for AIDS Drugs and the Promotion of Unsafe Sex 300 CASE 9-3: Investigating Child Pornography: Limits of the First Amendment 303 CASE 9-4: Hiring the Criminal Element for Nation Building: Laytel’s PR Problem 305 CASE 9-5: Sports Trash Talk and the End of Innocence 308 CASE 9-6: Alcohol Ads in the Campus Newspaper 310 CASE 9-7: Online Links to Terrorist Home Pages 313 Notes 316 CASE

CHAPTER

10 Morally Offensive Content: Freedom and Responsibility 319

Society’s Surveillance of Offensive Material 319 Pornography, Indecency, and Moral Responsibility 320

xiii

CONTENTS

Offensive Speech 325 A Matter of Taste: Shocking and Disturbing Visuals 326 The Lingering Legacy of Blasphemy 329 The Case for Moral Limits 330 The Harm Principle 330 The Paternalism Principle 330 The Moralism Principle 331 The Offense Principle 331 The Case against Moral Limits 331 The Search for Standards 332 Morally Offensive Content: Hypothetical Case Studies 333 CASE STUDIES

333

10-1: The College Newspaper Columnist as Resident “Sexpert” 333 CASE 10-2: A Condom Crusade Takes on the Vatican 336 CASE 10-3: Live! From Death Row! 338 CASE 10-4: The Resurrection Conspiracy: Blasphemy or Artistic Freedom? 341 CASE 10-5: Cyberporn and Free Speech 344 CASE 10-6: The Reparations Ad and the Limits of Free Speech 346 CASE 10-7: The Controversial Wedding Photo 349 Notes 351 CASE

CHAPTER

11 Media Content and Juveniles: Special Ethical Concerns 353

Juveniles and Cultural Paternalism 353 Influences on the Juvenile Audience 355 Movies 355 Television 357 Advertising 358 The Juvenile Audience: Hypothetical Case Studies 361

CASE STUDIES

362

11-1: Madison Avenue’s Youngest Consumers 362 CASE 11-2: The Suspended Football Players 364 CASE 11-3: Nottoway Landing’s Cult Following among Young Female Viewers 367 CASE 11-4: Teen Therapy on the Airwaves 370 CASE 11-5: Advertising in the Public Schools 373 CASE 11-6: Video Games and the Promotion of Incivility 375 Notes 378 CASE

CHAPTER

12 Media Practitioners and Social Justice 381

Social Justice as a Dominant Moral Value 381 The Principle of Formal Justice 382 Media Practitioners and Social Justice: Two Views 382 The Libertarian Concept of Justice 383 The Egalitarian Concept and Social Responsibility 384 The Mainstream: A Philosophical Blend 385 Social Justice and Ethical Decision Making 395 The Media and Social Justice: Hypothetical Cases 396 CASE STUDIES CASE CASE CASE

CASE

396

12-1: The Jewish Reporter: Religion and the Workplace 396 12-2: Jury Deliberations as Reality TV 399 12-3: Diversity in the Public Relations Workplace: Race and Social Justice 402 12-4: The African American Publisher and Divided Loyalties 406

xiv

CONTENTS

12-5: International Public Relations, Morality, and Social Justice 408 CASE 12-6: Environmental Justice and Media Access 411 Notes 414 CASE

CHAPTER

13 Stereotypes in Media Communications 417

Stereotypes and Value Formation 417 The Role of Stereotypes in Media Content 420 Racial and Ethnic Minorities 421 Female Stereotypes 424 Sexual Orientation and Stereotypical Depictions 425 Older People 427 People with Disabilities 428 People with Mental Illness 428 Strategies for Confronting Media Stereotyping 429 Stereotypes and the Media: Hypothetical Case Studies 430 CASE STUDIES CASE CASE CASE CASE

13-5: The American Indians’ Battle with the Major Leagues 442 Notes 446

CASE

Epilogue 449 A Couple of Lessons from This Text 449 The State of Media Ethics: Mixed Signals 450 The Newest Frontier: The Ethical Challenges of Cyberspace 451 Toward Greater Ethical Awareness: What Can Be Done? 452 Notes 453 APPENDIX

1 Society of Professional Journalists: Code of Ethics 455

APPENDIX

2 American Advertising Federation: Advertising Principles of American Business 457

APPENDIX

3 Public Relations Society of America: Code of Ethics 458

430

13-1: Dirty Laundry and the Editorial Cartoon 430 13-2: Framing the Gay and Lesbian Issue for the Public Square 433 13-3: Gender Wars and Sexual Stereotyping 436 13-4: The Disabled Athlete in Television Fiction 438

Selected Bibliography 463 Index 467

P R E FA C E

Whenever the term “media ethics” is introduced into polite conversation, someone is sure to ridicule the reference as an oxymoron. Teachers of media ethics are painfully familiar with the looks of amusement or even disbelief when they acknowledge their complicity in what appears to be a frivolous academic pursuit. A sense of purpose can easily be replaced with a feeling of futility, as reflected in this cynical remark from Howard Good, the coordinator of the journalism program at the State University of New York: “You ought to feel sorry for me. I teach an undergraduate course in journalism ethics at a time when ethics seems to matter less and less in the conduct of professional journalists.”1 At first glance, it does appear that we are engaged in a hopeless enterprise. Public opinion polls continue to show that media professionals are held in low esteem. For example, in 1985, 56 percent of the public believed news organizations usually got their facts straight, according to the Pew Research Center. By 2002, that figure had declined to 35 percent. In 1985, the public viewed the media as “moral” by a better than four to one margin; by 2003 public opinion was almost evenly divided on this issue.2 Advertising executives are criticized for manipulating a vulnerable public. Public relations practitioners are depicted as representing special interests and

disseminating disinformation to the detriment of the public interests. The entertainment industry stands accused in the court of public opinion of marketing gratuitous sex and violence to the nation’s emotionally susceptible youth. However, I must respectfully dissent from this cynical view of the value of ethics instruction within the public academy. Skepticism about moral education produces skepticism about moral responsibility, and this in turn produces leaders who lack a moral vision. In fact, the need for a renewed emphasis on ethics education has never been greater. Evidence of a general decline in ethical standards is all around us: political candidates who abandon any pretense of civility and launch “attack ads” to destroy their opponents, athletes whose record-setting performances are tainted by allegations that they used steroids or other performance-enhancing drugs, students expelled from school for cheating, and journalists for respectable news organizations fired for plagiarism and the fabrication of facts. After thirty years of teaching, I am convinced that most students leave school without a meaningful understanding of the ethics of their profession or ethics in general for that matter. This depressing state of affairs calls for a more aggressive posture in the teaching of ethics, not cynical sighs of resignation by those

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xvi

PREFACE

who spend their time chronicling the media’s frequent ethical lapses. My sense of optimism is fueled by the fact that, within the academy, professional schools—law, business, and journalism, for example—have reinvigorated their curricula with a renewed commitment to the teaching of ethics. And ethics, which was once the concern primarily of scholars, philosophers, and theologians, has even taken on a populist quality as the ethical dimensions of virtually any issue of substance are publicly debated. Or to state it in the vernacular, ethics has become a “hot button” issue. Ethics in Media Communications is one small contribution to this pursuit of ethical knowledge. It offers a systematic approach to moral reasoning by combining ethical theory with the practice of ethics by media professionals. A moral-reasoning method is taught in the first three chapters, and in the rest of the book students are presented with hypothetical situations and asked to reach an ethical decision based on the principles they have learned. Some cases, though hypothetical in structure, are based upon real events while others are constructed from whole cloth. The cases in this text represent the wide variety of moral dilemmas confronted by media practitioners. For example, an editor agonizes over whether to publish an embarrassing secret about a local military hero from the Iraqi War and a university’s public relations department must decide whether to disclose a cheating scandal involving several basketball players just prior to the team’s appearance in the NCAA’s “Final Four” tournament. A marketing director for a drug company must confront some ethical questions surrounding the advertising of a new impotency drug. A Hollywood producer considers the ethical dimensions of “exploiting”

animals as actors in the film industry. A search engine operator explores the ethics of deceptive advertising on the unregulated World Wide Web. An editor for a college newspaper must decide whether to continue to run a graphic sex column that has generated a lot of campus controversy. A television news department must decide whether to report the truth about the infant daughter of a married lesbian couple. A public relations practitioner must decide whether political activism constitutes a conflict of interest, and the staff of an African American institute debates the ethics of commercializing the images of slain civil rights leaders in ads designed to counteract the marketing efforts of the tobacco industry within the black community. Some cynics may question the value of using classroom simulations to teach real-world ethics, especially given the fact that media practitioners operate under time deadlines in pressure situations. However, even football teams must endure hours of skull sessions before they do combat on the gridiron, and experience in moral reasoning—even hypothetical experience—will help students prepare for the day when they must make ethical judgments on the job. A final note: I do have some evidence, anecdotal though it may be, that this approach to teaching ethics is effective. After having used the moral-reasoning model in my classes, I have been told by students that it made them more ethically aware of the consequences of their behavior. If this book accomplishes nothing more than that, it will not have been in vain.

Notes 1. Howard Good, “We Need Ethics Examples,” Quill, April 2001, p. 40. 2. See Robert J. Samuelson, “Picking Sides for the News,” Newsweek, June 28, 2004, p. 37.

I N T R O D U C T I O N

The study of ethics may be new and unfamiliar to you. Although most of us are obedient disciples of the values we learned in childhood, we spend few of our waking hours pondering the importance of these moral rules and how they might lead to a more virtuous life. Prohibitions against lying, stealing, and cheating, for example, are platitudes to which we pay homage, but we don’t always comply with them. Our ethical conduct is often “situational” because we have no comprehensive moral framework to guide us in making judgments. In short, we lack experience in moral reasoning. Public opinion polls continue to reflect a general wariness of the ethical deportment of media practitioners, the consequence of which has been an erosion of credibility. Mass communication educators have responded to this public impeachment by reinvigorating their curricula with required ethics courses or in some cases an infusion of ethics instruction across the curriculum. The primary goal is to initiate a moral discourse among faculty and students. This book is designed to engage you in this conversation through the process of moral reasoning. Of course, reading this book will not make you an ethically mature individual. But it will provide a blueprint for improving your ethical awareness. Nowhere is the need for moral reasoning more

acute than in journalism and other areas of mass communications. The polls continue to show an erosion of credibility and confidence in the mass media, some of which is no doubt due to the public’s perception that the media ship is sailing without a moral compass. Because the frenzied environment of the newsroom or the advertising agency is no place to start philosophizing about moral reasoning, the classroom must serve as our point of departure. The exercises in this book represent a cross section of moral dilemmas confronted by media practitioners; you may encounter some of these on your first job or later in your career. If so, you will be called upon to make ethical judgments. The practice in problem solving and critical thinking afforded by these hypothetical cases will make you a more confident decision maker. Before confronting the dilemmas posed by these case studies, however, you must be familiar with the terrain of moral philosophy. Thus, Ethics in Media Communications: Cases and Controversies is divided into two parts. Part 1, Foundations and Principles, is devoted primarily to a consideration of moral development and the formulation of moral rules and principles within a social context. The third chapter of Part 1 also draws on a fusion of important concepts from moral philosophy, media

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xviii

INTRODUCTION

practice, and critical thinking to construct a moral-reasoning model that will be used as the blueprint for analyzing the hypothetical cases in Part 2. The chapters in Part 2, Cases in Media Communications, present some of the major issues confronting media practitioners. The theme underlying this approach is that these issues affect all areas of mass communications. For example, moral principles involving truth telling and deception apply to journalists, advertisers, and public relations executives alike (as well as to society at large). Likewise, conflicts of interest are certainly not the exclusive preserve of journalists. The hypothetical cases involve ethical dilemmas confronted by both lower-echelon employees and management personnel. In many cases you will be asked to assume the role of a management-level decision maker. Some may question the value of this kind of exercise because, as a future media practitioner, at least at the start you are likely to identify more closely with rank-and-file employees. However, roleplaying can be an effective means of stepping into another person’s shoes. By so doing, you should at least come to appreciate the management perspective on ethical issues, even if you do not agree with it. This ability might prove valuable once you enter the job market. Also, keep in mind that the real purpose of this text is to expose you to the process of moral reasoning and not just to discuss ethical issues. To this end, it makes little difference what your role as

ethical decision maker is as long as your judgment is based on sound moral principles. In the book’s Epilogue, I provide a final comment on the current state of the practice of media ethics. There is also some crystal-ball gazing and a look at the future of the teaching of media ethics. Ethical studies have a long and honorable tradition in programs of journalism and mass communications. Ethics in Media Communications is designed to help you become part of that tradition. One final caveat before you confront the material in this text: Some ethicists and futurists have noted, correctly, the ethical challenges posed by the unregulated World Wide Web, and this text deals with these concerns. However, there is a tendency toward some hysteria each time that a new technology becomes available, leaving in its wake the mistaken impression that the ethical issues posed by that technology are unique. The digital manipulation of a news photo, for example, does not alter the fact that deception is involved, and deception is an enduring issue in the practice of journalism. Likewise, there is no doubt that concerns such as invasion of privacy, piracy of intellectual property, and the dissemination of false information are exacerbated on the Internet. But the technology has not altered the basic ethical issues. For example, the theft of intellectual property is wrong, regardless of whether it occurs in cyberspace or through more conventional lowtech means. Thus, the values discussed in this text are timeless and do not change with the introduction of new technologies.

ETHICS IN MEDIA COMMUNICATIONS

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FOUNDATIONS AND PRINCIPLES The first part of Ethics in Media Communications lays a foundation for the study of moral philosophy (ethics) and moral reasoning. To accomplish this ambitious objective, I have divided Part 1 into three chapters. Chapter 1, entitled “Ethics and Moral Development,” begins with an overview of ethics as a subject worthy of exploration. It then documents the value of ethics instruction from the standpoint of both intellectual enrichment and professional practice. This first chapter also discusses how ethical values and attitudes are formed and how moral values sometimes collide, producing a crisis of ethical uncertainty. The theory underlying Chapter 1 is that an understanding of one’s own ethical development——a development that should continue throughout one’s lifetime——is a prerequisite for approaching the process of moral reasoning with any degree of confidence. Chapter 2 focuses on the relationship between ethics and society. The need for a system of ethics is first established, followed by an examination of the requirements for a cohesive system of societal ethical standards. Because our ethical behavior is based, in part, on the rules and norms of society at large, the concept of moral duty and its relationship to virtuous behavior are examined. Chapter 2 also delves into the sometimes confusing relationship between law (what we are allowed to do or prohibited from doing) and ethics (what we should do). The chapter concludes with a discussion of the notion of social responsibility and how individual standards of moral conduct are reflected in media institutions’ corporate attitudes toward the public interest. Chapter 2 also considers the impact of new technologies and the information superhighway on media ethics as we begin the twenty-first century. Chapter 3 provides the connection between ethics and moral reasoning. It examines, among other things, the philosophical foundations of moral theory and the approaches to ethical decision making that have had the most profound impact on moral philosophy in Western civilization. These theories are then combined with the principles of critical thinking to develop a “model” for moral reasoning (the SAD Formula) that will be employed for analyzing the ethical dilemmas posed by the hypothetical cases at the end of Chapters 4 through 13.

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1 Ethics and Moral Development THE STUDY OF ETHICS: AN OVERVIEW

defensible courses of action. However, Jayson Blair’s behavior was indefensible under any standard of responsible journalism. Ethical dilemmas are all around us. They are woven into the fabric of everyday life, persistently challenging our ethical sensibilities. Consider, for example, the following questions: Should I accept a music CD from a classmate illegally downloaded from the Internet, when to do so implicitly validates my classmate’s behavior? Do I have a duty to report a crime I witness? Is physician-assisted suicide a moral affront to the sanctity of life? Is it ethically permissible for a TV reporter to use a hidden camera to document unlawful activity or scandalous behavior? Does Hollywood have a moral obligation to refrain from depictions of gratuitous sex and violence? Most of us could probably provide an answer to such questions based on our feelings about an issue. But could we defend our decision based upon some established ethical principle? This is what the study of ethics is all about—learning to justify publicly our ethical choices based upon sound ethical precepts. A course in ethics can provide the tools for making difficult moral choices, in both our personal lives and our professional lives. Through the teaching of ethical principles and moral reasoning, educational institutions can fulfill

On May 11, 2003, readers of the New York Times were stunned by this front-page confession of journalistic transgression: Times Reporter Who Resigned Leaves Long Trail of Deception. In an unprecedented 13,900-word article, the paper then proceeded to document in painful and intricate detail how 27-year-old Jayson Blair had committed what it described as “journalistic fraud” in at least half the articles he produced as a national affairs reporter. “The widespread fabrication and plagiarism,” lamented the Times, “represent a profound betrayal of trust and a low point in the 152-year history of the newspaper.” 1 The Jayson Blair affair—which will be examined in greater detail in Chapter 4—undoubtedly represented, as the Times itself acknowledged, the nadir of the paper’s long and proud history, but its dramatic and highly publicized exposition obscures the less sensational ethical challenges confronted by media practitioners on a daily basis. This event, as embarrassing as it was to the nation’s newspaper of record, did not represent a true ethical dilemma because dilemmas involve moral struggles and reflection in an effort to do the right thing. Ethical dilemmas engage the conscience, which must frequently respond to two or more competing and morally

2 Copyright 2006 Cengage Learning. All Rights Reserved. May not be copied, scanned, or duplicated, in whole or in part. Due to electronic rights, some third party content may be suppressed from the eBook and/or eChapter(s). Editorial review has deemed that any suppressed content does not materially affect the overall learning experience. Cengage Learning reserves the right to remove additional content at any time if subsequent rights restrictions require it.

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one of their historically important responsibilities, the “cultivation of morality.”2 But what exactly is ethics, and how does it differ from morals? Moral is derived from the Latin mos, moris, meaning (among other things) “way of life” or “conduct.” It is often associated with religious beliefs and personal behavior. Ethics, on the other hand, is derived from the Greek ethos, meaning “custom,” “usage,” or “character.” It is often thought of as a rational process applying established principles when two moral obligations collide. The most difficult ethical dilemmas occur when conflicts arise between two “right” moral obligations. Thus, ethics often involves the balancing of competing rights when there is no “correct” answer. A case in point is a student who promises to remain silent when a classmate confides that he has cheated. If a teacher attempts to solicit testimony from that student regarding her friend’s nefarious behavior, the student must then weigh the value of loyalty to the friend (a moral virtue) against commitment to the truth (another moral virtue). Despite this historical distinction between morals and ethics, in recent years many commentators have merged the two concepts to such an extent that they have become virtually indistinguishable. Ethics, in fact, is the branch of philosophy that deals with the moral component of human life and is usually referred to as moral philosophy. This semantical alliance between ethics and morals is not altogether an unwelcome development and reflects the approach used in this text. Thus, the terms ethics and morals will often be used interchangeably. This strategy is particularly useful in the study of media ethics (or any other profession, for that matter) because it reflects the growing realization that professional ethical behavior cannot be divorced entirely from the moral standards of society at large. A public relations practitioner, for example, who deliberately distorts the truth is violating a fundamental principle that has its genesis both in the moral systems of various religions and ancient ethical canons.

Ethics reflects a society’s notions about the rightness or wrongness of an act and the distinctions between virtue and vice. To accuse someone of laziness or incompetence is not to accuse that person of immoral conduct. On the other hand, such actions as lying, stealing, and cheating do imply the violation of ethical norms. Thus, ethics is often described as a set of principles or a code of moral conduct. Ethics involves the evaluation and application of those moral values that a society or culture has accepted as its norms. To suggest that individuals should set their own standards of conduct is to advocate ethical anarchy. One may derive a certain amount of satisfaction from adhering to a personal code of conduct, but the violation of this code does not necessarily raise serious ethical questions. The study of ethics in the Western world began nearly 2,500 years ago when Socrates, according to his faithful student Plato, roamed Greece probing and challenging his brethren’s ideas about such abstract concepts as justice and goodness. This Socratic method of inquiry, consisting of relentless questions and answers about the nature of moral conduct, has proved to be a durable commodity, continuing to touch off heated discussions about morality in barrooms and classrooms alike. Thus, the primary ingredient of ethical debate is conflict, because even within a given society or culture opinions can differ on standards of proper moral conduct.3 This moral diversity can be intellectually stimulating and personally enriching, as depicted colorfully in this editorial comment from the Quill, the official publication of the Society of Professional Journalists: Ethical judgments are like that. No matter who makes them, they are seldom easy, and they are almost certain to strike some of us as perfectly proper while others regard them as wrongheaded, stupid, unfair, and—possibly—as evidence of intellectual and/or moral decay. All of which is a wonderful thing. Differing definitions of ethical behavior help keep our minds

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awake and our spirits inflamed. If everyone agreed on all ethical principles, life might be more orderly, but it surely would be more boring.4

Discussions of the ethical behavior of media practitioners are usually anything but boring. The study of ethics in mass communications is a noble heir to the Socratic tradition, because the activities of journalists, advertisers, and public relations executives are being subjected to critical inquiry as never before, even among their fellows. We are in a constant state of agitation about the moral dimension of our lives. Our consciences tell us, often with brutal candor, that there is a real and important difference between actions that are right and those that are wrong. The knowledge of ethical principles and how they are derived can make a difference in our behavior. However, the goal is not to make ethical decisions with which everyone agrees or, for that matter, to make decisions that are necessarily in keeping with societal expectations. The most challenging ethical dilemmas involve the balancing of competing interests when there is no “right” answer. Nevertheless, such moral reflection should result in at least morally defensible decisions even if those decisions prove to be unpopular. Ethics instruction refines our ability to make critical judgments and to defend those decisions on some rational basis. For example, journalists, when delving into others’ private lives, often justify their decision to publish embarrassing revelations on the ground of “the people’s right to know.” The problem with this kind of rejoinder is that it doesn’t answer the questions of what the people have a right to know and why the public has a right to this kind of information in the first place.

The Three Branches of Ethics Ethics, as a formal field of inquiry, attempts to put such questions into perspective and, in so doing, includes three different but conceptually related enterprises: metaethics, normative ethics, and applied ethics.5 Metaethics is concerned

with the study of the characteristics, or nature, of ethics. It also examines the meaning of such abstract terms as good, right, justice, and fairness and attempts to identify those values that are the best moral values. Metaethics is not concerned with making moral judgments but instead attempts to distinguish ethical values from those that involve merely matters of taste or attitude. For example, ethicists have identified a commitment to truth as a moral good, and this value underlies many of our societal norms. It is also the foundation of many media codes and standards of behavior, but it remains for media practitioners to adapt this rather abstract concept to specific moral dilemmas. Metaethics provides the broad foundation for ethical decision making, but it does not provide guideposts for how to get from point A to point B. When viewers or readers describe a news report as unfair, are they referring to an ethical concern or merely a matter of taste? Likewise, a media critic’s description of a TV series as “good drama” does not necessarily denote any observations concerning the program’s moral stature. It is the function of metaethics to define such vague concepts in ethical terms, providing precision of meaning so that all members of society can start with a level playing field in reaching moral judgments. Normative ethics, on the other hand, is concerned with developing general theories, rules, and principles of moral conduct. The recent preoccupation with the ethical malaise within our society and the demise of traditional values centers on some of the fundamental societal principles of moral behavior—that is, normative ethics. These theoretical rules and principles are the ethical markers of any civilized society, guideposts designed to bring moral order out of chaos. They provide the foundation for ethical decision making in the real world. Some of society’s prohibitions against lying, cheating, and stealing flow from our concern with normative ethics. For example, a media institution’s proscription against reporters’ employing deception to get a news story derives

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from the general societal norm concerning lying. Nevertheless, under deadline and competitive pressures, journalists are sometimes tempted to abandon such broad principles because they want an exclusive article or perhaps because they truly believe that the public interest will be served by ferreting out the story, even at the expense of violating a fundamental rule of ethical behavior. When moral norms undergo their baptism of fire in the real world, the media practitioner enters the practical realm of applied ethics. Applied ethics is really the problem-solving branch of moral philosophy. The task here is to use the insights derived from metaethics and the general principles and rules of normative ethics in addressing specific ethical issues and concrete cases. Suppose that a reporter is asked by an attorney representing a man accused of murder to reveal the names of the sources of information for an article that the reporter has written about the case. The reporter has promised the sources to keep their identities secret. However, the attorney believes that such information could lead to his client’s acquittal. One rule, or societal norm, in this case suggests that we should always keep our promises, because to do otherwise would violate the trust on which individual relationships are established. On the other hand, justice requires that we ensure a defendant a fair trial. In this case these two rather abstract principles would be on a collision course, but applied ethics is designed to guide us through this moral thicket by confronting issues within a real-world environment. There are not always right or wrong answers, but there should always be “wellreasoned” ones. One reason, perhaps, that so many people are troubled and preoccupied with their moral existence is that they are unable to apply their beliefs to life’s relentless barrage of ethical dilemmas.6 Applied ethics is the vital link between theory and practice, the real litmus test of ethical decision making. Professional and occupational ethics reside here, and it is with

this branch of ethics that the cases in Part 2 are concerned.

Ethical Communication The study of ethics would be futile if it did not promote understanding, and understanding can best be achieved by examining any ethical situation from the perspective of the following communications process:7 A moral agent (communicator) with a particular motive commits an act (either verbal or nonverbal) within a specific context directed at a particular individual or audience usually with some consequence. Moral agents are the ones who make ethical judgments, regardless of whether they are acting on their own volition or as institutional representatives. All communicators become moral agents when they confront the ethical dilemmas of their professions and must bear full responsibility for their actions. An understanding of the role of the moral agent is essential because ethical standards often vary according to social roles. For example, most reporters and editors, because of their roles as agents for the public, could not in good conscience become politically active because to do so would compromise their independence. Those who fail to observe this journalistic axiom may quickly fall from grace in the eyes of their employers. Such was the fate of Sandra Nelson, a reporter for Tacoma, Washington’s News Tribune who picketed for abortion rights outside a local hospital and campaigned on behalf of civil rights for gays and lesbians. Despite warnings from her superiors, Nelson continued her off-duty political activities and was reassigned from her position as education reporter to swing shift editor.8 However, depending on their specific professional duties and the organizations for which they work, journalists have different obligations in this respect. A case in point is the editor of a politically conservative opinion magazine who is active in Republican party politics. The contract between such organs and their readers is different from the

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one between a general circulation newspaper and its audience.9 Ethical decisions are always made within a specific context, which includes the political, social, and cultural climate. Although the context does not necessarily determine the outcome of an ethical judgment, it exerts an influence that cannot be ignored. In fact, contextual factors often create the internal conflict that brings our conscience’s admonition of what we ought to do into moral combat with what is the popular thing to do. We must also examine the motives of the moral agent, because good motives can sometimes be used to justify what appears to be an unethical act. For example, a reporter may use deception to uncover governmental corruption, a journalistic technique most of us would be willing to tolerate (or perhaps even applaud) in the name of the public good. However, motives must not be examined based strictly on their popularity or public acceptability; they should be viewed in conjunction with the consequences of the action. National leaders would not be justified in carrying out a policy of genocide, even if it were ratified by their constituents. The act is the behavioral component of the communications process. It is what draws our attention to the actions of others and may lead us to describe their actions as either ethical or unethical. These acts may be verbal, as when a reporter lies to a news source, or nonverbal, as when an advertiser omits product information vital to informed consumer choice. An ethical situation should also be evaluated in terms of the moral agent’s relationship to the individual(s) or audience most directly affected by the ethical judgment. For example, a magazine that appeals to a sophisticated audience might feel comfortable with including a quote containing offensive language, whereas a local community newspaper might sanitize such a quote. Or an advertiser that markets its products to children might employ less aggressive sales techniques than one that appeals to an adult audience. Likewise, the movie ratings

system and the TV networks’ program advisories, whatever their shortcomings may be, are a tacit recognition that these industries have a duty to alert the audience to morally offensive content. Finally, ethical judgments produce consequences—either positive or negative—for both the moral agent and others who may be touched by the agent’s actions. These consequences may range from a stimulation of conscience to public approbation or disapproval of the moral agent’s behavior. Sometimes these consequences are instantaneous and unambiguous, as when a newspaper’s readers complain about a graphic photo of charred bodies on the paper’s front page. But consequences may also be more subtle and longterm and usually form the foundations of individual and institutional reputations. In an ideal world, moral agents could know the consequences in advance and act accordingly. But too often the consequences are either unanticipated or diverge from the expectations of the moral agent. Media practitioners should exercise extreme caution when their actions are likely to result in harmful consequences, particularly to innocent third parties. Julio Granados would be the first to agree with this moral admonition. Julio Granados was a Mexican immigrant working at the El Mandado market in Raleigh, North Carolina. Gigi Anders, a reporter for the Raleigh News & Observer, produced a profile of Granados’s life that she felt would be a tribute to all of the hardworking Hispanics who had migrated into the Raleigh community. Anders produced a two-page article that appeared in the paper’s Sunday edition, a touching account of Granados’s lonely life in America and the financial support that he provided for his family in Mexico. The article also mentioned his undocumented status. Agents of the Immigration and Naturalization Service (INS) in Charlotte read the article and decided to arrest Granados.10 Anders claimed she warned Granados that he might be deported if INS agents read the article. Granados disagreed and later told the

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paper that he had given the reporter permission to use his name but not the fact that he was here without the proper papers. Regardless, the Hispanic community was incensed and blamed the News & Observer for Granados’s arrest, accusing the paper of “irresponsible journalism” that “destroyed this young man’s life.” After a rather spirited discussion among newsroom executives and staffers, executive editor Anders Gyllenhaal later acknowledged that they had not fully thought through the potential consequences of such a detailed article.11 State government editor Linda Williams was less charitable. “We’re telling the public we’re neutral, we can’t take sides,” she said. “I think we erred by including all that information. We actually look like an arm of the INS.”12

THE VALUE OF ETHICS EDUCATION Can ethics be taught? This is a difficult and controversial question but must be confronted directly. There are two schools of thought on this matter. Cynics contend that ethics is not a proper subject for study at all, because it raises questions without providing clear answers. Besides, the skeptics argue, knowledge of ethical principles and norms does not necessarily produce a more moral person. On the contrary, in this view, when confronted with real ethical dilemmas, people will ignore whatever wisdom was dispensed in an ethics course and act in their own self-interest. And, in all candor, there is some credible evidence, spanning the last fifty years, that character education classes and conventional religious instruction programs apparently have no significant influence on moral conduct.13 Skeptics also argue that children’s moral development is completed before they reach school and thus that such character education classes can have little effect. This view assumes, of course, that moral maturity, unlike psychological and physical maturity, ends at a very early age, a dubious proposition

at best. Indeed, we are truly a work in progress, ethically speaking; age is no barrier to the cultivation of moral virtue or the accumulation of moral wisdom. The cynical view is represented by the anecdote about the college student at a major university who was found guilty of plagiarism. Because this was his first offense, the student was sentenced to enroll in an ethics course taught by the Philosophy Department. He was finally expelled three months later, however, when he was caught cheating on an ethics exam. Media practitioners, who are often skeptical of anything that smacks of ivory-tower elitism, have another complaint about ethics courses. Classroom discussions and simulations, they argue, cannot duplicate the frenzied pace and pressures of the real world. They have a point. But even military units must drill before they engage in actual combat, and the fact that battlefield conditions are not identical to maneuvers does not diminish the value of those simulations. Some media institutions have altered their thinking in this matter and are sending employees to seminars to increase their ethical awareness. Considering that the media often make pronouncements on the ethics of others, such as politicians and business executives, it follows that their own moral conduct must be sound. Obviously, ethics cannot be injected with a hypodermic needle, and there are no guarantees that formal instruction in moral philosophy will turn sinners into saints. But neither are there any guarantees that the lessons learned in history and political science courses will produce better citizens or serve the cause of democracy. The other school of thought, represented by the optimistic proponents of formal ethics training, holds that ethics is a subject like math, physics, or history, with its own set of problems and distinctive methods of solving them.14 In this view there is a body of moral knowledge that awaits the ethically inquisitive mind. Thus, the study of ethics is the key to understanding moral conduct and to improving the human

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spiritual condition. Surely, the optimists contend, this objective is worthy of attention in academic curricula. Socrates reflects this view when he remarks rather bluntly in Plato’s Apology that “the unexamined life is not worth living.” However, even Socrates apparently doubted at one time that morality was teachable.15 The persistent public criticism of the ethical standards of the professions in general, and the media in particular, compels us to accept the optimistic view of ethics instruction. We have little choice but to ponder, in a systematic and rational way, the ethical judgments being made in the nation’s newsrooms, advertising agencies, public relations firms, Hollywood production studios, and by website operators. The media, it is safe to say, are operating in a hostile environment, although the polls differ on exactly how deeply public confidence has eroded. Media practitioners are better educated and better trained than ever before. But many emerge from their college experience ill prepared to cope with the ethical exigencies of the real world. It is advantageous to the college student to first confront the tough ethical calls in the classroom, where they can be rationally discussed, rather than under deadline pressure later. Good professional ethics is a cherished commodity and builds respect among one’s colleagues. Thus, the value of at least some formal ethics instruction would appear to be clear.

Contents of a Course in Media Ethics What should one expect from a course in media ethics? An instructor probably cannot teach moral conduct in the sense that learning (or memorizing) ethical principles will produce a more virtuous person. But ethics instruction can promote moral conduct by providing the means to make ethical judgments, defend them, and then criticize the results of one’s choices.16 This process is known as moral reasoning, which is the primary focus of Chapter 3. Our expectations should remain fairly modest, but a course in media ethics can have

several realistic and practical goals. The following five educational objectives are drawn from a study published by the Hastings Center, a pioneer in the ethics of medicine, biology, and the behavioral sciences.17 Stimulating the Moral Imagination. A course in media ethics should promote the notion that moral choices constitute an important part of human existence and that the consequences of ethical decisions can lead to either suffering or happiness. Stimulating the moral imagination develops an emotional empathy with others that is not elicited by discussing ethical issues in abstract terms. Sometimes our moral imagination needs gentle prodding; at other times it needs shock therapy. Recognizing Ethical Issues. Although most of us would like to believe that we know right from wrong, we do not always recognize the moral dimensions of a situation. Or at other times we simply allow our prejudices or selfinterests to betray our moral compass. For example, in the fall of 1999 El Nuevo Herald, the Miami Herald ’s Spanish-language newspaper, apparently saw no ethical problem in sacrificing its journalistic independence to the anti-Castro feeling in Miami. According to the Columbia Journalism Review, during a press conference to highlight atrocities against American prisoners of war in Vietnam by Cuban agents who now hold important positions in Castro’s government, retired Air Force Colonel Ed Hubbard, survivor of torture at the hands of those agents, recommended that the United States establish relations with Fidel Castro. The atmosphere in the room was tense, and the press conference ended abruptly. The Herald covered the story by ignoring Colonel Hubbard’s “heretical” remarks.18 Anticipation of possible dilemmas is an important objective of ethics education and the moral reasoning process. Of course, some ethical strictures are subject to change. The standards of professional behavior, like the sands of time, are constantly shifting as media practitioners realign their moral compasses to account for

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changing circumstances. For example, there was a time when reporters, underpaid and overworked, routinely accepted gifts and gratuities from news sources. Today, this practice is generally frowned on, although there is still some disagreement over where to draw the line.19 Media professionals, like alcoholics, must first learn to acknowledge the problem before they can do something about it. Training in moral reasoning can assist all of us in recognizing the ethical implications of the decisions we are about to make. As Professor Louis Hodges of Washington and Lee University observed in noting the long-term benefits of formal ethics training: A careful and systematic classroom experience with ethics can, I am convinced, be helpful. It does so by calling the mind’s attention to important ethical issues, to the virtues, and, through cases, specifically to the needs of the audience. And that can help redeem the moral force of the profession.20

Developing Analytical Skills. The ability to think critically about ethical issues is at the heart of the decision-making process. This goal involves examining fundamental abstract concepts such as justice, moral duty, and respect for others to see how they can be applied consistently and coherently to real-life situations. Critical examination of the arguments and justifications used to support one’s moral decisions is also an important consideration.21 The ability to reason is essential to problem solving in mathematics and the behavioral sciences; the same can be said of moral philosophy. Case studies and classroom simulations, in which students role-play moral agents in a hypothetical or real ethical situation, can be effective tools in developing analytical skills. Eliciting a Sense of Moral Obligation and Personal Responsibility. President Harry Truman had a sign on his desk that said, “The buck stops here.” The language was simple, the meaning profound. With these four words Truman was telling anyone who cared to listen

that he accepted, without reservation, responsibility for all actions of the executive branch. He was also recognizing a simple moral truth: Responsibility cannot be delegated. As moral agents we are all accountable for our actions and should not blame others for our ethical lapses. Media practitioners often emphasize freedom at the expense of responsibility. A course in ethics can redress that imbalance. Tolerating Disagreement. Before moral agents can make informed ethical judgments, they must take into account and respect other points of view. A rational decision is based on a defensible moral foundation, ample deliberation, and consideration of the available options. As James Jaska and Michael Pritchard observed in an illuminating discussion on ethics in communications: “Tolerating differences in choice and refraining from automatically labeling opposite choices as immoral are essential. At the same time, seeking exact points of difference can help solve disagreements by eliminating false distinctions and evasions.”22 We live in an open and diverse society, and wisdom and reason suggest that we consult the moral views of others before rendering our personal judgments.23

Developing Ethical Fitness Assume that you have read this entire text, comprehended all of the ethical principles, and agonized over the dilemmas posed by the various case studies. Assume further that you have excelled on all of the class assignments and examinations and for your diligence and hard work you have received an “A” in your course on media ethics. You might be forgiven a certain amount of vanity for your superior academic achievement, but does this certify you as a more virtuous person than when you enrolled in the course? Absolutely not! This text and any formal instruction in ethics are merely a point of departure. Through the formal experience of agonizing over the ethical dilemmas posed in hypothetical cases you can begin to cultivate your ethical

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awareness and to understand the moral reasoning process, as described more fully in Chapter 3. But just as watching videotapes will not make you physically fit or reading a book on the fundamentals of football will not make you a gridiron great, reading a text on media ethics will not make you a more virtuous individual. Athletes excel because of years of continuous practice. And so it is with character training and the learning of moral virtues. The only way to be a more ethical person is to do (that is, practice) ethics. Rushworth Kidder, a journalist and the founder of the Institute for Global Ethics, refers to this as “ethical fitness.”24 Virtuosity doesn’t emerge from the endless philosophical debates about ethical issues or from analyzing a dilemma to death. Ethical fitness derives from confronting the tough moral issues of everyday existence and becoming an active participant in their resolution. To be ethically fit, according to Kidder’s sage advice, you’ve “got to be mentally engaged” and “committed through the feelings as well as through the intellect.”25 Kidder’s point is worth pausing over for a moment. Although the intellect is essential to rendering sound moral judgments (and the focus of this text is on moral reasoning), it is insufficient for the truly ethically fit individual. Moral decision making also requires compassion—or in Kidder’s words, “feelings.” Without compassion, ethical decisions might be reduced to sterile exercises in logic. But ethical fitness requires a holistic approach to character building in which both our intellectual and emotional aspects are fully engaged. Of course, our reason and emotions often disagree. An editor, for example, considering whether to publish gruesome photos of American war dead is torn between the journalistic value of newsworthiness and compassion for the families of the victims, as well as the sensibilities of the readers. Training for ethical fitness doesn’t begin when you accept your first job. Although professions do impose certain unique duties on their members, what is often overlooked is that

professional responsibilities cannot be completely divorced from society’s fundamental values. The ethical decision-making process does not differ according to context or environment. In other words, there is not one ethical system for media practitioners and another for everyone else. The cultivation of moral virtue—that is, the ability to distinguish good from evil and to make ethically defensible decisions—must be a lifelong commitment that at once engages our intellectual, intuitive, and emotional faculties. Ethics cannot be turned on and off according to the situation. The principles and case studies in this text are only catalysts. However, they will acquire real meaning through practicing and thinking about what you have learned in the tranquility of the academic setting. That’s how you become ethically fit!

THE FIRST PRINCIPLES OF MORAL VIRTUE Moral knowledge, which is indispensable for ethical fitness, does not consist of memorizing a set of ethical principles. It entails, as suggested in the preceding section, having the capacity to distinguish good and bad behavior and the moral will to apply this knowledge to real ethical dilemmas. There is no greater joy than the conviction that we have done the right thing, even if it flies in the face of popular sentiment. Ethical fitness can never result in human perfectibility, which of course is always elusive. Therefore, we must settle for a more modest assessment of moral virtue. Any discussion of the “ethical markers” of a morally virtuous individual could engage us intellectually for quite some time, but there are three that are perhaps fundamental to all others: credibility, integrity, and civility.

Credibility Credibility is discussed first because without it the other virtues have no meaning. To be credible is to be believable and worthy of trust. From

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an ethical perspective, credibility is the point of departure in our dealings with others and our full membership in the moral community. Credibility is a fragile commodity, and in today’s highly competitive, materialistic, and permissive environment its preservation is sometimes tedious. Nevertheless, our faith in credibility as an energizing force must remain undiminished because the fact remains that a lack of trust can be deleterious to both individuals and corporate enterprises. Such was the case when two reporters resigned from the Salt Lake City Tribune after admitting they sold unpublished scandalous rumors about the Elizabeth Smart kidnapping case to the National Enquirer for $20,000. The editor, who also resigned after twelve years at the helm of the Tribune, commented on this betrayal of trust in an article published in Quill, the official magazine of the The Society of Professional Journalists. “I feel saddened and angry that these two reporters damaged themselves, their colleagues and the reputation of The Tribune with their conduct,” he said. “My trust in reporters was betrayed. I relied too much on that instinct.”26 In still another ethical breach, two TV stations in San Antonio, Texas, interrupted regular programming to report that shots had been fired and children injured at a local elementary school. As it turned out there was no shooting at the school; the stations had reacted precipitously to police and emergency services scanner traffic concerning an investigation into a shooting involving a school custodian that occurred far from the school. Despite some efforts to verify the story, these stations continued to broadcast erroneous information, “hyped the story with breaking news live coverage, and scared the daylights out of many parents and other citizens.”27 In still another ethically dubious decision, Boston TV station WCVB may have lost some credibility points in early 2001 when it began running a promotional campaign featuring well-known political figures. Having politicians praise the station for its local programming

raised some ethical concerns, according to Broadcasting & Cable magazine, about the station’s ability “to be independent of the influence of prominent newsmakers who endorse the station.”28 At least since the 1960s the term credibility gap has become synonymous with a lack of confidence in statements made by government officials, corporations, and cultural institutions. But the media are certainly not immune from the ravages of this credibility gap, a fact sometimes reflected in public opinion polls. Fortunately, such instances as those recorded earlier are rare, but just one well-publicized ethical indiscretion can undermine respect from an already skeptical public.

Integrity Integrity is also crucial to moral maturation. True ethical fitness demands integrity. In his recently published book on the subject, Stephen Carter defines integrity as “(1) discerning what is right and what is wrong; (2) acting on what you have discerned, even at personal cost; and (3) saying openly that you are acting on your understanding of right from wrong.”29 The willingness to take responsibility for the consequences of one’s actions must also be added to this list. In other words, people of integrity must be proactive in determining the proper course of action, must be willing to act on the results of that intellectual and critical investigation, and must then be willing to live with the results of their behavior. These ideas are the heart of the moral reasoning process that will be discussed in Chapter 3. Those with integrity not only are committed to discovering what is good; they spend much of their time attempting to improve the moral ecology. An opponent of physician-assisted suicide, for example, who honestly believes, after much soul-searching, that any form of euthanasia is immoral should actively oppose legislative attempts to legalize such activities. Similarly, a Madison Avenue advertising executive who is

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concerned about the persistent problem of unfair gender stereotyping in TV commercials should work within the industry to eliminate such stereotypes. In other words, moral agents that possess integrity practice what they preach. They try to make a difference. Of course, people of good will can disagree passionately about the correct course of action and still maintain their integrity. News executives, for example, might aggressively defend their institutions’ policies against political activism among their reporters, even of those not involved in the coverage of such events, on the grounds that such partisanship compromises the news division’s independence and integrity. Reporters, on the other hand, might argue that political activism does not involve a conflict of interest unless a journalist is actively campaigning on behalf of a cause that she is covering. Both sides maintain their integrity as long as they think critically about their position, are truly convinced of the ethical strength of their views (that is, they are based on sound moral principles), and are willing to publicly defend their position.

Civility To the morally untutored, civility might appear to be out of place in a discussion of ethics. The term often conjures up images of Victorian-era manners and etiquette, long since abandoned by an increasingly permissive society. But though it is true that manners certainly matter, civility as used here has a much broader connotation. Civility might be described as the “first principle” of morality because it encompasses an attitude of self-sacrifice and respect for others. These ideas are reflected in all of the major religions of the world. Whereas the value of civility can be traced to ancient Greece, its contemporary formulation dates from the sixteenth century when scholar Desiderus Erasmus wrote the first important work on the subject. Civility, in Erasmus’s view, is what enables us to live together as a society.30

It embraces a set of rules, often based on convention, that provides the tools for interacting with others.31 When projected against the tapestry of the various media enterprises, we can see the necessity for some consensus on rules of conduct that enhance the media’s public credibility and esteem. If one examines closely the industry codes, for example, fundamental to all of them is respect for the reader, listener, or viewer. Respect and self-sacrifice, then, are the energizing forces of the moral virtue we refer to as civility. Morality involves taking into account the interests of others; an entirely selfish person cannot, by definition, make ethical judgments.32 This is not to suggest that we should never be guided by self-interest. A request for a pay raise is obviously motivated by self-concern. Even striving to become a more virtuous individual involves a degree of self-interest. But one can achieve this goal only by factoring a concern for others into the decision-making equation. Of course, not everyone agrees with this view. There are those who feel that self-interest should always be the primary determinant in choosing which course of action to follow. Supporters of this belief are known as egoists. Egoists do not suggest that we totally ignore the impact of our behavior on others. After all, we often benefit when positive things happen to others. For example, when a business profits economically because of its record of public service to the community, the employees are likely to benefit through fatter paychecks. But egoists are always motivated by long-term selfinterests, even if they have to resort occasionally to altruism to reach their goal. Media practitioners are often viewed by the public as egoists, and this view has precipitated a crisis of confidence.33 Attitudes concerning the media are increasingly negative, prompted no doubt by the perception that journalists will leave no stone unturned, even if it is an unethical stone, to uncover a story and that advertising and public relations executives are more interested in manipulating public opinion and consumer tastes than serving the public interest.

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When referring to the news business, for example, phrases such as ratings war, sleaze TV, and tabloid journalism are now a familiar part of the audience’s lexicon. In the competition of the market, sensational, shocking, and scandalous revelations have increasingly replaced serious and significant intelligence on the media’s journalistic agenda. This trend is reflected in such media circuses as the coverage of the O. J. Simpson trial, coverage of the allegations of President Clinton’s sexual relationship with a White House intern, and the media spectacle surrounding Elian Gonzalez, the 6-year-old Cuban child who was rescued off the coast of Florida and became the center of an international child custody battle between his father and relatives living in Miami. Critics often indict the media for pandering to the lowest common denominator in their relentless quest for greater profits. When reporters are accused of showing a lack of respect for their subjects, in reality they are being charged with a lack of civility. While journalists must sometimes be aggressive in confronting newsworthy figures, crossing the imaginary line between acceptable professional behavior and incivility can precipitate a public backlash. Such was the case when NBC’s Emmy Award–winning reporter Jim Gray confronted former baseball great Pete Rose just prior to game two of the 1999 World Series. Rose was on hand to be honored as a member of the AllCentury baseball team, but unlike most of the other honorees, Rose was not in the Baseball Hall of Fame, having been banished from baseball for life for gambling on the game as manager of the Cincinnati Reds. Following the on-field ceremony, Gray asked Rose for an interview but instead of lauding or congratulating the legend, the reporter grilled Rose about his repeated refusal to acknowledge any guilt concerning the gambling allegations. Asserting that the evidence against him was overwhelming, Gray challenged Rose to show contrition and to acknowledge his guilt, which Rose again vehemently declined to do.34

Reaction from the nationwide television audience was swift and critical. A majority of the callers believed Rose had paid the price for his indiscretions and should have been allowed to savor his brief return to public acclaim. NBC was forced to replace Gray for the remainder of the series, but Gray defended his tactics as a “proper line of questioning” because Rose had “put himself in a position to be pressed like that.”35 Nevertheless, while Gray’s questions had been asked many times, the rather festive forum for this intemperate exchange undoubtedly contributed to the public’s perception of journalistic impertinence, disrespect, and incivility. We shall return to the importance of civility again within another context in Chapter 9.

THE FORMATION OF ETHICAL VALUES AND ATTITUDES In the preceding section we noted the importance of developing a sense of self-sacrifice— that is, taking into account the interests of others. But what factors influence our moral development? The answer to this question lies in an understanding of how ethical values and attitudes are formed.

Defining Values and Attitudes We must begin by defining what we mean by values and attitudes, the building blocks of ethical behavior. Although there are many kinds of values and attitudes, this book will be concerned primarily with those that relate to ethical judgments. Thus, a moral value is something that is “esteemed, prized, or regarded highly, or as a good.”36 Autonomy, justice, and the dignity of human life are examples of values that are important to large segments of society. Objectivity and fairness are often cited as values underlying the practice of journalism. Similarly, trust, integrity, and honesty are cherished values for any ethical public relations practitioner. Values are the building blocks of attitudes— that is, the “learned emotional, intellectual, and

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behavioral responses to persons, things, and events.”37 For example, the attitudes of opponents of physician-assisted suicide may be predicated on such fundamental moral values as the sanctity of life. Contrarily, the attitudes of those who believe in a “right to die with dignity” are based on such underlying values as individual autonomy and the right to a quality of life. Thus, it is easy to see why ethical disagreements and debates generate such emotional rhetoric. The ancient Greeks recognized the importance of attitudes, and since that time many writers have described three components: the affective, the cognitive, and the behavioral.38 The affective component of an attitude is the emotional side of our beliefs about a situation. It consists of our positive or negative feelings toward people or events, pleasure or displeasure, or perhaps even uncertainty. For example, some TV personalities may elicit positive emotional responses because of their charisma, charm, or interesting commentary. Others may evoke negative emotions because of their insensitivity and ill-concealed ego. Of course, one of the wonders of human nature is that the same individual is often capable of producing a variety of responses in different members of the audience. This emotional incongruity is reflected in the phenomenon of controversial talk show host Rush Limbaugh, who is either loved or reviled by radio and TV audiences. The affective component is important to the moral agent in making ethical judgments because it provides an emotional dimension to those decisions. It would have been a callous reporter, indeed, who did not sympathize with the plight of the families of the 9/11 victims and thus approach those families for interviews with great sensitivity. The cognitive component is the intellectual side of an attitude. It consists of what the moral agent believes, knows, or reasons about a person, thing, or event. For example, one person may believe that the rap group 2Live Crew poses a threat to cultural civility and sanity, whereas another may see the group as merely a harmless reflection of an uninhibited lifestyle.

The behavioral component of an attitude relates to the individual’s predisposition to respond. When we speak of ethical conduct, or behavior, we are referring to moral action reflecting the affective (emotional) and cognitive (rational) components of a moral agent’s attitudes about a situation. Either of these may dominate at a given moment, but true moral reasoning takes into account both feelings and beliefs. As a case in point, a newspaper editor’s decision to publish a rape victim’s name is never an easy one. Many papers have policies against doing so; others will publish the names under some circumstances. The emotional side of the attitude about this dilemma would probably evoke feelings of compassion and sympathy for the victim. The rational, or cognitive, component might lead to the conclusion that the victim’s name was not essential to the story and that nothing would be gained by publishing it. In addition, a policy against releasing the names of victims of sex crimes might encourage other victims to report their experiences to the authorities. On the other hand, some editors, despite feelings of compassion for the victim and even some misgivings about publishing her name, might reason that the victims of crime have always been news and that their names should be published unless there is some unusual reason for not doing so. The media, they feel, should not be in the business of suppressing news; otherwise, their credibility will suffer. What is lost in this debate is the notion that the audience might support withholding the name of a rape victim without automatically assuming that news suppression was standard practice for the media. And as we have previously seen, the audience is an important consideration in making ethical judgments. In any event, both the rational and the emotional sides of our being are instrumental in moral reasoning. Attitudes about morality, then, can be viewed as packages of values that combine feelings, thoughts, and actions.39 But where do our attitudes and values come from? What forces shape our moral development? The answers to

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these questions are important, because individual moral behavior forms the foundation of institutional and professional standards of conduct. Institutions don’t behave unethically; people do.40

Sources of Values and Attitudes Four influential sources directly affect our formation of values and attitudes: the family, peer groups, role models, and societal institutions. The extent to which each of these is responsible for our moral behavior depends on the unique circumstances of each individual. Not surprisingly, parents provide the first and perhaps most important behavioral models for children. Parents are the primary influence in instilling a conscience, a sense of right and wrong. Some values and attitudes are learned by a child through instruction and discipline, but others are acquired through imitating, or modeling, parental behavior. For example, parents who consistently blame others for their shortcomings and difficulties implant in their children the misguided belief that we are not responsible for our own actions. Likewise, a mother who writes an excuse to a teacher saying that “Johnny was sick yesterday,” when in fact such was not the case, sends a cue to Johnny that lying is permissible. Ironically, such a parent would never instill deception in her child as a positive value, but her behavior sends a message that deception is socially acceptable in certain situations. One measure of conscience is the ability to resist temptation.41 This goal is achieved in the early stages of the child’s moral development through a series of rewards and punishments,42 but children increasingly internalize these lessons. At this stage children generally accept certain ideas advanced by their parents but are incapable of true moral reasoning. But in subsequent stages the beginnings of logical reasoning appear, and children’s ever-developing moral blueprints become both reference points by which future ethical dilemmas can be resolved and defense mechanisms by which children can resist the challenges to their value systems.43

Peer groups are another important influence in moral development, especially among adolescents. The most significant peer groups are those encountered in our neighborhoods, schools, churches, social clubs, and, as we reach adulthood, working environment. Peer groups can exert enormous, sometimes irresistible, pressure to conform. It is here that the individual’s moral values may undergo their most rigorous challenge and that ethical compromises may occur because of the social role required of group members. Of course, some peer group memberships, such as participation in a religious organization, can reinforce an individual’s value system. Role models are those individuals whom we admire, respect, and wish to emulate. They can teach us the ways of righteousness or wickedness (for example, drug dealers whose lavish lifestyles are sometimes attractive to impressionable youths), but they have a profound impact on the imitative behavior of others. Children and adolescents become psychologically involved with their role models and assume their ideas, attitudes, and conduct. Sometimes, role models are ordinary people, such as teachers or ministers, who exert a subtle influence on those with whom they come in contact. Frequently, they are public figures who can set examples, either good or bad, for millions of followers. Tiger Woods, Ricky Martin, and Britney Spears appear to have very little in common except that they are all role models. Impressionable youths often take their ethical cues from such highly visible personalities. Beer commercials featuring well-known athletes, for example, convey a message that drinking is somehow a social virtue, a true test of masculinity. Likewise, the decrease in civility and the rather casual use of pejorative language among the nation’s youth might be attributed, in part, to the examples set by their idols in the entertainment business and the sports world. Role models and peers can exert as much influence, especially in later life, as family ties. The importance of selecting as models those

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individuals who exemplify positive ethical values was noted by the ethicist Michael Josephson in a conversation with the TV commentator Bill Moyers: We certainly get an inculcation from our parents, and that’s a very important thing. But all that does is give us an orientation toward ethics. Now some people rebel against that orientation, and some people adopt it and follow it. We’re also influenced by our peer groups. Ethics is taught from all sides, by a coach, for example, or a teacher, or a particular person who inspires someone to his highest self. . . . It is very important for leaders and role models, whether they be sports figures or politicians, to make positive statements of ethics, if they’re not hypocritical.44

Do role models have any moral obligation toward their followers? Those who set bad examples are generally motivated by self-interest and thus are not worthy of emulation. But true moral leaders, those who are in a position to move the ethical development of others in a positive direction, have an obligation to set high standards of conduct for those who might be inclined to model their behavior. Suppose that a college newspaper adviser, who is highly respected by the student staff and is thus somewhat of a role model, encourages his young reporters to do anything to get a story. Such advice can sometimes have the effect of instilling in journalistic neophytes the notion that reporters operate on an ethical plane separate from the rest of society. Likewise, a public relations instructor who counsels uncompromising company loyalty over public responsibility is providing her students with a distorted view of the ethical conduct expected of public relations practitioners. Families, peer groups, and role models all exert powerful and demonstrable influences on our sense of ethics. But societal institutions should not be overlooked as important influences in the moral life of the individual. Do such institutions alter our ethical standards, or do they merely reflect them? This is a complex question,

but suffice it to say that society’s institutions reflect the prevailing norms and at the same time are instrumental in bringing about changes in attitudes concerning standards of conduct. For example, the “sexual revolution” was well under way by the time TV jumped on the bandwagon, but it is likely that TV programming had a role in expediting public acceptance of greater sexual freedom, even if we cannot prove it scientifically. I said earlier that institutions don’t behave unethically—people do. However, the decision making within the institutional structure is sometimes so diffuse that individual responsibility is difficult to ascribe. A case in point is the TV drama, which necessitates a cadre of creative talent, each member with a stake in the content’s moral tone. The path of responsibility begins in Hollywood and flows to the network corporate offices in New York. This division of creative labor within institutions often leads us to refer to the “ethical standards” of CBS, HBO, or Fox. Nevertheless, individuals make the moral judgments that emerge in the form of corporate policy or practice. Institutions have a profound impact on their own members and set the ethical tone for their conduct. Within each organization there is a moral culture, reflected both in written policies and the examples set by top management, that inspires the ethical behavior of its members. The socialization of journalists and the development of professional values do not end at the schoolhouse gate. The moral education of media practitioners begins early in life but is a never-ending process. Institutions also have a profound influence on the ethical values and attitudes of societal members because of the pivotal role they play in the dynamics of any culture. Thus, we often speak of those institutions that respect the needs and sensibilities of the publics they serve—which sometimes include media organizations—as acting with a sense of social responsibility. The process by which all of these influences—families, peer groups, role models, and institutions—introduce the individual to the

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conventions and norms of a given society or subgroup is known as socialization.45 For example, when an academic institution punishes students for cheating it is reinforcing the value of honesty that is a first principle of our culture’s moral code. Likewise, advertising and public relations students, through their enrollment in universitylevel mass communication programs, are quickly “socialized” into the conventions of their profession. Socialization is a lifelong activity and serves as an agent of social control by providing for a certain homogenization of moral values. All of these influences contribute to the moral development of the individual in a combination that social psychologists do not yet fully comprehend. We do know, however, that our attitudes about a situation do not always determine our moral judgments, thus suggesting that peer pressure and institutional influences sometimes take precedence over the values we consider important. A legislator who is an outspoken advocate of gun control may, for example, vote against a ban on handguns to gain some concessions from his legislative colleagues on another matter pending before them. A magazine editor who has campaigned aggressively for more federal resources to fight the “war on drugs” may, nevertheless, look the other way when the ad manager accepts ads for alcoholic beverages, the nation’s number one drug. There are many reasons for this inconsistency between belief and behavior,46 but at the very least it reflects a conflict of ethical values.

Personal Values and Professional Ethics Professions by their very nature often demand that practitioners subordinate their personal values or ethics to the standards of the profession. Criminal defense lawyers, for example, undoubtedly experience personal discomfort in defending unsavory clients they know to be guilty and whose community would be better off without their membership. As citizens, journalists might

enter the profession with a deep appreciation of the value of privacy, but their professional obligations frequently require painful intrusions upon the personal solitude of others, sometimes resulting in harm to innocent third parties. The dilemma for any media practitioner is stated rather succinctly in Thomas Bivens’s recently published book on media ethics: “By letting our personal principles take first priority, we could be compromising our professional principles. The question then becomes, which do we want most to be, a private citizen or a media professional? Although the two roles are not mutually exclusive, there is an awareness that one assumes the mantle of professionalism willingly, accepting that a muting of personal values is part of the payment for doing so.”47 Personal and professional ethics are not necessarily mutually exclusive. But when they do clash, as Bivens has remarked, “deference is usually, and possibly rightly, given to professional principles.”48 However, this observation should not be interpreted as an uncompromising preference for professional values by which personal ethics must be marginalized. In reality, personal and professional ethics share some common ground, and this makes the perceived clash between the two easier to digest. For example, human interaction often requires a course of action that may result in harm, either physical or mental, to others. But the harm principle admonishes us to “minimize” such harm, particularly as it relates to innocent third parties. This should be a guiding principle in our personal ethics, as well as our professional deportment. When we assume the responsibilities of a media practitioner, we willingly accept the standards of the profession, which may require the balancing of competing loyalties. But isn’t this also true of our personal relationships in which competing values, such as justice versus mercy or truth versus compassion, painfully engage our moral sensibilities? Professional standards are based upon experience and (hopefully) the best practices of the industry but frequently reflect community

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values. When viewed from the perspective of such values as credibility, trust, and respect for persons, among others, the nexus between professional and personal ethics becomes more readily apparent. The use of deception in investigative reporting, for example, can only be justified by some more compelling moral mandate, an ethical stance with which the average journalist would probably be personally as well as professionally comfortable. Inevitably, the tension between one’s professional life and personal code can be untidy at times. Thus, in the final analysis “[t]he ultimate test of any principle, personal or professional, must be the efficacy of the resulting actions based on those principles—not just for the person acting (the moral agent) but for all those involved in or affected by the action.”49

THE ETHICAL DILEMMA: CONFLICT OF VALUES A man named Heintz has a wife who is terminally ill with cancer. He has tried, without success, to raise money to buy a drug that might save her life. A druggist is charging $2,000 for such a potion. Heintz has been able to raise only $1,000, and the druggist refuses to extend him credit. Should Heintz steal the drug to save his wife’s life?50 This famous hypothetical ethical dilemma was used by the social psychologist Lawrence Kohlberg and his associates to illustrate the conflicting values inherent in the notion of justice. On the one hand, Heintz loves his wife, and in the interest of the sanctity of life he may feel justified in stealing the drug. On the other hand, to do so would violate one of the fundamental moral tenets of the Western world, the proscription against stealing another’s property. Heintz dilemmas are all around us. They constitute the very essence of emotional debates about such diverse social issues as abortion, gun control, the death penalty, sex education, and pornography. Of course, not all moral

judgments reflect the kind of life-or-death situation confronted by Heintz, but difficult ethical choices do involve conflicts in values. These conflicts can arise on several levels. Sometimes, there is an inner conflict involving the application of general societal values. For example, in times of military hostilities a Pentagon public affairs officer may have to choose between the value of revealing the truth to the press concerning battlefield casualties and the value of maintaining public support for American involvement in the conflict. Sometimes, there is a conflict between general societal values (for instance, minimizing harm to others) and professional values. Consider, for example, the public uproar in Columbia, South Carolina, when a local TV station honored a police request to withhold information as a matter of safety and the newspaper did not. In Columbia, a policeman was wounded in a stolen car chase. The case was not connected with his regular assignment as an undercover narcotics investigator, and the police chief asked the news media not to reveal the officer’s name lest they endanger him or his son or pregnant wife. As a result of the newspaper’s decision not to comply, many subscribers were angry and some canceled their subscriptions.51 In letters to defecting subscribers, editor Gil Thelen defended his decision: “We weighed the public’s legitimate interest in the information with concerns about the officer’s and his family’s safety. No person in authority was able to provide specific information about any security threats to either.”52 Another instance of conflicting values concerned Nike, which ran a billboard campaign in Chicago’s South Side ghetto featuring famous African American athletes wearing Nike athletic shoes. Nike was careful to select athletes with “squeaky clean” images as role models for the African American youths who were the target audience of this campaign. But when several black inner-city youths were assaulted or murdered allegedly because their peers wished to look more like the celebrity role models,

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Nike was criticized in the media for selecting black athletes as spokespersons. Such advertisements created a desire for material goods that were beyond the economic means of the average juvenile on Chicago’s South Side. A Nike representative defended the practice as good marketing to use such credible personalities in appealing to black youths. Thus, what appeared to be a sound advertising and marketing strategy, based on noble principles, unintentionally ran afoul of social values and the stark realities of life in the inner city.53 When neither conflicting value appears to be satisfactory, we may examine third options. Suppose the dean asks a mass communication professor to reconsider a failing grade he awarded to a graduating senior in his media ethics course. Loyalty to the dean may propel him to honor her request. On the other hand, honesty suggests that the professor should not do so, especially if he is convinced of the correctness of the grade. However, he may appeal to a third value, fairness: Would it be unfair to the other students to reconsider the grade of one student and not the entire class? Ethical judgments involving the clash of competing principles generally arise in rather untidy situations.54 Such was the case when Minneapolis police asked the news media to assist in the disappearance of a 15-year-old boy who had allegedly been sexually assaulted. The primary suspect was a 30-year-old neighbor who had been charged with sexually assaulting the boy on a hunting trip two weeks earlier. The 30-year-old was free on bond and under a court order not to contact the boy. The Minneapolis Star Tribune’s story, which disclosed the victim’s name and a description of the assault, also included the fact that the neighbor had called the boy’s parents, had admitted the assault on their son, and said he felt like killing himself. The paper reported that the parents called police when they saw the older man point a gun at his head.55 The boy’s father complained to the paper’s ombudsman, Lou Gelfand, that the information

could “cause complications to getting them home” and could have adverse psychological consequences for the boy. Some readers complained that the details of the sexual assault were egregious. Reporter Mark Brunswick defended the coverage on the grounds that “it was essential to report the relationship between the two.” “I think to simply say the boy was sexually assaulted, without elaboration,” observed Brunswick, “might leave the reader to imagine many things that did not happen.”56 The ethical concerns surrounding the coverage were exacerbated when a day after the story the newspaper published a report from a gay and lesbian organization from which the boy had sought counseling because he was concerned about his sexuality and could not get help from other channels. The paper was inundated with calls from outraged readers protesting the “outing” of the 15-year-old youth. They accused the Star Tribune of inexcusably publishing confidential information; some were concerned that troubled teenagers would be reluctant to seek counseling on sexual identity problems for fear their names might be made public.57 Editor Tim McGuire defended the paper’s decision to print the confidential information about the boy’s struggle with his sexual identity because it provided readers with a more complete understanding of the crime and the circumstances surrounding it. In addition, despite the delicate and sensitive nature of the story, the editor vindicated his paper’s decision based on the greater good that might accrue to other troubled teens. “If we agreed not to publish we would have been buying into the premise that teen struggles with sexuality are something to be hidden and are, in fact, shameful,” noted McGuire. “I could not get comfortable with that.” Three days after the first story, the bodies of the boy and the man were discovered five miles from their homes, the victims of an apparent murder-suicide.58 This scenario exemplifies a conflict of competing values: the public’s need to know versus

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the individual’s right to privacy and confidentiality. It also illustrates how a news organization and its readers approached the issue from different ethical perspectives, both of which could be defended on rational grounds. In ethical issues, no less than in legal ones, the key to dealing with Heintz dilemmas is to demystify the process by gathering as much evidence and formulating as many rational arguments as possible in defense of the ultimate decision. This is not to understate the difficulty of resolving conflicts between moral alternatives. Even after a decision is rendered, there will be some lingering uncertainty about whether the choice was proper or wise. The goal of moral reasoning is not to reach agreement on the ethical issues of our time. Instead, moral reasoning is a tool designed to assist us, as moral agents, in working our way out of the ethical morasses encountered in our personal and professional lives.

SUMMARY Ethics is the branch of philosophy that deals with questions of moral behavior. The study of ethics can provide the tools for making difficult moral choices, both personal and professional. The goal is not to make ethical decisions with which everyone agrees but to increase our ability to defend our critical judgments on some rational basis. Ethics, as a formal field of inquiry, includes three related subcategories. Metaethics attempts to assign meanings to the abstract language of moral philosophy. Normative ethics provides the foundation for decision making through the development of general rules and principles of moral conduct. Applied ethics is concerned with using these theoretical norms to solve ethical problems in the real world. Ethical situations are usually complex affairs, in which a moral agent (the one making the ethical decision) commits an act (either verbal or nonverbal) within a specific context with a

particular motive directed at an individual or audience usually with some consequence, either positive or negative. Each of these factors must be taken into account before passing judgment on the outcome of any moral scenario. There are two schools of thought on whether ethics is a proper subject for academic consideration. Cynics disparage the study of ethics, because it is a discipline that raises many questions without providing concrete answers. They also argue that such character education classes will do little to influence those whose moral education is virtually complete before they enter the academy. Media practitioners sometimes see little value in such courses, because classes cannot duplicate the frenzied pace and pressure of the real world. Proponents of ethics instruction believe that although moral conduct itself probably cannot be taught, such courses can promote virtuous behavior through the teaching of moral reasoning. However, the ability to make sound ethical decisions comes only through practice and a lifetime commitment to the principles of virtuosity. This is known as ethical fitness. Although media ethics courses cannot simulate the realities of the competitive marketplace, they can offer an intellectual moral foundation for future generations of practitioners. There appear to be at least five realistic and practical educational objectives for a course in media ethics: (1) stimulating the moral imagination, (2) recognizing ethical issues, (3) developing analytical skills, (4) eliciting a sense of moral obligation and personal responsibility, and (5) tolerating disagreement. Thus, the teaching of moral literacy is just as vital to the curriculum as the skills courses that will train students for their first jobs. Moral development begins at an early age and is a lifelong process. Only through reflection and the practice of virtuous behavior can we become ethically fit. The cornerstones of ethical fitness are credibility, the moral virtue on which trust is built; integrity, which is essential

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to our own moral development; and civility, a device for interacting with others. The study of ethics must include an understanding of how moral direction is acquired. Our ethical values form the foundation on which we make ethical decisions. These values underlie our attitudes about moral issues, and our attitudes are believed to consist of an emotional component, an intellectual (or rational) component, and a behavioral component. Thus, true moral reasoning takes into account both feelings and beliefs about an issue. The acquisition of values and the formation of attitudes is a complex process and does not easily lend itself to scientific verification. However, for most of us the important forces that shape our moral development are family, peer groups, role models, and societal institutions. Parents are our first encounter with discipline, but as we evolve into autonomous individuals, peer groups, role models, and institutional forces play an increasingly significant role in shaping our moral destiny. With so many diverse forces bombarding us with ethical cues, it is inevitable that conflicts between competing values will emerge. For example, personal and professional values sometimes collide. But in the final analysis the ultimate test of any principle, personal or professional, must be the efficacy of the resulting actions based on that principle—not just for the person acting (the moral agent) but for all those involved in or affected by the action. The study of ethics and moral reasoning cannot necessarily resolve such conflicts for us, but it can provide the tools to make it easier to live with our difficult ethical choices.

Notes 1. “Times Reporter Who Resigned Leaves Long Trail of Deception,” New York Times, May 11, 2003, p. 1. 2. Lindley J. Stiles and Bruce D. Johnson (eds.), Morality Examined: Guidelines for Teachers (Princeton, NJ: Princeton Book Company, 1977), p. xi. 3. Ibid. 4. “Sports, Ethics and Ideas,” Quill, January 1987, p. 2.

5. See Joan C. Callahan (ed.), Ethical Issues in Professional Life (New York: Oxford University Press, 1988), pp. 7–9; John C. Merrill and S. Jack Odell, Philosophy and Journalism (White Plains, NY: Longman, 1983), p. 79. 6. For a good discussion of applied ethics, see Baruch Brody, Ethics and Its Applications (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1983), p. 4. 7. This model is based on one described by Richard L. Johannesen in Ethics in Human Communication, 3d ed. (Prospect Heights, IL: Waveland, 1990), p. 16. 8. In response, the reporter also sued her newspaper employer, alleging a violation of the state’s Fair Campaign Practices Act and the state and federal constitutions. The State Supreme Court eventually ruled in favor of the News Tribune. Nelson v. McClatchy Newspapers, Inc., 25 Med. L. Rptr. 1513 (Wash. Sup. Ct. 1997), cert. denied, 118 S. Ct. 175 (1997). 9. For an elaboration of this point, see Jeffrey Olen, Ethics in Journalism (Upper Saddle River, NJ: PrenticeHall, 1988), p. 25. 10. Sharyn Wizda, “Too Much Information?,” American Journalism Review, June 1998, pp. 58–62. 11. Ibid., pp. 60–61. 12. Ibid., p. 61. 13. Stiles and Johnson, Morality Examined, pp. 11–12. 14. James Rachels, “Can Ethics Provide Answers?,” in David M. Rosenthal and Fadlou She-haili (eds.), Applied Ethics and Ethical Theory (Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press, 1988), pp. 3–4. 15. This view was expressed, according to Plato, in the Meno, where Socrates stated that virtue is “an instinct given by god to the virtuous.” See Stiles and Johnson, Morality Examined, p. 10, quoting Benjamin Jowett, Jr., The Dialogues of Plato, vol. 1 (New York: Random House, 1920), p. 380. 16. Reginald D. Archambault, “Criteria for Success in Moral Instruction,” in Barry L. Chazan and Jonas F. Soltis (eds.), Moral Education (New York: Teachers College Press, 1973), p. 165. 17. Hastings Center, The Teaching of Ethics in Higher Education (Hastings-on-Hudson, NY: Hastings Center, 1980), pp. 48–52. These goals are also discussed in James A. Jaksa and Michael S. Pritchard, Communication Ethics: Methods of Analysis, 2d ed. (Belmont, CA: Wadsworth, 1994), pp. 12–18. 18. “Unliberated News,” Columbia Journalism Review, January/February 2000, p. 19. 19. For a discussion of this issue, see Ron F. Smith, Groping for Ethics in Journalism, 5th ed. (Ames: Iowa State University Press, 2003), pp. 385–400. 20. Louis W. Hodges, “The Journalist and Professionalism,” Journal of Mass Media Ethics 1, no. 2 (Spring/ Summer 1986): 35.

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21. See Jaksa and Pritchard, Communication Ethics, pp. 15–16. 22. Ibid., p. 9. 23. Hastings Center, Teaching of Ethics, p. 52. 24. See Rushworth M. Kidder, How Good People Make Tough Choices (New York: Morrow, 1995), pp. 57–76. 25. Ibid., p. 59. 26. Bonnie Bressers, “Rebuilding Trust: Newsrooms React as Ethical Breaches Erode Confidence,” Quill, July 2003, p. 8. 27. Bob Steele, “Dull Tools and Bad Decisions,” Quill, April 2000, p. 22. 28. “Credibility crisis?,” Broadcasting & Cable, January 15, 2001, p. 103. 29. Stephen L. Carter, Integrity (New York: Basic Books, 1996), p. 7. 30. Ibid., pp. 14–15. 31. Ibid., p. xii. 32. For a discussion of this point, see Norman E. Bowie, Making Ethical Decisions (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1985), pp. 11–16. 33. Ted J. Smith III, “Journalism and the Socrates Syndrome,” Quill, April 1988, p. 15. 34. Ben Scott, “Playing Hardball: The Pete Rose–Jim Gray Controversy,” in Lee Wilkins and Philip Patterson, Media Ethics: Issues & Cases, 4th ed. (Boston: McGrawHill, 2002), p. 275. 35. Ibid., 275–276. 36. Peter A. Angeles, Dictionary of Philosophy (New York: Barnes & Noble, 1981), p. 310. 37. Albert A. Harrison, Individuals and Groups: Understanding Social Behavior (Pacific Grove, CA: Brooks/ Cole, 1976), p. 192. 38. Ibid., pp. 192–195. 39. Ibid., p. 193. 40. This notion is challenged by Thomas Nagel in “Ruthlessness in Public Life,” in Callahan, Ethical Issues, pp. 76–83. 41. Edwin P. Hollander, Principles and Methods of Social Psychology, 4th ed. (New York: Oxford University Press, 1981), p. 258.

42. See A. Bandura, A Social Learning Theory (Upper Saddle River, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1977); J. P. Flanders, “A Review of Research on Imitative Behavior,” Psychology Bulletin 69 (1968): 316–337. 43. The psychologist Lawrence Kohlberg, in challenging theories advanced earlier by Sigmund Freud, maintains that a child’s moral development occurs in six stages. 44. Bill Moyers, A World of Ideas (New York: Doubleday, 1989), p. 16. 45. See Hollander, Principles and Methods of Social Psychology, p. 174. 46. For a discussion of the various theories in social psychology relating to this topic, see Harrison, Individuals and Groups, pp. 195–218. 47. Thomas H. Bivens, Mixed Media: Moral Distinctions in Advertising, Public Relations, and Journalism (Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum, 2004), p. 11. 48. Ibid. 49. Ibid. 50. Reported in Jaksa and Pritchard, Communication Ethics, p. 99. 51. Richard P. Cunningham, “Public Cries Foul on Both Coasts When Papers Lift Secrecy,” Quill, April 1995, p. 12. 52. Quoted in Cunningham. 53. For a more thorough discussion of this case, see Gail Baker, “The Gym Shoe Phenomenon: Social Values vs. Marketability,” in Philip Patterson and Lee Wilkins, Media Ethics: Issues and Cases, 4th ed. (Boston: McGrawHill, 2002), pp. 116–118. 54. For a more thorough discussion on this point, see Tom L. Beauchamp, Philosophical Ethics: An Introduction to Moral Philosophy (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1982), pp. 43–45. 55. Richard P. Cunningham, “Reporting Sexual Assault Crimes Can Be a Touchy Subject,” Quill, March 1994, p. 10. 56. Ibid. 57. Ibid., pp. 10–11. 58. Ibid.

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2 Ethics and Society THE NEED FOR A SYSTEM OF ETHICS

case would dampen the investigative ardor of future journalists,3 others questioned whether the ends always justify the means. Washington Post columnist Colman McCarthy, for example, condemned the practice of lying to get a story as “lazy journalism, not aggressive reporting.”4 Dorothy Rabinowitz, a member of the Wall Street Journal’s editorial board, was similarly unimpressed with the imperious attitude of some investigative reporters: “Many journalists continue to believe that they are involved in a calling so high as to entitle them to rights not given ordinary citizens.”5

When ABC’s PrimeTime Live aired the results of an undercover investigation into charges that Food Lion, the nation’s fastest-growing grocery chain, routinely sold rotting and infested food to an unsuspecting public, the network soon found itself confronted with a multimilliondollar lawsuit and accusations of ethical misconduct. PrimeTime Live producers cited false references as a means to gain employment with Food Lion and then used cameras and other equipment concealed in their hair and bras to validate the charges. The broadcast was devastating to the grocery chain, resulting in the closing of eighty-four stores over the next two years and the termination of thousands of employees.1 Food Lion did not contest the underlying truth of the report, but the jury, apparently reflecting the public’s growing disaffection with such news-gathering conventions, found the network guilty of fraud and trespass and awarded Food Lion $5.5 million in punitive damages, an amount that was significantly reduced first by the trial judge and again by an appellate court.2 Despite the popularity of such undercover investigative techniques, especially among television magazine shows, the precariousness of the network’s ethical position is reflected in the mixed reviews within the journalistic community. Whereas some feared that the Food Lion

Society and Moral Anchors As the Food Lion case illustrates, society is not always a gentle taskmaster when it comes to passing judgment on its moral agents. The standards against which society scrutinizes individual and institutional behavior are embedded in its code of moral conduct, its system of ethics. Thus, Rabinowitz’s penetrating observation raises a profound question for the student of media ethics: Are media professionals bound by the same standards of moral conduct as the citizens they serve? If so, that is sufficient justification to explore the following question: Why does society really need a system of ethics? At least five reasons merit attention. The Need for Social Stability. First, a system of ethics is necessary for social intercourse. Ethics is the foundation of our advanced civilization,

23 Copyright 2006 Cengage Learning. All Rights Reserved. May not be copied, scanned, or duplicated, in whole or in part. Due to electronic rights, some third party content may be suppressed from the eBook and/or eChapter(s). Editorial review has deemed that any suppressed content does not materially affect the overall learning experience. Cengage Learning reserves the right to remove additional content at any time if subsequent rights restrictions require it.

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a cornerstone that provides some stability to society’s moral expectations. If we are to enter into agreements with others, a necessity in a complex, interdependent society, we must be able to trust one another to keep those agreements, even if it is not in our self-interest to do so.6 Professional athletes who demand to renegotiate their contracts before they have expired may breed contempt and mistrust in the front office and the belief among the fans that they are placing self-interest over the interests of the team. While the public is accustomed to some puffery in advertising, they expect an uncorrupted flow of accurate information. When advertising executives fail in this expectation, public confidence is eroded. Likewise, the reading and viewing publics expect journalists to report the truth, even when there is no formal agreement to do so. When reporters fail in this expectation, their credibility is eroded. Suffice it to say that indiscretions by a few ethical miscreants can undermine the moral standing of an entire industry. The Need for a Moral Hierarchy. Second, a system of ethics serves as a moral gatekeeper in apprising society of the relative importance of certain customs. It does this by alerting the public to (1) those norms that are important enough to be described as moral and (2) the “hierarchy of ethical norms” and their relative standing in the moral pecking order. All cultures have many customs, but most do not concern ethical mores.7 For example, eating with utensils is customary in Western countries, but the failure to do so is not immoral. Standing for the national anthem before a sporting event is a common practice, but those who remain seated are not behaving unethically. There is a tendency to describe actions of which we disapprove as immoral, although most of our social indiscretions are merely transgressions of etiquette. A system of ethics identifies those customs and practices of which there is enough social disapproval to render them immoral.

However, even those values and principles that have the distinction of qualifying as moral norms are not all on an equal footing. From time to time in this book I will refer to certain ideas, such as the commitment to truth and proscriptions against stealing, as fundamental societal values. This distinction suggests that some are more important than others. Trespassing, for example, although not socially approved, is generally viewed less seriously than lying. This may explain why the journalistic practice of invading private property to get a story, though not applauded in all quarters, does not usually meet with the same degree of condemnation as the use of outright deception. The Need to Promote a Dynamic Moral Ecology. Three, an ethical framework serves as a social conscience, challenging members of a community to examine the ethical dimensions of both public issues and private concerns and to aspire to elevate the quality of the moral ecology. However, the goal should not be the ideal society (which is impossible) but a decent society. What should be avoided are claims of infallibility. Ethics is not a science, and trial and error are inevitable. In a not-so-perfect society some compromise and balancing are required because not every claim deserves equal attention.8 A system of ethics provides an arena where ethical experimentation can occur, a process that is limited only by the admonition that moral progress should be the result, not moral retrenchment. Society must constantly seek moral progress, which involves a constant reevaluation of prevailing norms while not abandoning the civic community’s most cherished moral precepts (such as justice and respect for others). This can sometimes be a painful process. The debate over stem cell research, for example, has publicly engaged the moral imaginations of ethicists, scientists, religious institutions, and the general public as they attempt to forge some ethical accommodation on this field of scientific inquiry. In the admittedly untidy process of establishing ethical

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norms, exactly what the benchmarks should be is subject to some negotiation; whether to have such ethical benchmarks is not! The Need to Resolve Conflicts. Four, a system of ethics is an important social institution for resolving cases involving conflicting claims based on individual self-interest.9 For example, it might be in a student’s own interest to copy from a classmate’s term paper. It is in the classmate’s best interest to keep her from doing so. Societal rules against plagiarism are brought to bear in evaluating the moral conduct inherent in this situation. The Need to Clarify Values. Finally, a system of ethics also functions to clarify for society the competing values and principles inherent in emerging and novel moral dilemmas. Some of the issues confronting civilization today would challenge the imagination of even the most ardent philosopher. A case in point is the controversy over the cloning of humans, a scientific breakthrough with unimaginable ethical consequences. Ethicists have already begun passionately debating this issue in the hopes of clarifying competing moral values and affording some time for reasoned reflection before such scientific experimentation becomes commonplace. An ethical system encourages the debate and airing of differences over competing moral principles. In so doing, it crystallizes society’s attitudes about ethical dilemmas and often leads to adjudication (if not a satisfactory resolution) of disputes. This point is illustrated by readers’ complaints surrounding a California newspaper’s coverage of a controversial ballot issue several years ago. The proposition, designed to cut off government services to illegal aliens, was supported by a group known as Save Our State (SOS), whose supporters were subjected to charges of racism and threats by militant opponents. Because of those threats, SOS sought to keep its address secret. But the Orange County Register learned the address and used it as the lead sentence in a story about the organization.10 Furious readers, fearing that

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bombers might be tempted to blow up the building, called the paper irresponsible. They believed the potential for harm, including possible loss of lives, outweighed any news value in revealing the organization’s address. The Register’s topic editor defended the lead because of SOS’s penchant for secrecy: “The decision to use the address as the lead was done to quickly focus on what has become a center of controversy about this group—its secrecy.” But the paper’s ombudsman was not impressed. “Leading the story with the address while knowing the group wanted secrecy for safety reasons,” he wrote, “was a sorry example of in-your-face, gotcha journalism, precisely the type that has pushed journalism to a low rung on the public opinion ladder.”11 Although there may have been no meeting of the minds between the Register’s editors and their disgruntled readers, the ombudsman served as a forum through which to clarify the competing values and to foster a rational deliberation of the ethical concerns.12 In another case, the Times-Union in Jacksonville, Florida, published a page one article containing racist remarks by Chief Circuit Judge John E. Santora, Jr. Many readers were outraged, not at the remarks but at what they considered to be the newspaper’s ill-considered judgment in printing them. Most callers said the Times-Union should not have published what the judge called “offhand remarks,” and some accused the paper of fanning the flames of racial intolerance. The paper responded that the judge was interviewed twice and knew that he was being taped when he made the intemperate comments.13 Although the newspaper did apparently gain some public acceptance of the notion that it had done its job, the coverage precipitated a healthy debate about journalistic values and the role of the media as community activist. For example, the paper’s ombudsman, Mike Clark, criticized the Times-Union for not doing more to combat racial injustice in Jacksonville. “We had an obligation to show our involvement in the community, not just to report the news,”

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he said. Clark believed that more space should have been devoted to solutions.14 But John Seigenthaler, publisher emeritus of the Nashville Tennessean, in an interview for Quill, appeared to take issue with Clark when he said that exposing racism in the community is the duty of the paper—“I’m not sure you have to go beyond that.”15

The Functions of the Media within the Ethical System If a system of ethics provides moral cohesion for society’s individual members and institutions, media practitioners are in particular need of one. Why? The mass media are among the most influential enterprises in a democratic society, standing at the crossroads between the citizens and their political, economic, and social institutions. In addition, they are instrumental in the transmission of cultural values. They set the agenda for which values are important and offer symbolic cues for standards of conduct, including ethical behavior. This process is conveyed through the three key functions that media practitioners play in American society: dissemination and interpretation of information, transmission of persuasive messages and production, and marketing of mass entertainment. Each of these functions brings with it an array of ethical expectations that are not necessarily the same. For example, should the standards for truth and accuracy be the same for advertising as for news? What values—entertainment or news—should govern the production of a docudrama? Under what conditions may public relations practitioners withhold information from the media and the public and still maintain their own credibility and the credibility of their clients or companies? First, the media are the primary source of information in a democracy. Accurate and reliable information is the lifeblood of the democratic process. Perhaps the most obvious players in this information flow are journalists,

who gain access to the day’s intelligence and attempt to provide accurate information for citizens to make informed and intelligent political decisions. But in a capitalistic society news media must also respect the demands of the marketplace, thereby satisfying the public’s craving for the more sensational and tantalizing aspects of the human condition. This is exhibited in tabloid journalism’s insatiable appetite for violent and sexually explicit content and its unremitting fascination with the private lives of social luminaries. The so-called mainstream media, however, are also the captive of marketplace forces and spend an increasing amount of time producing news content that has little to do with the democratic process. Journalists are not the only media practitioners who perform the essential function of providing information in a capitalistic society. The economic messages of advertisers and the corporate image building of public relations practitioners also provide relevant and beneficial information to consumers and other constituencies. The role of economic information in a democratic society was captured in a Supreme Court opinion recognizing the constitutional status of advertising. Justice Blackmun wrote, “As to the particular consumer’s interest in the free flow of commercial information, that interest may be as keen, if not keener by far, than his interest in the day’s most urgent political debate.”16 He continued with his defense of advertising as a worthy contributor to the capitalistic system: Advertising, however tasteless and excessive it sometimes may seem, is nonetheless dissemination of information as to who is producing and selling what product, for what reason, and at what price. So long as we preserve a predominantly free enterprise economy, the allocation of our resources in large measure will be made through numerous private economic decisions. It is a matter of public interest that those decisions . . . be intelligent and well informed. To this end, the free flow of commercial information is indispensable.17

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Regardless of the source of information, society has a right to expect a certain level of ethical behavior from its media institutions, and when this conduct is not forthcoming, a crisis of confidence occurs between these institutions and the public. At a minimum media audiences demand information unencumbered by deliberate falsehoods, regardless of whether the source is a journalist or an advertising agency. But beyond that threshold expectation, ethical practices can vary, depending on the media practitioner’s role. We expect reporters, for example, to include all relevant facts in their stories, unless they have a compelling reason for omitting some salient piece of information. We also expect their accounts of newsworthy events to be balanced—that is, not to favor one set of values over another. But society does not expect advertisers, public relations practitioners, and entertainment producers and executives to approach their tasks with a commitment to symmetry. They are mass marketers of products, ideas, and images, and their clients and audiences are fully aware that communications from these sources are motivated as much by selfinterest as the public interest. The second major function of media practitioners is the transmission of persuasive communications. Actually, persuasion enjoys a noble legacy, tracing its lineage to the ancient Greeks. Like the use of rhetorical persuasion in ancient Greece, contemporary persuasion techniques are considered an art form, particularly when they are adroitly used to alter public perceptions, attitudes, and even buying habits. However, unlike our Greek forbears, today’s practitioners often use more subtle and sometimes indiscernible techniques to manipulate audiences and public opinion. Perhaps the most visible examples are TV commercials, which often include visual cues that shrewdly and skillfully promote the values (some would say “superficial” values) of sex appeal, perpetual youth, and social conformity as essential to our psychological tranquility and self-esteem.

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Editorials and news commentaries, advertising, and public relations are the most prevalent sources for such content, although entertainment fare sometimes wraps persuasive messages in a sugar-coated genre. American society has embraced both advertising and public relations as legitimate functions—after all, advertising is the economic mainstay of mass media in a capitalistic system—but they have increasingly become ethically controversial. Defenders of advertising and public relations derive their support from classical liberal marketplace theory that emphasizes the competition of competing voices and the supremacy of the autonomous and rational consumer. The most extreme form of this philosophy is “let the buyer beware,” which in effect absolves purveyors of persuasive messages of any moral responsibility for the consequences of their actions. Critics respond that advertisers and public relations practitioners are the true potentates in the communications process and take advantage of the inability or unwillingness of passive consumers to identify and discriminate among this relentless barrage of manipulative communications.18 Thus, the public must be represented and protected by outside agencies, ranging all the way from government agencies such as the Federal Trade Commission to various consumer watchdog groups. Because practitioners and their critics hold such dissimilar perspectives, ethical conflict is inevitable. In a free society a reconciliation of these positions is unlikely. Perhaps the most that can be expected is to establish minimum standards of acceptable behavior (for example, prohibitions against the intentional transmission of false or deceptive information) and to apportion moral responsibility among the various players in the chain of communication, from the disseminators of persuasive messages to the ultimate gatekeepers in the process, the recipients. The third function of media practitioners— the production and dissemination of mass entertainment—poses an ethical challenge perhaps because there is little agreement on what

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its role in society should be. Unlike journalism, which is designed to scrutinize the political system and contribute to the democratic process, entertainment has no clear-cut rationale. Thus, the ethical question is whether the media have an obligation to elevate tastes and promote virtuous behavior or whether “giving the audience what it wants,” even at the risk of reinforcing dysfunctional attitudes and behavior, is sufficient. In a democracy media practitioners produce material that they believe meets a perceived need of the heterogeneous audience. And the finicky public expresses its approval or disapproval in the marketplace.19 In a pluralistic society with a diversity of artistic tastes, only an incurable optimist would argue that economic concerns and commercial motives do not matter. After all, one advantage of the mass production of entertainment is that a wide variety of content can be made available at little cost, thus providing enjoyment for consumers of all socioeconomic classes. On the other hand, critics complain that the inevitable consequence of such mass production is an appeal to the lowest common denominator of artistic tastes. They argue that commercialism should not be the only driving force in the production of popular entertainment and information and that producers of such material have a responsibility to contribute to an enrichment of cultural values. Thus, underlying any attempts at reconciling these two notions are two questions that must be confronted: Must all material produced for a mass audience have at least some modicum of social worth? Is it possible—or even morally desirable—to devise strategies that will meet the demands of a mass audience without resorting exclusively to fare that does nothing more than trivialize the human condition and then provide an escape from it? Media practitioners, regardless of their societal function, are influential in that they touch the lives of all of us. Audience members, particularly those who are young and impressionable,

often take their ethical cues from media personalities. Thus, they should serve as role models and should reinforce society’s ethical expectations. When they fail in this responsibility, each ethical indiscretion further erodes society’s confidence in the media.

REQUIREMENTS OF A SYSTEM OF ETHICS If society’s norms are to serve as moral guideposts, what criteria should be used in constructing a workable system of ethics? There may be some disagreement on this issue, but the following five criteria should form the foundation for any ethical system. These requirements pertain both to general societal principles and to codes of conduct reflecting the standards of professional organizations.20

Shared Values An ethical system must be constructed, first and foremost, on shared values. Although individuals and groups within society may apply these standards differently to specific situations, they should at least agree on common ethical norms. For example, the fact that some members of society choose to lie under some circumstances does not diminish society’s fundamental commitment to the value of truth. In other words, deviations from the norm may be excused for substantial reasons, but exceptions to the rule do not automatically alter its value. This commitment to shared, or common, values is often reflected in the codification of those norms. The Ten Commandments, for example, are part of the code of moral conduct underlying the Judeo-Christian heritage. Many media institutions have codified their ethical principles, and such codes can at least provide the journalistic novice with some idea of the dividing line between acceptable and unacceptable behavior.

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Wisdom Ethical standards should be based on reason and experience. They should seek to strike a balance between the rights and interests of autonomous individuals and their obligations to society. In short, ethical norms should be reasonable. It would be unreasonable, for example, to expect reporters to remove themselves entirely from involvement in community affairs because of potential conflicts of interest. In fact, wisdom suggests that community involvement can enrich journalists’ understanding of the stories they cover. Wisdom also demands breathing room for advertisers who use “puffery” in their commercial messages, as long as the ads are not deceptive. Hyperbole is the handmaiden of salesmanship, and the marketplace suffers little from the introduction of exaggerated commercial claims of enhanced sex appeal and social acceptance. A code based on wisdom promotes ethical behavior while avoiding excessive and unreasonable moral propriety. Application of this criterion to a system of ethics results in flexibility, which shuns the extremes of an intransigent code at the one end and moral anarchy at the other. In journalism, for example, the proper balance is considered to be somewhere between the sensational and the bland. Of course, wisdom based on experience suggests that the solutions derived from a moral code should be appropriate to the problem. Ethical quandaries sometimes call for drastic remedies. An affirmative action program, which in some cases might appear to be extreme, is sometimes justified to correct past discrimination. A university that suddenly discovers pervasive cheating on its campus might, in a moment of moral indignation, impose harsh new penalties for academic violations of the student code of conduct. The idea of moderation could also be applied to the controversy surrounding the responsibility of the advertising industry for the harmful consequences of alcohol consumption. Some conservatives favor an outright ban

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on such ads, particularly on radio and TV. Libertarians counter that any legal product or service should be allowed to promote its wares in the mass media. A temperate position— that is, between the extremes of banning the ads and accepting the ads while apprising consumers of the dangers of alcohol abuse—is to require health warning disclaimers in all alcohol advertising.21

Justice Justice has to do with people’s relations with one another and is often important to the resolution of ethical disputes. Central to the idea of justice is the notion of fairness, in which all individuals are treated alike in terms of what they deserve. In other words, there should be no double standards, unless there are compelling and rational reasons for discrimination. This principle has important implications for the media. Media practitioners may employ it to decide what guidelines should be applied to using deception, establishing and maintaining confidential relationships, and intruding on the privacy of others. For example, justice requires that journalists report the embarrassing behavior of others, both public and private figures, based on what they really deserve rather than for the purpose of titillating the morbid curiosity of the audience. Hollywood could also benefit from this idea of justice by using it to eliminate its dramatic renditions of racial and sexual stereotypes. And in all fairness, there has been substantial progress in this area.

Freedom A system of ethics must be based on some freedom of choice. A society that does not allow such freedom is morally impoverished. Moral agents must have several alternatives available and must be able to exercise their powers of reason without coercion. In the biblical account, the first moral choice was made by Adam and

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Eve when they ate the forbidden fruit and were expelled from paradise. Of course, most ethical judgments do not result in such dire consequences. But without freedom there can be no moral reasoning, because moral reasoning, as we will see in Chapter 3, involves choosing from among several alternatives and defending one’s decision based on some rational principle. In short, freedom provides the opportunity to raise one’s ethical awareness, a goal that any system of ethics should encourage.

Accountability As autonomous individuals, we are all responsible for our moral deeds and misdeeds, and the legitimacy of any ethical system depends on its facility in holding its participants to some standard of accountability. Accountability may range all the way from informal sanctions, as when an offending moral agent is tried in the court of public opinion, to more formal punitive measures, such as disbarment proceedings against attorneys who violate their codes of ethics or reprimands or dismissals of reporters who violate their companies’ policies. An ethics system that does not include accountability encourages freedom without responsibility and thus lacks the moral authority to encourage virtuous behavior.

THE SOCIAL COMPACT AND MORAL DUTIES When individuals emerge from their primitive stages of moral development and enter society, they assume certain obligations. There is a cost, in other words, of membership in a civilized society that values moral virtue. The ethics system is not a smorgasbord from which one can pick and choose moral delicacies. Society imposes certain responsibilities on its constituents as a condition of membership. These responsibilities are known as moral duties. The idea of duty to others is important to moral reasoning

because it is a way of paying homage to the triumph of virtue over self-interests.

The Two Levels of Moral Duty Although there are many kinds of moral duties, for the sake of simplicity they can be divided into two categories: general and particularistic. General ethical obligations are those that apply to all members of society. Some are primary (or fundamental) in that they take precedence over other principles and should be violated only when there is an overriding reason for doing so.22 Prohibitions against stealing, cheating, lying, and breaking promises are examples of fundamental duties. Others bind all of us, even though they do not occupy such a prominent position on the hierarchy of values as our primary general obligations. These secondary obligations, such as prohibitions against gambling and trespassing, have a weaker claim to moral permanence than our fundamental duties and are more likely to be violated or perhaps subordinated to competing interests. Charity bingo games and legalized state lotteries are two classic examples. Of course, philosophers disagree greatly over the extent of our general obligations. Some believe, for example, that we have a moral duty to assist others in distress, to be a Good Samaritan. Others continue to ask, “Am I my brother’s keeper?,” and question whether such good deeds are really a general moral obligation. However, one could probably get agreement among philosophers and nonphilosophers alike that two general obligations underlie all others: to treat others with the respect and moral dignity to which they are entitled and to avoid intentionally causing harm to others.23 You will notice that the latter duty is based on intentional harm, not foreseeable harm. For example, reporters know that scandalous revelations will harm others, but their intent is not to harm but to inform the public about matters of public interest. Even if their revelations are unwarranted, few journalists would embark on a story

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with the underlying motive of causing personal injury. Particularistic obligations are determined by membership within a specific group, profession, or occupation. Practicing Roman Catholics, for example, have a moral duty to refrain from using artificial birth control. Doctors have a duty to maintain a confidential relationship with their patients, and attorneys have a responsibility to mount a vigorous defense for their clients, even if they believe them to be guilty. These are moral obligations that do not bind the rest of us. A duty is often imposed on media practitioners to avoid certain conflicts of interest because of their unusual role within society. The National Newspapers Publishers Association (NNPA), which represents some two hundred African American–owned newspapers with a readership of eleven million in the United States, apparently ignored this obligation in 1996 when several of its officers and members accepted an all-expense-paid tour of Nigeria at the invitation of that country’s military dictatorship. The trip was underwritten by Nigeria’s leadership as part of an aggressive media campaign to counter reports of political repression, human rights abuses, and the censorship of journalists. That campaign, according to an article in The Nation magazine, was furthered by a series of editorials in NNPA papers and by lucrative ads and advertorial inserts placed by lobbyists for Nigeria in those same papers.24 Particularistic obligations for media practitioners, like those in other professions, are sometimes based on the more general societal obligations. Journalism’s commitment to truth and fairness is a case in point. But occasionally the general and particularistic obligations collide, causing heated debate about which should prevail. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the love-hate relationship that sometimes exists between journalists and law enforcement agencies, which frequently pits journalists’ commitment to independence against the obligations

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of citizenship that are incumbent upon the rest of us. This appeared to be the case in January 2001 when a young reporter in Phoenix, Arizona, found himself at the center of an ethical firestorm. A weekly alternative paper, the Phoenix New Times, published his interview with a man who claimed to be one of the arsonists who had destroyed mansions under construction on the outskirts of Phoenix. The interviewee described how and why they targeted the luxury homes. The article prompted a heated debate on media responsibility, with some critics denouncing the paper for conducting the interview without first alerting police.25 New Times editor Jeremy Voas replied that his reporter arranged to meet the arsonist “because he and his editors believed the guy might say something of value” and that the story “would provide a glimpse inside the arsonist’s psyche.” Voas even speculated that the article might assist authorities in apprehending those responsible for the fires.26 Fred Brown, capital bureau chief and political editor for the Denver Post, acknowledged the conflicting loyalties within the local journalistic community: “[I]t would have been totally unacceptable for the reporter to agree to an interview and then tell the police about it so they could lay a trap. Some local journalists, though, felt that would have been a good idea to get this maniac put away. But they were wrong. Betraying a source might be the worst thing a journalist can do.”27

Deciding among Moral Duties The duties just explored orchestrate our relations with one another and with society. Our moral calculations affect other humans, regardless of whether we know these individuals or they are members of that amorphous mass known as the public. Thus, our ethical judgments must take into account all parties, including ourselves, to which we owe allegiance. Ralph Potter, of the Harvard Divinity School, has referred to these duties as “loyalties” in

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constructing his own model for moral reasoning.28 Lawyers, for example, have obligations to their clients, their professional colleagues, the judicial system, and society at large, as well as to their own sense of ethical conduct. Teachers have loyalties to students, parents, academic colleagues, school officials, and the community at large. Sometimes these loyalties conflict, increasing the tension in the moral reasoning process. Clifford Christians and his coauthors in Media Ethics: Cases and Moral Reasoning make this observation: Many times, in the consideration of ethics, direct conflicts arise between the rights of one person or group and those of others. Policies and actions inevitably must favor some to the exclusion of others. Often our most agonizing dilemmas revolve around our primary obligation to a person or social group. Or, we ask ourselves, is my first loyalty to my company or to a particular client?29

The moral agent’s responsibility consists of giving each set of loyalties its share of attention before rendering an ethical determination. Thus, as media practitioners we must identify those parties that will be most affected by our actions, sometimes referred to as stakeholders. For the purposes of the cases in this book, six stakeholders to whom we are obligated must be examined:30 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

Individual conscience Objects of moral judgment Financial supporters The institution Professional colleagues Society

First, we should follow the adage “Let your conscience be your guide.” Our conscience often tells us, if we are willing to listen, the difference between right and wrong. In other words, we should feel personally comfortable with our decision or at least be able to defend it with some moral principle. Being able to look ourselves in

the mirror without wincing from moral embarrassment is a sign of our virtue. The objects of moral judgment are those individuals or groups most likely to be harmed or affected directly by our ethical decisions. For example, racial and ethnic minorities are the objects of moral judgment when films depicting them are based on stereotypes. Certain specialized audiences should also be taken into account, as when a sexually explicit program is aired during the time of the day when children are most likely to be watching or listening. A public official whose womanizing catches the fancy of the media would also be in harm’s way, much to the delight of his political opponents. It may seem strange to suggest that a loyalty is owed to such unsavory topics of news coverage. But there is a duty to take into account the interests of others, even if we believe that the target of our action deserves punishment or public scorn. Media practitioners also must be loyal to their financial supporters, who pay the bills and make it possible to compete in the marketplace. These include, among others, advertisers, clients, individual subscribers, and other benefactors. Of course, loyalty to financial supporters may clash with obligations to other interests. For example, in the news business there will always be tension between the lure of profits and the ethical mandate to operate in the public interest, but the industry must sometimes strive to find an accommodation between them. This is not to suggest, of course, that the media must compromise their contract with society to present objective news coverage because of objections and pressure from advertisers or stockholders. It is an article of faith in many news organizations that advertisers should exercise no influence over editorial or news content. Thus, these loyalties to financial supporters must be carefully weighed, and in some cases the moral duty to society must override other considerations. Allegiance to one’s own institution is a noble gesture under most circumstances, because

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company loyalty is usually valued in corporate circles. Reporters often take pride in the news organizations for which they work and are concerned as much about their institutions’ credibility as about their own. However, blind loyalty can work to the detriment of the company. For example, a public relations executive who recommends to management that the company “stonewall” the press concerning the effects of an environmental disaster disserves the company as well as the public. It should be noted that loyalty to one’s organization may also take into account the stockholders (if any), because they are interested in improving the financial well-being of the company as well as in protecting their investments. Of course, media executives tend to be more concerned about the duties owed to investors than those owed to lower-level employees. A practitioner’s allegiance to professional colleagues is often powerful and unfaltering. When rendering a moral judgment, two questions are relevant: How will my actions reflect on my professional peers? Are my actions in keeping with the expectations of my colleagues? Suppose that a television news producer decides to air graphic death scenes from a satanic ritual. Public protests would suggest that this ill-advised decision might reflect poorly on all broadcast journalists. On the other hand, reporters often look to the expectations and practices of their colleagues for moral support to legitimize their actions. Protection of news sources is a case in point, and some reporters have gone to jail rather than breach these confidential relationships and risk the ostracism of their peers. For media practitioners, obligation or loyalty to society translates into a sense of social responsibility. It goes without saying that ethical decisions cannot be made without factoring the public interest into the equation. Because our own sense of moral propriety—that is, our conscience—is based on societal norms, our obligations to ourselves and society are often in concert. This is not always the case, however,

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as when reporters publish the contents of a stolen classified government document revealing American duplicity in foreign relations. In this case their consciences might override the concern for social prohibitions against stealing. However, if their motivations for releasing this information are related to self-interest (personal recognition, increased ratings, and the like), they have acted unethically. Considerations of societal duties are more complex than they appear. In the real world society is not some monolithic entity but consists of many different groups, among which choices sometimes have to be made: news sources, public figures, minorities, senior citizens, children, people with disabilities. It is the balancing of these interests that presents a real challenge to media practitioners in the rough-and-tumble world of a diverse civilization.

THE NEXUS OF LAW AND ETHICS Attorneys and judges tell us that laws are the cornerstone of our democratic civilization. They are wrong. It is the moral respect for the law that provides the foundation for our culture. Motorists do not refuse to run a red light just because there does not happen to be an officer of the law close at hand. They do so out of respect for legal authority (or perhaps fear of detection and punishment) and deference to the notion that limitations on individual liberty are sometimes necessary to bring order out of chaos in a complex society. Thus, there is what we might call a nexus, or connection, between the fields of law and ethics. But what is the scope of this relationship, and why should a media practitioner be concerned about this distinction? We can begin by stating the obvious: Not all moral issues can be, or should be, legally codified. The law permits many immoralities that transgress against friends and enemies alike, such as the breaking of promises, uttering of unkind words, and certain forms of deception. In the course of our lives we often offend the

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feelings of others, an act for which the law provides no restitution to the offended party. A high school student, for example, might break his date for the senior prom at the last minute, but the lady kept in waiting cannot resort to the courts for redress of her tearful ordeal. Even in a litigious society it would be undesirable to open the floodgates to such deep interference into individual relationships. Nevertheless, legal obligations are based on moral ones. The criminal and civil statutes codify some of our most important moral obligations, for example, proscriptions against killing, stealing, raping, or maliciously defaming another’s reputation. Most of these statutes involve punishing direct harm to others, but some laws are based on moral principles that are not concerned with the well-being of others. Laws regulating sexual behavior between consenting adults and prostitution fall into this category. The moral justification for such laws is not as widely shared within society, and thus compliance is less certain.31 Nevertheless, a fundamental distinction between our legal code and moral obligations is that legal violations involve prescribed penalties and ethical indiscretions do not. But if the laws themselves are based on moral respect, are there circumstances when we are warranted in breaking a law? Does our ethical system provide for such waivers of our moral obligations? Civil disobedience, in which citizens intentionally ignore laws that they feel are unjust, has received some moral respectability in recent years, particularly since the nonviolent civil rights demonstrations led by the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., in the 1960s. Most ethicists agree, however, that the legitimacy of civil disobedience depends on (1) the moral agent’s true belief that the law is unjust, (2) nonviolence, and (3) the willingness of the protesters to face the consequences of their actions.32 In addition, some people justify civil disobedience only if the legal avenues of redress have been explored. For example, an environmental group, having exhausted all legal avenues

to prevent the disposal of nuclear wastes at a site within their community, might resort to acts of civil disobedience to bring its concerns to the public’s attention. In such cases, even when the legal questions have been settled, the moral issues persist. What if the legal remedies have not been exhausted? Are moral agents then justified in violating the law? Perhaps, but it would appear that their actions are on shakier ground. A just law might be violated in emergency situations or when a higher moral principle is involved. For example, we would not think a husband immoral for running red lights to get his pregnant wife to the hospital in time for the delivery of their baby. On a more serious level, media practitioners may occasionally feel obligated to violate a just law if they believe that they must do so because of a more significant moral obligation. Journalists, for example, might be justified in ignoring a State Department ban on travel to a particular country if they felt compelled to document human rights abuses. Of course, the reporters would have to face the legal consequences of their transgressions, but their actions would still have some moral force behind them. The point is this: Journalists serve a unique function as representatives of the public and may feel that their obligations to the audience outweigh their legal duties. And there is some merit to this argument. However, if a law has any moral force behind it—if it is a “just” law— it can be overridden only by a more compelling moral obligation. This dilemma is exemplified by a case involving the Cable News Network (CNN) and the prosecution of former Panamanian dictator Manuel Noriega. General Noriega, of course, had been taken into custody after a massive deployment of U.S. troops in Panama and was awaiting trial in Miami. During his incarceration someone obtained tape recordings of jail cell conversations between Noriega and his attorney and provided them to CNN. After CNN announced that it had the tapes, U.S. District Judge William Hoeveler granted the defense’s

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request for an injunction against the broadcast of the tapes,33 an order upheld by the Eleventh Circuit Court of Appeals.34 Although CNN did not broadcast conversations between Noriega and his attorney, they did use excerpts of calls to others. Judge Hoeveler, believing that the broadcast of the tapes was a violation of the attorneyclient privilege and might be detrimental to Noriega’s defense, eventually held CNN in contempt. In his opinion, which contained an exhaustive analysis of the competing claims of a free press and the general duty to respect judicial decrees, Judge Hoeveler appeared to be invoking the necessity for moral respect for the law when he observed: “The thin but bright line between anarchy and order . . . is the respect which litigants and the public have for the law and the orders issued by the courts. Defiance of court orders and, even more so, public display of such defiance cannot be justified or permitted.”35 Journalists who complain bitterly that they have the right to ignore laws and court orders they believe to be unconstitutional miss the point. Statutes and court orders are legal until overturned by a higher authority. And in the CNN case, even the appellate court upheld the order because of the violation of a confidential relationship recognized by law and the possible threat to Noriega’s right to a fair trial as a result of the broadcast of the jailhouse conversations. Thus, most legal issues confronting reporters also have an ethical dimension, a fact that is sometimes overlooked by media practitioners. This inescapable alliance between law and ethics is often manifest when journalists view legal restraints, such as trespass laws, as impediments to their ethical mandate to serve the public interest. This notion is typified by a case that arose out of a protest in 2000 at Camp Garcia, Puerto Rico, against U.S. Navy training and bombing exercises conducted at the camp. Ten reporters covering the protest were arrested for criminal trespass. In a federal district hearing the journalists argued that the arrests violated their constitutional rights because they had entered the restricted area to cover the

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protest. However, the court rejected this argument on the grounds that journalists had no special right of access to the facility not available to the general public and that the First Amendment does not sanction the violation of law. Thus, it is clear that most legal issues have moral dimensions as well, and we cannot necessarily settle ethical questions merely by resolving the legal ones. For example, the Supreme Court has held that journalists may report the names of rape victims obtained from public records or that were released through other governmental venues.36 But these cases have not settled the ethical question of whether the names of rape victims should be published, even if they are a matter of public record. There are those who feel that the harm to the victims far outweighs the limited public good derived from release of this kind of information. With some unusual exceptions, there is little that cannot be published under the First Amendment. However, the First Amendment says nothing about media responsibility. It is left to the consciences of practicing journalists to decide what is newsworthy. But constitutional freedoms are not just the point of departure for making ethical judgments. If irresponsible media come to be regarded as social parasites, these legal rights could be slowly eroded. I conclude this section on the relationship between law and ethics as I began it, with the idea that it is the moral force of the law that provides the legitimacy for our legal codes. All parties have the same moral obligations to comply with the law. Thus, media practitioners are warranted in violating the law only if they can stand on some more important moral principle and are willing to endure the consequences of their disobedience.

INSTITUTIONAL AUTONOMY AND SOCIAL RESPONSIBILITY “Institutions don’t behave unethically; people do.”37 This statement from Chapter 1 would seem to suggest that any discussion of corporate

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morality is out of place here. However, despite the fact that ethical judgments are rendered by individuals within the corporate hierarchy, the public often associates images of moral or immoral conduct with the institutions themselves. Some media celebrities attract attention because of their conduct, but the institutional decision makers (the moral agents) are usually invisible to society. Nevertheless, the public has come to expect corporate sensitivity to their moral obligations, that is, a corporate culture built upon social responsibility—a commitment to the public welfare that outweighs short-term self-interests.38 In a case that still resonates within the industry as an example of social responsibility, Johnson & Johnson, a manufacturer of overthe-counter medications, confronted a public relations challenge when several people died from taking cyanide-laced Tylenol. The company took quick and decisive action by recalling and later repackaging the product.39 Compare that with Exxon’s public relations debacle when the company was accused of reacting too slowly to an environmental crisis precipitated by a massive oil spill from an Exxon oil tanker off the coast of Alaska. Despite Exxon’s offer to pay for the cost of the cleanup, the company’s image suffered.

The Libertarian View The notion of corporate social responsibility is not without its controversial aspects. Although the “Let the buyer beware” philosophy that dominated until the early part of the twentieth century has been diminished by the efforts of consumer activists such as Ralph Nader, some still hold the libertarian view that “business is the business of business.”40 According to this view, a company is socially responsible if it provides employment and a stable financial base for the community. Within the libertarian framework, both individuals and corporations pursuing their own self-interests in a competitive marketplace will, in fact, contribute to the

public welfare.41 The only moral relationship is between management and stockholders; society should interfere in this arrangement only to prevent deception or fraud. In other words, the concept of the public interest is merely a byproduct of corporate autonomy. This libertarian philosophy is based on the notion of self-reliance and individual autonomy, free from governmental or societal restraints. Libertarianism is characterized by the notion of freedom without enforced responsibility, and it was within this kind of environment that the American press matured in the nineteenth century. Thus, the system nurtured a press that was free but that also resisted the development of strong ethical codes. This attitude is reflected in a comment years ago attributed to William Peter Hamilton of the Wall Street Journal: “A newspaper is a private enterprise owing nothing whatever to the public, which grants it no franchise. It is therefore affected with no public interest. It is emphatically the property of the owner, who is selling a manufactured product at his own risk. . . .”42 Libertarians have also resisted government regulation of advertising, believing that in a free market economy autonomous consumers should cultivate their own sense of wariness and skepticism concerning commercial appeals. Nevertheless, the libertarian press did subscribe to some fundamental values, many of which are still featured prominently in contemporary industry codes. As newspapers slowly acquired a reverence for facts and a preference for “hard news” over opinion, such notions as objectivity, fairness, and balance became a part of the journalist’s ethical lexicon. Perhaps of primary importance was objectivity, a term that journalists began using in the twentieth century to “express their commitment not only to impartiality but to reflecting the world as it is, without bias or distortion of any sort.”43 For most journalists objectivity is an article of faith, but there is also a recognition that absolute objectivity is an illusion. Thus, they have settled for a philosophically less demanding

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definition that allows them to practice their profession without feeling as though they have sinned. According to this more realistic view of objectivity, reporters strive to keep their personal preferences and opinions out of news stories, to achieve balance in coverage, and to rely on credible and responsible news sources. According to this traditional view, the ethics of newswriting is concerned with facts and impartiality in the presentation of those facts.44 Nevertheless, libertarians are opposed to enforced responsibility, even when there is a danger that some unscrupulous media executives might infect the public arena with falsehoods and half-truths. According to the libertarian view, it is better to leave the remedy for such moral indiscretions to the marketplace and the consciences of individual media practitioners.

Social Responsibility The idea of social responsibility has developed as a counterpoint to libertarianism. Although this theory continues to emphasize freedom, it holds that responsibility is necessarily a partner to freedom in institutional behavior. Codes of ethics are encouraged as a self-regulatory device to promote social responsibility. Some have taken issue with Friedman’s traditional views and believe that conducting business is not a right but a privilege granted by society.45 Because the pursuit of profits has not automatically contributed to the public good, society has placed increasing demands on corporations to contribute to the correction of social ills. Affirmative action programs and increased availability of affordable legal services for the poor are two examples. There is little doubt that corporate responsibility in contemporary society includes emphasizing ethical behavior for both management and employees. Some companies have instituted ethics programs, both for legal and public relations reasons. Some have even devised codes of ethics for their personnel. But the formality of written codes and policies does not

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ensure ethical conduct, as evidenced by the avalanche of scandals that has plagued corporate America at the dawn of the twenty-first century. Social Responsibility in the Media. It is unclear when the notion of social responsibility first entered the consciousness of media practitioners, but five historical trends contributed to its emergence. First, the Industrial Revolution forever altered the American social landscape, fostering concentrations of capital and business ownership in fewer hands. Newspapers did not escape this reorganization of the free enterprise system, a trend that continues unabated.46 Thus, with media control in fewer hands, some critics have questioned whether the libertarian intellectual ideal of a true competition of ideas continues to be a realistic expectation. Second, despite this trend toward newspaper monopolies, an increasing number of media alternatives began to flood the marketplace in the form of magazines and radio. They placed pressure on newspapers to broaden their audience appeal. Thus, an economic imperative began to coexist with the media’s journalistic mandate, and the idea of social responsibility became intertwined with commercial success. Third, by the middle of the nineteenth century journalism had begun to attract people with strong educational backgrounds who established ethical standards for their industry and tried to live up to them.47 In addition, a few publishers began to recognize that the freedom to publish carried with it a corresponding responsibility. Some, such as the legendary Joseph Pulitzer, even viewed a sense of social responsibility as the salvation of their profession from the ravages of the economic marketplace: “Nothing less than the highest ideals, the most scrupulous anxiety to do right, the most accurate knowledge of the problems it has to meet, and a sincere sense of moral responsibility will save journalism from a subservience to business interests, seeking selfish ends, antagonistic to public welfare.”48

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This early recognition of media responsibility has been manifested in more recent years in the establishment of various institutes, sometimes funded by the media themselves, committed to enhancing the professionalism of practitioners. The Poynter Institute in St. Petersburg, Florida, which sponsors workshops on topics ranging from newswriting to ethics, is a prime example of this kind of continuing education for journalists and journalism educators. Fourth, schools of journalism began to appear in the early part of the twentieth century, an idea also supported by Pulitzer, and they contributed to the sense of professionalism within the industry. The teaching of practical skills was supplemented with instruction in social responsibility, and a cadre of practitioners educated specifically in the discipline of journalism entered the marketplace. This rising sense of professionalism led to the development of a social conscience among media practitioners, a belief that responsibility should be a welcome companion to press freedom. This belief was formalized in 1923, when the American Society of Newspaper Editors (ASNE) at its first meeting adopted the “Canons of Journalism” as its journalistic standards. Although some state press associations had already adopted codes, this was the first national code of ethics advanced by any organization of journalists.49 It also flunked its first test as an enforceable code. One year after the formation of the ASNE code, F. G. Bonfils, publisher of the Denver Post, was accused of having accepted $1 million in bribes for suppressing information from his reporters about wrongdoing in the Teapot Dome scandal. This scandal involved allegations that government oil reserves in the Teapot Dome field in Wyoming were being sold to private oil companies. Several members of the ASNE accused Bonfils of having violated the codified principles of the organization, including truthfulness, fair play, accuracy, and impartiality, and demanded that he be punished for these violations. The debate over code enforcement lasted for five years, but in 1929, under the threat of a

lawsuit from Bonfils, the newspaper editors voted for voluntary obedience rather than disciplinary action.50 The ASNE code was soon followed in 1928 by the first written principles for the electronic media, when the fledgling National Association of Broadcasters (NAB) adopted the industry’s first radio code dealing with programming, advertising, and news. Since these early efforts at codification of professional ideas, such diverse groups as the Radio-Television News Directors Association, the American Advertising Association, the Public Relations Society of America, and the Society of Professional Journalists have adopted similar statements of ethical standards. Social responsibility was also an outgrowth of the laissez-faire attitude of government, according to which the excesses of big business were allowed to run rampant. After the turn of the twentieth century, however, and particularly during the 1930s, wide government intervention in the marketplace brought applause from a public weary of economic and social turmoil and a business environment hostile to the interests of consumers. Advertising, the primary financial support for the media, was brought under governmental scrutiny in 1938 when Congress provided the Federal Trade Commission with new powers to oversee deceptive and unfair advertising practices. There was a fear by some that the government might next turn its regulatory arsenal on the media themselves and force social accountability on institutions that were perceived as having abused their constitutionally granted freedom under the First Amendment. The fact that the newly emerging radio medium had been brought under government regulation in 1927 did little to dispel this fear. Finally, the idea of media social responsibility was given credence after World War II through the work of the so-called Hutchins Commission on Freedom of the Press. In 1942 Robert W. Hutchins, chancellor of the University of Chicago, was commissioned to study the future prospects of press freedom. Funding was

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initially provided by Henry R. Luce, of Time, Inc., and later by the Encyclopaedia Britannica. Hutchins appointed a panel of thirteen, including several distinguished educators, to carry out this ambitious assignment, and in 1947 the panel issued a report, “A Free and Responsible Press,” which contained a well-reasoned and comprehensive analysis of the need for a socially responsible press. Although the expression “social responsibility” was never mentioned in its report, the commission identified five obligations of the media in contemporary society.51 Some of them are applicable primarily to journalism, but others are just as relevant to advertising and entertainment. The first requirement, according to the commission, is to provide a “truthful, comprehensive, and intelligent account of the day’s events in a context that gives them meaning.” The press must not only be accurate; it must also clearly distinguish between fact and opinion. But facts by themselves are insufficient. The news media must also report the “truth about the facts” by putting stories into perspective and evaluating for the reader the credibility of conflicting sources. Interpretative reporting must extend beyond the pure facts and provide the relevant background surrounding the facts. This was the issue when a reporter for a local newspaper covered a press conference in which the mayor accused a city councilman of distorting facts about the effects of certain pesticides on birds indigenous to the area and of being on the payroll of a local pesticide manufacturer. When contacted about the accusations, the councilman refused to comment except to say the mayor’s accusations were “utter nonsense” and “politically motivated.” The reporter’s story included both the charges and the councilman’s denial.52 The paper’s editor thought the story was fair and balanced, but the councilman was outraged. In a letter to the editor he denied lying about the effects of pesticides or being on the payroll of any pesticide company. “The story may have been fair,

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balanced, and accurate,” he wrote, “but it was not truthful.”53 The reporter should have held the story, in the councilman’s view, until she had independently investigated the charges. The commission’s second recommendation is that the press serve as “a forum for the exchange of comment and criticism.” This is an essential function in a system increasingly dominated by media giants. The press is urged to provide a platform for views that are contrary to its own while not abdicating its traditional right of advocacy. A third requirement is that the press project “a representative picture of the constituent groups in society.” In other words, racial, social, and cultural groups should be depicted accurately, without resorting to stereotypes. Social responsibility demands an affirmative role for the media in building positive images, both in their informational and entertainment content. Although some progress has been made in this area, stereotyping is still a common charge against the media. The media should also, according to the commission, be responsible for “the presentation and clarification of the goals and values of society.” They should transmit the cultural heritage, thereby reinforcing traditional values and virtues. Journalism professor Ted Smith has rendered a strong indictment accusing the press of failing to live up to this obligation. Smith begins his critique by observing that the media, having ravaged most of the nation’s established institutions, began a period of self-examination in the early 1980s. Several news organizations, he recalls, produced stories acknowledging the public’s lack of confidence in the media. But after an initial flurry of stories on the subject of media credibility and ethics, he laments, the sense of urgency passed, and the self-scrutiny appeared to have no discernible impact on reporting practices. Although he attributes this renewal of self-assurance by the media to their perceptions that there is no “real crisis of credibility,” he challenges this assertion and attempts

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to document the steady erosion of media believability since the early 1970s. This development represents a popular reaction against the mass media, which have come to view all traditional cultural values with some skepticism and have presented the public with a constant barrage of negative news coverage. In comparing the media’s skepticism with the critical dialogues of Socrates, Smith issues the following warning: Some journalists may be flattered by the thought that they are perpetuating the illustrious tradition of Socrates. They would do better to remember his fate: He was tried, convicted and executed for subverting religion and for corrupting the youth of his city.54

He accuses elite journalists of orchestrating “a relentless critique of all cultural affirmations as embodied in American policies, leaders and institutions.”55 Like Socrates, journalists have often reported from a vantage point outside the culture, rather than as a part of it. This stance has led, he says, to a collapse of confidence in the media by the society of which they are supposedly a part. Although we must await historical confirmation of Smith’s dire prediction that the press may suffer the same fate as Socrates, recent polls showing a continuing decline of media credibility suggest that there may be a cause for concern. The final requirement of the Hutchins Commission is that the press should provide “full access to the day’s intelligence.” This notion is reflected in the media’s championing of the public’s right to know, although this socalled right has yet to find expression in the Supreme Court’s interpretation of the Constitution. From a philosophical standpoint the right to know is predicated on the notion that the media are the representatives of the public, a fourth branch of government (along with the executive, legislative, and judicial) with responsibility for informing the citizenry about governmental activities. The increase in the number and scope of laws regarding public

records and open meetings, at both the state and federal levels, is the manifestation of this right of access to government information. In recent years, however, the media have used the right to know to justify journalistic forays that extend beyond governmental activities into the private lives of individuals. This intrusion is sometimes viewed by an already skeptical public as social responsibility run amok, a sacrifice of personal autonomy for the sake of public curiosity. Political Pressure and Social Responsibility. Politicians are often accused of being captives of special interests, but media enterprises are similarly vulnerable to pressures exerted by media watchdog groups or other citizen organizations. Some groups castigate the media for their crass commercialism and intellectual impoverishment of the nation’s culture. Others accuse the media of moral insensitivity because of their preoccupation with sex and violence. Still others have a more overt political agenda, attempting to coerce the media through public pressure or even government regulation to conform to a more conservative or political agenda, depending upon the particular orientation of the pressure group. Is a decision to alter or even abandon objectionable content in response to such pressure merely a business decision or are there also ethical dimensions to such conduct? This was the question provoked by the CBS network’s controversial decision in the fall of 2003 to cancel the miniseries The Reagans, which had been scheduled to air during ratings sweeps. Based upon some leaked fragments of the script in advance of the planned broadcast, conservatives, including the former president’s son, accused the network of distorting the legacy of Ronald Reagan. Brent Bozell, founder of the conservative Media Research Center, described the film as “a left-wing smear of one of the nation’s most beloved presidents.” CBS executives themselves expressed misgivings about the accuracy of some of the character portrayals.

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Author Neal Gabler, in considering the broader implications of the brouhaha, denounced CBS’s decision as unhealthy for democracy. “CBS, in pulling this film, did incredible harm, much more harm than they could ever have done in making the film,” Grabler lamented. “What they’ve told us now is that a very small group of people have censorship power over the broadcast networks.” For its part, the network denied bowing to political pressure, noting that its decision to cancel the movie was “based solely on our reaction to seeing the final film, not the controversy that erupted around a draft of the script.”56 CBS subsequently sold the program to the cable network Showtime, where the audiences are smaller and advertiser support less critical. Media practitioners, of course, serve a broad spectrum of societal interests and cannot be impervious to their concerns and criticisms. They are particularly susceptible when the threats assume economic dimensions, as in the case of advertiser boycotts. But this raises a troubling question: Why should we be concerned with government censorship if private interests can exercise such formidable veto power over media content? In a democratic, market-driven society citizen organizations and more narrowly focused pressure groups certainly have a right to register their objections to or approval of media fare. But to the extent that these activities seriously diminish the diversity of content and compromise the independence of media enterprises, ethical concerns are implicated. While media practitioners cannot or should not ignore these critics, they must ultimately ask themselves to what extent their responsibility to society at large transcends the interests of individual groups, who may not represent a significant cross section of their constituents. Promoting Social Responsibility from Within. In addition to organized efforts by public interest groups to promote their own views of social responsibility, there are also individual voices within the media that serve as society’s

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“in-house” critics. For example, PBS film critic Michael Medved, Howard Kurtz, the respected media reporter for the Washington Post,57 and the Chicago Tribune’s Larry Wolters are among the most visible and perhaps influential media reviewers. As Professor Peter Orlik has noted, in commenting on the role of electronic media critics, such authorities usually are in a much better position to propose change than are members of the public. That is because consumers seldom have the contacts and never have the time to acquire in-depth comprehension of radio/television workings for themselves. Consequently, it is the critic who must provide this knowledge for listeners and viewers.58

Although the real impact of critics, both individuals and public interest groups, is sometimes difficult to assess, they do serve as one more pressure point to remind media managers of their moral responsibility to the society that has given them sustenance. In addition, various segments of the public, which may be individually impotent in influencing media decision makers and gatekeepers, can at least feel they have an advocate in the information and entertainment marketplace. And although readers and viewers may not always agree with the critics, they at least share a mutual interest in not allowing the performance of media institutions to go unchallenged. A Threat and an Obligation. It is clear, from the preceding discussion, that the idea of social responsibility has become a part of the U.S. corporate landscape. But can media institutions maintain their autonomous status, which is essential in a democratic society, while at the same time fulfilling their mandate of social responsibility? Some traditionalists argue that such concepts as duty, accountability, and obligation are incompatible with the independence and freedom necessary for dynamic and vibrant media institutions. They believe that social responsibility is a euphemism for “lowest common denominator,” which will result in

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bland, noncontroversial content. According to this view, the media are captives of public opinion and have thus abdicated their role as social and political gadflies. This argument is rather dubious. As noted earlier in this section, the media have been criticized precisely because they are such gadflies, constantly casting aspersions on society’s cultural values. They have continued to function as autonomous institutions, despite some loss of public confidence. Nevertheless, fundamental changes within the American economic system have forced consideration of a more expansive vision of social responsibility for all institutions to the top of the public’s agenda. As corporations grow larger, more visible, and more powerful, consumers are increasingly aware of these companies’ impact on their daily lives. Society is interested as much in whether General Motors makes safe and fuel-efficient automobiles as in the financial contributions it makes to the economic system. As we inaugurate the twenty-first century, moreover, the media have witnessed some profound changes in their economic structures. The bottom line has become the ultimate barometer of success, and such terms as merger, acquisition, and leveraged buyout have become a part of the corporate lexicon. As Newsweek observed several years ago: “For the American news media, accustomed to thinking of themselves as a Fourth Estate, it has been something of a shock to be treated as Wall Street darlings instead.”59 The media are among our most visible institutions, entering daily into the homes of millions of people. And because the bigness virus has also infected the media, it is only natural that consumers place increasing demands on an institution that plays such a pivotal role in the formation of public opinion. In other words, there is an expectation—a moral obligation, if you will—that the media will operate in the public interest. Thus, the concept of social responsibility has ethical implications when viewed in terms of moral duty.

THE CHALLENGES OF THE INFORMATION AGE Convergence: New Media and Old Media Although a thorough discussion of new technology and the information superhighway is beyond the scope of this text, a consideration of some of the ethical issues surrounding the application of this technology will be included in subsequent chapters. At this point suffice it to say that the convergence of communications media and sophisticated technology has revolutionized the world in which we live. Society’s lexicon is now fraught with such fashionable terms as Internet, cyberspace, digitalization, e-mail, and information superhighway. The implications of this astonishing cultural reformation are both magnificent and terrifying, posing challenges to policy makers, sociologists, and philosophers alike. Convergence is the latest conversation piece in the lexicon of techno-speak. Its meaning is multifaceted but needless to say it is revolutionizing the way we communicate. For example, cell phones can now double as Internet terminals, your computer can become your TV, wireless technology will soon become the delivery system of choice for your phone service, and Internet access is now available through your local cable company. And the list goes on. The high-tech revolution is proceeding at incredible speed, but we should not approach this technological reformation with a sense of panic, fearful that the unregulated domain of the World Wide Web will stimulate cultural chaos or completely reconfigure the media industries. The cyberspace phenomenon is at once futuristic and tradition-bound. For example, online journalism is different from the coverage provided in conventional media and yet embraces them all: It offers the depth of a newspaper (or, with hypertext links and electronic archives, even more depth). It offers the attitude and focus of a

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smart-mouthed magazine. It offers the immediacy and interaction of talk radio (with the added interaction of chat rooms, forums, and e-mail). It offers the visual impact of television. This seemingly chaotic medium is exploding with messages.60

The transition from traditional modes of communication, such as print and broadcast, to machine-to-machine distribution of information has spawned a growth industry in gathering and disseminating information. This has precipitated an explosion in the number of information consumers, as evidenced in the proliferation of online services, some of which are supplied by the news media themselves, in which consumers can select useful information from an endless array of menus and data banks. This in turn has increased the number of links (that is, potential moral agents) in the communication chain of data creation and distribution.

The Ethics of Cyberspace: Old Wine in New Bottles At the outset, we should tone down the rhetoric emanating from some ethicists and futurists concerning the ethical challenges of cyberspace and other new media. There is no doubt that the new technologies will introduce novel approaches to unethical behavior, but the issues themselves are of ancient vintage. One of the most glaring concerns, of course, is the ease with which private information can be collected and shared via the Internet. But the underlying “value” here is still privacy. The use of the Web to pirate copyrighted music or movies, instead of using traditional dubbing techniques, does not alter the fact that the unethical conduct involves theft of intellectual property. And the use of digital technology to alter a news photo still involves questions of honesty and truth. An apt metaphor for this reality is “old wine in new bottles,” although the unregulated venue of cyberspace does in fact make it more difficult to combat moral corruption.

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Thus, the ethical concerns evolving out of this technological revolution confronting media practitioners of the twenty-first century are significant, and some of these are explored in subsequent chapters. In fact, we are already witnessing the tip of the iceberg, as media professionals and data collectors and distributors confront the moral intricacies of the information age. For example, as just noted, privacy has always raised troublesome ethical issues for media practitioners, but privacy assumes a renewed sense of urgency in the age of interactive media. Two-way media, e-mail, computer database access, and home shopping networks are all mechanisms that facilitate the informationgathering process about individuals. Because information is considered an asset with economic value, it is often processed and sold to mass marketers. In addition, computer-generated information might provide valuable information or tips for news stories, particularly as they relate to public figures or other high-profile newsworthy persons. For example, during the 1993 winter Olympics, several reporters were accused of unethical conduct for reading American figure skater Tonya Harding’s e-mail. Harding attracted intense media scrutiny while she was under investigation for allegedly participating in a plot to disable her U.S. rival, Nancy Kerrigan. Reporters obtained her e-mail password using a camera and then gained access to her electronic communications. The journalists claimed they didn’t read her messages; they just wanted to see whether it was possible to get into her e-mail.61 If that’s true, then one wonders what public interest was served by this unwelcome intrusion into Harding’s private messages. Individual access to computer bulletin boards and the Internet has also created a concern, both legally and ethically, about the use of cyberspace for the unregulated spread of pornography, electronic shouting matches (known as “flaming”), and the uncontrollable theft of intellectual property. Unlike traditional modes of communication, the global Internet is a loosely

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organized information system (or “web”) of thousands of voluntarily interconnected computer networks, reaching more than 100 countries and serving over 25 million individual users. Cyberspace differs from conventional media distribution systems in that there is no central control or “ownership.” Consumers now have access directly to the channels of distribution and thus have become major players in not only the mass consumption of information but also the creation and distribution of information. However, this could be a mixed blessing. On the one hand, the communication system is now one of pure democracy. We can all become direct participants in the energizing force for the democratic process—the cultivation and dissemination of knowledge. On the other hand, ethicists must now ponder whether such an “infomocracy” is antithetical to the creation of a virtuous society. For example, news organizations have traditionally been the primary gatekeepers in the information flow process in our democracy. Under such a system, the public can usually be confident of a fairly high level of reliability and “quality” of information because of the elaborate system of rigorous scrutiny by professional journalists and editors. But with unrestricted access to the Internet and other computer-generated data sources, both for individual communicators and recipients, there is a danger that the overall quality of the information generated will diminish and along with it the quality of democratic discourse. The concerns range from just inaccurate information to the use of the Internet by extremist groups, such as terrorists, for propaganda purposes and to mobilize public opinion. One commentator, writing in the American Journalism Review, has posed this troublesome question: “Now that we can be our own editors and choose to read only the issues that engage us, who will participate in public debate?”62 Some of the most troublesome ethical dilemmas have resulted from the integration of computers and digital technology. Digitalization is a process by which pictures, sound, and

text are converted electronically and stored as digits, which can later be decoded and reconstructed as the original product or an altered form of the original product. And because a “reconstructed” production is a perfect copy of the original, any transformation of the original content is impossible to detect. Simple alterations, such as the St. Louis Post-Dispatch’s decision several years ago to remove a Diet Coke can from a Pulitzer Prize winner, can be accomplished with only a few keystrokes using technology widely available in today’s newsrooms. A new technology called “subtraction,” for example, can be used to alter photos seamlessly. The cliché, “the camera never lies,” has always been somewhat of a fallacy, but digital technology can be a seductive device in the hands of either overzealous or unethical media practitioners. One should not underestimate the potential for ethical mischief that the computer revolution has made possible. Consider this scenario described in a recent issue of American Journalism Review: A foreign power with which the United States is engaged militarily creates totally phony footage of American soldiers being tortured or shot in order to undermine the nation’s will to fight.63 An extreme example, perhaps, but one that should not be casually dismissed. Some of the ethical dimensions of digitalization and content alteration will be explored in Chapter 4. The democratizing effect of cyberspace has piqued the interest of all Internet surfers in the ethical concerns of going online. The subject of “media ethics” is no longer the exclusive preserve of those who make their living collecting, editing, and distributing information to a mass audience. As Tim Atseff, chair of the Ethics Committee of the Associated Press Managing Editors, has noted: “What used to be discussed in newsrooms and at annual meetings is now daily discourse on the Internet and related discussion groups and forums. Something happens and instantaneously someone, for better or for worse, has an opinion about its ethical application.”64

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Ethicists are only now beginning to examine, in a systematic way, the ethical dimensions of our newly created technological universe. The danger is that the technology itself will become the scapegoat for an increase in unsavory behavior of both media practitioners and others in the communications chain, when in fact it can only facilitate unethical conduct or perhaps offer a tempting excuse for such deportment. We might be impressed by the potential of the new media but should not be awed by their technological charisma. Such blind loyalty could lead to technological slavery. If indeed the “high-tech” revolution does lead to an increase in moral mayhem, it will be the result of unvirtuous moral agents and not the ethically passive tools of their trade. Thus, it is important to remember that traditional ethical values and principles (for example, respect for persons, fairness, justice, honesty, and so forth) transcend the innovations of the information age and any strategies to harness the new technologies from an ethical perspective must place the individual at the center of the moral universe. Unfortunately, with the accelerating tempo of technology and information transfer, quiet reflection is a luxury we cannot afford. Under such pressures it may be tempting to abdicate all responsibility to lawyers and policy makers. Of course, some legal regulation is inevitable and undoubtedly necessary. But a free and democratic society functions best when it leaves the resolution of its ethical quandaries to the reasoned judgment of its citizens rather than the regulatory authority of the government.

THE MEDIA AS SOCIALLY RESPONSIBLE INSTITUTIONS Institutions, like individuals, must learn to be socially responsible. But there is no reason to believe that, in so doing, they must sacrifice their corporate autonomy. Institutional autonomy, like individual autonomy, consists of freedom of

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choice, but there is a price to be paid for making decisions that do not at least take into account the interests of others. Of course, this realization sometimes necessitates changing corporate attitudes. For the media, attitudes of social responsibility can be acquired through a two-step process. The first step is to promote a positive corporate image and to improve the chances of gaining public respect. This can be done through an aggressive campaign of external communications and consideration of the impact on society of any ethical decisions made by media managers and employees. Although this step is based in part on self-interest—the idea that social responsibility is good for business—it creates a set of corporate values on which a more altruistic notion of responsibility can be built. The second step is community involvement. This is accomplished by encouraging employees to participate in civic affairs and providing corporate financial support for community projects. It can also involve a high-level commitment to the resolution of social problems, even though it may not be economically advantageous to do so. Major newspapers, for example, might consider greater coverage of low-income and minority neighborhoods. Cable systems might increase their penetration in poor neighborhoods, thus enriching the program diversity for the lower rungs of society. Corporations (or their foundations) might endow libraries in the inner city to provide Internet access to those who are currently disenfranchised from the information society. Of course, these actions would necessitate restructuring the management philosophy of the communications industry. They are egalitarian ideas that may be hard for some corporate executives to swallow, especially when they have to confront the critical inquiries of stockholders, advertisers, or clients. In addition to the involvement of some institutions in the communities of which they are a part, there are other visible signs that the media have at least recognized that freedom

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and responsibility can easily coexist on the same moral ground. The media have acknowledged that some self-regulation is essential because failure to regulate will result in further erosion of confidence and perhaps even public demands for governmental intervention. This recognition of social responsibility as a moral duty has been reflected in three self-regulatory mechanisms: codes of conduct, media ombudsmen (sometimes referred to as “readers’ representatives”), and news councils.

Codes of Conduct Although most media practitioners agree that ethical norms are important in their fields, formal codes of conduct are still controversial. Proponents of such codes argue that a written statement of principles is the only way to avoid leaving moral judgments to individual interpretations and that if ethical values are important enough to espouse publicly, they should be codified. Besides, codes provide employees with a written notice of what is expected of them.65 Opponents of such codes view them as a form of self-censorship, a retreat from the independence and autonomy necessary for a free and robust mass communication enterprise. In addition, the critics argue, such codes must, of necessity, be general and vague and thus are incapable of confronting the fine nuances of the ethical skirmishes that occur under specific circumstances.66 In the field of journalism philosophy, such luminaries as John Merrill and S. Jack Odell have dismissed codes as meaningful tools for ensuring accountability: The problem with such codes and creeds, however, is that they are not even sufficient in what they do—develop a consensus in thought and action; reason: the rhetorical devices of the codes of ethics and the creeds are so nebulous, fuzzy, ambiguous, contradictory, or heavy-handed that the few journalists who do read them are perplexed, confused, bewildered, angered, and scared off. Journalists, of all people, should use the language skillfully, directly, and effectively, and in many instances they do. But when it

comes to codes and creeds they seem to retreat into a kind of bureaucratese, or sociological jargon that benumbs the mind and frustrates any attempt to extract substantial meaning from the writing.67

There is also a fear, sometimes justified, that formal codes of conduct will be used against the media in legal battles as evidence that employees have behaved negligently in violating their own standards of ethical deportment. Finally, opponents contend that codes are nothing more than statements of ideals and are conveniently ignored in the competitive environment of the marketplace. Nevertheless, codes are viewed as a serious attempt to at least recognize the fundamental values and principles for which media organizations stand. They serve the dual purposes of establishing the common ground on which members of a profession stand and serving a public relations function of letting the public know the organization is serious about ethics.68 These codes are of two kinds: professional and institutional. Professional Codes. All of the major professional media organizations, representing a broad constituency, have developed formal codes. For example, the Society of Professional Journalists (SPJ) has adopted standards for such things as truth, accuracy, conflicts of interests, and fairness. There has been a recurring debate over whether the SPJ code should be enforced within the journalistic community, thereby ensuring adherence to the code’s ideals. However, even the SPJ has resisted this idea, in part because they are afraid that attempts at making journalism a profession might encourage legislatures to license them, thus setting up a First Amendment confrontation. In 1985 its directors voted against enforcing the code on individual members because of a concern that such a stance would interfere with First Amendment freedoms. There was also a fear of litigation resulting from punitive action taken against

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some recalcitrant SPJ member for having violated the code.69 The American Society of Newspaper Editors, the Associated Press Managing Editors, and the Radio-Television News Directors Association have also adopted codes. The Advertising Code of American Business (developed by the American Advertising Federation and the Association of Better Business Bureaus International) sets forth the advertising industry’s views on such things as truth in advertising, good taste and public decency, disparagement of competitors’ products, price claims, and the use of testimonials. Likewise, the Public Relations Society of America (PRSA) has adopted a Code of Professional Standards to guide its members through the moral thicket of corporate responsibility. Hollywood has also mobilized its collective conscience in the form of the Motion Picture Association of America’s rating system. Codes of conduct, of course, are a prominent feature of the moral landscape for other professions. Lawyers, doctors, nurses, and psychologists all belong to professions with enforceable codes of ethics. The lack of enforceability, however, distinguishes media codes from those adhered to by other professional practitioners. Although the PRSA can expel a member for violation of its code under some circumstances,70 it has no legal authority to prohibit an expelled member from continuing to practice public relations. In fact, the lack of an enforceable ethical code is cited by some as evidence of the media’s lack of professional standing. Institutional Codes. In addition to these professional codes, many media institutions have their own policies regarding the conduct of employees. These codes are often comprehensive and deal with such diverse matters as the acceptance of gifts and other gratuities from outside sources, conflicts of interests, the use of offensive or indecent material, the publication of rape victims’ names, the staging of news events, the use of deceptive news-gathering techniques, and the identification of news sources.

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There are usually similar policies regarding advertising content, particularly in matters of decency and taste. Many of the issues covered by these codes will be dealt with in the hypothetical cases in Part 2. Although these codes often reflect an organization’s commitment to certain standards of conduct, they are sometimes criticized for failing to provide guidance for the myriad ethical dilemmas that confront media practitioners under the pressure of time deadlines. Nevertheless, such codes are helpful in socializing new employees to the ethical values of the organization and can also be used as a neutral standard to which both sides can appeal in an ethical dispute.71 In addition, unlike professional codes, which are just voluntary statements of principles, industry codes are usually enforceable, sometimes resulting in either warnings or dismissal of ethically recalcitrant employees.72 Unfortunately, in the heat of battle and under deadline pressures some organizations ignore their own standards. Such was apparently the case when Jane Pauley, coanchor of Dateline NBC, opened a segment on the murder of James Jordan, father of basketball superstar Michael Jordan. In the segment she referred to criminal records of the two suspects charged in the murder and then introduced correspondent Brian Ross, who also dealt with the records and did so in the framework of “young criminals” moving through the justice system. This violated the NBC standards book, which cautioned against using criminal records on the air.73 Of course, institutional policies are not selfeffectuating and depend on the diligence and good faith of management personnel to oversee their adherence. Each violation, particularly if ignored by media executives, erodes the integrity of the published ethical guidelines.

The Ombudsman System Perhaps the most visible example of a commitment to self-criticism is the presence, in some media organizations, of an ombudsman, hired

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to investigate questionable journalistic conduct and to recommend action. Proponents of the ombudsman system argue that ombudsmen can most effectively “funnel” reader complaints, reduce the likelihood of libel complaints, help cement a paper’s relationship with its readers, serve as a liaison with the public, and elevate the ethical awareness of the staff. Opponents insist that ombudsmen are expensive luxuries and that the money could be better spent on reporters and editors, that they are little more than window dressing and a public relations ploy, and that they create a bureaucratic layer between the audience and those who should be addressing the public’s concerns, namely editors and reporters.74 The ombudsman idea originated in Sweden, where a government official with that title represents the public in its dealings with the bureaucracy, and ombudsmen have become a feature of the self-regulatory apparatus in other countries. Sometimes, they respond to complaints from irate citizens or the subjects of news coverage; at other times, they act on their own initiative. A case in point is the controversy that engulfed the Philadelphia Inquirer when it published a photo of an African American man killed by police following a shooting incident at a high school championship basketball game on the University of Pennsylvania campus. The picture, which was prominently displayed on page one, prompted accusations from angry readers, many of them African American, who said the paper would not have run a similar picture of a white victim. Others vilified the paper for being insensitive and resorting to sensationalism. The Inquirer defended its decision on the grounds the picture conveyed a shocking but important story. But despite the paper’s confidence in its ethical posture, the editors were not insensitive to their readers’ concerns, and the Inquirer’s two ombudsmen reached out to readers, publicly acknowledging the debate over the gruesome photo and letting them vent their anger.75

The first newspapers to use an ombudsman in this country were Kentucky’s Louisville Times and the Louisville Courier-Journal in 1967. However, the number of daily newspapers utilizing ombudsmen has never been impressive. Just a handful of the more than 1,400 dailies (only 40 were listed as members of the Organization of News Ombudsmen in 2003) employ ombudsmen, but ombudsmen occupy influential positions at some of the nation’s largest metropolitan papers, including the Washington Post, Minneapolis Star-Tribune, Chicago Tribune, and Boston Globe.76 At some newspapers the ombudsman’s role has been expanded to include enhancing the papers’ connection with their readers and improving the quality of news coverage before it happens rather than as an “after-the-fact critic in a public column.”77 Ombudsmen do not base their advice on fixed codes; they are more interested in improving the social conscience of the institution than in adhering to a general and sometimes vague formal policy. Effective ombudsmen must be viewed both by management and the public as representatives of the community and should have access to space in the newspaper or airtime on the station to disagree with decisions by institutional personnel. Ombudsmen should also have seniority or some stature within the industry.78 Although ombudsmen are considered representatives of the public, they should also be even-handed in their handling of complaints. They must be fair to both readers and their newspapers and editors. One problem has been the public’s perception of ombudsmen, who are sometimes viewed as a cosmetic response to reader criticism. Thus, an Organization of News Ombudsmen has been established to promote the positive role of these readers’ representatives. Ombudsmen can provide an avenue for constructive criticism and a platform for a reasonable dialogue with the faceless institutional gatekeepers. The presence of ombudsmen can be an effective tool of corporate management to demonstrate to a skeptical

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public that they are serious about the idea of social responsibility. Unfortunately, staff members often resent ombudsmen and perceive them as in-house “snitches,” not unlike the way in which members of some police departments view their internal affairs units with disdain. As to the future of ombudsmen as a selfregulatory device, there is both good news and bad news. The bad news is that several papers, apparently believing that too much selfcriticism is destructive of corporate self-esteem, have fired or reassigned their ombudsmen for their brutal candor in assessing the ethical indiscretions of their employers.79 The good news is that the electronic media, increasingly liberated from decades of government regulation that made self-policing largely redundant, have renewed their efforts at self-criticism and accountability in the form of audience feedback programs, on-air critics, and even ombudsmen.80

News Councils News councils, arguably the most democratic of regulatory devices, are another breed of “watchdog” designed to foster a dialogue between the media and their various publics. These councils, which are usually composed of a cross section of the community and the media, are designed to investigate complaints against the media, investigate the charges, and then publish their findings. However, although such bodies are common in Europe, news councils have become virtually an ethical anachronism in this country. In the 1950s and 1960s local councils sprang up in the United States, in large and small communities alike. The largest of these—the Minnesota Press Council—was statewide and remains the only visible force of its kind in investigating cases of alleged ethical wrongdoing. This grassroots movement provided the impetus for a national review panel, and in 1973 the National News Council came into existence. It was initially funded by the prestigious Twentieth

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Century Fund and the Markle Foundation. Logically, the financial supporters should have been news organizations themselves, but the council was met with a predictable outpouring of disdain and even anger from print and broadcast journalists alike. Some felt that press freedom itself was being jeopardized, which in hindsight was a rather dramatic overreaction. In 1984 the council died from neglect, a victim of media antagonism and dereliction. Richard S. Salant, a former head of CBS News and the council’s president when it folded, noted that opposition to it was a reflection of the deep-seated hostility of the American media to any outside body looking over its shoulder and the belief that each news organization was capable of solving its own problems.81 An editorial comment from the New York Daily News was typical: “We don’t care how much the Fund prates its virtuous intentions. This is a sneak attempt at press regulation, a bid for a role as unofficial news censor.”82 The publisher of the New York Times, Arthur Ochs Sulzberger, called the idea “simply regulation in another form.”83 However, not all members of the media were as pessimistic. For example, the Washington Post’s publisher, Katherine Graham, observed, “If properly handled, it won’t do any harm and might do some good.”84 The council’s detractors may have felt that a little social responsibility is good for the soul but that an overdose of anything can be terminal. Considering the hostile environment in which they are now operating, the media may have lost a valuable ally in their fight to be perceived as institutions of social responsibility. However, as the news media’s credibility continues to tumble, some journalistic stalwarts are publicly resurrecting the idea of a news council. 60 Minutes’ senior correspondent Mike Wallace, for example, writing in the Quill, the magazine of the Society of Professional Journalists, lamented the fact that “there’s a good deal less admiration in the public perception of us and our profession” and urged the industry again to consider a national news council.85

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“What I’m suggesting is . . . [r]easonable, qualified people sitting down and considering whether or not they perceive a given piece of reporting warrants holding it up to public scrutiny as flawed, as dishonest,” observes Wallace. “And if it is, then let the public know about it.”86

SUMMARY A system of ethics is a cornerstone of any civilization. It is essential for (1) building trust and cooperation among individuals in society, (2) serving as a moral gatekeeper in apprising society of the relative importance of certain moral values, (3) acting as a moral arbitrator in resolving conflicting claims based on individual self-interests, (4) improving society’s moral ecology, and (5) clarifying for society the competing values and principles inherent in emerging and novel moral dilemmas. Five criteria are the basis of any system of ethics. First, an ethical system must have shared values. Before ethical judgments can be made, society must reach agreement on its standards of moral conduct. Second, these standards should be based on reason and experience, that is to say, wisdom. Third, a system of ethics should seek justice. There should be no double standard of treatment, unless there is an overriding and morally defensible reason to discriminate. Fourth, an ethical system should be based on freedom of choice. Moral agents must be free to render ethical judgments without coercion. Only in this way will the individual’s ethical level of consciousness be raised. Finally, there must be some means of accountability, either formal or informal. An ethics system that does not include accountability encourages freedom without responsibility and thus lacks the moral authority to encourage virtuous behavior. Society imposes moral duties on individuals as a condition of membership in that society. These duties are of two kinds. General obligations

are those that apply to all members of society. Particularistic obligations are determined by membership within a specific group, profession, or occupation. A real moral dilemma can occur when a conflict arises between our general and particularistic duties, as when a reporter refuses to divulge the name of a confidential source to a court of law. In fulfilling these moral duties, we must take into account all parties, including ourselves, who may be touched by our ethical decisions. For media practitioners these include the individual’s conscience, the objects of moral judgment, financial supporters, the institution, professional colleagues, and society at large. There is obviously a connection between law and ethics, inasmuch as many of our felony statutes—for example, those involving murder and theft—are based on the moral precepts of civilization. However, not all moral issues are legally codified. But because compliance with the law in a democratic society depends on moral respect for its legal institutions, violation of the law can be justified only by some higher moral principle. Even then lawbreakers must be willing to accept the consequences of their actions. Individuals are the primary moral agents within society. They are the ones who make ethical judgments within the institutional hierarchy. Nevertheless, the public often associates ethical or unethical behavior with the institutions themselves, especially when corporate executives are invisible to a skeptical populace. Thus, we often speak of social responsibility when referring to a company’s image. Some political and economic conservatives believe that the concept of the public interest is merely a by-product of corporate autonomy. According to this view, social responsibility consists primarily of serving the stockholders or other investors. Others have taken issue with this view and believe that conducting business is not a right but a privilege granted by society. Because the media are now a big business feasting at the trough of Wall Street, the public has demanded accountability, just as it has from

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the rest of corporate America. This pressure for social responsibility, which has manifested itself through both mechanisms of self-regulation and external criticism, began around the turn of the twentieth century and has continued unabated. The arrival of the information age has precipitated a new round of ethical soul-searching and may challenge traditional concepts of social responsibility. Such unethical conduct as invasion of privacy, theft of intellectual property, and deception using digitalization are among the concerns of ethicists as the convergence of communications media and sophisticated technology continues unabated. There is no reason to believe that institutional autonomy and social responsibility cannot coexist in the media, but this goal necessitates the restructuring of corporate attitudes. This attitude realignment should begin, first, by convincing corporate executives that social responsibility is good for business and that little autonomy has to be surrendered in the process. Second, media institutions should be—and many already are—actively involved in the communities of which they are a part. Other promising signs indicate that the media have recognized that freedom and responsibility are not mutually exclusive. This recognition of social responsibility is reflected in two self-regulatory mechanisms: codes of conduct, both professional and institutional, and ombudsmen. News councils, perhaps the most democratic of selfregulatory devices, have all but disappeared from this country’s ethical arsenal. Predictably, all of these measures have met with some resistance from those who view social responsibility as a euphemism for censorship. But each, in its own way, has served to awaken the media to their obligations to the society from which they draw economic sustenance.

Notes 1. Dorothy Rabinowitz, “ABC’s Food Lion Mission,” Wall Street Journal, February 11, 1997, p. A-22. 2. On appeal, the Fourth Circuit Court of Appeals overturned some of the claims against ABC but allowed

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5. 6. 7.

9. 10.

11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18.

19.

20.

21.

22.

the trespass charge to stand. See Food Lion Inc. v. Capital Cities/ABC, Inc., 27 Med. L. Rptr. 2409 (4th Cir. 1999). For example, see Kyle Niederpruem, “Food Lion Case May Punish Future Journalists,” Quill, May 1997, p. 47; Russ W. Baker, “Truth, Lies, and Videotape,” Columbia Journalism Review, July/August 1993, pp. 25–28. Philip Seib and Kathy Fitzpatrick, Journalism Ethics (Fort Worth, TX: Harcourt Brace, 1997), p. 93, citing Colman McCarthy, “Getting the Truth Untruthfully,” Washington Post, December 22, 1992, p. D21. Rabinowitz, “ABC’s Food Lion Mission.” Jeffrey Olen, Ethics in Journalism (Upper Saddle River, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1988), p. 3. See John Hartland-Swann, “The Moral and the NonMoral,” in Tom L. Beauchamp, Philosophical Ethics: An Introduction to Moral Philosophy (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1982), pp. 7–10. This point is discussed in greater detail in Edward Tivnan, The Moral Imagination: Confronting the Ethical Issues of the Day (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1995), pp. 263–265. Olen, Ethics in Journalism, p. 3. Richard P. Cunningham, “Public Cries Foul on Both Coasts When Papers Lift Secrecy,” Quill, April 1995, p. 12. Ibid. Ibid. Richard P. Cunningham, “Judge’s Racist Comments Rip Scab Off City, Readers,” Quill, June 1992, p. 10. Ibid. Quoted in ibid., p. 11. Virginia Pharmacy Board v. Virginia Consumer Council, 1 Med. L. Rptr. 1930, 1935 (1976). Ibid., p. 1936. For a more thorough examination of this controversy, see Clifford G. Christians, Mark Fackler, Kim B. Rotzoll, and Kathy Brittain McKee, Media Ethics: Cases and Moral Reasoning, 6th ed. (New York: Addison Wesley Longman, 2001), pp. 127–132. For a discussion of the relationship between “popular” culture and “high” culture, see Lee Thayer (ed.), Ethics, Morality and the Media (New York: Hastings House, 1980), pp. 19–22. These criteria are based, in part, on the writings of ancient Greek and contemporary philosophers as well as some recommended by the ethics scholar John Merrill. Such an approach is not unusual in cases involving harmful products, such as the warning labels now required on cigarette packages and tobacco advertising. See Olen, Ethics in Journalism, pp. 2–3. One author refers to these as prima facie duties in Beauchamp, Philosophical Ethics, pp. 188–190.

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23. See Norman E. Bowie, Making Ethical Decisions (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1985), p. 100. 24. “Darts & Laurels,” Columbia Journalism Review, September/October 1996, p. 23. 25. “Paper Sparks Debate by Interviewing ‘Arsonist,’” Quill, April 2001, p. 41. 26. Fred Brown, “Crossing the Police Line,” Quill, March 2001, p. 30. 27. Ibid. 28. See Ralph Potter, “The Logic of Moral Argument,” in Paul Deats (ed.), Toward a Discipline of Social Ethics (Boston: Boston University Press, 1972), pp. 93–114. 29. Christians, Fackler, Rotzoll, and McKee, Media Ethics, pp. 21–22. 30. Some of these categories are derived from those developed by Christians, Fackler, Rotzoll, and McKee in Media Ethics, pp. 22–23. 31. See Olen, Ethics in Journalism, p. 33. 32. Ibid., p. 34. 33. 18 Med. L. Rptr. 1348 (S.D. Fla. 1990). 34. 18 Med. L. Rptr. 1352 (11th Cir. 1990). 35. United States v. Cable News Network, 23 Med. L. Rptr. 1033, 1045–1046 (S.D. Fla. 1994). 36. For example, see Cox Broadcasting Corp. v. Cohn, 420 U.S. 469 (1975); The Florida Star v. B.J.F., 109 S. Ct. 2603 (1989). 37. Not all ethicists agree with this view. Some believe that corporate morality exists apart from the ethical behavior of individual members. See Peter A. French, “Corporate Moral Agency,” in Joan C. Callahan (ed.), Ethical Issues in Professional Life (New York: Oxford University Press, 1988), pp. 265–269. 38. For an insightful discussion and comparison of these two cases, see Philip Seib and Kathy Fitzpatrick, Public Relations Ethics (Fort Worth, TX: Harcourt Brace, 1995), pp. 101–111. 39. This case is discussed in James A. Laska and Michael S. Pritchard, Communication Ethics: Methods of Analysis, 2d ed. (Belmont, CA: Wadsworth, 1994), p. 48. 40. For a discussion of corporate social responsibility, see Conrad C. Fink, Media Ethics (Needham Heights, MA: Allyn & Bacon, 1995), pp. 111–160. 41. See Milton Friedman, “Social Responsibility and Compensatory Justice,” in Callahan, Ethical Issues, pp. 349–350. 42. Fred S. Siebert, Theodore Peterson, and Wilbur Schramm, Four Theories of the Press (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1956), p. 73. 43. Mitchell Stephens, A History of News: From the Drum to the Satellite (New York: Viking Penguin, 1988), p. 264. 44. Ibid., pp. 263–268. 45. See Melvin Anshen, “Changing the Social Contract: A Role for Business,” in Callahan, Ethical Issues, pp. 351–354.

46. See “Big Media, Big Money,” Newsweek, April 1, 1985, pp. 52–59. 47. Fred S. Siebert, Theodore Peterson, and Wilbur Schramm, Four Theories of the Press (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1956), p. 83. 48. Ibid., quoting Joseph Pulitzer, “The College of Journalism,” North American Review 178 (May 1904): 658. 49. Ron F. Smith, Groping for Ethics in Journalism, 5th ed. (Ames: Iowa State University Press, 2003), pp. 22–23. 50. Clifford Christians, “Enforcing Media Codes,” Journal of Mass Media Ethics 1, no. 1 (Fall/Winter 1985–1986): 14. 51. Siebert, Peterson, and Schramm, Four Theories of the Press, pp. 87–92. 52. Theodore L. Glasser, “When Is Objective Reporting Irresponsible Reporting?,” in Philip Patterson and Lee Wilkins (eds.), Media Ethics: Issues and Cases, 4th ed. (Boston: McGraw-Hill, 2002), pp. 39–40. 53. Quoted in Glasser. 54. Ted J. Smith III, “Journalism and the Socrates Syndrome,” Quill, April 1988, p. 20. 55. Ibid. 56. David Bauder, “CBS Cancels Reagan Miniseries, Gives It to Showtime,” AP dispatch published in The Advocate (Baton Rouge), November 5, 2003, p. 12A. 57. For an excellent book by Howard Kurtz that provides a penetrating and critical look at the newspaper industry, see Media Circus: The Trouble with America’s Newspapers (New York: Times Books), 1993. 58. Peter B. Orlik, Electronic Media Criticism (Boston: Focal Press, 1994), p. 19. 59. “Big Media, Big Money,” p. 52. 60. Jack Lule, “The Power and Pitfalls of Journalism in the Hypertext Era,” Chronicle of Higher Education, August 7, 1998, p. B7. 61. Catherine Mejia, “E-mail Access v. Privacy,” Quill, April 1994, p. 4. 62. Ed Fouhy, “Which Way Will It Go?,” American Journalism Review, May 2000, p. 18. There is also a concern that journalists themselves may fall prey to inaccurate information on the Net and in computer data banks. However, a recent study reveals that stories using computer-assisted reporting are as credible as stories based on anecdotal evidence or authoritative sources. Justin Mayo and Glenn Leshner, “Assessing the Credibility of Computer-Assisted Reporting,” Newspaper Research Journal, Fall 2000, pp. 68–82. 63. Ibid. 64. Quoted from “Ethics and the Rush of Cyberspace,” APME News, July/August, 1995, p. 14. 65. See Christians, “Enforcing Media Codes.” 66. For a consideration of arguments against formal codes of ethics, see Jay Black and Ralph D. Barney, “The Case against Mass Media Codes of Ethics,”

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67. 68. 69. 70.

71.

72. 73. 74.

75.

Journal of Mass Media Ethics 1, no. 1 (Fall/Winter 1985–1986): 27–36. John C. Merrill and S. Jack Odell, Philosophy and Journalism (White Plains, NY: Longman, 1983), p. 137. Jay Black, “Minimum Standards vs. Ideal Expectations,” Quill, November/December 1995, p. 26. Smith, Groping for Ethics, p. 23. Under the 2000 revision of the code, the PRSA Board of Directors “retains the right to bar from membership or expel from the Society any individual who has been or is sanctioned by a government agency or convicted in a court of law of an action that is in violation of this Code.” For a more thorough discussion of the pros and cons regarding media codes, see Richard L. Johannesen, “What Should We Teach about Formal Codes of Communication Ethics?” Journal of Mass Media Ethics 3 (1988): 59–64. See Jay Black, “Taking the Pulse of the Nation’s News Media,” Quill, November 1992, p. 32. See Emerson Stone, “Going, Going, Gone . . . ?,” Communicator, December 1993, p. 16. Christopher Meyers, “Creating an Effective Newspaper Ombudsman Position,” Journal of Mass Media Ethics 15, no. 4 (2000): 248. Josh Getlin, “Monitoring Yourself,” Columbia Journalism Review, March/April 2000, p. 51.

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76. Organization of News Ombudsmen website, located at http://www.newsombudsmen.org/ (downloaded November 13, 2003). 77. Neil Nemeth, News Ombudsmen in North America (Westport, CT: Praeger, 2003), p. 142. 78. See William L. Rivers and Cleve Mathews, Ethics for the Media (Upper Saddle River, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1988), p. 231. 79. For example, see Terry Dalton, “Another One Bites the Dust,” Quill, November/December 1994, pp. 39–40; Richard P. Cunningham, “Third Canadian Paper Eliminates Ombudsman Post,” Quill, September 1993, pp. 16–17; Richard P. Cunningham, “L.A. Riot Coverage Criticism Costs Ombudsman His Job,” Quill, July/ August 1992, pp. 12–13. 80. Sue O’Brien, “Electronic Ombudsmen,” Communicator, March 1995, pp. 15–18. 81. “News Council Closes, Gives Files to Minnesota,” Quill, May 1984, p. 44. 82. Rivers and Mathews, Ethics for the Media, p. 219. 83. “Judges for Journalism,” Newsweek, December 11, 1972, p. 82. 84. Ibid. 85. See Mike Wallace, “The Press under Fire,” Quill, November/December 1995, pp. 21–23. 86. Ibid., p. 23.

C H A P T E R

3 Ethics and Moral Reasoning MORAL REASONING AND ETHICAL DECISION MAKING

be an exercise in futility, because we cannot argue reasonably about matters of pure taste or opinion. We can, however, deliberate reasonably and persuasively about moral judgments.1 But moral reasoning consists of more than just offering reasons for our beliefs, opinions, and actions. After all, not all reasons are valid ones. Moral reasoning is a structured process, an intellectual means of defending our ethical judgments against the criticisms of others. This does not mean that reasonable people cannot disagree about the correct solution to an ethical dilemma. Two different moral agents may, through proper reasoning, arrive at opposing but equally compelling conclusions about the most virtuous course. The beauty of moral reasoning lies in the journey, not the destination. Knowledge of ethical principles is important, but the application and defense of these rules of conduct in the drama of human interaction are at the core of moral reasoning. In other words, an attempt at moral justification is successful if it can be vindicated on rational grounds. But if moral reasoning is such a deliberate process—after all, thinking and analyzing are time-consuming—how can media practitioners (or harried managers and employees in other lines of work, for that matter) who perform under deadline pressures expect to apply it? That, of course, is the purpose of teaching moral

Discussions about religion and politics are sure to liven up any party. Ethics deserves a place on that list. Everyone has opinions about unethical and immoral conduct, and arguments about morality usually produce more heat than light. When ethical issues are confronted in the classroom or in professional media seminars, the discussion often degenerates into passionate appeals for press rights or sympathy for the victims. Judgments are not well reasoned. In other words, they lack moral foundation. Moral reasoning is a systematic approach to making ethical decisions. Like other forms of intellectual activity, it takes the form of logical argument and persuasion. Because ethical judgments, as we have seen in Chapters 1 and 2, involve the rights and interests of others, these decisions must be made with care and must be defensible through a reasoned analysis of the situation. An individual unschooled in the process of moral reasoning might assume that questions of ethical conduct, like those of personal taste, are nothing more than matters of opinion. Imagine trying to convince someone through rational argument that he should prefer colorful sports coats to more traditional blue business suits. Such an undertaking would

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reasoning techniques to aspiring practitioners within the relative tranquility of the classroom. The consciousness-raising and training that occur there should help the student confront moral dilemmas in the real world with more confidence. In addition, knowledge of moral reasoning principles provides a framework within which moral agents, once they have made ethical judgments, can review them with an eye to improving their performance in the future. Some consistency in decision-making will result, thus replacing the case-by-case approach that so often characterizes classroom discussions of ethical issues. However, one word of caution is in order: No approach to moral reasoning, no matter how structured or thorough, is a guarantee of success in ethical decision making under all circumstances. Despite the rather untidy circumstances of some ethical dilemmas, the process of moral reasoning can be carried out if moral actors have knowledge and skills in three areas: (1) the moral context, (2) the philosophical foundations of moral theory, and (3) critical thinking. Each of these areas is important in its own way and plays an indispensable role in the moral reasoning model outlined later in this chapter.

THE CONTEXT OF MORAL REASONING The making of ethical decisions does not take place in a vacuum. Moral agents must understand the context within which the dilemma has arisen. Before their powers of reason can operate at optimum efficiency, they must understand the issue itself, the facts of the situation, and the values, principles, and moral duties inherent in the case. In other words, the context consists of all of the factors that might influence an individual’s resolution of a moral dilemma. For example, White House press secretaries who knowingly disseminate “disinformation” to reporters to protect the security of delicate foreign policy negotiations not only must be

thoroughly familiar with the facts that might justify such deception, but also should keep in mind the societal proscriptions against lying and be prepared to justify their actions on some higher moral ground. But the general societal norms aside, they should also be aware of the standards of ethical conduct expected of government officials in these circumstances and the particularistic moral duties that govern their behavior. After all, these expectations do change over time, as evidenced by the recent heightened sense of moral indignation in Washington over conflicts of interest. The context of an ethical dilemma might involve making decisions about either our personal behavior or our professional conduct. Lying to a friend, for example, involves different considerations than using deception in gathering a news story. Even an ethical purist might be forced to admit that lying is permissible in extreme circumstances, such as to prevent harm to another. But the justifications for this deviation from societal norms would be different for a media practitioner than for others operating within a dissimilar environment. Contextual factors are often culturally determined, whether through association with a close circle of friends or through the “culture” of the newsroom. Company value systems and behavioral codes cannot be ignored in rendering moral judgments. Before promising confidentiality to a news source, for example, a reporter must be guided by company policy on the matter as well as the views and advice of professional colleagues. Likewise, decision makers must consider certain competitive and economic pressures that are common to media institutions. All of the considerations that are unique to a particular dilemma constitute the context of the ethical case. Thus, before moral agents can argue rationally about media ethics, they must know something about the environment—that is, the social and cultural context—within which the media operate. They must bring to the decisionmaking process at least a minimum body of

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knowledge about the media. Otherwise, it will be difficult to evaluate the strength and legitimacy of the arguments put forth in defense of moral judgments made by media practitioners.

THE PHILOSOPHICAL FOUNDATIONS OF MORAL THEORY Many philosophers, both ancient and contemporary, as well as the ethical traditions they represent, have had a profound impact on the moral evolution of Western civilization. In the next few pages, we shall briefly encounter a few of the most significant. And while they may vary in substance, the reality is that each has contributed in some way to what might be referred to as the individual’s moral sense.

The Greek Connection Most would agree that the study of ethics had its genesis in the glory of ancient Greece. The Greeks, beginning with Socrates, believed that there are moral absolutes and moral knowledge and that they can be discovered by intellectually and persistently curious citizens. Or, to put it more indelicately, virtue is not imprinted on our genetic code at the moment of conception. It requires individual initiative, emotional stamina, critical reflection, and a great deal of determination. The Greeks would have been uncomfortable in a society without moral anchors. Those who share this vision are Greek, at least philosophically, if not through ethnic lineage. Socrates (ca. 470–399 B.C.) believed that virtue could be identified and practiced. He was dissatisfied with his contemporaries’ opinions about moral conduct and wanted to discover those rules that could be reasonably supported. He believed that anyone, through careful reflection, could arrive at some insights into these rules.2 Although he did not pass on a philosophical system of his own, his “Socratic dialogues” were a significant contribution to what

we now refer to as moral reasoning. Of course, he would have been unnerved by the contemporary media environment, in which diatribes are as common as dialogues and reason often falls prey to intemperance. Socrates’s disciple, Plato (ca. 428–348 B.C.), argued in The Republic that justice is achieved through the harmony of wisdom, temperance, and courage. Translating into practice this philosophical observation from the ancient sage, we might say that moral conduct should be based on experience and knowledge of the world, moderate behavior as the means of achieving sound ethical judgments, and the courage to live up to those judgments. Plato believed that “good” was a value independent of the standards of behavior prevalent at any moment in society. An individual would be justified in defying conventional wisdom in the name of some higher moral good, even if that meant social ostracism. Thus, we might note these ancient seeds for the justifications that media practitioners (and other moral agents) sometimes use for behavior that runs counter to societal norms. Aristotle (384–322 B.C.) was for many years a student of Plato, but he was more pragmatic in dealing with the world as he found it. He believed that moral virtue was obtainable but that tough choices had to be made in the process. The exercise of virtue, according to him, is concerned with means. Thus, the ends do not necessarily justify the means. Aristotle’s moral philosophy, sometimes referred to as virtue ethics, is based on the theory of the golden mean. He believed that virtue lay between the extremes of excess and deficiency, or overdoing and “underdoing.” For example, courage is the middle ground between cowardice and foolhardiness. Pride is the mean between vanity and humility.3 In contemporary journalism such concepts as balance and fairness represent the golden mean. Likewise, the banning of tobacco ads from radio and TV and the placement of warning labels on cigarette packages are a mean between the extreme of outlawing tobacco altogether and the other extreme of

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doing nothing to counteract the harmful effects of the product. But Aristotle admitted that not every action could be viewed in terms of the golden mean: “The very names of some things imply evil—for example, the emotions of spite, shamelessness, and envy and such actions as adultery, theft, and murder.”4 In other words, some actions are always wrong, and there is no mean to be sought. Thus, Aristotle’s theory of the golden mean is helpful in resolving many of life’s difficult ethical dilemmas, but not the ones in which certain actions are clearly wrong. Aristotle’s virtue ethics emphasizes character. The development of a virtuous individual is the goal, not moral conduct in a particular situation or according to a specific rule. Aristotle believed that virtue was achieved through habit, which is perhaps an ancient expression of “practice makes perfect.” Through repetitive moral behavior, the notion of “good” is inculcated into the individual’s value system. Thus, moral virtue becomes a way of thinking as well as a way of acting. Without perhaps being aware of it, Aristotle made a major contribution to moral reasoning, because the practice of moral reasoning, if it becomes habit-forming, can realign one’s way of thinking about ethics. This, at least, is one of the goals of this book.

ETHICAL PERSPECTIVES AND TRADITIONS In addition to the Aristotelian focus on character, other ethical perspectives and traditions have evolved under the tutelage of both ancient and contemporary philosophers. Some of these are fully formulated guidelines for ethical decision making; others have simply added specific ideas and perspectives on what it means to be an ethical person or how ethical standards are determined. Space does not allow for a complete listing of the full array of ethical traditions or a complete delineation of those described in the following text. Nevertheless, those discussed here

are representative of the most influential ethical traditions and perspectives.

Care-Based Ethics Care-based ethics is the foundation of the world’s major religions, including Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. Each has its own unique expression of this ideal, but the most familiar manifestation of care-based ethics is the Golden Rule: Do unto others as you would have them do to you. Carebased ethics is characterized by a feature philosophers refer to as reversibility. This is a classic case of role-reversal in which we are asked to put ourselves into the shoes of others and ask how we would like to be treated if we were the recipient rather than the perpetrator of our actions.5 Putting love for others first is the guiding principle of this form of ethical behavior. The fundamental creed of the Judeo-Christian tradition, for example, is the admonition to “love thy neighbor as thyself.” The Judeo-Christian ethic is characterized by a love for God and all humankind. According to this notion, all moral decisions should be based on a respect for the dignity of persons as an end in itself rather than merely as a means to an end. All individuals— rich and poor, black and white, famous and ordinary—should be accorded respect as human beings regardless of their status in life. Although the Judeo-Christian ethic sounds rather utopian, it offers some practical advice for moral behavior: Regardless of the approach we use to render ethical judgments, we should treat those affected by our decisions with dignity. In other words, the philosophy of respect for persons should underlie all ethical decisionmaking. This advice certainly has relevance for journalists who scrutinize others’ affairs and subject them to the glare of public examination.

Kant and Moral Duty The eighteenth-century German philosopher Immanuel Kant ushered in the modern era of ethical thought. Kant’s theories were based on

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the notion of duty and what he referred to as the categorical imperative. In Foundations of the Metaphysics of Morals, he wrote, “I should never act in such a way that I could not also will that my maxim should be a universal one.”6 In other words, moral agents should check the principles underlying their actions and decide whether they want them applied universally. If so, these principles become a system of public morality to which all members of society are bound. Kant believed that moral behavior was measured by living up to standards of conduct because they are good, not because of the consequences that might result. He argued that although individuals should be free to act (a fundamental requirement for a system of ethics, as noted in Chapter 2), they have a responsibility to live up to moral principles. Because Kant’s theories emphasize duty, his ideas are sometimes referred to as duty-based moral philosophy. In other words, one has a duty to tell the truth, even if it might result in harm to others. Kant argued that we should respect the autonomy of others and should never treat them as means to our ends. But how can one respect the dignity of another while at the same time obeying the rule to tell the truth if it might injure the other party? Kant knew quite well that obeying universal rules of conduct could result in harm to others. However, a reasonable interpretation of his writings is that he believed that we should never treat such persons exclusively as means and should accord them the respect and moral dignity to which everyone is entitled at all times.7 Kant believed that one’s motives for acting must be based on acceptance of the duty to act rather than just on performing the correct act. The intent of the act is as important as the act itself. A public relations director who releases to the media truthful but damaging information just to injure a competitor would not, in Kant’s view, be acting from sound motives. Likewise, an advertiser that avoids deceptive commercial messages just to escape detection by the Federal

Trade Commission cannot be said to be acting from any sense of moral duty. Some wonder how Kant’s absolutist view of the ethical landscape can be applied in today’s complex society. A more liberal interpretation of Kant, one that still pays homage to his sense of moral duty, is that universal ethical principles— for example, truth telling, fairness, and honesty— should be obeyed unless there is a compelling reason for deviating from the norm. In addition, some contemporary duty-based philosophers have come to accept consequences as an important consideration in ethical decision-making, as long as such consequences are not the primary determinant of one’s moral behavior.8

The Appeal of Utilitarianism Another approach to morality, one that is popular in contemporary American society, is the idea of utilitarianism. Two nineteenth-century British philosophers, Jeremy Bentham and John Stuart Mill, are credited with introducing utilitarianism into the mainstream of modern Western ethical thought. Mill’s version of this philosophy is often referred to as creating the greatest happiness for the greatest number of people. Later utilitarians have argued that happiness is not the only desirable value and that others should be considered as well.9 However, all versions of utilitarianism have one thing in common: They are concerned with the consequences of an ethical judgment. Rather than looking at the intention behind the act, as Kant suggested, one must explore the best outcome for the greatest number of people. A case in point is a rather unusual situation that arose in Juneau, Alaska, in which two reporters searching a courthouse trash can discovered copies of a court clerk’s notes on grand jury proceedings that were still under way. Of the four newspapers to which they offered the information, three refused to publish it, because they did not want to violate the integrity of the grand jury’s secret proceedings. The editor of the fourth paper, however, had no such

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qualms and published the story. His job was to learn what was happening, according to the editor, and tell his readers,10 thus suggesting that he had breached grand jury secrecy because of the utility of the information to the public. Likewise, reporters who use deception to uncover social ills often appeal to the principle of utility on the ground that, in the long run, they are accomplishing some moral good for the public they serve. In other words, the positive consequences for society justify the devious means used in gathering the information.

Ethics as a Social Contract While the notion of a social contract traces its lineage to the ancient Greeks, it is most famously related to the Enlightenment and the writings of such luminaries as Thomas Hobbes, John Locke, and Jean Jacques Rousseau. The social contract originated in political theory, but it has moral dimensions as well. It begins with a very simple premise: The purpose of morality is to enable us to live together. Unbridled individualism is antithetical to communal living. Thus, society’s inhabitants must reach agreement on a set of principles that is conducive to peaceful coexistence or, even more idealistically, cultural harmony. We are free to do as we please as long as we do not harm others or cause serious social disruption. However, a perpetual problem is how to balance individual freedom against society’s expectations. The issue of euthanasia is a case in point.11 Unlike some ethical theories that are inspired by outside forces such as God or nature or theories that hold certain values (such as truth or honesty) to be inherently good and universal, the social contract is strictly conventional. The ethical norms are respected as long as society agrees on their value or utility. (Imagine, if you will, a society in which all members agreed that lying is preferable to telling the truth.) Thus, some ethicists argue that the social contract is morally deficient because it is

incapable of envisioning or producing timeless ethical principles. Nevertheless, the appeal of the social contract lies in the fact that it is quite egalitarian because the voice of each member of the moral community, at least in theory, is represented (if not always influential) in the formation of this contract. Under the contract, all individuals should be treated equally in terms of rights and opportunities. One contemporary version of the egalitarian idea is outlined by the philosopher John Rawls in his book A Theory of Justice. Rawls recommends that self-interested individuals enter into a social contract that minimizes harm to the weakest parties. They should step into what he calls an “original position” behind a hypothetical “veil of ignorance.” They are temporarily deprived of knowledge about themselves that is likely to influence judgments in their favor, such as sex, age, race, and social standing.12 In general, the public realm is characterized by reason, impartiality, and justice, the private realm by emotion, particularity, and caring. Minority views are to be accorded the same standing as those of the majority. Behind this veil individuals who have some stake in the outcome of an ethical dilemma propose their own principles of justice for evaluating the basic social and political institutions of their society. When the veil is lifted, they are asked to visualize what it would be like to be in each of these sociopolitical positions.13 The goal is to protect the weaker party in the relationship and to minimize harm. This process forces selfinterested moral agents to think impartially and to consider the views of others without regard to their own cultural biases. Thus, ethical decisions can be made independently of social, political, economic, and other distinctions. A case in point is the TV executive (the powerful party) who decides to air commercialfree programming for children (the weaker party) out of respect for the psychologically vulnerable youthful segment of the audience. In such cases, the moral agent accomplishes a noble objective while justifying his decision economically

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by having the commercial lucrative fare subsidize the sustaining programs directed at children. This veil of ignorance, though perhaps a romanticized parable, encourages the development of a system of ethics based on equality according to what individuals deserve rather than special privilege. This is an egalitarian idea, an admonition that king and knave alike must submit to the throne of moral judgment and that justice should not be meted out arbitrarily. In other words, there should be no double standard of ethical treatment unless there is an important and morally defensible reason to discriminate. This principle is particularly relevant to journalists, who must make decisions about news coverage of individuals of diverse backgrounds, from the famous to the ordinary.

Feminist Ethics Historically speaking, feminist ethics is a relatively new field of inquiry and at first glance may evoke images of moral behavior based primarily upon our biological predispositions as males or females. Or as one ethicist who has explored this issue thoroughly inquired: Is there something distinctively male about ethics, or about the way in which we currently understand ethics? Is ethics really something that can properly take forms that differ according to gender?14 While some feminist ethicists have explored these enticing questions,15 feminist ethics is primarily a critique of traditional theories of ethics and morality.16 It is an attempt “to revise, reformulate, or rethink those aspects of traditional western ethics that depreciate or devalue women’s moral experience.”17 Feminists complain that traditional accounts of ethics are deficient because they focus primarily on the public realm, our political and social interactions in the marketplace, rather than the private domain of interpersonal relationships. This occurs, in the feminist view, because conventional theories of ethics (formulated, incidentally, by males) omit some important concerns.

Take, for example, the following dichotomies: reason versus emotion, impartiality versus attachment, and pure justice versus caring. In general, the public realm is characterized by reason, impartiality, and justice, the private realm by emotion, particularity, and caring. Feminist ethicists assert that traditional theories are concerned only with the first in each pair of these dichotomies but that both are essential to a fully developed moral life.18 The feminist critique has made a valuable contribution to the study of ethics because it reminds us of the complexities of our moral development and the connectedness of our public and private lives. In this respect, feminist ethics has expanded our ethical horizons and can provide some valuable insights for media professionals. The moral environment of practicing journalists, for example, is usually typified by reason and impartiality, but there are times when emotion and attachment must surface as moderating influences. In fact, the readers of this book are admonished that, despite the preoccupation with moral reasoning in resolving the ethics cases at the end of Chapters 4–13, in the real world emotion and intuition are vital sources of the moral sense that animates our ethical behavior.

The Rise of Relativism Partially in response to the absolutist ideas of Kant, a school of philosophers has arisen espousing the virtues of relative values. These thinkers have rejected the approach of basing moral choice on immutable values. Bertrand Russell (1872–1970) and John Dewey (1859–1952) are the most notable proponents of this philosophy, sometimes referred to as “progressivism.” Dewey, in particular, is credited with (or blamed for, depending on your point of view) convincing the public schools in the United States that they should not be preoccupied with inculcating moral values in their students. Of course, there are those who believe that this progressivist movement has worked to

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the detriment of the moral stability of youth. This movement may also explain why, until recently, the teaching of ethics in public schools was looked on with suspicion. Relativists believe that what is right or good for one is not necessarily right or good for another, even under similar circumstances. In other words, moral agents determine what is right and wrong from their own point of view but will not judge the adequacy of others’ ethical judgments.19 Relativists have the attitude that “I’ll determine what’s right for me, and you can decide what’s right for you.” Carried to its outer limits, relativism can lead to moral anarchy by which individuals lay claim to no ethical standards at all. A less extreme view, however, is held by those who believe in certain moral principles, such as telling the truth, but are willing to deviate from them if certain circumstances warrant. Thus, the term situation ethics has entered our moral lexicon.20 Situationists decide on a case-by-case basis whether it is expedient to deviate from the rule. This is ad hoc decision making at its worst and can hardly be used as a model of ethical decorum. Professor Bert Bradley offers this negative assessment of situation ethics: “It appears that situation ethics has an unsettling ability to justify a number of diverse situations. It is not difficult to see how situation ethics can be used to rationalize, either consciously or unconsciously, decisions and actions that stem from selfish and evasive origins.”21 John Merrill, one of the nation’s leading scholars on the philosophy of journalism, agrees with Bradley. Writing in The Imperative of Freedom, he refers to this approach as “nonethics”: When the matter of ethics is watered down to subjectivism, to situations or contexts, it loses all meaning as ethics. If every case is different, if every situation demands a different standard, if there are no absolutes in ethics, then we should scrap the whole subject of moral philosophy and simply be satisfied that each person run his life by his whims or “considerations” which may change from situation to situation.22

ETHICAL THEORIES IN MORAL REASONING From the foregoing discussion one could construct many different approaches to evaluating ethical behavior. But the perspective to which I am committed in this text is derived from three kinds of ethical theories, based primarily on the teachings of Aristotle, Mill, and Kant. Thus, the guidelines that will be used in the moral reasoning model presented later in this chapter fall into three categories: deontological (duty-based) theories, teleological (consequence-based) theories,23 and virtue theories, represented by Aristotle’s golden mean.

Deontological (Duty-Based) Theories Deontologists (derived from the Greek word deon, or “duty”) are sometimes referred to as “nonconsequentialists” because of their emphasis on acting on principle or according to certain universal moral duties without regard to the good or bad consequences of their actions. The most famous deontologist is Kant. As noted earlier, his fundamental moral principle is his categorical imperative, which is based on moral rules that should be universally applied and that respect the dignity of people. According to this duty-based theory, prohibitions against certain kinds of behavior apply, even if beneficial consequences would result. Rather than focusing on the consequences (after all, foul deeds might produce good results), deontologists emphasize the commitment to principles that the moral agent would like to see applied universally, as well as the motive of the agent. Thus, in this view Robin Hood would have been a villain and not a hero for his rather permissive approach to the redistribution of the wealth. Duty-based theories do not approve of using foul means to achieve positive ends. The moral agent’s motives are important. According to Kant, people should always be treated with respect and as ends unto themselves, never as means to an end. Simply stated, the ends do not justify the means!

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Because of their emphasis on rules and commitment to duty, deontological theories are sometimes referred to as “absolutist,” admitting of no exceptions. Under a duty-based approach to ethical decision making, for example, reporters would not be justified in using deception in ferreting out a story, and Hollywood producers could not defend their use of gratuitous sex or violence just to achieve higher ratings or audience appeal. It is little wonder that many media practitioners dismiss this absolutist approach as unrealistic and even as a threat to their First Amendment rights. Nevertheless, duty-based theories do have some advantages. First, concrete rules that provide for few exceptions take some of the pressure off moral agents to predict the consequences of their actions. There is a duty to act according to the rules, regardless of the outcome. Second, there is more predictability in the deontological theories, and one who follows these ideas consistently is likely to be regarded as a truthful person. In addition, rules can be devised for special circumstances to take some of the ambiguity out of ethical decision-making.24 For example, in cases in which reporters refuse to divulge the names of their sources to a court, even when these sources may have information relating to the innocence of a criminal defendant, a special rule might be devised to compel disclosure on the ground of justice to the defendant. Such rules would then have to be applied in all such circumstances, without regard to consequences in particular situations. The problem is that such rules often collide with other fundamental principles, such as the obligation to keep one’s promises. This situation illustrates one of the shortcomings of duty-based theories. In cases in which a conflict exists between two equally plausible rules, deontologists have a difficult time resolving the moral standoff. The “Heintz dilemma” described in Chapter 1, in which Heintz was trying to decide whether to steal an expensive life-saving drug for his terminally ill wife, is an

example of such a rule conflict. Deontologists do not provide very satisfactory solutions to this problem. In addition, even when there is no rule conflict, it is sometimes difficult to apply general principles to specific unusual circumstances. For example, should a TV reporter knowingly broadcast false information at the request of the police to save the life of a hostage being held at gunpoint? Most of us would probably vote in favor of doing anything to save the life of the hostage, but strictly interpreted duty-based theories might suggest otherwise. It can also be argued that moral duties cannot be separated from the consequences of fulfilling those obligations. For example, the reason that the duty to tell the truth is such a fundamental principle is that truth telling produces good consequences for society. And even Kant, despite his condemnations of consequential reasoning, sometimes acknowledges the link between universal moral duties and the positive consequences of carrying out those ethical responsibilities.25 Nevertheless, from this description it would appear that the Kantian approach to ethical decision making is too uncompromising for the complex world in which we live and would thus not provide a sound theoretical foundation for moral reasoning. However, the contemporary interpretation of deontological morality reflects a more liberal attitude and suggests that we have a duty to obey specified rules unless there is a compelling reason not to do so. In any event the burden of proof is on the moral agent to prove that an exception is justified in extreme or rare circumstances, such as telling a lie to prevent a murder.

Teleological (Consequence-Based) Theories Teleological, or consequentialist, theories are popular in modern society. They are predicated on the notion that the ethically correct decision

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is the one that produces the best consequences. Consequentialists, unlike deontologists, do not ask whether a particular practice or policy is always right or wrong but whether it will lead to positive results. There are, of course, variations on the teleological theme. At one extreme are the egoists, who argue that moral agents should seek to maximize good consequences for themselves. They should, in other words, look out for number one.26 But as suggested in Chapter 1, egoism should be rejected as a viable avenue for moral behavior because it is based essentially on selfinterest. At the other extreme are the utilitarians, represented primarily by the writings of philosophers such as Mill. As noted previously, utilitarians believe that we should attempt to promote the greatest good (the most favorable consequences) for the greatest number of people. Utilitarianism is appealing because it provides a definite blueprint for making moral choices. When confronting an ethical dilemma, moral agents should analyze the benefits and harms to everyone (including themselves) affected by the decision and then choose the course of action that results in the most favorable outcome for the greatest number. Appeals to the public interest to justify certain unpopular decisions by media practitioners is a contemporary manifestation of utilitarianism at work. Thus, a socially beneficial consequence is sometimes used to justify an immoral means. Reporters who accept illegally recorded conversations from news sources on the ground of the “public’s right to know” are attempting to justify what they believe to be good consequences, even though the means of accomplishing the ends are rather questionable. Another aspect of teleological theories, particularly utilitarianism—and one that is often overlooked—is the focus on minimizing harm. Consequentialists recognize that difficult moral choices sometimes cause injury to others. When news stories are published that reveal

embarrassing facts about private individuals, the potential for harm is great. On balance, the consequences for the public might be greater than the harm to the subject of the story, but the reporter has a moral obligation to inflict only the harm required to put the story into perspective. To do more would be merely an appeal to the morbid curiosity of the public. For example, a story concerning a malpractice suit should not include allegations concerning the doctor’s personal life unless these facts relate directly to questions of the physician’s negligence or professional competence. The consequentialist approach to resolving ethical questions does have a certain appeal. It is more flexible than the duty-based theories and allows greater latitude in prescribing solutions in difficult situations. Teleological theories also provide a clear-cut procedure for confronting moral choices through listing the alternatives, evaluating their possible consequences, and then analyzing each option in light of its impact on others. However, some people object to these theories on the ground that they rely too much on unknown results and the predictive powers of moral agents. How can we know, for example, that the government’s withholding of vital information relating to national security will be in the best interest of the American people? Another objection to consequentialism is that it does not always take into account the special obligations to individuals or small groups that may conflict with our moral duties to society at large. Media practitioners who are intent on producing the greatest good for the greatest number of people often overlook the needs of special audiences. This neglect results in a form of artistic majoritarianism, in which minority needs are slighted in the media marketplace. Despite these objections, consequentialist ethics is a valuable tool in moral reasoning, because it does force us to weigh the impact of our behavior on others. It provides a rational

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means for extricating ourselves from the confusion of rule conflict and thus helps to demystify the process of ethical decision making.

Virtue Theories: Aristotle’s Golden Mean Although duty-based and consequence-based theories differ in many respects, they have one thing in common: They are concerned with standards and principles for evaluating moral behavior. They focus on what we should do, not on the kind of person we ought to be. The ancient Greeks, on the other hand, were more concerned with character building than with what we think of as moral behavior. Plato and Aristotle viewed the acquisition of virtuous traits as central to morality. They believed that acts performed out of a sense of duty did not necessarily reflect a virtuous character. Theories that emphasize character are often referred to as virtue theories. However, if virtue theories are directed at the building of moral character—a long-term proposition, at best—what relevance can they have for moral reasoning, which is a systematic means of arriving at ethical judgments in specific situations? How can virtue ethics assist us in confronting the moral dilemmas posed by the cases in this book? Many writers in philosophy have rejected the idea that virtue ethics has an independent and primary status—that it can be useful in the process of moral reasoning.27 However, one helpful theory can be extracted from virtue ethics: Aristotle’s theory of the golden mean, discussed earlier. The golden mean provides a moderate solution in those cases in which there are identifiable extreme positions, neither of which is likely to produce satisfactory results. Aristotle’s golden mean, however, is not analogous to the kind of weak compromise or middle-of-the-road “waffling” that one finds in political circles. The mean is not necessarily midway between the two extremes, because a moral agent must sometimes lean toward one

extreme or the other to correct an injustice. Thus, an employer might be justified in giving larger pay increases to some workers than others in order to remedy the effects of past salary inequities. As Clifford Christians and his colleagues have observed in their casebook, Media Ethics: “The mean is not only the right quantity, but it occurs at the right time, toward the right people, for the right reason, and in the right manner. The distance depends on the nature of the agent as determined by the weight of the moral case before them.”28 Aristotle’s approach to achieving a virtuous resolution of a dilemma is exemplified by the Federal Communications Commission’s approach to regulating broadcast indecency. Although federal law prohibits the transmission of indecent material over radio and TV,29 the commission has decided to prohibit such content only during times of the day when children are likely to be in the audience—an approach endorsed by the Supreme Court in 1978.30 This time period, which has actually shifted over the years, is referred to as the “safe harbor.” At one extreme is the “vice” of doing nothing and allowing the airwaves, which carry programs into the privacy of the home, to become a 24-hour repository of scatological language indiscriminately broadcast to children and adults alike. At the other extreme is a total ban on such program fare that could result in censorship of some speech with literary and artistic value, as well as speech lacking in any discernible social worth. Thus, the safe harbor is an attempt, in a libertarian society, to achieve a balance between the extremes of moral anarchy on the airwaves and moral prudery that manifests itself through overzealous government regulation. Although the remedies are legal ones, it is clear that the golden mean has widespread application in the unpredictable drama of human affairs. Aristotle, it seems, continues to speak to us through more than two thousand years of history, thus affecting our destiny and our views on moral virtue.

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CRITICAL THINKING IN MORAL REASONING Understanding the context of an ethical situation and the philosophical foundations of moral theory are necessary but insufficient for sound moral reasoning. There must also be critical thinking about the dilemma. Critical thinking is the engine that drives the moral reasoning machinery and thus leads us away from knee-jerk reactions and toward a more rational approach to decision making. There is nothing more frustrating than classroom discussions in which students express their opinions about ethical issues without having thought critically about them. This is not to suggest that such discussions should end with a consensus on the correct course of action. It does mean, however, that most of the time should be devoted to analyzing and evaluating the reasons for the ethical judgments rendered. Critical thinking is not a mysterious phenomenon, available only to philosophers and others of superior intellect. We do not all possess the talent to become athletes, musicians, or great literary figures, but we do all possess critical-thinking abilities.31 And because critical thinking is a skill, it can be learned. The moral reasoning model outlined in the next section is designed to encourage the learning of this skill. Critical thinking, like the moral theories described earlier, has a long and honorable tradition in Western history, tracing its origins to the ideas of Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle. Like his teacher Plato, Aristotle believed that moral principles separating right from wrong could be derived through the power of reason. To these ancient Greeks skepticism was a healthy occurrence, because it led to relentless questions about the meaning of moral virtue. Thus, critical thinking involves, to some extent, learning to know when to question something and what sorts of questions to ask. Some of the recent political scandals in Washington (the most egregious of which are often accompanied with the suffix “-gate,” a candid reference to President

Nixon’s Watergate scandal) might have been avoided if the deviant public officials had critically questioned the propriety of their conduct. Critical thinking begins with something to think critically about. In other words, there must be knowledge of the subject to be evaluated. For media practitioners engaged in moral reasoning, this knowledge would include an understanding of the facts and context surrounding a particular case, and some comprehension of the principles and practices of their own profession, as well as the moral theories that might be brought to bear on ethical decision making. For example, students of critical thinking about media ethics (and this includes you, as you attempt to resolve the hypothetical cases in this book) cannot critically examine the use of deception in news gathering unless they understand the role of the media within society and the ethical norms that the industry itself has established for sanctioning or condemning such behavior. It would be expedient to offer an opinion that reporters should be held to the same standards as the rest of us, but this statement neither answers the question of “why” nor allows for any reasonable defense of an exception to the general rule. Second, critical thinkers must be able to identify problems (or in the case of this text, to recognize ethical issues) and to gather, analyze, and synthesize all relevant information relating to those problems. They must also be able to identify all stated or unstated assumptions concerning the problems. Finally, critical thinking also requires that alternatives be evaluated and that decisions be made. In so doing, the critical thinker must examine the consequences and implications of the alternatives, each of which may have at least some validity. In some respects, this is the most intimidating aspect of critical thinking, because it requires that we make choices—choices that may be subjected to severe criticism from others. However, successful salespeople have learned that the best techniques in the world fail without the ability to close the sale. The same is true of

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critical thinking. One can analyze (or study) an issue to death, but at some point a decision must be made. The hope is that it will be a wellreasoned decision, based on the most rational analysis of the situation. In summary, the critical thinking component of moral reasoning involves a three-step process: (1) acquisition of knowledge and an understanding of the context of the ethical dilemma, (2) critical analysis of that knowledge and a consideration of ethical alternatives, and (3) a decision based on the available alternatives. The moral reasoning model outlined in the next section reflects the notions about critical thinking described earlier and should be used in exploring Part 2. Thus, the integration of this model for ethical decision making with the case study method is a functional vehicle for retreating from an ivory-tower approach to teaching media ethics and for developing critical-thinking abilities that should awaken the powers of reason within even the most reluctant individual.

A MODEL OF MORAL REASONING As noted earlier, moral reasoning is a systematic process. It involves numerous considerations, all of which can be grouped into three categories: (1) the situation definition; (2) the analysis of the situation, including the application of moral theories; and (3) the decision, or ethical judgment. For the sake of simplicity I will refer to this as the SAD formula.32 There are, of course, other models available, but the SAD formula seems particularly adaptable to the needs of the moral reasoning neophyte. However, this model can also be a valuable tool in creating a discourse among media professionals. Some news organizations, for example, regularly conduct sessions or hold discussions on ethical problems. The SAD formula could be used to respond to either hypothetical or real ethical issues, with individual reporters and editors working through these problems. A dialogue with professional colleagues and a critique

from management personnel or an ombudsman could follow. The following explanation of this model is designed with written case studies in mind, although it can be used for oral discussions as well. But written analyses, at least until one becomes comfortable with the moral reasoning process, help attune the mind to logical thinking and sharpen intellectual faculties. Following the discussion of the SAD formula, a sample case study is presented (in abbreviated form) to illustrate this approach to moral reasoning.

The Situation Definition The situation definition is designed to identify the ethical issue and to list or examine those facts, principles, and values that will be important to the decision-making process. The first step is to describe the facts and to identify the relevant conflicting values and principles implicated in this ethical dilemma. Sometimes the conflicting values and principles will be obvious; at other times their discovery may require some thought on your part. They will obviously vary from case to case, but such things as truth telling, the right to privacy, conflict of interest, the right of the public to receive information, fairness, justice, loyalty, media credibility, harm to others, confidentiality, and economic concerns are representative of the values and principles lurking in the hypothetical cases in this book. Students of media ethics should also have an appreciation for the role that competition and economic factors play in decision-making in a deadline-oriented environment. These “values” are at the heart of the media enterprise and will be a consideration in most ethical judgments. In the real world such factors often dominate. But experience in moral reasoning, even within the more sanitized classroom situation, can create an appreciation for other values that should be considered in rendering moral judgments. In any event, the facts and competing values and principles should be described in the situation definition section so that they can be easily applied to the analysis portion of your written case study.

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Second, there should be a clear statement of the ethical question or issue involved. It provides a logical lead-in to the analysis section and can be done only after some understanding of the facts. The question should be specific, not general. For example, an issue statement regarding whether a reporter should go undercover in a Veterans’ Administration (VA) hospital to investigate rumors of unsanitary conditions might be written as follows: “Is it ethical for reporters to conceal (or lie about) their identity to gain employment at a VA hospital for the purpose of investigating rumors of unsanitary conditions at the facility?” When dealing with individual cases, this form is preferable to a more general question—for example, “Is it ever permissible for reporters to use deceptive news-gathering techniques?”—because it relates to the specific circumstances and thus provides a more solid foundation for debate. Of course, more general questions are acceptable when debating broader issues of ethical significance, such as “Is society justified in passing laws that limit the distribution of sexually explicit material?” A statement of the ethical issue would appear to be a simple task. But if you do not fully understand the dilemma, clarity of moral vision will be replaced by confusion and uncertainty, and the reasoning process will become defective. It is imperative that you spend a great deal of time fleshing out all of the relevant considerations for inclusion in the situation definition. The time spent in brainstorming here will diminish the likelihood of faulty reasoning during the analysis phase.

Analysis of the Situation Analysis is the real heart of the decisionmaking process under the SAD formula. In this step you will use all of the available information, as well as your imagination, to examine the situation and to evaluate the ethical alternatives. There is surely no limit to the things that might be included here, but any analysis of a media ethical dilemma should include at least

four considerations. First, there should be a discussion, pro and con, of the relative weights to be accorded to the various conflicting values and principles. This is a fertile field for imagination, and you should not be afraid to engage in a certain amount of intellectual experimentation, as long as your arguments are reasonable and defensible. Next comes an examination of factors external to the case situation itself that might influence the direction of moral judgment. Or, as another way of putting it, an external factor is one that was there prior to the particular case at hand and is likely to be there after the specifics of this case are resolved. Illustrative of such factors are company policy, legal constraints, and the demographic composition of the local community, which may determine how the citizens will react to decisions made by media practitioners. For example, reporters who electronically eavesdrop on unsuspecting public officials in violation of company policy (and possibly the law) may undermine their claim of moral virtue unless there is an equally persuasive countervailing reason for doing so. Demographic considerations, for example, might lead a TV station manager in a predominantly conservative Catholic community, for fear of protests, to preempt a controversial network movie that probes too deeply into sexual misconduct by members of the Catholic clergy. One external factor that is sometimes valuable in rendering moral judgments is an appeal to precedent: “What do we normally do under similar circumstances?” For example, if a newspaper usually reports all misdemeanor violations, even those of public figures, on an inside page, it must justify deviating from that practice in a particular circumstance. Otherwise, it will be suspected of ulterior motives or perhaps even malicious intent. Third, you should examine the various individuals and groups likely to be affected by your ethical judgments. In Chapter 2 we explored the moral duties and the loyalties owed to several parties: individual conscience, objects of moral judgment, financial supporters, the institution,

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professional colleagues, and the various segments of society. These parties should be weighed, or evaluated, in terms of their relative importance and impact on the ethical issue under consideration. Of course, some may not figure in the moral equation at all in some situations. Financial supporters (advertisers, stockholders, subscribers), for example, are usually concerned with issues that affect their own well-being, the financial viability of the institution, or, in some cases, issues in which they have a vested interest. In Chapter 1 we noted the role that emotions play in attitudes about ethical behavior. With all of this talk about reason in moral decision making, does that mean that our emotional side has no role to play? Not at all. In fact, emotions often do, and should, influence the evaluation of our duties or loyalties to others. A reporter’s sympathy (or perhaps empathy) for a victim of tragedy, even when the reporter feels obliged to intrude into the victim’s privacy, is an emotional response but is also certainly a rational one. It should be factored into the decision-making equation, because actions taken with the interests of others in mind (rather than self-interests) are a product of both our intellectual and our emotional components. Finally, the ethical theories discussed earlier should be applied to the moral dilemma. Examine the issue from the perspective of consequences (teleology), duty-based ethics (deontology), and Aristotle’s golden mean. In those cases in which a particular approach might not be applicable—for example, where there does not appear to be a middle ground—you should also note this in the analysis. Each of these theories should be evaluated with the idea of rendering what, in your opinion, is the most satisfactory ethical judgment.

Decision In the final section you must make your decision and defend your recommendation. Your discussion should include an appeal to one or more of the moral theories outlined earlier. Keep in mind that a deontologist and teleologist might arrive

at the same decision, but they do so for different reasons. For example, if you apply deontological ethics to a case involving the use of undercover reporting, you would categorically oppose deception as an acceptable news-gathering device. Applying teleological ethics, you would weigh the harms and benefits and might still conclude that the use of deception in the case under consideration is more harmful than beneficial. But in this case you are focusing on the consequences rather than on the universal rule that says lying (that is, deception) is always wrong. In your decision-making section of some cases, you might also wish to point out that a particular course of action could never be justified under any of the ethical theories described in this text. Although your defense may be somewhat redundant of some of the points outlined previously, it will serve to reinforce your arguments and allow you to justify them with greater moral certainty. In summary, the SAD formula for moral reasoning can be diagrammed as shown in Figure 3.1.

Situation Definition Description of facts Identification of principles and values Statement of ethical issue or question

Analysis Weighing of competing principles and values Consideration of external factors Examination of duties to various parties Discussion of applicable ethical theories

Decision Rendering of moral agent’s decision Defense of that decision based upon moral theory

Figure 3.1

The Moral Reasoning Process

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A SAMPLE CASE STUDY The following sample case is based on actual circumstances.33 It concerns a decision by editors at two newspapers to break promises of confidentiality made to a news source by their reporters. The discussion that follows is not intended to exhaust all possibilities for resolving the issue; you are encouraged to add your own perspectives. For example, one issue that could be considered in this case is whether the reporters should have made the promises in the first place. However, because our discussion focuses on the conduct of the editors as the moral agents, any consideration of whether the promises should have been made is omitted. Of course, in this case we are playing the role of neutral observer (and critic), whereas in the hypothetical cases in Part 2 you are asked to assume the role of the moral agent.

Situation Definition Six days before the Minnesota gubernatorial election Dan Cohen, an employee of an advertising agency working for Republican candidate Wheelock Whitney, approached reporters from four news organizations, including the Minneapolis Star Tribune and the St. Paul Pioneer Press, and offered to provide documents relating to an opposition candidate for lieutenant governor in the upcoming election. Cohen had been encouraged by a group of Republican supporters to release this information. In exchange for a promise that he not be identified as the source of the documents, Cohen revealed to the reporters that Marlene Johnson, the DemocraticFarmer-Labor candidate for lieutenant governor, had been convicted of shoplifting twelve years earlier, a conviction that was later vacated. After discussion and debate, the editorial staffs of the two papers independently decided to publish Cohen’s name as part of their stories concerning Johnson. The Minneapolis paper made this decision after its reporter had contacted Cohen to ask whether he would release the paper from its promise of confidentiality.

Cohen refused. In their stories, both papers identified Cohen as the source of the court records, reported his connection to the Whitney campaign, and included denials by Whitney campaign officials of any role in the matter. The same day the stories were published Cohen was fired. The editors justified their decision on the grounds that (1) Cohen’s actions amounted to nothing more than a political dirty trick, and thus his motives were suspect; (2) Cohen’s name was essential to the credibility of the story; and (3) reporters should not make promises of confidentiality without authorization from their superiors.34 Cohen sued the papers for breach of contract and won a jury award of damages. The U.S. Supreme Court eventually ruled 5–4 that such promises of confidentiality are legally enforceable. Although Cohen won his lawsuit, the ethical issues surrounding the newspapers’ decision to break the promise of confidentiality and publish his name remain. The moral agents in this case are the editors of the two papers, because they are the ones who breached the promise of confidentiality. (There is also an ethical question on whether the reporters should have promised confidentiality in the first place, but that isn’t an issue here because this case focuses on the editors’ conduct.) In this case the conflicting values and principles are not too difficult to identify. On the one hand, there is the right of a source to expect a news organization to honor a promise of confidentiality. And closely connected to this expectation is the value of reporter autonomy— that is, a news organization’s obligation to honor promises made by its reporters. The value of loyalty is also implicated, because a newspaper’s refusal to honor commitments made by its reporters could create morale problems and discord within the newsroom. Because arguably the public has a “need to know” anything about political candidates that might affect their fitness for office, the use of anonymous sources can sometimes be justified to obtain such information. On the other hand, the use of anonymous

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sources can erode the credibility of a news organization. Thus, the “need to know” principle might also be used to justify publication of Cohen’s name so that readers can consider the source’s motivation in releasing this information. Moreover, the editors felt that Cohen’s motivation was newsworthy; they thus believed that it provided journalistic balance (or symmetry) to the potentially damaging information concerning the Democratic candidate. The harm principle is also implicated in this case. At a minimum the parties who might be harmed through a breach of confidentiality are Cohen, Cohen’s employers, and the credibility of the reporters themselves and perhaps their paper. On the other hand, if the promise is kept, Johnson could be injured in her electoral bid, although it isn’t clear what effect such a specious charge might have on her campaign. Thus, the ethical issues are as follows: (1) Were the editors ethically justified in breaching the promises of confidentiality made by their reporters? (2) Are such promises made by reporters, without authorization from management, morally binding on their news organizations?

Analysis Evaluation of Values and Principles. One could argue that the reporters should never have made the promise in the first place, but the fact is that they have done so and now the editors (the moral agents) must decide whether to honor that promise. Because breaking promises should never be taken lightly, any breach of a promise must be based on some other overriding principle. Can the editors absolve themselves of responsibility simply by refusing to honor the promises made by other staff members? Probably not, because the average news source is unlikely to distinguish reporters from the organizations for whom they work. If they enter into an agreement with a reporter from the New York Times, for example, they assume that the newspaper will honor that agreement.

Even if a paper’s policy requires an editor’s approval before any such agreement is made— and the reporter violates that policy—that is a management problem for the paper and should not have to be a concern for the source. Thus, if the editors in this case are justified in breaching confidentiality, their decision must be based on some more compelling principle. Was the information provided by the source of such overriding public interest that a promise of confidentiality was warranted? In this case, the public’s “need to know” that Johnson was convicted of shoplifting twelve years ago, a charge that was later vacated, is questionable. In fact, the editors could have refused to publish the story, thus avoiding the ethically controversial decision to breach the promise of confidentiality. But in so doing they might also be accused of suppressing information. Nevertheless, the editors apparently felt the story was newsworthy because of Cohen’s motivation in damaging the Democratic ticket just prior to the election. Cohen is obviously a key figure in this campaign, and his involvement in “dirty tricks” (in the editors’ view) is newsworthy, which in turn justifies publishing the information concerning Johnson’s past. And because of Cohen’s tactics and out of fairness to Johnson, the editors have concluded that the source’s name must be included. They are appealing, in other words, to the fundamental journalistic principle of balanced coverage of newsworthy events. Although the paper might risk some loss of credibility in not standing behind their reporters and perhaps even an erosion of loyalty among their staff, the editors might argue that the story itself lacks credibility without the source’s name. In addition, the editors might include some explanation to the readers concerning the promise of confidentiality and the reasons that they decided not to honor this pledge. Regardless of the editors’ decision, harm will accrue to some of the parties involved. If Cohen’s name is included in the story, he will probably be fired. In addition, the credibility of the reporters and the paper might suffer. Johnson

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could be harmed, perhaps needlessly, by the release of this information, although it isn’t clear whether the electorate will hold her past against her, especially because her record for shoplifting was expunged. But the editors might argue that including Cohen’s name and letting the readers evaluate his motivation for themselves might work to Johnson’s advantage, thus negating any potential harm to her from the story. External Factors. One important factor external to the facts of this case might be the absence of any clear-cut policy on source confidentiality. (This is considered an external factor because it is a situation that apparently existed prior to this case and that will remain after this issue is resolved, unless the newspaper moves to implement a written policy on the matter.) The reporters apparently did not feel that they needed to seek management approval, and this factor could be cited in favor of reporter autonomy. One might also point to society’s attitude toward political dirty tricks as an external factor in favor of including Cohen’s name in the story. Moral Duties (Loyalties) Owed. As noted in Chapter 2, media practitioners must take into account the interests of six stakeholders—parties to whom they owe an ethical duty—before rendering an ethical judgment: the individual conscience, the objects of moral judgment, financial supporters, their institution, their professional colleagues, and society at large. Thus, the editors in this case owed a duty, first, to their consciences to do what is morally right. Unfortunately, professional obligations and pressures sometimes lead us away from what we would consider to be the ethically virtuous course of action under other circumstances. In this case the editors’ consciences should have spoken to them clearly on the matter of breaking promises. However, they might also have rationalized their decision on the grounds that Cohen was acting from impure motives. But again, if this were a concern, they could have chosen to suppress the story. At this point, however, competitive pressures could become a factor. If the story

is suppressed, other news organizations might run the story, thus causing some journalistic embarrassment to the Minneapolis and St. Paul papers. The moral agents in this case (the editors) also owe a duty to those who are most likely to be directly affected by this decision. These parties are identified in the SAD formula as the objects of the ethical judgment. In this case Cohen, Johnson, and the reporters are the major objects. The reporters promised Cohen anonymity, and he acted on that promise in good faith. Regardless of Cohen’s motives, which were known at the time the promises were made, the editors owed a duty to the source to keep this promise and to minimize harm. On the other hand, a duty is also owed to Democratic candidate Johnson, the target of the information provided by Cohen. Although this information had the potential for harming Johnson, the editors apparently believed that out of fairness Cohen’s name should be included. In this way readers could decide for themselves, based on the source’s questionable motives, what relevance to accord this information in terms of the campaign. In this way the harm to Johnson might be minimized. The reporters are also objects in this case because their editors’ failure to support them could harm their professional credibility. It has certainly eroded their relationship with the management staffs of their respective newspapers. One could argue that, in the absence of any policy requiring management approval of promises of confidentiality, the editors were duty-bound to support their reporters. Media practitioners must also be loyal to their financial supporters—those who pay the bills. In the case of a newspaper the supporters are primarily advertisers, although some revenues are also derived from subscribers. Advertisers rely on the media to help sell their products. Newspapers have only their credibility to sell, and a loss of credibility could result in an erosion of circulation and reader support. It is unlikely that, regardless of the editors’ decision in this case, merchants would withdraw their advertising, unless perhaps they were staunch

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supporters of one candidate or the other. But over time an erosion of credibility could hurt the newspaper’s bottom line. The editors also owed a duty to their institution. Whatever their decision, they must take into account how it will reflect on their respective newspapers. Because promises of confidentiality have become a mainstay of investigative reporting, any breach of such a promise will reflect unfavorably on the institution, unless this decision is based on some overriding and more important principle. In most ethical dilemmas involving professionals, there is always the nagging question of whether moral agents have complied with the standards of their profession. Thus, they must be loyal to their colleagues. In this case the editors clearly violated acceptable practice, although the breaking of promises to sources is not unheard of. Each such ethical lapse tends to erode the credibility of the profession. Of course, editors must have the flexibility to render judgments contrary to acceptable practice for compelling reasons. How would most editors have responded in this situation? The question is whether the reasons given for breaking the promise were compelling enough to satisfy most journalists who have always considered anonymous news sources to be an essential ingredient in the newsgathering process. Finally, a duty is owed to society. Some journalists apparently believe that their unique roles in society entitle them to special moral exemptions. But all media practitioners are bound by the same fundamental principles as the rest of us, and any deviation must be justified (as in the case of any other societal member) by some overriding principle. In this case, the reporters made a promise, and any breach of that promise, without some compelling reason, is a violation of cultural norms. On the other hand, the editors could argue that the reporters had no right to make such a promise and that their obligation lies in the direction of journalistic fairness and balance, which necessitated the inclusion of Cohen’s name.

Moral Theories. A person rendering a moral judgment has no benefit of hindsight. A Kantian (deontologist) evaluating this case would follow a rule that can be universally applied. The very fabric of society is predicated, in part, on faith in the promises of others. Thus, “never break a promise” becomes a maxim that should be applied universally and that includes promises of confidentiality made by reporters to news sources. And in this case, the editors could not absolve themselves of responsibility simply by refusing to honor promises made by their reporters. The fact is that Cohen believed that he was dealing in good faith with reporters who came to the bargaining table with their employers’ full authority. A deontologist would argue strenuously that the editors had a moral obligation to honor the promise and that perhaps they should use this case as a catalyst for devising a company policy requiring reporters to obtain management approval before entering into a moral contract (and perhaps a legal one as well) with a news source. This case can also be viewed from the perspective of anticipated consequences (teleology)— that is, the relative benefits and harms for the individuals or groups affected by this decision. If the source’s name is included in the story, the greatest harm, of course, will accrue to Dan Cohen. He will probably lose his job. On the other hand, his motives are suspect. His willingness to release such questionably relevant information so close to the election is nothing more than a dirty campaign trick. Therefore, perhaps he deserves the consequences of his ethically dubious behavior. The Democratic candidate, Marlene Johnson, could be hurt by the revelations, although the electorate may attach little importance to a twelve-year-old conviction on a minor charge that was overturned anyway. And whether Cohen’s name is included in the story probably won’t alter this equation substantially. Morale in the newsroom—and hence employee loyalty to the paper—could suffer as a result of the failure of the editors to support

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their reporters. Perhaps the reporters used poor judgment in making the promises in the first place. But considering the questionable newsworthiness of the information, perhaps the story should have been killed. One could argue that the breaking of a promise—which is a serious matter—could not, in this case, be justified just for the sake of journalistic balance when the story itself is of questionable validity in the overall scheme of the campaign. Is any real benefit to be derived from this breach of confidentiality that would outweigh the harms described here? One could argue that the inclusion of Cohen’s name might serve to inform the public about the character of those who are running the Republican campaign. And it still isn’t clear whether this character flaw is confined to Cohen or reflects on the ethical stature of his employer. Therefore, the various harms that will occur from this breach of confidentiality appear to outweigh any modest benefit that might result.

Decision The foregoing analysis strongly opposes the editors’ breach of confidentiality. Breaking a promise is a serious matter. Credibility is a mainstay of the journalistic enterprise, and the failure of the editors to support their reporters, even if the promises were ill advised, erodes the credibility of both the reporters and the newspapers. Promise keeping is a fundamental societal value. And in this case a great deal of harm can occur without any comparable benefit. In addition, an evaluation of the duties owed to the various parties in this ethical dilemma point, on balance, in the direction of keeping the promise. The sanctity of promises and credibility seem to permeate the discussion of the loyalties to the six parties identified here; and these were more important, in this case, than the editors’ concern for journalistic balance. Thus, the editors’ decision to break their reporters’ promises cannot be supported under either a deontological or teleological perspective.

SUMMARY Moral reasoning is a systematic approach to making ethical decisions, relying primarily on logical argument and persuasion. Moral judgments should be based on sound ethical theories and should be defensible through a reasoned analysis of the situation. The process of moral reasoning requires knowledge and skills in three areas: (1) the moral context, (2) the philosophical foundations of moral theory, and (3) critical thinking. First, the moral agent must understand the context within which the dilemma has arisen. This understanding includes some comprehension of the issue, the facts of the situation, the values and principles inherent in the case, and the social and cultural environment within which the media operate. Second, moral theory must be brought to bear on the problem. The writings of the ancient Greeks—Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle—and those of John Stuart Mill and Immanuel Kant provide the philosophical foundations for the moral theories described in this chapter. These theories are of three types: teleological, based on the consequences of the moral agent’s actions; deontological, in which moral duties and the actors’ motives are more important than the consequences of their actions; and virtue, focusing on character rather than moral behavior in specific situations. For the purpose of the moral reasoning model outlined in this book, Aristotle’s golden mean, which seeks a solution between the extremes in a given situation, has been selected as a practical example of a virtue theory. Third, critical thinking is essential to moral reasoning. Success in critical thinking requires some knowledge of the subject, practice in analyzing and reasoning, and the willingness to make decisions. Although there are many approaches to moral reasoning, the model employed in this book is the SAD formula, consisting of the situation definition, the analysis, and the decision. The situation definition is a description of the

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facts, identification of the principles and values inherent in the case, and a clear statement of the ethical issue under review. The analysis section is really the heart of the moral reasoning process. In this tier of the SAD model, the moral agent weighs the competing principles and values, considers the impact of factors external to the case facts themselves, examines the moral duties owed to various parties, and discusses the application of various ethical theories. The final step consists of rendering the moral decision. Here the moral agent makes a judgment and defends it.

Notes 1. For a discussion on the differences between morality and other forms of human activity, see Joan C. Callahan (ed.), Ethical Issues in Professional Life (New York: Oxford University Press, 1988), pp. 10–14. 2. Anders Wedberg, A History of Philosophy, vol. 1: Antiquity and the Middle Ages (Oxford: Clarendon, 1982), p. 139. 3. For other examples of virtuous behavior, see W. T. Jones, The Classical Mind (New York: Harcourt, Brace, 1969), p. 268. 4. “Moral Virtue,” in Tom L. Beauchamp, Philosophical Ethics: An Introduction to Moral Philosophy (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1982), p. 161. This writing is an excerpt from Aristotle’s Nichomachean Ethics, Book 2, Chapters 1, 2, 4, 6, 7, and 9. 5. See Rushworth M. Kidder, How Good People Make Tough Choices (New York: William Morrow, 1995), p. 25. 6. Immanuel Kant, “The Good Will and the Categorical Imperative,” in Beauchamp, Philosophical Ethics, p. 120. This is an excerpt from Kant’s Foundations of the Metaphysics of Morals, trans. Lewis White Beck (Indianapolis, IN: Bobbs-Merrill, 1959), pp. 9–10, 16–19, 24–25, 28. 7. Beauchamp, Philosophical Ethics, pp. 123–124. 8. Callahan, Ethical Issues, p. 20. 9. Clifford G. Christians, Kim B. Rotzoll, Mark Fackler, and Kathy Brittain McKee, Media Ethics: Cases and Moral Reasoning, 6th ed. (New York: Longman, 2001), p. 16. 10. Conrad C. Fink, Media Ethics: In the Newsroom and Beyond (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1988), pp. 53–54. 11. See Robert C. Solomon and Clancy W. Martin, Morality and the Good Life: An Introduction to Ethics Through Classical Studies, 4th ed. (Boston: McGraw-Hill, 2004), pp. 20–21.

12. See John Rawls, A Theory of Justice, rev. ed. (Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1999), pp. 118–123. 13. For a discussion of Rawls’s theory, see James A. Jaska and Michael S. Pritchard, Communication Ethics: Methods of Analysis, 2d ed. (Belmont, CA: Wadsworth, 1994), pp. 111–112; Norman E. Bowie, Making Ethical Decisions (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1985), pp. 268–269. 14. Peter Singer (ed.), A Companion to Ethics (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 1991), p. xvi. 15. E.g., see Jean Grimshaw, “The Idea of a Female Ethic,” in ibid., pp. 491–499. 16. Solomon and Martin, Morality and the Good Life, p. 23. 17. “Feminist Ethics,” Stanford Encyclopedia of Ethics, online at http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/feminism-ethics. 18. Solomon and Martin, Morality and the Good Life, pp. 23–25. 19. Deni Elliott, “All Is Not Relative: Essential Shared Values and the Press,” Journal of Mass Media Ethics 3, no. 1 (1988): 28. See also William Frankena, Ethics (Upper Saddle River, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1973), p. 109. 20. See Joseph Fletcher, Situation Ethics: The New Morality (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1966). For a discussion of various views of situation ethics, see Richard L. Johannesen, Ethics in Human Communication, 3d ed. (Prospect Heights, IL: Waveland, 1990), pp. 79–88. 21. Quoted in Johannesen, Ethics in Human Communication, p. 79. See Bert E. Bradley, Fundamentals of Speech Communication: The Credibility of Ideas, 3d ed. (Dubuque, IA: Brown, 1981), pp. 27–29. 22. John C. Merrill, The Imperative of Freedom: A Philosophy of Journalistic Autonomy, 2d ed. (New York: Freedom House, 1990), p. 169. 23. Ibid., pp. 167–170; Baruch Brody, Ethics and Its Applications (New York: Harcourt, Brace, 1983), pp. 9–35. 24. See Brody, Ethics and Its Applications, p. 31. 25. Although Kant often condemned consequential reasoning, most scholars seem to agree that even he did not believe that an action could be universalized without universalizing its consequences. Thus, the consequences of an action sometimes cannot be separated from the action itself. For example, the reason that the duty to tell the truth is a fundamental societal value is that truth telling has general positive consequences for society. See Beauchamp, Philosophical Ethics, p. 139. 26. Jaksa and Pritchard, Communication Ethics. 27. For a discussion of this idea, see Beauchamp, Philosophical Ethics, pp. 163–166. 28. Christians, Rotzoll, Fackler, and McKee, Media Ethics, p. 13. 29. 18 U.S.C.A. § 1464. 30. FCC v. Pacifica Foundation, 438 U.S. 726 (1978).

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31. For more discussion of critical thinking, see Robert E. Young (ed.), New Directions for Teaching and Learning: Fostering Critical Thinking (San Francisco: JosseyBass, 1980). 32. This model is based, in part, on ideas advanced by Ralph B. Potter in “The Logic of Moral Argument,” in Paul Deats (ed.), Toward a Discipline of Social Ethics (Boston: Boston University Press, 1972), pp. 93–114. 33. For example, see Cohen v. Cowles Media, 18 Med. L. Rptr. 2273, 2274 (1991). For different ethical perspectives on this case, see “Confidentiality and Promise Keeping,” Journal of Mass Media Ethics 6, no. 4 (1991):

245–256; Theodore L. Glasser, “When Is a Promise Not a Promise?” in Philip Patterson and Lee Wilkins, Media Ethics: Issues and Cases, 2d ed. (Dubuque, IA: WCB Brown & Benchmark, 1994), pp. 104–106; Jay Black, Bob Steele, and Ralph Barney, Doing Ethics in Journalism: A Handbook with Case Studies (Greencastle, IN: Society of Professional Journalists, 1993), pp. 190–191. 34. On appeal, the Minnesota Supreme Court changed the legal basis for the lawsuit from breach of contract to promissory estoppel (breach of promise), which was more suited to the facts of the case.

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CASES IN MEDIA COMMUNICATIONS The chapters in Part 2 examine some of the most important ethical issues confronting media practitioners. Each chapter begins with some background and an overview of the issue. Where appropriate, examples are provided to illustrate a point, but I make no attempt to discuss fully every possible ethical dilemma that might arise in connection with the issue. The goal of this book is to help you become a critical thinker, regardless of the specific moral dilemma that might confront you. Each chapter also includes several hypothetical cases designed to challenge your moral imagination and allow you to apply the moral reasoning model outlined in Chapter 3. The cases are followed by some suggestions on how to deal with the issues, but you are expected to make a serious effort to reason out the solutions and to defend your decisions based on the ethical approaches suggested in Chapter 3.

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4 Truth and Honesty in Media Communications A WORLD OF LIMITED TRUTH

truth and thus must bear some responsibility for the loss of reverence for truth and honesty. Consider the widely publicized case of Stephen Glass. By the time he was 25, Glass was a rising star in Washington journalism and an associate editor of the New Republic. His colorful details about such fascinating topics as the small religious sect that worshipped George Bush and the Las Vegas casino that took bets on whether the next space shuttle would explode captivated his readers and earned him a reputation for journalistic enterprise and creativity. Unfortunately, his stories did not originate with real life but from Glass’s vivid imagination. After a month-long investigation, the New Republic editors confirmed that 27 of the 41 pieces Glass had written for the magazine were full of fabrications,2 thereby “destroying a portion of the always-fragile bond of trust journalists try to form with their readers.”3 Glass’s fall from journalistic grace was soon followed by the tragedy of Jayson Blair, described briefly in the opening to Chapter 1, in which the 27-year-old New York Times prodigy was accused of fabricating or plagiarizing material in over half his stories, thereby precipitating an ethics scandal of staggering proportions and a crisis of confidence in American journalism.4 Unfortunately, these recent blows to the credibility of journalism may be symptomatic

Lying, deception, and dishonesty are so pervasive in contemporary society, it seems, that some ethicists must feel like moral dinosaurs in their continued defense of truth as a fundamental value. Take, for example, this recent disturbing headline: E-mail urges lying for blood drive. In April 2004 the press reported that “members of the Gamma Phi Beta sorority at Missouri were urged to lie about their health to qualify as donors in a competitive blood drive” at the university. In her e-mail to sorority members, the chapter’s blood donation coordinator threatened punishment for those members refusing to donate blood. They were instructed to lie about recent tattoos and piercings and colds—anything that might disqualify them as donors.1 Far from being a harmless sorority prank, this kind of dishonesty could have posed a threat to the blood supply. Despite such continuing anecdotal evidence of a rather cavalier attitude toward the truth, we are placing ourselves at great risk if we abandon truth as a fundamental cultural norm. Truth breeds trust—a precious and essential commodity within a democratic system—and trust is an energizing force of social intercourse and civil society. Unfortunately, the media themselves sometimes operate within a world of limited

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of an escalating assault on the values of truth and honesty in both the media professions and society at large. For example, when Primary Colors, a best-selling novel that was eventually made into a movie by the same name, was published in early 1996, it set off a wave of speculation within the journalistic community. The book, a thinly disguised portrait of the Clinton campaign and the national press corps, carried only the pseudonym “Anonymous,” a fascinating attempt at literary camouflage that was rivaled only by the plot’s political intrigue. After months of denials to his professional colleagues, including those at CBS News, the Washington Post, and the New York Times, Newsweek columnist Joe Klein confessed his authorship of Primary Colors but offered no apologies for lying to friends and colleagues. The plot thickened when a Newsweek editor, Maynard Parker, acknowledged that he was aware of Klein’s involvement in the project but declined to inform the magazine’s staff despite the fact that Newsweek had been among those that had joined in the speculation.5 In 1996, in conjunction with the baseball All-Star Game in Philadelphia, the tabloid Philadelphia Weekly published a 4,000-word cover story on the “recently discovered love letters between Jimmie Foxx, one of Philadelphia’s all-time great ballplayers, and starlet Judy Holliday.” Writer Tom McGrath’s highly detailed exposé included a personal account of the relationship that began in April 1945 and ended in late September when the movie star dumped Foxx. The Weekly later admitted that the story was a hoax, a rather clinical way of semantically reducing this piece of journalistic deception to nothing worse than a practical joke. Editor Tim Whitaker offered no apologies for this shocking admission, although he promised in his column not to do it again.6 The reactions to such desecrations of the truth have often been swift and unforgiving from both journalists and media critics. For example, following the Jimmie Foxx hoax, a columnist for the Philadelphia Daily News wrote:

“The most shocking part of this mess is that Whitaker offers no apologies. Since he says he’s done nothing wrong, he’s free to fake another story.”7 Similarly, CBS News, which featured Joe Klein as a news consultant and commentator on its weekend news program, castigated the columnist for not being more forthcoming with them.8 Suzanne Braun Levine, editor of the Columbia Journalism Review, was unforgiving in her assessment: “Journalists think of themselves as a fraternity,” she said, “and that journalists are straight with each other even if nobody is straight with them. They are extremely sensitive to being criticized or being duped. And what could be worse than being duped by one of your own?”9 Reactions such as these from within and outside the media are refreshing in that they serve as evidence that such deceptions are not necessarily the industry standard. And a continuation of this moral guardianship may serve to prevent such ethical lapses from becoming pathological. This is the optimistic view. A more bleak appraisal is that episodes such as these represent an increasingly casual attitude toward truth as an ethical imperative. Truth, in this view, has not fared well in the moral pecking order. This attitude is captured in a rather startling assessment several years ago by a public relations practitioner for one of the ten largest U.S. corporations: “Does the word ‘lie’ actually mean anything anymore? In one sense, everyone lies, but in another sense, no one does, because no one knows what’s true—it’s whatever makes you look good.”10 The reality probably lies somewhere between the optimistic and pessimistic views. Some authors of nonfiction works attempt to justify their deceptions or outright fabrication of facts by an appeal to a “higher truth.” In this view, it matters little whether the specific facts underlying the story are true. Instead, they are merely surrogates for the author’s view of political reality. This form of ethical relativism is exemplified by the controversy that arose in 1999 over the book I, Rogoberta Menchu,

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a captivating chronicle of the political violence that engulfed Guatemala from 1979 to 1983. Written by Nobel Peace Prize winner Rogoberta Menchu, the book purported to be based upon the author’s personal experience with the alleged oppression of Mayan Indian peasants by Guatemalan landowners and the struggles between the author’s family and the landowners. However, part of Menchu’s story began to unravel when anthropologist David Stoll published a book, based upon exhaustive research and interviews, in which he claimed that Menchu described experiences she never had and consistently altered facts and stories.11 Unfortunately, I, Rogoberta Menchu is not the only award-winning author recently to stand accused of fabrication. Benjamin Wilomirski won the National Jewish Book Award for Fragments, his celebrated memoir of the Holocaust. However, as it turned out, the author’s real name was Bruno Doesseker, and he was the son of a Protestant mother who never witnessed the Holocaust.12 The evidence increasingly suggests that, as a society, we view the world from a perspective of greater moral relativism. Even those of us who do not consciously condone lying are often unwilling to acknowledge publicly a bright line between truth and falsehood. In addition, we are less inclined to be judgmental of those who lie. “It’s not my problem” is a common refrain. Consider, for example, the results of a student role-playing exercise in a class on “The Presidency and the Press” at the University of Southern California. The topic involved the sexual relationship between President Bill Clinton and former White House intern Monica Lewinsky. The instructor, columnist Richard Reeves, divided the class into two groups, half designated as advisers to President Clinton and half as Washington reporters. The students each wrote memos to their superiors about how to handle the Lewinsky affair. Although there were differences between the two groups, both agreed that it did not matter whether the information they were giving out or writing down was true. The

Clinton advisers said it did not matter whether their boss was telling the truth. It wasn’t their problem! The student reporters said it did not matter whether “sources” were telling the truth. Nor did it matter that reports in other media were accurate. It wasn’t their problem! Neither group assumed any responsibility for helping to spread disinformation, even if it turned out later that their information was false. They could distance themselves from their involvement in this episode with clear consciences. Their instructor, in a follow-up column, described the lesson of the class as “[l]iving in a world of limited truth.”13

TRUTH AS A FUNDAMENTAL VALUE Are lying and deception ever justified? If you put this question to your friends, you would probably receive several different responses. Some would answer with an unqualified “Never!” Others would say that it depends on the circumstances. Still others would try to evade the question directly by cautiously noting that the answer depends on the definition of the word lie. These responses, as simplistic as they are, represent the wide range of answers provided by moral philosophers in their tireless efforts to answer this question. At the outset it should be acknowledged that lying and deception are related but are not necessarily the same thing. For the purposes of this chapter, deception means “the communication of messages intended to mislead others, to make them believe what we ourselves do not believe.”14 Deception may result not only from words but also from behavior, gestures, or even silence. Thus, under some circumstances the withholding of information from the public might be considered a deceptive act. Lying is really a subcategory of deception and involves the communication of false information that the communicator knows or believes to be false. Although media practitioners

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have been known to deliberately transmit false information, many of the contemporary ethical problems involving the ethics of truth telling fall under the broad category of deception. The commitment to truth is perhaps the most ancient and revered ethical principle of human civilization. Despite our constant temptation to lie and use deception in our self-interest, the idea of truth as a positive value is well entrenched in moral and legal philosophy. Some of the earliest condemnations of lying were contained in judicial laws against false witnesses and perjury, such as the ancient Code of Hammurabi, which stated unequivocally, “If a citizen appears as a false witness in court . . . , he shall be put to death.”15 We find the JudeoChristian expression of this ideal in the Ninth Commandment’s dictum “Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor.” On a more secular level both ancient and modern philosophers have been preoccupied with the role of truth in human affairs. Of course, Socrates was eventually sentenced to death for his critical inquiry, thus becoming possibly the first martyr to free speech.16 Kant, as noted in Chapter 3, felt that the truth was a universal value that should be brought to bear in all circumstances, regardless of the consequences. John Milton, in his Areopagitica, published in 1644, made a compelling argument for freedom of thought when he depicted truth and falsehood as combatants in the marketplace of ideas. The truth, Milton felt, would always win in a fair fight. More than two hundred years later John Stuart Mill was still promoting this idea in arguing for people’s right to express opinions free from government censorship: “If the opinion is right, they are deprived of the opportunity of exchanging error for truth; if wrong, they lose, what is almost as great a benefit, the clearer perception and livelier impression of truth, produced by its collision with error.”17 Of course, Milton and Mill were perhaps more interested in the intellectual meaning of truth than its application to moral philosophy.

But if the truth is so sacred, why is honesty so often the first thing to be compromised when it is in our self-interest to do so? The answer may lie, in part, in that the tendency toward dishonesty is as much a part of human nature and our societal norms as telling the truth. In fact, the art of deception enjoys a history at least as ancient (if not as honorable) as the commitment to truth. Deception was linked irrevocably with the idea of original sin when the serpent deceived Eve, who in turn persuaded Adam to eat the forbidden fruit of the Tree of Knowledge. This propensity for lying was passed on to Adam and Eve’s offspring, as evidenced by Cain’s response when the Lord questioned him on his slain brother’s whereabouts: “I know not. . . . Am I my brother’s keeper?” And still later in the Old Testament, Jacob’s children, in a fit of jealousy directed against their brother Joseph, deceived their father by telling him that Joseph had been ravaged by a wild beast, when in fact they had sold him into bondage.18 As we saw earlier, the ancient philosophers may have been committed to the ideals of truth, but even Plato questioned whether the truth was always beneficial. When confronted with the proposition of whether one should lie to save someone from a murderer, Plato said yes. And when the truth is unknown, we can even make falsehood appear to be truth and thus turn it to our advantage.19 This advice, of course, blurs the distinction between fact and fiction and raises contemporary ethical questions concerning such issues as the use of composite characters in news stories and the use of the docudrama—the dramatic blending of fact and fiction—as a credible TV format for communicating historical events. Our mythology, folklore, and literature are replete with dramatic examples of deception and lying as legitimate means of fulfilling one’s self-interest. As consumers of fictional drama we are generally impressed with the cunning and cleverness of acts of deceit of some of our favorite characters. In fact, it is safe to say that

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deceit, rather than truth, is featured more prominently in literature to reflect the human condition. Thus, those who are prone to deception have an impressive array of witnesses in their corner. Moreover, many contemporary philosophers, unlike their ancient predecessors, have virtually ignored the importance of truth in human intercourse. We are living, it seems, in an age of relativism, when accusations of moral misconduct are met with the rather cavalier retort “Everything’s relative.” The problem is not that the relativists are entirely wrong; sometimes deception may be justified. But if we are to remain moral beings, both in our personal and professional lives, we should be prepared to defend our deviations from the path of truth based on some firm moral foundation. Telling the truth never needs any moral justification; lying and deception do.20

THE IMPORTANCE OF TRUTH Some ethicists are uncompromising in their defense of truth as a fundamental value and adhere to the Kantian view that lying is inherently wrong. Others are more forgiving but still insist on a heavy burden of proof to justify any lie. Ethicist Sissela Bok, for example, adheres to what she refers to as the principle of veracity, which does not condemn every lie but requires that moral agents prove their lies are necessary as a last resort. And even then, alternatives to lying must be explored and chosen if available.21 Nevertheless, because so many of the contemporary writings on moral philosophy have failed to establish the continuing importance of truth as an essential ingredient in our value systems, it would be instructive to do so here. There are several reasons that civilized society should embrace the commitment to truth as a fundamental principle. First, a lack of integrity in human communications undermines the autonomy of the individual. As rational beings we depend on truthful and accurate information to make informed

judgments about a whole host of activities, including the election of public officials, what products to buy, what TV programs to watch, and even the selection of friends and professional colleagues. Consider, for example, the potential consequences of a phony film critic scam perpetrated by two Sony Pictures executives in 2001. They had fabricated a film critic named David Manning, who gave rave reviews to Sony-distributed films Hollow Man, Vertical Limit, A Knight’s Tale, and The Animal. When the scam was discovered, the executives were suspended without pay for 30 days,22 but this may have been little comfort to those who depended upon these reviews and assumed they were the product of an independent film critic. Because many of our waking hours are spent consuming the visual and auditory stimuli provided by the mass media, we have a right, as autonomous individuals, to expect media practitioners to behave with the same degree of integrity as the rest of society. When inaccuracies, rumor, and unsubstantiated allegations replace truth based upon personal knowledge, evidence, or corroboration, then informed decision making, and thus individual autonomy, is prejudiced. The damage that can result from an assault on the truth is clearly illustrated by the contentious senatorial debate surrounding the confirmation of Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas in 1991. Confronted with allegations of sexual harassment from former law school professor Anita Hill, Thomas vehemently denied the allegations and called the proceedings a “high-tech lynching.” While the truth may never be known, ten years after the hearings, David Brock, a former American Spectator writer, acknowledged in a book that in the wake of the hearings he had been designated by Thomas’s right-wing supporters to destroy Hill’s reputation and scrub Thomas’s. According to Brock, he had printed “virtually every derogatory and often contradictory allegation” about Hill to make her appear “a little nutty and a little bit slutty.”23 In the meantime, in the collective mind

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of the public a cloud still hangs over a Supreme Court justice and his accuser. The notion of individual autonomy is based, in part, on freedom of choice. Deception may undermine the confidence we have in our choices, which may make us reluctant to exercise our autonomy in the future.24 For example, a lack of veracity among advertising and public relations practitioners would understandably create a climate of public distrust of the business community. Thus, the term social responsibility has entered the lexicon of media practitioners alongside the word freedom, a concept that is also reflected in the codes of the various media professions. The second reason for a commitment to truth is that it demonstrates a respect for persons as ends rather than as tools to be manipulated. Deception usually places self-interest over the interests of others. There are exceptions, of course, such as in some cases when a doctor refuses to tell a patient the truth about a terminal illness. But by and large a lack of veracity in the communication process places the recipient of the deceptive information at a competitive disadvantage. Where media practitioners are involved, the problems are magnified, because consumers are either more unlikely to discover the deception than they would be in person or have no way to register their disapproval immediately with any real hope of having an impact. Of course, the fallacy in this “respect for persons” rationale for truth telling is that it can also be used to justify deception, as when someone avoids unbridled candor to salvage the feelings of others. At a higher level, journalists sometimes defend their deceptive practices in the name of the public interest. Some investigative reporters use misrepresentations to uncover official corruption or other unsavory activities inimical to society’s well-being. From an ethical standpoint this practice is defended on the ground that it will benefit the public at large while harming (deceiving) a small number of unsuspecting persons. Those who question

the practice believe that reporters are too inclined to become undercover sleuths before exhausting other means of getting the story. From a duty-based perspective two wrongs don’t make a right (even in the name of the public interest), and deception as a routine news-gathering technique should be rejected. The belief in the truthfulness of communications also builds trust between individuals and between individuals and society’s institutions. Deception constitutes a breach of faith and makes it less likely that relationships based on trust and credibility will succeed in the future.25 One writer has even described the practice of lying as “parasitic on the social process.”26 For example, a public relations practitioner for a chemical company who is not completely honest with the press concerning a toxic spill may have something to gain in the short term but will soon discover that the company’s (as well as her own) credibility has suffered a serious blow. Likewise, misleading or deceptive advertising practices constitute a breach of faith with the consumer, because it is usually more difficult for the consumer to discover the truth about commercial speech than about political speech, which receives such intense scrutiny from the press. Because trust is built on truthful communication, lying and deception undermine the very foundations of society. Finally, truth is essential to the democratic process. Democracy depends on an informed citizenry, one that approaches the political and economic marketplace armed with the knowledge that inspires studious deliberation. In a complex democratic society, the media are the primary conduits of information flow, and to the extent that they do not provide truthful, accurate, and meaningful information, they deprive their audiences of the intellectual nourishment necessary for rational decision making. The recent trends toward “sound-bite” journalism and the displacement of thoughtful reporting and analysis with the sensationalism and triviality of the tabloid media are troubling manifestations of how truth is often vulnerable

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to the lure of commercial values. Certainly nothing is ethically amiss in the media’s appealing to the popular tastes of their audiences. And to the extent that the public abandons serious content for banality, they must share the moral responsibility for the depreciation of democratic values. But when the media are not faithful to the democratic mandate to service the political and economic system that has provided them sustenance in the first place, they become culturally dysfunctional and deprive the system of its vitality.

MEDIA PRACTITIONERS AND THE TRUTH–FALSEHOOD DICHOTOMY In theory, it would appear that absolute truth is an ideal for which all media practitioners should strive. In practice, however, the application of this principle often depends on the circumstances and the role of the moral agent. Although outright falsehoods can seldom be justified, exactly how much truth is good for the public soul depends on our expectations. For example, we expect journalists to be unbiased and to report the truth (that is, as many of the known facts as possible that are important to a story). On the other hand, consumers realize that public relations practitioners and advertisers are advocates and do not expect them to do anything that would be contrary to their self-interest or the interests of their clients. This is not surprising considering the fact that advertisers and public relations professionals come from a different tradition than journalists. Thus, the question becomes one of how much of the truth should be revealed and under what circumstances public relations professionals and advertisers may withhold information that might be important to consumers. In assessing the role of truth as it pertains to the various forms of media practice, Professor Frank Deaver of the University of Alabama

suggests that we construct a continuum, a form of ethical “gray scale,” from one extreme to the other.27 In so doing, absolute truth will reside at one end and deception and blatant lies at the other. Those whose purpose it is to provide facts and information (for instance, ethical journalists) will lie near the “truth” end of the scale. Those who intend to deceive, even if for justifiable purposes, will occupy the other end of the continuum. Unethical journalists and advertisers and public relations practitioners who knowingly dispense falsehoods are the most prominent inhabitants of this position on the scale. Somewhere between these two extremes, according to Deaver, are two other points: those who intend to persuade by using selective information (that is, not the whole truth), such as advertisers and public relations professionals, and those who engage in nontruths without intent to deceive. Fiction (such as media entertainment that does not purport to be a truthful account of events), parables, allegories, and honest error fall into this latter category. New journalism, which achieved popularity in the 1960s, resides here because it often uses parables, allegories, and fictional characters to achieve a “greater truth.” It is often justified on the grounds that a fictional approach to real events and ideas appeals to a larger and more diverse audience than the more conventional structured approach to journalism.28

Truth in Journalism The Standard of Journalistic Truth. From a journalistic perspective, expert opinion abounds on what constitutes a truthful news account. At the minimum, three concepts appear to underlie the notion of truth in reporting.29 First, and most obviously, the reporting of a story must be accurate. The facts should be verified; that is, they should be based on solid evidence. If there is some doubt or dispute about the facts, it should be revealed to the audience. This is a threshold requirement, because inaccurate, unsubstantiated, or uncorroborated

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information can undermine the credibility of any journalistic enterprise. The failure of CBS News to observe this basic canon of responsible journalism created an ethical firestorm in the fall of 2004 during that network’s coverage of the bitter and hotly contested presidential race between President George W. Bush and Senator John Kerry. Pursuing what had already become a contentious campaign issue, CBS News broadcast reports on both its evening news program and 60 Minutes raising new questions about President Bush’s Vietnam-era National Guard service. Despite a mounting body of evidence that the documents were forgeries, CBS News and Dan Rather continued to express confidence in their authenticity, but after nearly two weeks at the center of a public brouhaha finally acknowledged that they could not authenticate the documents. The disclosures that the source who gave the network the documents had lied about where he got them and that a 60 Minutes producer acted as a conduit between the network’s source and Senator John Kerry’s presidential campaign led some media pundits to speculate on the future of CBS News, its top executives, and the 72-year-old Rather himself.30 CBS and Rather issued a public apology,31 but the harm to the network’s journalistic stature was incalculable. From the standpoint of accuracy, quotes should be used with precision. As an ethical practice, the altering of direct quotes to avoid embarrassment to the speaker is questionable. If there is a problem in this respect, indirect quotes or paraphrases should be used. Nevertheless, some reporters believe that “cleaning up” an interviewee’s faulty grammar is justified out of fairness to the person. What if the quotes are accurate but contain assertions that the reporter believes may be untrue? Is there an obligation to investigate the truthfulness of every statement (often an impossibility during the frenzy of a political campaign, for example), or does the reporter’s obligation end with quoting the speaker accurately? Surely the failure to investigate may deny

the audience some access to the truth, but there is some question whether this duty amounts to a moral imperative. Nevertheless, when reporters do not personally witness an occurrence or when the information is not general knowledge, they should be sure to attribute the source of their information. This is a fundamental requirement of accurate reporting. Unfortunately, inaccurate quotes and stories often assume a life of their own when reporters fail to conduct their own independent investigations and simply accept the accounts of their colleagues as gospel. For an unsuspecting public, such stories may be uncritically embraced as journalistic truth. One of the most highly publicized examples occurred when Democratic presidential candidate Al Gore was quoted directly as claiming that he “invented” the Internet. In reality, what he told CNN’s Wolf Blitzer in an interview was, “During my service in Congress I took the initiative in creating the Internet.” When Gore was derided by both Republicans and the news media for this comment, several Internet experts noted that Gore did indeed play an important role while in Congress in developing the Internet.32 With the advent of the Web and the inevitable attractiveness of online journalism, the problem of incestuous news coverage, in which journalists borrow liberally from each other, is likely to increase. While inaccuracies can be corrected immediately by the original publisher, they are likely to endure as the number of derivative stories proliferates. Admittedly, the solution might elude even the most passionate and reflective ethicist, but the gauntlet has been thrown down. “If integrity isn’t a compelling enough reason to think about these things,” writes Barb Palser in the American Journalism Review, “consider the fact that content sharing is making errors harder to erase. With more sites grabbing one another’s content outright or referencing it in research, slipups are more likely to be immortalized. Now imagine getting caught trying to swallow your own words.”33

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A particularly troublesome weakness in journalistic accuracy (and hence the overall truth of the story) is in the reporting of research. This is significant because the marketplace is increasingly dominated by studies and surveys for public consumption. Many journalists, never having had a statistics or experimental design course in their liberal arts education, are awed by scientific studies. Without the necessary intellectual tools to evaluate the methodology or conclusions, they often accept them uncritically. This is not the place to embark on a crash course in the scientific method. However, journalists do not have to be scientists to at least question the source of the study and to attribute this in their stories. This within itself may say something about the credibility of the study. For the sake of accuracy, should reporters ever allow sources to review their stories prior to publication? At one time prepublication review was a taboo, and the notion is still not popular with many journalists because of what they perceive as a threat to their independence. However, Fred Brown, the Ethics Committee cochair of the Society of Professional Journalists, notes that in the past couple of decades “[w]e’ve put accuracy above independence, and we’ve decided it’s more important to serve our readers than to be overly protective of what we’re writing.”34 Steve Weinberg, former head of Investigative Reporters and Editors, routinely allows prepublication review because “the offer of review makes sources more willing to talk on the record” and “it doesn’t compromise the writers’ control over their stories.”35 Sources who wish to alter the interpretation or tone of an article should be reminded that their review is limited only to confirming the accuracy of the information. Supporters of at least limited prepublication review also point out that the ultimate goal of ethical journalism is the truth, which can be compromised by inaccurate information. According to this view, if sources can insure the accuracy of information, which is frequently the case in complex stories involving

tax policy or scientific discoveries, reporters should not hesitate to consult with them prior to publication. While most reporters embrace accurate reporting as a first principle of ethical journalism, time and competitive pressures sometimes compromise the accuracy of news coverage. The biggest blunder in recent memory occurred when the four major broadcast networks, CNN, the Associated Press, and many of the nation’s leading newspapers incorrectly named Democrat Al Gore as the winner in the 2000 presidential contest.36 The critics could not agree on the cause of this debacle. Some blamed faulty data from the service that provides exit polling and raw vote counts to the networks and the Associated Press. Others blamed Florida for producing flawed election results.37 However, there was virtual unanimity on one point: The news media, particularly the television networks, had suffered an incredible loss of credibility. Representative Billy Tauzin, chair of the House Telecommunications Subcommittee, even accused the networks of “disenfranchising Americans from their right to vote” and promised to hold hearings on the networks’ election night faux pas.38 Battlefield coverage is particularly vulnerable to accusations of inaccurate reporting, a result in part of heavy dependence upon military sources of information, the inherent complexities of modern military operations, and the rapid pace of battlefield engagements that is antithetical to journalistic reflection and perspective. During the invasion of Iraq in the spring of 2003, for example, the term embedded quickly attached itself to the public consciousness as the Pentagon permitted reporters to accompany military units as they marched on Baghdad and engaged the Iraqi military in an effort to unseat Saddam Hussein. Journalists were thus provided with a ringside seat for the engagements of individual units. Nevertheless, from the outset the war coverage was plagued by numerous inaccuracies precipitated by the reporting of rumors and information frequently

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based upon faulty intelligence. An article in USA Today, for example, attributed some of the inaccuracies to the “fog of war, a place where fact, fiction and battlefield exaggeration merge into a muddle.” Among the incidences cited were reports that Saddam Hussein may have died in an air strike when in fact his fate remained unclear; that a captured chemical plant produced banned weapons, which was false; that thousands of Shiites had revolted against Saddam in Basra, also false; and that bodies found in a warehouse in southern Iraq were victims of Saddam’s brutal regime when in fact the remains were from the war in the 1980s against Iran.39 A second requirement for journalistic truth is that, in addition to being accurate, a truthful story should promote understanding. Time and space limitations preclude providing a comprehensive understanding of any situation. The goal should be to provide an account that is essentially complete. A story should contain as much relevant information as is available and essential to afford the average reader or viewer at least an understanding of the facts and the context of the facts. This places the working journalist somewhere between the extremes of full disclosure and no disclosure.40 The fact is that the whole truth can probably never be known about any situation, but ethical issues arise when moral agents intentionally withhold all or some facts relevant to the public interest. This practice is antithetical to the journalistic imperative of reporting all of the known relevant facts, but sometimes threats to the lives of individuals or the public’s welfare lead to withholding or delaying certain kinds of information. Fast-breaking stories relating to terrorism and hostage takings are two prime examples. There are other occasions when the journalistic imperative to report the truth is held hostage by more powerful forces that are just as determined, for their own ends, to control the flow of information to the public. As noted earlier, media coverage of military conflicts is a

challenging undertaking, particularly when, in the heat of battle, journalists attempt to provide perspective and understanding for what is admittedly a complex story. Chastened by what they believed to have been unrestrained negative coverage of the Vietnam War, the Pentagon, many of whose senior brass were veterans of that unpopular conflict, was determined not to repeat their earlier mistakes during Operation Desert Storm, which successfully thwarted Iraq’s aggressive intentions in Kuwait in 1991. In this relatively short hundred-day campaign, the military severely limited media access to the combat zone. And reporters, many of whom were covering their first war, seemed so mesmerized by the Pentagon’s relentless flow of sanitized information that Newsweek described them as “callow children of the video arcades, stupefied by the high-tech at press briefings.” “At times,” Newsweek observed, “news organizations seemed so busy courting generals they forgot to ask questions. Competing correspondents, papers and networks played right into the Pentagon’s hands.”41 The more restrained commentators chided them for being uncritical. Their less charitable critics accused them of being government collaborators.42 Twelve years later, when the United States and its coalition partners invaded Iraq, the press was accused of jumping to unwarranted conclusions that seemed to change by the day— conclusions that did little to enhance the public’s understanding of the military or public policy implications of that engagement. Media critics accused journalists of mood swings, morphing rapidly from a sort of prewar optimism to predictions of a quagmire (invoking memories of Vietnam) shortly after the commencement of hostilities. These mood swings, according to this view, “magnified both expectations of an instantaneous victory and grumbles about military stumbles, resulting in schizophrenic coverage that distorted public perceptions of the military campaign.”43 “Bounding between spurts of overly optimistic expectations and overly pessimistic fits of defeatism may fill newspaper

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columns and TV air time,” declared an editorial in the Houston Chronicle. “But it doesn’t necessarily reflect reality.”44 However, some reporters and editors countered that journalists simply recorded the progress of the war, both successes and setbacks. In their view, the media justifiably reported the Pentagon’s predictions of an early victory, but when current and retired military officers expressed consternation about the war strategy and the stiffer-than-expected guerilla resistance in southern Iraq, the media also reported these concerns.45 Regardless of one’s perspective on the media’s performance in this particular conflict, professional journalists should strive for clarity and promote understanding and thus should avoid the temptation to render judgments unless they are reasonably supported by factual assertions and accompanied by source attribution. The third criterion for a truthful article is that it be fair and balanced. These twin concepts involve, first, the avoidance of any discernible reporter bias. While reporters, like the rest of us, bring a certain amount of cultural baggage to their jobs, is it asking too much to expect them to leave their prejudices at the newsroom door? No accusation is more frequently heard against the news media or has the potential to be more damaging to credibility than that of biased coverage. Consider, for example, the results of a study conducted by the Pew Research Center and the Project for Excellence in Journalism concerning the coverage of the 2000 presidential campaign. Based upon a survey of 2,400 newspaper, TV, and Internet stories during five different weeks, researchers found that a staggering 76 percent of the coverage included one of two themes: that Al Gore lied and exaggerated or was marred by scandal and that George W. Bush was a “different kind of Republican.”46 The Pew study also included this damning indictment of the press, a conclusion also supported by an anecdotal survey reported in the Columbia Journalism Review: “Journalists’ assertions about Bush’s character were more than

twice as likely than Gore’s to be unsupported by any evidence. In other words, they were pure opinion, rather than journalistic analysis.”47 In addition to avoiding bias, fairness and balance require that journalists accord recognition to those views that enhance the understanding of the issue. Every effort should be made to represent them fairly and in proportion to their significance to the issue. The greatest threat to journalistic truth is likely to occur during periods of crisis. Reporters covering the horrific events of September 11, 2001, for example, confronted unprecedented ethical challenges in attempting to convey accurate information to a nation gripped by fear. On that date, Americans watched in horror as two passenger jets crashed into the World Trade Center in New York City and another left a gaping hole in the Pentagon in Washington, DC, the symbol of our nation’s military might. These aircraft had been converted into weapons of mass destruction by Arab terrorists motivated by their passionate hatred for the United States. A fourth plane crashed into a field in Pennsylvania when several passengers successfully confronted their hijackers, thus heroically thwarting their captors’ plans for further destruction of American institutions. While the nation was attempting to cope with the fear generated by these attacks on American soil and the loss of thousands of innocent civilian lives, a bioterrorist attack in the form of anthrax was launched through the U.S. mail, placing political leaders, journalists, and postal workers at risk. Several deaths resulted from this assault from an unknown source. Coverage of any national tragedy is risky, from an ethical perspective, but the enormity of 9/11 and its aftermath confronted journalists with a daunting challenge—how to provide an accurate account of events within a context that promotes understanding while not fueling the flames of fear and panic. In the weeks following the terrorist attacks, reporters were confronted with a deluge of information, much of it contradictory and inaccurate, emanating from the

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White House, various public officials, and other sources. In the process, factual information sometimes became a casualty. In the anthrax story, for example, editors struggled to provide useful information to the public to help them guard against anthrax infection, while trying to avoid creating hysteria. As one commentator frankly acknowledged in the American Journalism Review, “The media were being held hostage by an unfolding drama over which they had no control.”48 And the fact that some journalists were targeted by the perpetrator(s) of the anthrax scare made it difficult for those affected to retain the emotional detachment usually expected of professional journalists. NBC anchor Tom Brokaw, himself a target, may have expressed the feelings of some of his colleagues when he closed his evening news broadcast of October 15th displaying a vial of pills and proclaiming, “In Cipro we trust.”49 Cipro, a popular treatment for the anthrax virus, soon became a household name. In the immediate aftermath of 9/11, the public accorded the news media high marks for their coverage. For example, in a survey conducted by the Pew Center following the attacks, an impressive 89 percent of respondents rated the coverage as “excellent” or “good” in midSeptember. A month later this figure still stood at 85 percent.50 Perhaps one reason the public was favorably disposed toward the media’s treatment of the events surrounding 9/11 was because of the patriotic fervor that seemed to embrace news organizations themselves. American flags appeared on news sets and lapels of news anchors, and reporters uncritically accepted information provided by government leaders and other officials. Some of the coverage assumed a decidedly patriotic tone, an understandable response to a horrific act perpetrated against innocent civilians. “One problem,” noted Jane Kirtley, Silha Professor of Media Ethics and Law at the University of Minnesota, “is that it’s difficult to be critical when the audience is swept up in patriotism.”51 However, public approbation may also have resulted from the fact

that the predictable flood of rumors and unsubstantiated facts was carefully evaluated by credible journalists,52 not an easy task in an environment in which reporters had no precedents to guide them. Nevertheless, there were dissenting voices. Some critics faulted journalists for abandoning their traditional role of independent government watchdog and of reporting on the foreign policy implications of the “war on terrorism” with an uncritical eye.53 In a democratic society committed to the free flow of information, factual accuracy is clearly an ethical imperative, even when it reflects unfavorably on government policies. For example, once the shock of the terrorist attacks had subsided and journalists attempted to regain some measure of perspective, they increasingly turned their attention to stories concerning America’s policies in the Middle East and the societies that were the breeding grounds for terrorists such as Osama bin Laden. Efforts to enhance the American public’s understanding of the context surrounding the 9/11 story, of course, necessitated interviews with Arab subjects who could provide unique insights into the culture in which bin Laden grew up. Such journalistic overtures run the risk that the subjects will attempt to control the interview agenda. Such was the case when ABC and CBS sought an interview with Carmen bin Laden, Osama bin Laden’s estranged sister-inlaw. To get the interview, Carmen bin Laden’s attorney insisted on a number of conditions, including his right to prescreen the interview and to make changes, a violation of the standards of both news organizations. To their credit, the networks refused these demands. ABC was eventually granted the interview.54 CNN raised some ethical eyebrows when it apparently gained the inside track on being the first Western media outlet to question Osama bin Laden following the September 11th attacks. According to Broadcasting & Cable magazine,55 CNN said it had been contacted by Al Jazeera, the Arab-language network, regarding

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the submission of questions for an interview with Osama bin Laden and had pursued the arrangement. CNN defended its actions by admitting that such preinterview submissions were not consistent with its policy but that the unusual circumstances warranted an exception. The network tried to counter expected criticism by declaring that it had not agreed to any preconditions regarding questions nor had it committed itself to airing bin Laden’s responses. Bob Steele, a journalism practice expert with the Poynter Institute, also defended CNN’s decision on the grounds that “[t]here is value in hearing what’s inside bin Laden’s head, even if it is propaganda.”56 Steele also noted that CNN promised appropriate editorial oversight and that there was no guarantee they would use the material. “It’s a chip out of journalistic independence, but it’s not a shattering of that independence,” he concluded.57 Withholding Information. Journalists are in the business of revelation, not concealment. In the minds of some it is antithetical to the practice of journalism to sit on a story. The stakes are high—the erosion of the public trust if readers and viewers believe vital information is being concealed from them. Nevertheless, there are frequently competing claims on the loyalties of journalists. They may “kill” a story to avoid harm to others or perhaps pull their journalistic punches in anticipation of gaining an advantage at some future date. But regardless of the reasons, whether noble or self-serving, public trust is frequently the first casualty when news organizations suppress the truth. This was the concern in the spring of 2003 when Eason Jordan, CNN’s chief news executive, acknowledged in the New York Times that for twelve years his network refused to report stories of Iraqi brutality and atrocities out of concern for the safety of its employees and sources.58 Eason stated he made numerous trips to Baghdad to lobby the government to keep the CNN bureau open and to arrange interviews with Iraqi officials. During these visits

he became painfully aware that some of CNN’s sources had been tortured and that the regime had threatened to kill CNN employees. Critics accused Jordan of trading “truth for access” and betraying the public trust.59 Several journalism professors and commentators said the CNN news executive had compromised his network’s journalistic mission so that it could continue to report from Iraq. Jordan responded that the issue was not about access but life and death. “It’s very simple,” he replied. “Do you report things that get people killed? The answer is no.” Jordan also stated that his network’s reporting on the Iraqi regime was “fair and toughminded.” 60 However, CNN never reported these death threats, prompting one commentator to remark unsympathetically, “If it couldn’t tell viewers how its newsgathering was shaped by implicit death threats, it was time to get out of Baghdad.”61 But Jordan also had his share of supporters, who believed he was being unfairly singled out. “If we thought that we were endangering somebody we had hired to help us to report, that would be something that we would weigh very heavily,” proclaimed Michele Grant, director of development for the British Broadcasting Corporation in the United States. Alex S. Jones, director of Harvard’s Sorenstein Center on the Press, Politics and Public Policy, agreed: “I think every news organization has to make those kinds of calls from time to time.”62 The “Feeding Frenzy.” One disturbing tendency that compromises all three standards discussed here is the media’s rush to judgment in covering a sensational story, sometimes referred to as a “feeding frenzy” or the “herd mentality.” If such journalistic stampedes are also accompanied by inaccuracies in the original account, then the harm is exacerbated and media credibility again stands indicted in the court of public opinion. Consider, for example, the media feeding frenzy set off by an article in the New York Times. In its March 6, 1999, edition the Times reported that China had used secrets

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stolen from the Los Alamos National Laboratory to advance its nuclear weapons program. The story did not identify the suspect but noted that he was a scientist at the lab. It also quoted a CIA operative as comparing the case with that of Julius and Ethel Rosenberg, a couple executed in 1953 for allegedly supplying secrets to the Soviet Union.63 The Times’ story quickly moved onto the national agenda, with unsettling consequences. “While a few journalists and news organizations took a skeptical view of the mounting near-hysteria,” observed an article in the American Journalism Review, “many others did little original reporting, settling for wildly simplified versions of the Times coverage.”64 Two days following the initial report, Wen Ho Lee, a 60-year-old Taiwanese American working at the lab, was fired. Despite his denials that he had supplied China with official secrets, Lee spent 278 days in solitary confinement but was never charged with espionage. The government eventually dropped all but one of the 59 counts against him.65 In a postmortem of its Wen Ho Lee coverage, the Times acknowledged “flaws” in its original coverage and an uncritical reliance upon government sources. But as U.S. News noted in its own assessment of the situation: “Normally, a newspaper’s blunders wouldn’t attract so much attention. But lapses by the Times take on added significance because the newspaper is the national agenda setter.”66 However, feeding frenzies do not always begin with such prominent news organizations. Consider the biggest story of 1998 concerning what transpired in the Oval Office between President Clinton and White House intern Monica Lewinsky. The story broke first on the Internet site of Matt Drudge, whose stock in trade was rumor and gossip, not accurate and reliable news. Because this relationship, among other things, was the subject of an investigation by a federal special prosecutor, no one can seriously deny the news value of this event. However, the quality of reporting, particularly in the early days, was distressing. In a cover story two

months after the first reported accounts of the affair, Quill magazine,67 the publication of the Society of Professional Journalists (SPJ), questioned whether there had been a rush to judgment. Steve Geimann, former SPJ president and the chair of its Ethics Committee, provided this assessment: Instead of seeking the truth—the foundation of the SPJ Code of Ethics—newspaper and broadcast journalists were more interested in copying and chasing each other. Instead of identifying anonymous sources, otherwise respected journalists abdicated their responsibilities to other reporters and editors who often seemed to follow a looser set of ethical guidelines.68

This appraisal is supported by a study commissioned by the Committee of Concerned Journalists that evaluated the performance of major TV programs and newspapers during the first six days of the story. The conclusion? Forty-one percent of the coverage was analysis, opinion, speculation, or judgment instead of factual reporting.69 Attribution was noticeably lacking from much of the early reporting. And this distressing conclusion did not go unnoticed by readers and viewers. In an opinion poll conducted just one month after the story broke, the top two adjectives Americans agreed they would use to describe news media coverage of the story were excessive (80 percent) and embarrassing (71 percent). When provided with two options as to why the media were focusing heavily on the story, 81 percent said that the media were more interested in attracting a large audience, whereas only 14 percent believed they were mostly interested in getting to the bottom of the story.70 Space limitations preclude any meaningful reprise of the many ethical lapses that occurred in this case, but the reader is referred to the March/April 1998 edition of the Columbia Journalism Review for an interesting appraisal on the media coverage of the Clinton– Lewinsky affair.71 Such feeding frenzies, of course, are the result of instant news and the herd mentality,

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exacerbated by instantaneous electronic communication, and follow a predictable pattern. In the early stages the media are caught off guard and scramble to catch up, usually reporting as much opinion and innuendo as they do fact. Depending on the nature of the story and its duration, the mainstream media may settle into a more responsible form of reporting. Then there will be a period of self-flagellation in which some journalists lament their rush to judgment. And just as predictably, the next time that such a story breaks, the lessons of the past will be conveniently ignored in the passion of competition. Deception in Journalism. Any ethical debate about the use of deception in news gathering and reporting must take into account its various nuances and forms. Some moral purists argue that because truth is an animating principle of the journalistic profession, any form of deception is taboo. According to this Kantian view, such behavior erodes the bond of trust between reporters and their audiences. Others are not so austere in their ethical approach, acknowledging that sometimes deception must be used to uncover stories of overriding public importance. As the media continue to be plagued by a public crisis of confidence, certain journalistic devices have increasingly been put under an ethical microscope. One such practice is the use of surreptitious investigative techniques, such as undercover reporting and the use of hidden cameras and microphones. Journalists defend such tactics on the grounds that as fiduciaries of the public, they are sometimes required to employ deception to uncover a greater truth. In other words, the end justifies the means. Such was the case when freelance reporter Jonathan Franklin posed as a mortician and entered Dover Air Force Base, where casualties of the Persian Gulf War were processed. In so doing, he confirmed that the military had underestimated the number of casualties. Franklin’s article was eventually published in the Bay Guardian,

a weekly paper in San Francisco. The managing editor, acknowledging that he usually turned down stories based on undercover work, justified this exception on the grounds that the deception was directed against government misconduct, not an individual.72 Some undercover activities, however, are based on less noble motives. Take, for example, the sweeps-week exposé of security in the public schools undertaken by a TV station in Portland, Maine. A member of the station’s investigative team, posing as a family friend of a particular second grader, arrived at an elementary school and said he had been asked by the family to take the child to the dentist. In reality, the student’s mother was a station employee and was waiting in the car outside. Because the man was without a note, the child’s mother could not be reached, and the dentist’s name provided by the undercover reporter did not match the name of the dentist in the student’s file, the principal correctly refused to release the child into the visitor’s custody. The school superintendent accused the station of an “abuse of trust” and charged that the station “had engaged in a deliberate, cynical deception of the school staff in order to manufacture a news story.”73 Although the use of deception is probably as old as journalism itself, many news managers are uncomfortable with the practice and have instituted policies that, while not banning undercover reporting altogether, are designed to prevent its abuse. However, one could hardly fault a news organization if it chose to ban the use of deceptive undercover reporting practices altogether. After all, adherence to the truth hardly needs any justification. Those who find such moral conservatism too restrictive in a highly competitive media environment must still defend their use of deception based on some overriding principle and some fairly demanding criteria. Investigative techniques, such as undercover reporting and the use of hidden cameras, should be employed only after a full and deliberate discussion in which the principles

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of sound moral reasoning are employed. Bill Kovach and Tom Rosenstiel, in their illuminating book on the enduring principles of journalism, have apparently rejected the Kantian view of deception as too austere for practicing journalists but suggest that reporters should use a test similar to the concepts justifying civil disobedience in deciding whether to engage in the technique. According to Kovach and Rosenstiel, a three-step test should be applied for employing deceptive news-gathering techniques. 1. The information must be sufficiently vital to the public interest to justify deception. 2. Journalists should not engage in masquerade unless there is no other way to get the story. 3. Journalists should reveal to their audience whenever they mislead sources to get information, and explain their reasons for doing so, including why the story justifies the deception and why this was the only way to get the facts.74 News staging is another deceptive practice that raises serious ethical questions, and, unfortunately, it is not that rare in either print or electronic journalism. Take, for example, the photo that accompanied a story in the Indianapolis Star in the summer of 2002—a photo the newspaper later acknowledged was staged. The photo and caption depicted a nurse giving a boy a vaccination when in fact he was at the Health Department for a different procedure. The boy was asked to pose for the photo as though he were getting a shot. The Star subsequently apologized for the misrepresentation. “Such distortion of the truth is a violation of our policy on ethics and our commitment to readers to always be honest in our delivery of the news,” the newspaper wrote.75 In still another ethical blunder, the consequences were more dire for the perpetrators. When a reporter at WCCO-TV in Minneapolis couldn’t find appropriate visuals to illustrate a story about underage drinking, he purchased

two cases of beer for six teenagers and then filmed them drinking the beer. When this journalistic duplicity was discovered, the reporter and photographer were not only fired; they were arrested and charged with violating state liquor laws.76 Closely related to staging is the practice of news reenactments or re-creations. Not surprisingly, such techniques are controversial among professional journalists. The most severe criticism has been leveled against the use of reenactments in catastrophes or tragedies. For example, in 1996 listeners of WGST-AM/FM in Atlanta were treated to an almost two-minute cockpit voice recorder reenactment of the last minutes of ValuJet Flight 592 as the plane plunged into the Florida Everglades. For the sake of realism, the station added sound effects, such as wind rushing and people screaming. WGST news director Al Gardner defended the broadcast as an attempt “to put a face and a human behind the story.” ValuJet officials called the report “outrageous” and “irresponsible.”77 Not all electronic journalists are willing to rule out the use of reenactments entirely, but caution their use must be limited. For example, Nancy Sanders, assistant news director of WKBW-TV in Buffalo, New York, notes: “I do think there are times when you have to cross the line and do re-enactments, and I do think it possibly is helpful in crime situations. But in catastrophes, I don’t know that I would endorse doing that. It smells of docudrama.” On the other hand, Paul Perillo, news bureau chief of Metro Networks’ Philadelphia office, believes that any re-creation “flies in the face of all the basics of good journalism.” He fears that competition for ratings may oblige more and more stations to embellish their news reports for shock value.78 As noted in Chapter 2, the introduction of computer-assisted digital technology poses still another challenge to the moral imagination of media practitioners. Digital-imaging technology itself is ethically neutral, but its deceptive capabilities are worrisome. Alteration of still

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pictures, of course, predates the arrival of digitalization, but the new technology makes such manipulation of both still and moving pictures easier and virtually undetectable. Because of these factors, will media professionals now be more tempted than ever to alter visuals? The jury is still out on that question, but there are already some disturbing trends. Consider a photo that ran in several newspapers, including the Hartford Courant, Chicago Tribune, and Los Angeles Times, during the invasion of Iraq by the American military and its coalition partners. A Times photographer took two photos of a British soldier in front of a crowd of Iraqi civilians and, using his laptop, composed an image using the left side of one photo and the right side of the other. He transmitted his composite photo to the Times, along with twelve other images, but the altered photo was unwittingly selected for publication by the Times and other papers. The digital manipulation was discovered when an employee of the Hartford Courant noticed that several civilians crouching in the background of the photo appeared twice.79 And then there was the controversial decision by CBS news executives in which they apparently sacrificed journalistic principles to a clever market strategy. During the New Year’s Eve newscast from Times Square leading into the new millennium, CBS technicians digitally removed a giant NBC logo, as well as a Budweiser ad, from the video image of Times Square behind Dan Rather and replaced them with their own CBS corporate logo. “It’s a classic case of technological expertise,” lamented media ethicist Bob Steele, “at the expense of ethical principles.”80 In November 1999 Stars and Stripes, the daily newspaper for U.S. armed forces overseas, featured on its front page a color photo of an Apache helicopter maneuvering high above a mountain range. The accompanying headline read: “To better prepare for mountainous terrain, Apache pilots are getting their training.” However, the photo was a phony, a creation of the paper’s central office in Washington, DC, which

had employed modern technology to produce “a picture of an Apache with a shot of an awesome mountain view.”81 Even institutions of higher education, supposedly the bastions of intellectual honesty, are not immune from the allure of digital manipulation. In September 2000 an attempt by the University of Wisconsin to display its commitment to racial diversity turned into a public relations fiasco. The original cover photograph for its new admissions brochure showed happy Wisconsin students attending a football game. When university officials noticed that the picture contained no black faces, they used photodesign software to add the face of an African American. “Our intentions were good, but our methods were bad,” declared the public relations director once the deception was exposed. Similarly, two weeks after the Wisconsin incident the University of Idaho digitally pasted two faces—one black and one Asian—onto white bodies in a photo at the top of the university’s website. An official from the university blamed the episode on an overzealous computer technician but acknowledged that “other administrators had urged the technician to find a picture showing minority students.”82 Certainly the alteration of the “content” of visuals in such a way as to distort the reality of the event raises serious ethical questions and erodes the confidence that readers and viewers have in the editorial process. But what if the alterations are made primarily for considerations of design or taste, as when the editors of American Photo digitally removed for matters of “taste” the nipples of model Kate Moss who appeared on the magazine’s cover in a tightfitting gauzy top?83 Under such circumstances, the ethical slope becomes more slippery as media practitioners balance competing concerns. Many news organizations have policies against alteration of the content of photographs, and the need for new ethical constructs to deal with the deceptive capabilities of digital imaging is not yet manifest. After all, if certain forms of manipulation are unacceptable under current

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policies, the arrival of a new technology should not alter the unethical nature of that practice. The ultimate test is still, purely and simply, one of honesty. Fabrication: The Unpardonable Sin. To the loyal readers of the New York Times, it was inconceivable that an employee of the nation’s journalistic icon would fabricate information and steal material from other news organizations. And yet, as described briefly in the opening narrative of Chapter 1, in the late spring of 2003 the Times declared in a lengthy front-page story that Jayson Blair, a prolific young reporter who had recently been promoted to the national desk, had resigned amidst allegations of journalistic fraud. As described in the Times’s own account, an investigation revealed that at least half the stories produced by Blair while covering national assignments were tainted by fabrications or other forms of deception, and a spot-check of more than 600 of Blair’s stories written prior to that time also contained apparent fabrications. “His tools of deceit were a cellphone and a laptop computer,” wrote the Times, “which allowed him to blur his true whereabouts—as well as round-the-clock access to databases of news articles from which he stole.”84 The public remains blissfully unaware of most incidences of journalistic malpractice, but the Jayson Blair affair riveted both the mainstream and tabloid press, fascinated the eager listeners and viewers of the radio and TV talk shows, and was featured prominently as the cover story in the major news magazines. Several accounts chronicled Blair’s troubled personal life and his disrespect for professional standards and deportment that dated to his days as a high school journalist.85 This publicity was accompanied by some anguished soul-searching within the Times that focused on the controversial executive editor, Harold Raines, who prided himself on nurturing new talent and ignored complaints from other editors concerning Blair’s job performance. Three weeks after the Times

published its exhaustive account of the Blair debacle, Raines, along with Managing Editor Gerald Boyd, resigned after deciding that “the backwash from the Blair affair was keeping them from providing the effective leadership” the paper needed.86 Most journalists are hardworking and honorable and are a credit to their profession. But as Newsweek candidly acknowledged in the wake of the Blair revelations: “Jayson Blair isn’t the first journalist to deceive readers—and he probably won’t be the last. It’s no wonder, then, that the profession is struggling with a credibility problem.”87 In what the magazine referred to as the Hall of Shame, it briefly described a legacy of deception originating with the infamous era of Yellow Journalism in the 1890s during which New York publishers Joseph Pulitzer and William Randolph Hearst sensationalized and manufactured events to boost paper sales.88 Newsweek was certainly prescient in its prediction that Jayson Blair “probably won’t be the last” to commit journalistic malpractice. Less than a year after Blair and the Times parted company, USA Today veteran reporter Jack Kelley was fired for fabricating stories and plagiarizing other material. Some staff members speculated that the paper’s managers were lax in their editorial supervision because of Kelley’s potential for enhancing the publication’s prestige (Kelley had been nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, only the second such nomination in the paper’s 22-year history.).89 The profession of journalism is built on trust. The loss of credibility can be ethically fatal to a news organization. Journalists who approach a story with an ax to grind or who intentionally slant their reporting to favor one ideology over another are kindred souls with propagandists. Of course, journalists are not perfect. Under time deadlines they frequently make mistakes, and some are unnecessarily careless in gathering the facts. And the public is frequently willing to forgive the trespasses of those who make mistakes and acknowledge them.

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What is unpardonable in the practice of journalism, however, is the fabrication of stories or quotes. This has not become common fare within the industry, but several highly publicized cases in recent years have raised some profoundly disturbing questions concerning the ethical direction of the profession. The highly respected Washington Post is credited with running what one author has described as “the most famous hoax of the modern era.”90 The Post was forced to return a Pulitzer Prize for feature writing after the paper’s editors discovered that one of their young reporters, Janet Cooke, had fabricated a dramatic account of an 8-year-old heroin addict. Although the case was dismissed as an isolated incident, other cases have arisen in some of the nation’s leading publications. In August 2000, for example, ABC News’ John Stossel apologized to millions of TV viewers for his role in an incredibly distorted report on the news magazine show 20/20. Seven months earlier Stossel had reported that “organic” foods were not safe or more nutritious than food grown with chemicals. His report was based upon tests commissioned by ABC that found no pesticide residues on either organic or regular produce. In fact, the network later admitted that no tests had been done on produce, and environmentalists concluded that some of the other research findings included in the story were also misleading. Stossel was reprimanded and a producer was suspended, but the loss of credibility resulting from such ethical indiscretions is incalculable.91 Two years earlier, the Boston Globe had asked a prize-winning Boston columnist, Patricia Smith, to resign because of fabricated people and quotes in four of her columns.92 This case is worth pausing over for a moment because of the reporter’s attempt to rationalize her unethical behavior. In her apology to the paper’s readers, Smith said she wanted her writing to come across as exciting and wished “to leave the reader indelibly impressed,” acknowledging that she

sometimes quoted nonexistent people to “create the desired impact or slam home a salient point.”93 But the Globe’s ombudsman, Jack Thomas, was unimpressed with this morally ambiguous defense, accusing Smith of continuing to compromise the truth. “Making up an entire column of fictitious people and fictitious quotations is not, as she would have us believe, slamming home a point,” wrote Thomas. “It’s lying.”94 It would be difficult to improve on Thomas’s description of the situation. In some ethical dilemmas confronting journalists, there is room for legitimate disagreement on the most morally permissible (or justifiable) solution. The fabrication of information is not one of them!

Where Truth and Fiction Collide: The Docudrama The docudrama is probably the most popular version of fact-based entertainment, sometimes referred to as “infotainment.” Docudramas have appeal because they are based on actual incidents, and, in the case of current events, the audience can usually identify with the featured characters. The blending of historical fact and fiction has a lineage that can be traced at least to Greek drama, but the docudrama genre, at least in its current incarnation, is a little over three decades old. Prior to the 1970s TV documentaries were substantially fact-based, but the tragic political misdeeds and fall of Richard Nixon afforded an irresistible temptation to blend historical facts with fictional episodes allegedly to serve a “higher truth.” Thus was born the docudrama, and by the 1990s Nixon was “being depicted in film as an epithet-swearing drunk who suffered from hallucinations.”95 In assessing the historical relevance and value of docudramas we must remember the producers of these films are not journalists. Their goal is to create an interesting story. In some cases modifications are made or inaccuracies tolerated primarily for dramatic effect; sometimes

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producers approach their work with a political agenda. The question then arises whether the writers and producers of docudramas should have the same degree of ethical commitment to the truth as practicing journalists. Some producers have been careful to note the fictionalized nature of their creations. But when a producer markets a revisionist version of history and cleverly disguises theories and rumors as fact, then serious ethical concerns must be addressed. The docudrama genre is not new, but it has become increasingly controversial. The most severe indictment of docudramatists is that they frequently alter or distort historical facts to support a preconceived bias. A classic example was Oliver Stone’s film JFK, which was savagely characterized by critics as entertainment masquerading as history and as little more than propaganda for a huge conspiracy theory of the Kennedy assassination.96 Stone himself acknowledged that his version of events was not a “true story” but said his film spoke to “an inner truth.” And JFK star Kevin Costner admitted that the film’s whole case might be dismantled and discredited but that the “movie as a whole has an emotional truth.”97 Such linguistic spins led columnist John Leo, writing in U.S. News & World Report, to offer the following rebuttal: But inner truths and emotional truths are the stuff of fiction, or used to be. What I think Stone and his actor are saying here is that it doesn’t much matter whether this is literally true or not, so long as it steers the culture where we want to go. This has become an increasingly modish opinion as the line between fact and fiction grows ever more blurry in the culture.98

Following the release of his historically based film Amistad—the story of fifty-three captive Africans who revolted aboard the slave ship Amistad in 1839 and then were recaptured and finally freed by the Supreme Court after a two-year battle—producer Steven Spielberg came under fire for his excessive use of dramatic

license in depicting the historical truth of the event. Spielberg’s coproducer, Debbie Allen, described the movie as an allegedly “suppressed” story of black rebellion and victory. However, historian Warren Goldstein was unforgiving in his denunciation of the film as “frequently incomprehensible, and misleading when it isn’t just plain wrong.” In castigating the producers for compromising historical accuracy for dramatic license, Goldstein referred to Amistad as “downright slanderous.”99 Other academics defended the film’s overarching political perspective of African American empowerment, even at the risk of historical inaccuracy.100 Even if we accept the notion that docudramatists should not be held to the same standards of truth as journalists—after all, some artistic license is inevitable in transforming historical events into a dramatic structure—they nevertheless owe a duty to their audiences to present a faithful re-creation of at least the substantive aspects of those phenomena. They should not offer as fact what is clearly fiction or mere theories or unsubstantiated rumors. “It can be argued coherently that the public has a legitimate interest in knowing the amount of truth in historical films, docudramas, and similar productions.”101 Of course, time is an ally of producers who wish to tap the rich annals of history for arresting topics that lend themselves to dramatic recreation. Reflection and perspective are essential to the search for truth. Unfortunately, the recent plethora of TV docudramas, ripped from today’s headlines, is lacking in both.102 Consider, for example, the made-for-TV movie Saving Jessica Lynch, a dramatic account of the capture and rescue of an American soldier during the early days of the U.S.-led invasion of Iraq that aired on CBS in November 2003. As the New York Times observed in a review of this madefor-TV film: “The facts surrounding Private Lynch’s capture and rescue were [hazy], with so many conflicting reports that despite countless news articles, magazine show segments and

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television biographies, there is still no complete picture of what really happened during those fateful days in Iraq last spring.” Nevertheless, the article concluded, “its makers did the best they could without access to primary sources to fill in the blanks.”103 The docudrama feeding frenzy has become so frenetic that some scripts go into production even before the stories have run their course, which compromises any sense of historical perspective. A case in point is the emotionally charged and fatal confrontation between federal agents and the Branch Davidians in Waco, Texas, the first docudrama about a reallife tragedy that was filmed while the tragedy was still unfolding. Similarly, a USA Network movie about the highly publicized case of Scott Peterson, accused of murdering his wife and unborn baby, was produced even before Peterson had gone to trial. The filmmakers claimed to be unfazed about the potential impact of the docudrama on jury selection, but Court TV anchor Nancy wasn’t so sure. “You’ll have to ensure which jurors have seen it and what impact it had on them,” she remarked in an interview for TV Guide. “Sometimes, frankly, even the most honest juror doesn’t know the impact.”104 Critics complain that docudramas pulled from today’s headlines are driven more by ratings than any allegiance to balance and proportion and that these made-for-TV movies simply repackage real-life tragedies as home entertainment.105 In the process, as Newsweek observed in its rather terse assessment of what it referred to as “headline TV,” truth often falls prey to fantasy.106 Defenders of docudramas based on current events respond that such programs often address important social issues. Indeed, contemporary docudramas can illuminate social issues and even provide psychological insights into the dimensions of human tragedy. In a highly competitive marketplace, using today’s headlines as the artistic cue for a TV movie is not inherently unethical, as long as producers adhere

to a “truth-in-labeling” standard. They should not promote as reality a product that is nothing more than a fictionalized account of events. But ethical concerns do arise when fantasy subtly and skillfully replaces truth and the audience remains an unenlightened hostage to the producer’s deception.

Truth in Advertising and Public Relations Clearly, the standards outlined for journalists cannot be entirely applicable to the other forms of media practice with which we are concerned in this book. Advertisers and public relations practitioners, for example, are in the business of persuading. They come to the marketplace with a bias, and there is nothing wrong with that. Public relations practitioners have a right to defend their clients’ interests in the court of public opinion, and in such circumstances the audience expects that the dissemination of information will be more selective. Although the ethical expectations of mass persuaders may vary from those of journalists, we still expect advertisers and public relations personnel to adhere to the threshold requirement of truth—that is, that they not knowingly disseminate inaccurate information. The various professional codes of the public relations and advertising industries commit their practitioners to standards of truth and accuracy. Unfortunately, such standards are ignored when company executives allow their allegiance to the bottom line and unharnessed competitive instincts eclipse their responsibility to the society that has given them their corporate privilege. Such was the case when Columbia Pictures executives had an advertising department employee pose as a movie critic to lavish praise on such movies as The Animal and A Knight’s Tale. The studio also confessed to using actors and its own employees in testimonial ads for such movies as The Patriot.107 Apparently the practice is widespread in Hollywood, which is

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puzzling since such lies apparently have little impact among consumers. “No one believes these people anyway,” proclaims Tom Sherak, a partner in Revolution Studios. “Even wellknown critics have trouble getting people to believe them.”108 Although mass persuaders are just as morally culpable as journalists for deliberately telling a lie, they are under no ethical obligation to provide balance in their public proclamations. A cereal company, for example, while extolling the health benefits of its oat bran flakes in a TV campaign, is unlikely to acknowledge the presence of sugar in its product.109 Nor would a spokesperson for a “low-fat” product, which appeals to the health-conscious consumer, voluntarily admit to its high caloric content resulting from sugar. Likewise, a public relations spokesperson for a corporation will attempt to put the best foot forward and not dwell on the company’s shortcomings. In other words, mass persuaders—public relations practitioners and advertisers—employ selective truth to construct their messages, and there is nothing inherently unethical about this. As noted in Chapter 2, persuasion is one of the legitimate functions of mass communication, and society does not expect the same level of truth here as they do from practitioners of the information function (that is, journalists). We expect accurate information, but we do not expect balance or objectivity. Public relations professionals, for example, to retain credibility should provide accurate information, but, as Professor Deaver cautions us, “we should know that it is not necessarily objective and unbiased, that it is certainly not the whole story.”110 Advertising is a little more problematic111 because of two related and controversial techniques: linguistic ambiguity, in which no specific product claims are made (for example, Allstate’s “You’re in good hands”), and puffery, which is the use of superlatives, exaggerations, and subjective opinions that do not implicate

specific facts (such as “the best deal in town” and “number one in sex appeal”). Most people would probably agree that intentional ambiguity is unethical in situations “where accurate instruction or efficient transmission of precise information is the acknowledged purpose.”112 But in a competitive media environment often driven by entertainment values, advertising’s purpose transcends the provision of accurate information. Its purpose is to create a favorable image about the product or company and thus to increase sales or to hold onto market share. In most advertising messages, therefore, ambiguity is usually recognized as such and accepted by consumers.113 Puffery is also a ubiquitous technique in contemporary advertising, but it isn’t without its critics. Ivan Preston, for example, in his book The Great American Blow-up, argues that all puffery is false by implication and should be illegal. Philip Patterson and Lee Wilkins, in their illuminating discussion of the ethics of persuasion, assert that “[t]he absence of a verifiable claim, for example ads employing ridicule or commercials promoting ‘image,’ should alert the consumer to a potentially unethical approach to persuasion.”114 Opponents might counter, however, that this is ethical prudishness and that such a narrow posture is neither realistic nor desirable. And indeed, it isn’t at all clear as to why an advertising message designed to create an image or a “feel good” mood among consumers is unethical, even if it is devoid of information (unless, of course, the advertiser promises accurate information and fails to deliver). If consumers expect information from ads, they will demand it. In a marketplace economy, the audience should assume some degree of responsibility and must be discriminating and ponder commercial messages with a healthy degree of skepticism. However, when advertisers omit important information that could mislead consumers and that actually affects a consumer’s purchasing decision, such ads are deceptive and raise more

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serious ethical concerns. For example, the Federal Trade Commission ruled that an advertisement by Beneficial Corporation, a finance company, stating that it would provide customers with an “instant tax refund” if individuals’ tax returns entitled them to a refund was misleading. What was unstated, according to the Commission, was that the customer had to first qualify for a loan, and “there was nothing instant about the loan procedures.”115

Public Relations and Journalism: A Love–Hate Relationship Public relations practitioners and journalists often view each other with suspicion. Some journalists consider the practice of public relations as parasitic, populated by “flacks” who derive their livelihood by using the media to their own advantage. Public relations practitioners, on the other hand, often look at newsrooms as repositories of cynicism, where journalists eagerly survey the landscape for governmental or corporate malfeasance or irresponsibility. “Good news,” according to this view, is an oxymoron. The fact is, however, that neither profession can claim moral superiority over the other because they derive their principles from different intellectual moorings. The mission of journalists is to uncover facts, report on society’s institutions, and present a fair and balanced account (some would describe this as “objectivity”) of the day’s intelligence. Ethical journalists, according to the traditional view, should have no causes to promote, no axes to grind. Public relations practitioners, on the other hand, are by definition advocates and are committed to achieving their organizations’ goals. They, too, provide information for public consumption, but they usually do so in a manner that will achieve the most favorable results for their company or client. The journalist’s stock-in-trade is revelation, the public dissemination of as much relevant and significant information as possible. On the other hand, confidentiality of information and relationships plays an important role in the life

of the public relations practitioner. Proprietary information that might work to the advantage of a competitor is one example. As advocates, public relations practitioners usually view a certain degree of confidentiality as essential to advancing a positive image for their companies and clients. Thus, they are more likely to be selective in the information they provide the public and the media. However, when the public interest requires full disclosure (as noted earlier), even when to do so might be initially detrimental to the public image and corporate profits, the long-term public relations benefits can be tremendous. Sincerity and self-criticism can be ethically invigorating in the arena of public opinion. Despite this apparent mistrust between reporters and public relations practitioners, the relationship is really more symbiotic than adversarial. News organizations depend on public relations information (in some cases quite heavily) for both economic and journalistic reasons. The cost of gathering information from every possible organization within a community would be prohibitively expensive without the assistance of representatives from those organizations. In addition, company officials and their public relations representatives are good sources of information that might not be available elsewhere, and they provide a constant flow of free information to the news media. In this respect, public relations practitioners serve as extensions of the news staff: “They play a specific, functional, cooperative role in society’s informationgathering network, even though they owe no loyalty to specific news outlets, are not paid by them, and may never set foot in the building in which the news is produced.”116 In return, the media serve as a willing and sometimes uncritical forum for the dissemination of governmental and corporate messages and information. Public relations releases provide an opportunity for companies to tell their side of the story, especially in an environment where public relations practitioners distrust the media’s objectivity in their own accounts of

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events. The most visible and controversial evidence of this symbiotic relationship is the widespread dissemination and use of video news releases (VNRs). VNRs resemble typical TV news stories in their packaging but are produced on behalf of a client in attempt to get free airtime to promote a cause, product, or service.117 They are distributed free to stations and often come with scripts for local anchors or reporters to read as “voice-overs.” In other cases, they are downlinked from satellites. VNRs are an efficient and effective way for public relations firms to represent their clients to a mass audience. And in economic hard times VNRs are a cost-effective means for a station to produce more material for local broadcast without adding more employees.118 Charitable and nonprofit organizations are just as aggressive as commercial enterprises in competing for the public’s attention. In the fall of 1998, for example, when an autopsy revealed that the three-time Olympic gold medalist Florence Griffith Joyner (“Flo-Jo”) had died of a “seizure,” the Epilepsy Foundation swung into action, blanketing the country with publicity releases, including a VNR designed for transmission to every TV station in the country. The tragic death of Flo-Jo provided the catalyst for the normally low-profile Epilepsy Foundation to raise public awareness of an often-ignored disease.119 The production and use of VNRs impose ethical obligations on both public relations practitioners and the stations to which they disseminate this material. Some practitioners believe, for example, that as long as the information contained in a VNR is accurate and true and the production standards are high, they have conducted themselves in an ethical manner. The rest is up to the journalists.120 News organizations then have an ethical obligation to identify the source of the VNR, regardless of whether it is substantially edited or aired in its entirety. And yet, in a Nielsen survey of news directors several years ago, only 60 percent of the respondents said VNR sponsors should be identified when a VNR is aired.121 And unfortunately,

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unattributed VNRs are not that rare among news departments.

INTELLECTUAL DISHONESTY The unauthorized or unacknowledged use of someone else’s literary or artistic creation is dishonest. Society does not abide theft of the fruits of one’s physical labors. There is no reason that it should be any more tolerant of the piracy of intellectual property. For the sake of simplicity, we can divide intellectual dishonesty into two categories: plagiarism and misappropriation. Although misappropriation also has a specific legal meaning, within the ethical context we shall take it to mean “the unauthorized use of someone else’s literary or artistic expression.” Plagiarism, on the other hand, refers to “the taking of another’s ideas or expression and passing it off as your own.” Plagiarism often revolves around the question of attribution, whereas misappropriation occurs when a use of intellectual property is not authorized by the owner. It reflects the moral right of creators to control the use and dissemination of their intellectual property. Such misappropriation not only raises ethical concerns but can also run afoul of copyright law. A classic example, and one that has precipitated an angry and aggressive response from the recording industry, is the illegal downloading of music (and movies) from the Internet. Companies such as Napster have facilitated the practice of file-sharing, the process by which computer users all over the world can share music stored on their hard drives. Napster was eventually forced to the sidelines through litigation, but others have stepped in to fill the vacuum. File-sharing is particularly rampant among the young, a generation nurtured within an Internet culture where everything appears to be free for the taking. In the meantime, the music and film industries claim they are losing millions of dollars because of illegal downloading. Plagiarism has been described as “the unoriginal sin.”122 Take, for example, the following

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unfortunate events: During the 1991 David Duke campaign for the Louisiana governorship, the Fort Worth Star-Telegram published a story under the byline of political writer James Walker, a thirteen-year veteran at the paper. Quotes in the story were attributed to various speakers but not to the Louisiana television report and the New Orleans Times-Picayune from which they were lifted. Walker resigned, attributing his indiscretion to an “error in judgment.”123 A reporter for the St. Petersburg Times resigned after she claimed as her own about a third of an article on credit cards from Changing Times magazine. On the day of her resignation she apologized to her colleagues, describing her indiscretion as a “stupid mistake.”124 In November 2000 the Sacramento Bee fired a political writer for plagiarizing and fabricating material in his stories on the presidential campaign.125 Shortly thereafter, a reporting intern was suspended and later fired from the Mercury News for plagiarizing material from other newspapers.126 “Plagiarism is unacceptable in our newspaper and in our business,” declared managing editor Susan Goldberg in a memo to the paper’s staff. “It is an inherent violation of the trust we have with our readers and with our professional colleagues.”127 Each fell from journalistic grace for allegedly committing the mortal sin in media communications, plagiarism—using someone else’s intellectual property without attribution. Because a media professional’s stock-in-trade is artistic originality and creativity, the unattributed use of someone else’s work violates the virtue of honesty. When it is necessary to borrow from another source, that source should be attributed. Although attribution is the cornerstone of media credibility, the practice of nonattribution is quite common, as reflected in this lament from columnist Garry Wills: [P]rofessional writers, who take on subjects of their own volition, regularly commit plagiarism. Very intelligent people do this, some of them

repeatedly. What are they doing in their line of work? Why do they talk on subjects about which they have nothing of their own to say? The excuse regularly used is that the writers have made the words of somebody else, encountered some time ago, part of their own “mental furniture,” so that they can no longer distinguish what others said from what they think. Writers should have some pride in their own style. If they cannot identify their own words, why should others value them?128

A classic illustration of Wills’s concern is the Boston Globe’s decision in the summer of 1998 to fire and then reinstate star columnist Mike Barnicle after he published a column that used, without attribution, jokes that resembled those in George Carlin’s book Brain Droppings. When confronted by his editors, Barnicle said he had not read the book and had received the material from a friend without checking its origins.129 The Globe’s editor apparently did not consider Barnicle’s indiscretion serious enough for termination. But Barnicle’s reinstatement brought an angry response from the newsroom staff, with at least fifty employees signing a petition of protest. One complained that the reprieve “not only cripples the paper’s integrity but undermines the efforts of staff members who work daily to produce a newspaper that is beyond reproach.”130 When questions later arose concerning another column, Barnicle abruptly resigned. While it is tempting to dismiss high-profile cases, such as the Jayson Blair affair, as aberrations, the incidence of plagiarism cases among journalists does appear to be on the rise. For example, in its March 2001 issue, the American Journalism Review chronicled twenty-three episodes that had been acknowledged during the past two years.131 This rash of cases involving intellectual dishonesty is particularly disturbing to journalism educators who spend much of their time attempting to instill high standards of

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professional deportment in their young charges. When the highly publicized cases of fabrication and plagiarism in the professional ranks are combined with the proliferation of cheating on college campuses, it should not be surprising that such pathologies should infect the college newsrooms. In early 2004, for example, the editorin-chief of Clemson University’s Tiger News resigned after acknowledging he had borrowed outside sources. Shortly thereafter, a columnist for the Iowa State Daily newspaper was fired for plagiarism for lifting material from other sources.132 It is ironic that in the news business in particular, which depends so heavily on attribution for its credibility, journalists are so careless in identifying the real origins of their information. Some reporters, for example, often incorporate information from stories in their newspapers’ morgues for historical background and perspective without sufficient verification or attribution. Wire stories sometimes appear under the bylines of local reporters. Broadcast and print reporters often steal from each other to preserve the myth of exclusivity.133 But ethicist Deni Elliott, commenting on plagiarism in the news business, says there is a greater need for attribution today and in the future, “not because of declining morality, but because our notion of news is changing.”134 In the days when news was “out there” waiting to be discovered, observes Elliott, everyone was chasing the same story, and not much counted for plagiarism. Competitive reports often resembled each other. But in today’s journalistic culture reporters’ accounts are more likely to be individualized, the result of painstakingly synthesizing, analyzing, and interpreting.135 There is a lively debate within journalistic circles as to what actually constitutes plagiarism. The excuses range all the way from “a lack of clear industry standards” to “the line between ethical behavior and plagiarism depends upon context.” However, such relativistic arguments are nothing more than an attempt to

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rationalize the predatory practices of both charlatans and those who surrender to deadline pressure or moments of weakness. It is ironic that journalists, who have always embraced attribution as one of the “first principles” of ethical reporting, should equivocate on the issue of plagiarism. According to Elliott, such ethical indiscretions violate the moral duty owed to at least three parties: A reporter who passes off some other reporter’s reporting as her own cheats her boss by violating a rule of research that she knows she is expected to follow. She cheats the original author by not recognizing her claim of ownership. Most importantly, she cheats her reader because she doesn’t have the background that she implicitly promises with her byline or on-air appearance.136

Like most ethical thickets concerning media practitioners, there is undoubtedly some room for ambiguity in what constitutes plagiarism. But in searching for guidelines, you might ask yourself two questions: (1) Have I clearly attributed all information derived from other sources? (2) Will the average reader, viewer, or listener be able to clearly distinguish my work from others in terms of style, structure, and expression? These two questions should not exhaust your inquiry into what constitutes plagiarism, but they can serve as a barometer in measuring the intellectual honesty of your own work.

TRUTH TELLING AND APPROACHES TO MORAL REASONING In working your way through this ethical thicket involving truth telling, you should return to the various approaches to moral reasoning discussed in Chapter 3. You may recall that deontologists, represented by the views of such philosophers as Kant, hold that something other than consequences should determine the rightness or wrongness of an act. The important thing is the “rule” against lying, despite the

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fact that telling the truth might result in bad consequences, as when a journalist reports the facts about a public figure that might injure that person’s reputation. Because of its absolute prohibition against lying and deception, the Kantian (nonconsequentialist) model has been rejected by some as unrealistic and even undesirable. However, some contemporary authors have suggested that we should not construe Kant’s categorical imperative so narrowly.137 All lies or acts of deception are not, after all, on the same moral footing. Under this more moderate Kantian view, the touchstone test would be whether there was a compelling reason to deviate from the truth, and even then the burden of proof would be on the one who was engaging in the deception. This compelling-reason test would require the following: (1) the reason(s) for the deception must be extremely important, (2) the deception must be done for humanitarian purposes devoid of self-interest, (3) the arguments in favor of deception must far outweigh the arguments against the compromising of the principles of truth telling, and (4) the moral agent must act with good motives based on the respect for persons as ends unto themselves rather than means to an end. A different perspective on the question of truth and deception is provided by the teleologist. As noted in Chapter 3, teleologists (represented by the utilitarians) are sometimes referred to as consequentialists, because they gauge the consequences of an act before making an ethical judgment. Because utilitarians believe in promoting the greatest good for the greatest number, a media practitioner following this approach would weigh the relative harm or good done to various individuals or groups that results from deceptive behavior. However, utilitarians do not assume that lies and deception are harmless. In fact, “liars are presumed guilty until proven innocent, rather than innocent until proven guilty.”138 In other words, the burden of proof is still on the moral agent to prove

that a lie or deceptive act will promote the greatest good for the greatest number of people and that the benefits outweigh the harmful consequences. Aristotle’s golden mean, the example of virtue ethics described in Chapter 3, is also a valuable approach in providing a sense of balance and proportion in cases involving how much truth to reveal about a situation or the kind and scope of coverage to provide for a news story. In news stories in which there is a tendency toward excessive and sometimes sensational coverage—for example, in the case of a terrorist hijacking—the golden mean can be a helpful guideline in exercising more restraint in reporting. There are also occasions when this approach can be applied by advertisers and public relations executives in an attempt to maintain that delicate balance between social responsibility and corporate self-interest. A case in point are beer commercials that contain a subtle admonition to the audience not to drink and drive.

TRUTH AND DECEPTION: HYPOTHETICAL CASE STUDIES The following cases give you an opportunity to examine a variety of issues dealing with the principle of truth. The scenarios cover a wide range of deceptive practices, from communicating outright falsehoods to withholding information and using the literal truth to deceive an audience. Several kinds of moral agents are represented in these cases: reporters, advertisers, public relations practitioners, and those who make decisions regarding television entertainment. Each case begins with a set of facts and an outline of the ethical dilemma. Next, I briefly discuss the case study and the role that you are asked to play. You are asked, in some situations, to assume the role of a moral agent. In every case you should apply the material and the moral reasoning model outlined in the first three chapters of this book.

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Undercover Advertising in the Public Square “Is this the future of advertising?,” Lydia Mitchell wondered reflectively as she completed perusing the proposal submitted to her by Warren Douglas, her company’s Director of Marketing and Sales. Mitchell was Vice President for Corporate Communication and Strategic Planning for SolarLink Technologies, a financially thriving electronics firm that catered to the American consumers’ addictive appetite for the latest high-tech communications hardware. Mitchell had cultivated her managerial skills and competitive instincts in a variety of corporate venues before joining SolarLink Technologies, but the competition in the consumer electronics industry was unrivaled in her prior experience. Marketing and advertising her company’s vast menu of innovative products was a risky enterprise and demanded creative strategies to counter the equally aggressive campaigns of SolarLink’s commercial adversaries. She was buoyed by the talents of her staff, who micromanaged and integrated the company’s multifaceted corporate affairs, including sales, marketing, advertising, and public relations. Mitchell was painfully aware of the clutter of the commercial marketplace and the constant challenge to market and advertise SolarLink’s products amid this cacophony of competing voices. She credited Warren Douglas and Susan Rabinowitz, her director of advertising and public affairs, with SolarLink’s ascendancy from commercial obscurity to an industry leader. Douglas, in particular, shared his supervisor’s understandable apprehension over what he believed was an increasingly difficult challenge in promoting SolarLink’s futuristic and complex products in a world of competing electronic innovations. In his view, more aggressive and unorthodox strategies were called for. Douglas decided that the Astrolight, a palmsize electronic information center, should serve as the test case for SolarLink’s maiden foray into

undercover advertising, sometimes referred to as viral marketing. Viral marketing had already proven its effectiveness in the marketplace, according to preliminary reports from companies that had pioneered this rather audacious marketing strategy. The concept is simple: A company contracts with actors who pose as tourists or ordinary consumers and then engage unsuspecting potential customers (referred to in Douglas’s proposal as consumer targets) in conversation. Once they have the attention of their subjects, they then produce the company’s product and in a casual, conversational manner begin promoting the product features. While there is no attempt to consummate a sale at that point, the objective is to spread the news about the product by word of mouth, like a virus, hence the name “viral marketing.” As was customary in developing marketing strategies for new products, Douglas prepared a proposal for Lydia Mitchell’s review, highlighting the natural “fit” between Astrolight and the viral marketing technique. The Astrolight was a palmsize communications center that integrated cell phone, digital photography, and computer technology and was supplemented with a satellite link to greatly expand Astrolight’s multifacted horizons. According to the proposal, the company would hire two actors to masquerade as tourists on Madison Avenue in downtown New York. They would accost unsuspecting pedestrians and ask them to take a picture of the couple. The actors would first instruct the subjects on how to operate the Astrolight and then very casually begin plugging the other product features. If asked if they worked for the company, they would acknowledge their affiliation but otherwise would not disclose their real purpose in promoting the Astrolight’s impressive features to willing pedestrians on Madison Avenue. Mitchell was aware that a delay in marketing a new product could be a fatal flaw and immediately summoned Douglas and Rabinowitz to discuss the merits of Douglas’s viral marketing proposal for the Astrolight. The meeting quickly turned into a discourse between Douglas and Rabinowitz on

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the ethics of undercover advertising. Mitchell listened intently because in the final analysis she would be the moral agent in deciding whether to implement Douglas’s controversial plan. “Viral marketing is the latest in marketing techniques,” Douglas declared in his opening salvo in defense of what he believed was an imaginative strategy. “And those who have tried it say it works. The media advertising marketplace is so cluttered that individual sponsors are being drowned out. It’s difficult to get your message across. Viral marketing, on the other hand, allows us to go one-onone with the consumer.” “I have ethical concerns about this proposal,” responded Rabinowitz. “Undercover advertising— or viral marketing as its called—is deceptive. It takes advantage of strangers who aren’t aware they are talking to actors promoting a product.” “So who is being harmed?,” asked Douglas. “As you will note in my proposal, the actors would be instructed to never lie about who they are. The consumer targets can assume anything they wish, and if they inquire about whether the salespeople actually work for the company, our representatives must be honest.” “But promoting the benefits of a new electronic gadget without revealing the motivation for the endorsement is taking advantage of total strangers,” contended Rabinowitz. “Besides, in addition to being deceptive, this practice is intrusive. It’s worse than telemarketing because there is no do-not-call list. It’s an ‘in-your-face’ kind of marketing strategy that makes it difficult for consumers to say no.” “But we’re not attempting to sell these people the Astrolight on the spot,” replied Douglas. “All our actors are doing is providing information. And then, hopefully news of our product will spread by word of mouth. That’s why it’s called viral marketing. We’re just providing information about our new product, and then the consumer targets can take it from there. Based upon industry research, this strategy is very effective. Many companies are already using it. If we don’t do likewise, we’ll be at competitive disadvantage.” The appeal to marketplace realities usually resonated with Susan Rabinowitz who, after all, was the corporate superintendent for SolarLink’s aggressive

and highly successful advertising agenda. Nevertheless, she persisted in her reluctance to associate herself with Douglas’s marketing proposal. “I don’t believe that what our competitors do or are likely to do should be the pivotal factor in this case,” said Rabinowitz. “Admittedly, the traditional advertising marketplace is cluttered, but if we’re creative enough we can still compete. We don’t need to stoop this low to peddle our products.” “If you believe undercover advertising is unethical,” responded Douglas, “then we’re already operating on an ethically slippery slope. Two years ago we contracted with a product placement firm to have some of our products featured prominently in a couple of TV series, as well as one movie for theatre release. Although our name was mentioned in the closing credits, most viewers were probably unaware that we paid for these product inserts.” “But product placements are different,” replied Rabinowitz without hesitation. “Even if viewers are unaware of the commercial nature of these inserts—an assumption that may not be true considering the increasing sophistication of consumers— at least our corporate name is prominently displayed. And since the entertainment content is wrapped around the product inserts, which receive only a brief mention, the viewer is unlikely to feel abused in the process. But in viral marketing the consumer must deal directly with the commercial agents—the actors—and thus they are a captive audience. And it’s not clear at the outset that they are representing SolarLink Technologies.” “But the Astrolight has so many attractive features—how do you explain this in a magazine ad or 30-second television commercial?,” asked Douglas. “Even if there is some deception involved in undercover advertising, it may be the only effective means for truly marketing such a complicated product. Traditional media don’t lend themselves to such a broad spectrum of rational appeals and the practical utility of such a product. And as I stated earlier, no one is really getting hurt. We’re not asking the target consumer to actually purchase the product from our reps.” After five minutes of this frank exchange between her two subordinates, Mitchell felt reasonably attuned to the ethical dimensions of utilizing undercover advertising as a marketing strategy. As she

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stared out the window of her twelfth-story office to the busy thoroughfare below filled with potential customers for the Astrolight, she agonized over whether her company should embrace this newfangled advertising pitch known as viral marketing.

THE CASE STUDY Although undercover advertising—viral marketing— is viewed as an innovative strategy for positioning a company’s products in a highly competitive marketplace, it has the trappings of an old idea. Prior to the advent of mass media, products were often peddled by door-to-door salespeople who promoted the virtues of their wares in a one-on-one encounter with the consumer. Mass media, of course, are much more efficient in reaching a large audience, and door-to-door advertising has become prohibitively expensive for most nationally sold products. When advertising is mediated rather than interpersonal, commercial messages cannot be tailored to the individual consumer.139 But in the previous scenario, the sales reps can respond instantly to comments or even objections from target consumers. Viral marketing does remedy the deficiency inherent in mediated communication, but it differs from the traditional door-to-door sales pitch in that consumers may be unaware they are being manipulated. Practitioners of undercover advertising must plead guilty to accusations of deception. Nevertheless, they are not without some interesting rebuttals in defending the practice. First, while viral marketing may be deceptive, it causes no harm, particularly since the sales reps do not attempt to sell directly to their targets. They rely upon word of mouth to promote their products. Second, while some may view viral marketing as a form of manipulation, all advertising involves manipulation at some level. Third, in response to the complaint that viral marketing is intrusive, proponents point out that advertising today is ubiquitous and is inherently intrusive, particularly TV ads that penetrate the sanctity of the home. Why, they ask, is a brief encounter with total strangers on a busy pedestrian thoroughfare any more intrusive, even if they are unaware of the real purpose of the encounter? Those who venture forth into the public

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square run the risk that they will be accosted by strangers with hidden agendas. For the purpose of confronting the ethical dimensions of undercover advertising, also known as viral marketing, assume the role of Lydia Mitchell, the Vice President for Corporate Communication and Strategic Planning for SolarLink Technologies. And then, applying the SAD model for moral reasoning outlined in Chapter 3, make a decision on whether you will approve Warren Douglas’s proposal to market your company’s new product.

C AS E 4-2

Crisis Management on the Web and the Framing of Truth It was an airline’s worst nightmare! A brief Mayday distress signal, followed by an abrupt disappearance from the air controller’s radar screen, and then an eerie silence. Transnational Airlines Flight 680 had crashed in a heavy thunderstorm just 300 yards from the runway at Atlanta’s Hartsfield International Airport. As an emergency response team and airport officials rushed to the scene of devastation, members of the National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) were packing their bags for what they knew would be another lengthy investigation of an airline disaster involving a substantial loss of life. Transnational had been in the air for only ten years, the latest major entry into the increasingly competitive airline industry, and it had been blessed with a perfect safety record. Its low-cost fares and convenient schedules had endeared it to both corporate and pleasure passengers, and its profitability seemed secure, at least for the short term. CEO Wallace Brewster, who had assumed the helm of Transnational after eight years as a vice president of an industry competitor, felt acutely any loss of life resulting from an airline catastrophe, but he was also aware of the public relations implications of such tragedies. One of his first moves as Transnational’s corporate head was to hire David Lane as his director of marketing and communications. Brewster also assembled a crisis management team, which would be

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responsible for handling all aspects of the airline’s public response to any unforeseen misfortune. Like a military unit that trains constantly but hopes that their preparation will never be tested in combat, the crisis management team’s preparedness was assured through a constant series of wellorchestrated but unannounced drills. When the team’s alert was sounded just minutes after the crash of Flight 680, accompanied by a “this is not a drill” advisory, Transnational’s crisis management operatives knew their baptism of fire was about to begin. As Subteam A—a group of fifty airline employees especially trained in grief counseling and family assistance—embarked immediately from the airline’s headquarters in St. Louis and flew directly to the crash site in Atlanta, Subteam B busied themselves with notifying family members and arranging transportation for those who needed it to Hartsfield International. David Lane, who just prior to the crash was known simply as the director of marketing and communications, now became the head of Subteam C, which would handle all media relations and information flow about the crash to the bereaved family members of the crash victims. Lane, who by temperament always prepared for the worst-case scenario, did not underestimate the complexity of his mission. Initial reports indicated there were no survivors. When Lane joined Transnational Airlines at its inception, he had devised a public relations crisis management plan, which he reviewed and updated every six months. The emergence of Webbased communications had afforded the energetic corporate executive opportunities that were unavailable during his maiden voyage with the company. With the crash of Flight 680, Lane and his small staff of public relations artisans responded with alacrity to the accident’s inevitable emotional aftermath. Within a couple of hours of the crash, Lane met with the news media to provide them with any available information on the crash, which of course amounted to very little. He then announced, much to the annoyance of the assembled journalists, that his company’s primary concern was the care and comfort of the family members who had suffered the loss of loved ones and that this would be

Transnational’s last press conference for the foreseeable future. Instead, the airline was establishing a website on which all information originating from Transnational would be posted. Transnational had promised the families they would provide information directly to them through the website rather than disseminating it secondhand through the media, while continuing its personal contacts with the families. The online site would ensure that the media, the public, and family members would have simultaneous access to the unfiltered latest developments on the airline’s handling of the tragedy’s aftermath. Details of the investigation into the causes of the crash, of course, would come from the NTSB. This was a risky strategy in terms of media relations, but Lane believed the Web had reduced the need to rely on journalists for mass dissemination of their corporate messages. In addition, Lane told the assembled reporters that part of the website would be secure and access granted only to family members through a password provided by the airline. This link would allow airline officials to keep family members updated instantaneously without having to contact each family individually to inform them of new developments. However, Subteam A would continue its program of assistance and counseling as long as it was needed. In the weeks following Transnational’s untimely catastrophe, Lane continued to receive inquiries from the press, but his staff unfailingly referred them to the company’s online crisis communications center. When reporters complained about a lack of access to corporate officials, Lane reminded them that the airline was holding back nothing and that all relevant information was available to both the media and the public on the company’s website. Meanwhile, the NTSB investigation had initially focused on the poor weather conditions at Hartsfield International as Flight 680 made its final approach. But that was about to change. Six weeks after the crash and the 132 funerals and memorial services that were held to commemorate those who lost their lives at the nation’s busiest airport, Lane was watching glumly as CNN’s live telecast of the NTSB’s latest news conference unfolded on the 25-inch monitor in his corporate office. “We believe that poor weather

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conditions may have been a contributing factor in the crash of Flight 680,” NTSB Chair Simon Yates announced, “but we are now looking at the possibility of pilot error.” Pilot error! The two most feared words in the lexicon of airline public relations officials. But Lane was not immobilized by the agency’s announcement. “We must be proactive in dealing with this new blip on our radar screen,” he declared confidently as he invoked his favorite airline metaphor in referring to this new public relations challenge. His two staff members, Allison Peachtree, Transnational’s associate director for media relations, and Rondell O’Neil, the associate director for corporation communications, had joined their superior for the NTSB’s latest pronouncement. O’Neil handled the internal information flow within corporate headquarters and between the headquarters and the airline’s field operations, but he frequently participated in decisions involving media and public relations. “We have anticipated this kind of situation,” noted Peachtree. “It’s part of our crisis management plan. At this point we should say as little as possible except to note that the pilot of Flight 680, Thomas Kinko, was a veteran with twenty-two years in the cockpit, including ten with Transnational, and that we shall await the results of the NTSB investigation before commenting further.” “It’s not that simple,” responded Lane. “An hour ago I had a meeting with Brewster. He had some warning of what the NTSB Chair was going to say, and they may be on to something.” “How does Brewster know that?” O’Neil demanded. “Kinko was one our best. Has he been provided some inside information on this investigation?” “So far he’s cooperated fully,” replied Lane. “But some of the questions of the field investigators have raised the issue of pilot fatigue. The NTSB has our personnel files on the flight crew and our own flight and maintenance logs. Some of the logs show that Kinko frequently spent too many hours in the air, in violation of FAA regulations.” “That’s obviously a problem,” affirmed Peachtree, “but this is common among almost all airlines, according to the FAA’s own records. Pilots routinely fly too many hours without a break. And it certainly doesn’t prove that Kinko’s fatigue contributed to

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this accident. Most veteran pilots are used to putting in overtime.” But then Lane dropped his bombshell. “Well, this case may be different. Brewster shared with me two letters that Kinko had sent to our local representative of the Airline Pilot’s Association. He met with Brewster on Kinko’s behalf to discuss the matter. The letters are essentially complaints about the number of consecutive hours that Kinko had been required to fly during a two-month period. He also complained about fatigue, admitted he had actually dozed off in the cockpit on several occasions when the aircraft was on autopilot, and expressed a concern about the safety of his passengers. Brewster acknowledged Kinko’s concerns and directed that the work schedules of all pilots be reviewed by their supervisors, but apparently little changed in the way of the pilot’s working conditions. It’s Brewster’s understanding that the union head will testify about Captain Kinko’s complaints and might even provide the letters.” Although Lane’s inclinations had always been to be proactive, he advised his two staff members that they should await the NTSB’s findings before issuing a public response. “After all, we don’t know what their conclusions will be,” he noted. Two months later the government agency completed its investigation and released its findings. It noted the testimony and evidence about pilot fatigue and observed rather cautiously that that could have been a factor, but there was no direct evidence of fatigue. However, they identified the culprits as inclement weather accompanied by a critical error in the pilot’s flap adjustment during the final approach. The report noted that inbound pilots had warned others on final approach about the severe turbulence in the area. The airline had been provided with an advance copy of the agency’s findings, and Lane quickly convened a meeting with Peachtree and O’Neil. “I have to recommend to Brewster what our course of action should be. There are two key issues here: first, what will be our response to the Board’s findings and, second, will we abandon our website-only communications policy and deal directly with the media?” “I think we have to hold a news conference,” responded Peachtree. “The press is already unhappy

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with what they perceive as a lack of cooperation on our part. In this way, if they have questions we can respond on the spot. In addition, I think that a live, televised news conference is more effective than the austerity of narratives on the Web. We could transmit a statement by real-time video on the Internet, but that won’t generate the broad-based audience that network television does. Besides, David is a very credible and persuasive speaker.” “I’m still uneasy about abandoning our pledge to communicate only through our website,” replied O’Neil. “This is what the victims’ families expect. On the secure link we can also target them with special messages in an attempt to restore some measure of credibility if the NTSB’s announcement raises questions in their mind about our corporate responsibility. Our family assistance efforts have paid handsome dividends since the crash. We don’t want to suffer a reversal on that front.” “I’m more concerned about our corporate line than how we disseminate this information,” declared Peachtree. “The NTSB has found pilot error but hasn’t clearly linked it to fatigue. It may well be that he was fatigued, but we don’t know that. Of course, the public might think the worst, and link pilot error with fatigue in their collective minds. Nevertheless, our strategy should be to emphasize the fact that we have no reason to believe that Kinko was not fully alert during his final approach. He was one of our most experienced pilots.” “We could leave it at that,” replied O’Neil, “but there was pilot error, and the issue is whether it was his mistake alone or whether we share corporate responsibility. We’ll never know the answer to that question, but we can’t just leave it to the mercy of public speculation. Perhaps we should attempt to deflect attention away from Captain Kinko and release a statement acknowledging that pilot fatigue is an industry-wide problem caused not by corporate malfeasance but unavoidable flight delays and the complex logistics of responding to such delays through the reassignment of flight crews. Under such circumstances, some overtime is unavoidable. We could then reemphasize the fact that we have no reason to believe that Captain Kinko was not fully alert on his final approach to Hartsfield. That’s true because I don’t believe there’s any evidence to the contrary.

It’s my understanding that the communication with the control tower prior to impact was normal. He certainly had enough presence of mind to issue a Mayday call a short time before impact.” “But the most damaging part of the NTSB’s report is Kinko’s complaints,” observed Peachtree correctly. “Do we just ignore this fact? The media will certainly press us on this issue. If we acknowledge the complaints and our company’s subsequent review of our pilot’s work schedules, we could note that Captain Kinko was the only one who protested to corporate management and that we attempted to address his concerns. Of course, journalists are by nature suspicious and they aren’t likely to buy the ‘Captain Kinko as lone protestor’ explanation. They will suggest that other pilots were probably afraid to come forward for fear of losing their jobs in an industry that is at the mercy of unpredictable market forces.” David Lane listened to this civil exchange between his two staff members and told them he would reflect upon their comments before preparing a draft recommendation for Wallace Brewster’s perusal. He promised them an opportunity to review his proposal before presenting it to Transnational’s beleaguered CEO.

THE CASE STUDY Public relations professionals are frequently confronted with moral dilemmas concerning how much of the truth should be released to the public. But exactly what is the truth as developed in this narrative? There are clearly some unanswered questions, as there are in any ethical dilemma. Thus, the problem becomes one of how to “frame” the story to protect the company’s own interest and yet keep faith with the flying public. How to balance corporate self-interest against the public’s interest is a perennial question for public relations practitioners. This case is particularly complex because full disclosure can have devastating effects on Transnational Airline’s image in the court of public opinion. The airline is in an awkward position because they are not fully in command of the information flow to the public. When they established their website to control the flow of information, they did not anticipate that the

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finger of responsibility would point directly at Transnational’s corporate headquarters. There appeared to be an underlying assumption that the accident was entirely weather related. However, the NTSB investigation took an unexpected turn. Since the “truth” behind this accident is at issue here, perhaps a good way to begin is to review the facts. First, Flight 680 crashed in extremely poor weather conditions. Other pilots attempting to land reported a great deal of turbulence just prior to the plane’s impact. Second, there is no evidence that Captain Kinko was not alert in the cockpit; he managed to blurt out a distress call a minute before the crash. Third, Captain Kinko had expressed a concern to his union representative about his work schedule, a complaint that was forwarded to Transnational’s CEO. Four, CEO Brewster ordered a review of all pilot work schedules but apparently nothing changed. Five, pilot fatigue is an industry-wide problem, and many airlines systematically violate FAA guidelines concerning work hours. There are several stakeholders in this ethical narrative: the victims’ families, the public, the media, the pilots, and the company itself. Pilot fatigue is an industry-wide problem, but if Transnational shifts the focus away from Captain Kinko and his complaints, then this might be construed as an affront to the bereaved families of the victims. Transnational’s emergency response team has worked diligently to cultivate their faith in the company’s sense of compassion, and the shifting of blame to a higher plane could undermine the airline’s humanistic efforts. On the other hand, the company can truthfully point to the fact that there is no evidence that pilot fatigue contributed to this particular accident. And CEO Brewster was not unresponsive to Kinko’s complaints, although for whatever reason no major changes resulted from his directive that pilot work schedules be reviewed. Perhaps this tragedy should serve as a clarion call for corporate management to address more effectively the problem of pilot fatigue. The other issue, of course, is whether to deal with this embarrassing revelation through a standard news conference or to continue to rely solely on the website. This decision is not unrelated to the slippery slope of truth since the website allows

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the company to control its response to the NTSB report, both to the media and a national (as well as international) audience, whereas a news conference will subject Transnational to the vagaries of hostile questioning. Journalists will argue that corporate officials should subject themselves to cross-examination. Do public relations practitioners owe a special duty to journalists as fiduciaries of the public, or are corporate websites making journalists increasingly anachronistic (or at least less important) in the dissemination of corporate communications? Which is likely, in the long run, to better serve the public’s interest in uncorrupted and truthful information? With these ideas in mind, assume the role of David Lane, Transnational’s director of marketing and communications, and describe the recommendation you will present to CEO Wallace Brewster. In analyzing this case, you should apply the SAD formula for moral reasoning outlined in Chapter 3.

C AS E 4-3

Hidden Cameras and the Journalist as Social Conscience Proposition 120, a rather innocent-sounding label for a very controversial ballot initiative, had been the brainchild of state senator Hugh Wilson. Wilson, a conservative lawmaker and perennial opponent of big government, was determined to stem the flow of illegal immigrants into his state from Mexico. And the most effective means of accomplishing this goal, in Wilson’s view, was to deny them access to the state’s bountiful cafeteria of social services. His supporters championed Wilson as a fiscal knight in shining armor. His detractors disparaged his proposal as an assault of draconian proportions on innocent human beings. Nevertheless, Wilson’s proposal struck a responsive chord among a large segment of the electorate and was soon featured prominently as Proposition 120 on the November ballot, along with the plethora of state and local elections and the hotly contested races for the U.S. House of Representatives. Specifically, Proposition 120 would cut off most social services to illegal immigrants,

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including educational opportunities for their children. Although the rather formal-sounding language of the proposition obscured the emotional and human dimensions of the debate, the message to the nation’s lawmakers in Washington was unmistakable: Stop the flood of illegal immigrants into our state, or we’ll do it for you! Manny Fernandez watched with concern on election night as the returns were tabulated by his newsroom computers. Within a couple of hours after the last polls closed, it was clear that Proposition 120 would pass overwhelmingly. As news director of Channel 5 in San Jacinto, one of three network affiliates located in a metropolitan center of 650,000 near the Mexican border, Fernandez knew that Proposition 120 would just exacerbate the growing ethnic strife in his city. With its proximity to the Mexican border, San Jacinto was the entry point for many of the immigrants. On election night the Hispanic population stood at 40 percent; the city had become a true melting pot. And the pot was beginning to boil. San Jacinto voters had defied the trend statewide and narrowly defeated the proposal. But an influential and very vocal minority had campaigned aggressively for Proposition 120. The best-case scenario, in Fernandez’s view, would be a court injunction that would halt the implementation of the measure until its constitutionality could be decided. This would allow time for the cooling of passions. But what Fernandez feared most was a violent uprising by the Hispanic community and perhaps even a defiance of the measure by local school officials, who considered the denial of educational opportunities to the immigrants’ children as tantamount to child abuse. Channel 5’s news staff had reported on the “immigrant problem,” as it was referred to in the newsroom, almost from its inception. The alarming drain on the state’s dwindling financial resources precipitated by the staggering costs of social services to the immigrants had been the centerpiece of the station’s coverage. And although the hiring of these immigrants was illegal, the station had documented repeatedly the rather casual violation of the law by local merchants. Of course, neither employers nor employees were willing participants in these stories, and Channel 5 had often relied

on confidential sources and concealed identities to document this illegal behavior. One of the station’s reporters had even spent a few days in jail rather than reveal a source to a grand jury investigating the situation. Fernandez viewed these reports with mixed emotions. As a journalist, he felt an undeniable commitment to the first principles of journalism, fairness and balance. This was a complex and contentious issue, and he was determined that all credible voices should be heard. On the other hand, as the son of Mexican immigrants himself, he felt an emotional bond with those who had crossed the border, either legally or illegally, in search of a better life. Fernandez had harbored expectations that the newly ratified trade agreement between the United States and Mexico would improve economic conditions south of the border, but the continuing pilgrimage of immigrants into his state had dampened his cautious optimism. As expected, within a week after the passage of Proposition 120, a federal court blocked implementation of the measure until its constitutionality could be tested. And with the endless hearings that were likely to ensue, Fernandez felt relieved that other stories could at last compete for top billing in his station’s newscasts. Ron Mackey had other ideas. Mackey was the producer of Channel 5’s toprated early evening newscast. Mackey had joined the staff three years ago and had quickly molded a rather lethargic news operation into an aggressive and creative journalistic enterprise. But Mackey was not one to be complacent, and his antennae were constantly scanning the horizon for visually appealing, dramatic, and controversial story ideas. His enthusiasm sometimes tested the limits of ethical propriety, but his arguments in favor of the public’s right to know were usually convincing to his superiors, particularly in San Jacinto’s competitive marketplace. Two weeks after the election, Fernandez turned first to Mackey during his morning staff meeting. “I’ll discuss tonight’s lineup in a minute. But we have something new on the immigrant problem. Ortego has confirmed the rumors.” Fernandez recognized Ortego as a confidential source the station

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often relied on in covering the hiring of illegal immigrants. And the rumors referred to unsubstantiated accounts of manufacturers that had set up sweatshops in San Jacinto. “We have confirmation from a second source,” Mackey continued. “There may be more than one shop in the area, but the one that’s been identified is Alton Enterprises on Third Avenue.” Alton was a locally owned company that produced a line of cheap ready-to-wear garments with its own label. But it also did contract work for several major retailers and discount stores, and it was in this manufacturing arena that illegal immigrants were forced to work fifteen to eighteen hours a day for less than the minimum wage. Some workers, according to the information provided by the sources, were under 18 years of age. And there was also evidence that some plant supervisors physically abused the workers when they fell behind the company-imposed production quota. Fernandez realized that, if the charges were true, the issue of employment of illegal immigrants would reach a new plateau. It was one thing for small merchants, who often worked on small profit margins and experienced a large employee turnover, to ignore the sometimes complex requirements in documenting the legal status of immigrants. But it was quite another for a large company to exploit their workers under such inhumane conditions. “So how should we handle this?” Fernandez directed the question to Mackey, but he welcomed suggestions from assistant news director Andrea Cobb and assignment editor Marci Gonzalez. “We can’t just rely on sources in this case,” stated Gonzalez. “We have to name the company, and we need authentic visual evidence. This is different from the other stories, where some small merchants are too busy eking out a living to document the legal status of their employees. In this case, Alton is running a sweatshop; they’re exploiting and abusing their workers. We have to go in undercover with concealed cameras. Jose can be our mole.” Jose was a young photographer who had been with the station for two years. With his youthful appearance and fluent Spanish, he should have little

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trouble, in Mackey’s judgment, in passing himself off as an undocumented immigrant and gaining employment at Alton. His concealed camera could record the daily activities of the plant, including the alleged abusive behavior of the plant’s supervisors. Eventually Jose could also gain the confidence of his coworkers to capture, on tape, their own personal testimonials of economic woes. “Don’t we have other options?” Fernandez asked. “Jose will obviously have to lie on his job application to get hired. And besides, I’ve always been uncomfortable with the use of hidden cameras. Let’s face it. Most of our network’s magazine shows have used concealed cameras and microphones, and now they’re being accused of practicing tabloid journalism. This isn’t good for our credibility.” In staking out the moral high ground, perhaps Fernandez was remembering a tongue-lashing he had suffered on this issue at the hands of a student during a visit to a journalism ethics class at a local college. “I agree,” Cobb said. “Surely there must be other ways to approach this story. Perhaps our sources can arrange for us to talk to some of the employees; we could even interview them on tape and mask their identities. And keep in mind, some of these people may not be illegals. We have to be careful to document each worker who appears on tape. If we go into this plant and surreptitiously record these employees on tape, even if we don’t identify them, we may never again get cooperation from the Hispanic community. Even if there is some exploitation, at least the company does provide employment. Many of our Hispanic citizens may not appreciate this kind of public exposé and breach of trust with these immigrant workers. In their view, after all, these sweatshops may be no worse than the conditions they left in Mexico. I would feel more comfortable if there were other companies involved—if the practice were widespread. Alton is a large company, but it is only one manufacturer among many in this region.” “Interviewing them really isn’t an option,” Gonzalez responded in apparent agreement with Mackey. “They aren’t likely to talk; they need the job, and they’re afraid of retribution. Besides, TV is a visual medium. We need to use the tools of our

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trade. The hidden camera is our way of documenting this story. We can mask the faces of the workers. So who will get hurt? The public needs to know that this kind of exploitation is occurring here in San Jacinto, even if only one company is involved. Isn’t it our job to call attention to a problem before it spreads? And I don’t really have a problem with Jose’s using deception to get this job or using a hidden camera, for that matter. There are times when reporters must take extraordinary measures to help cure society’s ills. And this is one of those times.” Fernandez wasn’t so sure. But he promised to keep an open mind on the subject. After all, his station had acquitted itself well, in his judgment, in its coverage of the immigrant problem over the past several years. The Hispanic community had given Channel 5 high marks, overall, for its balanced treatment of the issues. Would this story be greeted with similar acclaim? Fernandez ended the staff meeting and pondered the ethical concerns raised by Mackey’s proposal.

THE CASE STUDY Are journalists ever justified in using deception to collect information in the name of the public interest? Investigative reporting demands documentation, and as a visual medium, TV is at its best when it provides photographic evidence of its discoveries. And as technological advances have produced small cameras that can shoot in poor lighting conditions, the temptation to use concealed cameras has, in many cases, been irresistible. But despite the widespread use of hidden cameras and other forms of deception in news gathering, these techniques remain controversial.140 Misrepresentation and deception, of course, are a violation of society’s norms. Thus, such practices must be justified based on some overriding moral principle. Two salient values in this case appear to be the “public’s need to know” and the “minimization of harm.” Some would argue that the information in this story is of profound public importance. It certainly represents a new chapter in the ongoing saga of the illegal immigrants. But at this point the evidence points to only one company that is engaged in worker exploitation. Many others hire

legal immigrants and appear to be law-abiding. Is the station justified in going undercover to expose one company? Mackey might argue that such aggressive journalism would prevent others from setting up sweatshops in San Jacinto to take advantage of the abundant labor supply. Anticipating the consequences in ethical dilemmas of this kind is fraught with uncertainty, and the question of harm is certainly problematic in this case. Channel 5’s news staff may truly believe that they are coming to the aid of these workers by exposing their life of misery and abuse. Under most circumstances, the station would be applauded for such journalistic enterprise. But if the illegal workers are identified by immigration officials and returned to Mexico, some Hispanic viewers may be less than enthusiastic about the station’s role in unmasking the sweatshop. After all, are the conditions here much worse than the poverty experienced in their homeland? But should Fernandez be concerned about such consequences? After all, Alton’s actions are morally and legally indefensible. If the station doesn’t confront publicly such affronts to human decency, then it might be accused of abandoning its mandate as the guardian of the public’s interest. Fernandez should be convinced that the harm prevented by the misrepresentation and use of hidden cameras outweighs the harm that may occur from the act of deception. As news director, Fernandez is concerned with the station’s credibility. On the one hand, the failure to investigate this story for fear of alienating the viewers with the use of deception could damage the station’s reputation as an aggressive journalistic enterprise and a defender of the public’s interest. On the other hand, the use of hidden cameras and undercover reporters could result in a loss of credibility for the station, especially if the station’s viewers consider such tactics unnecessary or unreasonable. Using the SAD formula for moral reasoning described in Chapter 3, assume the role of Channel 5’s news director, Manny Fernandez, and ponder whether you will approve the use of misrepresentation and hidden cameras to document the existence of sweatshops and the exploitation of illegal immigrants in San Jacinto.

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C AS E 4-4

Political Communication on the Net: Is Voter Targeting Responsible Behavior? Thirty-six-year-old Anthony Satterfield and 34-yearold Benjamin Marsh had launched their political consulting firm, Satterfield and Marsh (S & M), in 1982 just as the Reagan administration’s agenda had captured the imagination of an increasingly conservative American electorate. In their maiden voyage, they had represented several Democratic hopefuls and worried incumbents, and in a political climate not conducive to Democratic victories had scored a series of impressive victories. With its reputation as an aggressive and effective advocate for Democratic candidates thus assured, Satterfield and Marsh quickly evolved from a fledgling political consulting firm to one of the most influential and successful firms in the Democratic camp. While the Democratic leadership remained tentative in its attempt to rescue the party from a crisis of confidence and political disarray in the wake of Republican victories in key congressional districts and senatorial races, S & M had exerted a steadying influence on party loyalists. Through aggressive and creative campaign strategies, the firm had turned the tide in favor of the Democratic Party in several key races, frequently against formidable opposition. S & M’s founders would concede no political venue to their Republican rivals, but from the outset Satterfield and Marsh had set ethical boundaries for their assertive and relentless campaigns on behalf of their clients. They accepted some negative campaigning as inevitable and perhaps even desirable in the highly contentious enterprise of party politics, but as attack ads became increasingly the norm during the decade of the nineties, Satterfield and Marsh refused to dignify these political assaults with retaliatory responses. In light of polling data showing that attack ads were frequently effective, S & M’s strategy was risky, but the firm’s success rate on behalf of its Democratic clientele continued unabated. The firm considered responding in kind to the political brutality of attack ads but had

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rejected the notion and had emerged with its integrity intact. Even as they approached middle age, Satterfield and Marsh were not inclined toward complacency or traditionalism and readily embraced the Internet as the new frontier of political campaigning. Their initial attempts at fund-raising using a designated website had produced impressive results, and as the political consultants perfected their use of the Net, the number of “hits” on their clients’ Web pages increased dramatically. Of course, campaign strategizing was fraught with ethical pitfalls, and as his firm’s senior partner and moral gatekeeper, Anthony Satterfield insisted upon a reasonable amount of reflection and deliberation by S & M’s talented and loyal staff on any proposal with ethical implications. Lewis Barnes’s recommendation was such a proposal. Barnes was S & M’s Senior Campaign Strategist and saw his firm’s representation of Democratic presidential contender John Cardwell as an opportunity to experiment with using the candidate’s website to “target” specific individuals with interest in certain political issues utilizing information about these individuals mined from various sources on the Net. The process would work as follows: Through site tracking, the firm’s computers would monitor user engagement with various websites and infer from these movements which issues a potential voter might be interested in. A related technique would involve reading the information biscuits in a user’s “cookie jar”—the device that stores information about sites users have previously visited, thereby revealing their interests and concerns. For example, a cookie jar full of visits to websites of various antiabortion groups would be helpful in targeting a candidate’s message to those who share similar views. Similarly, environmental messages could be framed to coincide with the views of those voters whose cookie jars reveal an interest in environmental concerns. All of this data gathering, of course, would transpire without the users’ knowledge.141 The firm’s long-standing policy required Satterfield’s benediction for such a controversial campaign tactic, and he quickly summoned Barnes and Media Director Marsha Moore to his office for what he anticipated would be a spirited exchange.

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“As you know,” said Barnes, as he began the defense of his proposal, “we’re in a dead heat with our Republican opponent. We need every vote we can get. We must pull out all the stops and maximize the use of the Internet as a vehicle for political communication. We’ll continue to use the traditional media to get our messages across, but the strategy I’ve devised also calls for using the Net to match our various agendas with receptive target audiences. Cardwell is pro-choice on the abortion issue; when someone from this target audience hits our website, a pop-up message will outline his views on abortion. Those opposed to our candidate’s position will not be exposed to his pro-choice message. Similarly, a voter who is a strong environmentalist will be treated to our candidate’s strong beliefs about protecting the environment. Senior citizens will be reassured of Cardwell’s determination to protect Social Security from the conservative tax cutters in Congress. And so on.” “But this is manipulative and dishonest,” replied Moore without hesitation. “We’re setting different agendas for different demographic groups—groups whose profiles we have gathered from the various Internet cookies and catalogued according to their political views. Voters who are likely to disagree with Cardwell on abortion will be treated to a different set of issues. This is a divide-and-conquer strategy that could boomerang if voters feel they are being manipulated.” “Agenda setting is nothing new,” responded Barnes. “We’ve known for years that the media help set the agenda for debate about public issues. Political campaign strategists are also pivotal to the agenda-setting process. What I am proposing is simply a highly refined form of agenda setting. We are giving various groups a view of our candidate that coincides with their own interests. Why waste time and money communicating with audiences whose views are firmly entrenched in opposition to Cardwell’s positions?” “But Cardwell is running for president,” complained Moore. “If elected, he will deal with an entire range of issues. Your proposed strategy would divert the attention of voters from Cardwell’s much broader agenda. While I believe in an aggressive campaign strategy, targeting of this kind is antithetical to the democratic process. It balkanizes

the voters in such a way that they can’t make a truly informed choice. And it deprives voters of knowing the full truth about Cardwell’s views on matters of public concern.” “I think you’re overreacting,” declared Barnes. “Most voters aren’t interested in the entire panoply of issues that Cardwell has to deal with during this campaign. Most make their decisions based upon one or two issues. My strategy is designed to reassure voters who are already predisposed toward Cardwell on the issues in which they have an interest. Why is this any different from other forms of target marketing?” “We’re not selling toothpaste or automobiles,” countered Moore. “For better or worse, we’re part of the political process. When potential voters hit our website they expect to receive credible information on what our candidate stands for—not just pop-up links that discuss single issues. They’re not aware that we have essentially prescreened most of them using cookies to construct personal dossiers that will then be matched to their political preferences. Most are probably not even aware that these technologies exist.” “I’d like you to consider this question,” replied Barnes. “Is what I’m proposing really new? Targeting has always been the hallmark of effective marketing. We’re simply using technology to make data collection more efficient. They’re not interested in our candidate’s stand on a wide variety of issues. Why not just give them what they’re interested in?” “I’m not convinced that this isn’t manipulative,” declared Moore. “Directing potential voters to some issues and diverting them away from others, without their knowledge, is deceptive and dishonest. It shaves the truth about Cardwell’s beliefs as a political candidate.” “I disagree,” responded Barnes, who had never agreed entirely with the firm’s ethical squeamishness about attack ads. “All persuasive communication is to some degree manipulative. That’s certainly true of targeted messages in advertising. Data gathering without the knowledge of consumers as a technique for target marketing has been a standard practice for years. Consider, for example, telemarketing and direct mail advertising. My proposal is certainly ethically acceptable within the highly competitive framework of political communication.

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Since voters are interested in only selected issues anyway, I don’t believe my proposal for targeting significantly conceals the truth about our political agenda.” Manipulative! Dishonest! Deceptive! Marsha Moore’s unflattering portrayals of her colleague’s high-tech proposal troubled Satterfield as he listened to this spirited exchange between his firm’s two staff members. Were her concerns overblown or did targeting of the kind recommended by Barnes pose a true ethical dilemma? On the one hand, Satterfield agreed that there was something manipulative and even deceptive in the process. On the other hand, he recognized that target marketing was so ingrained in the American cultural experience that perhaps it did not pose a serious ethical concern. Satterfield’s candidate was in a close and highly contentious race; his firm’s goal was to help ensure a victory. But as he pondered whether to approve the proposal tendered by his Senior Campaign Strategist, Satterfield was still concerned about the consequences of such targeting on the political process.

THE CASE STUDY Political consultants acting as communication strategists for political candidates owe their first loyalty to their clients. Their primary objective is to help ensure a campaign victory. Some operate in an ethically ambiguous universe with seemingly few scruples to animate their campaign strategy. The firm described in the previous scenario has, thus far, rejected attack ads as being counterproductive, but that appears to be the only clear-cut ethical limitation. Considering the role of political communication as an indispensable ingredient of any campaign, is targeting without the knowledge of potential voters, utilizing the technology of the Internet, an unethical practice? Or is this just a high-tech version of a practice that has become so ingrained and accepted by consumers that its ethical dimensions have become inconsequential? Communications scholar Gary W. Selnow, in an essay on Internet ethics, disparages Web-based targeting as “manipulative.” The problem, according to Selnow, is that when candidates “direct voters’ attention to one or two issues and divert their attention

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from the rest . . . the candidate will have been successful in reaching isolated groups with congruent images, while concealing the total picture from all groups. Voters thus can be manipulated by the agenda-setting process. Each group has a vision of the candidate. Few have the full view.”142 Is Selnow attempting to convert unjustifiably an accepted campaign practice into an ethical issue? One could argue, first, that Barnes’s proposal is nothing more than a Web-based version of a marketing technique that has been around for years and, second, that the fact that voters may be unaware that their personal Web browsings are being used to a candidate’s political advantage does not truly undermine their autonomy, since in the final analysis they will vote for whom they believe to be the most qualified candidate anyway. In addition, the reality is that most voters are interested in particular issues, not a candidate’s entire political platform. If voters truly desire a “full view” of a candidate, they should not rely strictly upon the candidate’s website; they should seek alternative sources of information. Nevertheless, the spirited discourse between Lewis Barnes and Marsha Moore has engaged the moral imagination of senior partner Anthony Satterfield, and he must decide whether to approve Barnes’s proposal. Is the practice of targeting described in this case manipulative and dishonest or deceptive? Does this technique of political communication seriously compromise the truth about a candidate? For the purpose of responding to these troubling questions and evaluating the ethical issues posed in the previous scenario, assume the role of Anthony Satterfield and, applying the SAD model for moral reasoning described in Chapter 3, render your own decision on this matter.

C AS E 4-5

The Careless Chaperons and the Unbridled Teens “Please don’t publish this story. We’re not asking on behalf of ourselves. It’s our daughter we’re concerned about. She’s just a teenager who made a mistake!”

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This plaintive plea sounded uncommonly familiar to Frank Littenfield as he politely listened to the distraught voice on the phone. As the managing editor of the Columbia Gazette, Littenfield was accustomed to requests from unwilling subjects of news coverage to “kill” or modify a story. In most cases, these frantic entreaties were pathetically frivolous or unreasonable, and Littenfield rejected the callers’ complaints courteously but firmly. However, in those cases in which innocent victims or juveniles were involved, Littenfield’s forbearance usually trumped his natural inclination to deny straightaway the validity of the complainant’s request. As his newspaper’s primary gatekeeper, he labored under the dual loyalties of keeping faith with the canons and expectations of his profession and maintaining a genuine feeling of moral compassion for those who were the focus of the Gazette’s journalistic enterprise. On this occasion, the caller identified herself as Virginia Martin. Her husband and she were plaintiffs in a rather unusual lawsuit, based on circumstances that, in Littenfield’s view, should never have resulted in litigation. According to the complaint filed in the state district court in Columbia, the Martins’ 15-year-old daughter had attended a Christmas party at the home of Michael and Virginia Pike, who served as chaperons for the party and whose son attended the same school as the Martins’ daughter. During the evening, the girl retreated to an upstairs bedroom, unnoticed by the Pikes, and had sex with a 16-year-old classmate. The girl got pregnant and later gave birth. The girl’s parents were suing the Pikes for negligence, claiming that they were careless in not properly supervising their teenage charges. “A complete lack of supervision, guidance, and discipline provided the opportunity for this sexual encounter,” according to the court records. Virginia Martin had learned of the Gazette’s interest in the story when Leslie McDougald, the paper’s government affairs reporter, had contacted the Martins’ attorney seeking additional information. McDougald had also approached the Pikes’ attorney for a response to their antagonists’ legal expression of indignation. The plaintiffs’ counsel, predictably, accused the defendants of being delinquent in their stewardship of the teenagers

entrusted to their care. The Pikes’ attorney responded that “the expectations reflected in this lawsuit are unreasonable in that parents cannot be expected to oversee the unbridled passions of sexually active teenagers. There is simply no legal duty of the kind alleged in the plaintiffs’ complaint.” The story was slated for tomorrow morning’s edition of the Gazette, according to the rundown provided at the staff meeting earlier that afternoon by city editor Thomas Sizemore. As he extricated himself from the anxious caller, Littenfield made no promises to Virginia Martin but said he would consider her request for journalistic charity. “I received a call from Virginia Martin,” stated Littenfield as Sizemore and McDougald settled comfortably into their chairs for what the managing editor assumed would be a brief meeting. “She wants us to kill the story on the negligent chaperons. She claims that her concern is primarily with her daughter.” “I assume that the Martins are distressed because of what the publicity might do to their daughter,” noted Sizemore. “She isn’t named in the court papers or our story, but let’s face it—she will be identified by association with her parents. Her sexual rendezvous and pregnancy will no longer be a personal matter if this story is published.” “That’s true,” replied McDougald. “But this lawsuit is a matter of public record. Once the Pikes decided to litigate this issue rather than settle it away from the glare of publicity, it became a matter of public interest.” “It may indeed be newsworthy,” said Sizemore, responding more as a devil’s advocate rather than from conviction, “but the fact that it’s now a matter of public record doesn’t automatically answer the ethical question of whether it should be published. After all, the publicity surrounding this case will result not from the court record itself but from our reporting of what’s in the court record.” “True enough,” admitted McDougald, “but this case clearly meets the test of newsworthiness. It involves the court system and the circumstances themselves are highly unusual. There are a lot of teenage parties in our community, most chaperoned by parents. This suit could serve as a warning to them. Besides, we’re in the truth business. We should not get in the habit of suppressing news

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just because someone whose name will appear in our paper is unhappy.” “I agree, as a matter of principle,” replied Sizemore. “But in a sense, the Martins’ daughter has been victimized once in that she had an unwanted pregnancy. A story on this lawsuit will just victimize her again. We make editorial judgments all the time about what is or is not newsworthy. And we’ve been known to delete information or occasionally to preempt a story altogether if the potential harm is much greater than the news value. Is this one of those cases?” With Sizemore’s closing query, Littenfield decided to adjourn the meeting. As the moral agent in this case, he would make the final call. As a journalist, he knew that the burden of proof is on those who counsel restraint in publishing a story that a paper deems to be newsworthy. To assume otherwise is to compromise the independent status of reporters and editors. But as he pondered the situation, the managing editor acknowledged that Sizemore had raised some intriguing points that could not be dismissed out of hand.

THE CASE STUDY At first glance, this case appears to be uncomplicated. The Martins have filed a lawsuit against another couple claiming that they were negligent in chaperoning a party, an act of carelessness that led to the pregnancy of their daughter. And despite the fact that the suit is a matter of public record, they are asking the Gazette to withhold the story because it will further embarrass their daughter. Such requests are not uncommon in newsrooms, and most are summarily dismissed. After all, the news media are in the business of revelation, not concealment. But there are some countervailing arguments in this case. First, this story is not of great moment. It does not involve politics, crime or corruption, or some large-scale human tragedy. The civil complaint here is a matter of public record—a fact that offers legal refuge for the media in case of a lawsuit—but, as the city editor suggests, this doesn’t automatically provide an ethical justification for publishing the story. Second, although the Martins’

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daughter will not be named in the story, she will be identified through association with her parents. Thus, her own behavior will be subjected to the glare of publicity because of her parents’ actions and through no fault of her own. Managing editor Frank Littenfield is the moral agent in this case. For the purpose of examining the issues raised by the facts of this case, step into the editorial shoes of Littenfield and then, using the SAD formula for moral reasoning, render a judgment in this case.

C AS E 4-6

Digital Photography and the Manipulation of Reality It was a classic confrontation in the abortion wars. The Reverend Joshua Saint Clare, the national leader of the Lifeline Coalition, had rallied his antiabortion legions for another skirmish in front of the Maplewood Women’s Pavilion, one of only two abortion clinics in Lewiston. Carla Alvarez was just as determined to defend the women of Lewiston against the moral onslaught of the Reverend Saint Clare. As a prominent attorney committed to rekindling the feminist liberation movement of the 1970s, Alvarez was uncompromising in her view that the right for a woman to control her own body was precedent to all other rights. The drama that was unfolding at the Maplewood Women’s Pavilion was a reenactment of similar confrontations between Saint Clare and Alvarez in five other cities, three of which had sparked sporadic violence but no serious injuries. And each time, local and national media descended on the scene with an unquenchable thirst for conflict, emotional impact, and undeniable visual appeal. The fanaticism displayed on both sides had resulted in a cult of personalities that virtually silenced the more moderate voices on the abortion issue. The high-decibel verbal sparring between the charismatic Saint Clare and the combative Alvarez was irresistible in the competitive journalistic marketplace. The characters had overshadowed the plot on the nation’s front pages and the evening newscasts.

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As usual, correspondents from the TV networks, several large newspapers, and the news magazines were on hand in Lewiston to chronicle the next chapter in this morality play. The Lewiston Gazette was on hand too. This story was made to order for chief photographer Brian Fogle. Fogle had joined the Gazette ten years ago after serving a three-year apprenticeship on a small-town weekly just seventy-five miles from Lewiston. He had thrived at a paper that was becoming increasingly more visual in its coverage and where color was often featured conspicuously on both the front page and the metro page. The Gazette’s impressive list of awards for photojournalism since Fogle’s arrival at the paper bore testament to the photographer’s talent as both journalist and artisan. Fogle prided himself on his journalistic instincts in ferreting out the “real” story and then packaging it in the most vivid and dramatic way possible. The abortion story was no exception. Fogle, along with reporter Mickey Chambers, had arrived early at the Pavilion, and with the police standing by in case of violence, the two groups of demonstrators soon began to exchange insults. And once again, the Reverend St. Clare and Carla Alvarez squared off in their all too familiar public exhibition of mutual disdain. Fogle moved quickly through the mob, capturing the growing hostility in color and preserving this dramatic confrontation for posterity. Most of his pictures, Fogle knew, would simply wind up in the newspaper’s morgue. But not the profile shot of St. Clare and Alvarez standing toe-to-toe engaged in their verbal duel in front of the abortion clinic, while their supporters, armed with placards bearing a variety of messages, cheered them on. Fogle was confident that this photo had captured the very essence of the story that was unfolding at the Maplewood Women’s Pavilion and that it would be featured prominently in color on the Gazette’s front page. Editor Samuel Gates wasn’t so confident. In reviewing the front-page layout for the next day’s edition, Gates was immediately impressed by the hostility that radiated from the photo. This was certain to convey the electric atmosphere surrounding the confrontation to the reader. But it was not the profile shot of the two combatants that

concerned Gates. Although it was clear from the photo that St. Clare and Alvarez were surrounded by demonstrators, one was featured more prominently than others. In the center of the photo, in the background but clearly visible, was a placard with an aborted fetus in a jar. With the deadline approaching, Gates quickly summoned Fogle and photo editor Bill McBride to his office and expressed his concern. “This is a fantastic shot, Brian,” Gates declared sincerely, “but there is a problem. Quite frankly, I feel uneasy with running this photo on the front page with the aborted fetus. This could offend some of our readers, especially if we run it in color. Do you have another shot without any signs?” “Not really,” Fogle responded somewhat defensively. “I had to move in a hurry, and the crowd was making it difficult to get near enough for any kind of close-ups. I was lucky to get this. Besides, Saint Clare and Alvarez were surrounded by demonstrators carrying signs. This is part of the story.” “If there’s a problem with the sign, we can take it out or smear the message on the sign,” McBride volunteered. Gates knew that McBride was referring to the paper’s multimillion-dollar investment in digital technology that allowed technicians, among other things, to reconstruct or alter photographs without the faintest hint of hand retouching. “But that’s deceptive to the readers,” Fogle responded indignantly. “The photo should run as it is, or it shouldn’t be used at all. But I’m opposed to just killing it because it’s essential to give our readers a feel for the hostility that I felt at the clinic.” At this point Gates wasn’t sure whether his chief photographer was taking the ethical high road or just reacting from a sense of artistic pride. “We have other pictures,” Gates said. “Of course, they are mostly crowd scenes, and they aren’t as personal or dramatic. But there are some where the messages on the signs are not as visible.” But Fogle persisted. “This story is no longer just about abortion. It’s about the personal animosity between Saint Clare and Alvarez. And this photo captures this hostility. This picture is the story.”

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“Then if that’s the case,” Gates responded, “why not remove or smear the sign? It detracts from the focus of the story. This sign might be offensive to our readers without adding anything to the photo. Why take a chance?” The photo editor had to concede the validity of this argument. “If you’re concerned about offending the readers,” McBride said, “then what’s the difference between altering this photo and deleting foul language from quotes in news copy? That is common practice at this paper.” As the deadline approached, Gates began to feel the tug of competing ethical loyalties. As a journalist and editor, he was usually opposed to deleting substantive content that contributed to an understanding of the story. The sign may not have been essential to the photo, but it did provide context. And he did not believe that this background sign necessarily detracted from the dramatic face-to-face encounter of the two antagonists. And even if it did, the paper might still be accused of altering reality just for the sake of dramatic effect. Would removing or smearing the sign through digital manipulation be deceptive to the readers? Would they really care? But editors often edit stories for length, tastes, and even superfluous content. Was this offensive visual message really important to the story? If the story was no longer abortion itself but the repeated and increasingly vociferous confrontations between Saint Clare and Alvarez, then perhaps the background sign in the photo was superfluous. Besides, the Gazette was a family newspaper and owed a duty to its readers to treat them with civility, while providing them with an accurate account of the day’s events. This could be accomplished in the narrative part of the coverage without such a morally challenging photograph. On a couple of occasions, the paper had “cleaned up” the background and composition of feature photos. Was this any different? As Gates pondered his decision, he realized that the temptation to take advantage of his technology’s capabilities was almost irresistible. But he had to remember that his computers and software were only tools and that machines were incapable of making ethical judgments. Digital technology, he knew, should be the servant, not the master, of practicing journalists.

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THE CASE STUDY This case does not involve digital manipulation just to delete extraneous material or to adjust a photo for space considerations. The editor is concerned about the potential reaction of readers to this offensive sign between the profile shots of the two abortion combatants. On the one hand, the alteration of any photo might be considered deceptive unless the readers are informed as to how and why the photo was altered. On the other hand, if one accepts McBride’s argument, then deleting material from photos is really no different from editing news stories for content for overriding ethical reasons (for example, deleting offensive language or cleaning up the grammar in a quote). Under time pressures, such ethical dilemmas are often subjected to ad hoc decision making, without concern for long-range consequences. But as editor, Gates must protect the integrity of his enterprise. If the Gazette acquires a reputation, for example, of doctoring photos, even if the readers are informed of such manipulation, then the paper has sacrificed its only stock-in-trade: the truth. Nevertheless, there are those rare exceptions when journalists must deviate from standard ethical practice for other overriding considerations. Is this such a situation? If so, what are the overriding considerations? Gates has four choices. First, he could publish the photo in color on the front page. He would then run the risk of offending some readers. Gates’s second option is to alter the photo, either removing or smearing the sign. In this case, the paper will avoid offending its readers. But, on the other hand, if the Gazette readers learn of this manipulation the paper’s credibility could suffer. Third, Gates could decide to omit the photo from the paper’s coverage entirely. This would avoid his ethical quandary. But would this decision be journalistically sound, especially because the photo is important to the overall story? In addition, the omission of this dramatic photo would certainly undermine the Gazette’s goal of improving its visual coverage to enhance the paper’s marketing potential. Finally, the paper could publish the photo in black and white or perhaps move it to an inside

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page to lessen its impact. Would this lessen the chance that it might offend some readers? As the deadline approaches, assume the position of editor Samuel Gates and, using the SAD formula for moral reasoning, decide how you would handle this ethical dilemma.

C AS E 4-7

Tainted Research and the Right to Know Dr. Franz Heimlich was the jewel in the crown of the Hudson Institute of Science and Technology. Like many German intellectuals, following the defeat of Nazi Germany he had fled his homeland in advance of the Allied assault and eventually had immigrated to the United States, evading the exacting governmental scrutiny to which the more prominent officials in the Hitler regime were subjected. Heimlich’s impressive academic credentials in biology, physiology, and medicine, as well as his fluency in English, eventually earned him a position at the prestigious Hudson Institute, a private college in New York state devoted to research and the training of scientists to accommodate the nation’s unquenchable thirst for medical knowledge. For several years he toiled in anonymity, quietly conducting experiments, attempting to unravel the mysteries of the brain that might eventually lead to treatments or cures for a variety of neurologically based diseases and afflictions. His impressive results brought both admiration and envy from his scientific colleagues and a healthy and continuous infusion of grant money to fund his ambitious research enterprises. In the twilight of his career, Heimlich’s experiments in genetics earned him the scientific community’s most coveted honor, the Nobel Prize, the rewards for which accrued not only to Heimlich, the college’s most distinguished scholar, but also to the institute in the form of international approbation and additional research grants. The scientific community was not unanimous in its public applause for Heimlich’s accomplishments, however. A small group of Jewish scientists, some of whom had come of age in Nazi

Germany, were deeply suspicious of their colleague’s credentials and identity, and following further investigation their suspicions appeared to be confirmed: Franz Heimlich’s real name was Hans Stein, who at the time of the Jewish Holocaust had served as a young associate to Dr. Josef Mengele, who was responsible for possibly as many as 400,000 Jewish deaths during the Holocaust and was quite deservedly referred to as “The Angel of Death” and “The Butcher.” Stein (a.k.a. Heimlich) had also assisted Mengele in conducting medical experiments on thousands of unwitting Jews, leaving many of those who survived with permanent physical and emotional scars. The group turned their findings over to the Simon Wiesenthal Foundation, which is committed to apprehending and bringing to justice as war criminals those who committed the atrocities during Hitler’s reign. Investigators for the Wiesenthal Foundation confirmed the circumstantial evidence tendered by the concerned scientists and contacted the State Department about deporting Heimlich to Germany to stand trial as a war criminal. The Hudson Institute, fearing a loss of funding and recriminations from within the scientific community for their failure to investigate more fully Heimlich’s mysterious past, quickly severed its relationship with their Nobel Prize winner and issued a press release denying (truthfully) any knowledge of Heimlich’s sordid past and condemning the application of science to such evil and unethical purposes. While the dishonored scholar was awaiting his deportation hearing, his body was discovered in his small off-campus apartment, an apparent victim of a self-inflicted gunshot wound. Franz Heimlich had eternally escaped his rendezvous with justice. While the Hudson administration and staff slowly recovered from their institutional chagrin and regained the public relations initiative as a credible center of scientific wisdom, Heimlich’s young associate and protégé, Dr. Myron Summerfield, quietly determined that he would continue his mentor’s promising investigation into the mysteries of neurology and gene therapy. However, Summerfield’s endeavors concealed a ghastly truth that Heimlich had confided to him following the award of the Nobel Prize: Many of Heimlich’s successful projects were based on knowledge gleaned from the experiments

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on the unwilling Jewish subjects conducted under the diabolic auspices of Josef Mengele. Heimlich told his associate that he had lived with the horrors of his role in Hitler’s regime and that he viewed his present research, which he hoped would eventually abate the suffering for those afflicted with various neurological maladies, as a form of ethical redemption. Summerfield, whose memories of World War II and Nazi Germany were mostly uninformed beyond those gleaned from courses in world history and an occasional article on the Holocaust, had accepted Heimlich’s moral resurrection at face value and now silently pledged that he would continue his mentor’s significant endowments to medical science. Several years following Heimlich’s untimely demise, Summerfield published an article in the Journal of the American Medical Association describing his research that held out the promise of a cure for Alzheimer’s, a disease that afflicts thousands as they approach old age. The publication of the article was accompanied by a press release from the Hudson Institute’s Office of Public Relations applauding Summerfield for his success based on experiments with white mice and promising controlled experiments on humans within a short period of time pending approval by the Institute’s Human Subjects Committee and the appropriate government agencies. This medical breakthrough attracted the attention of the scientific community. It also attracted the attention of Joanne Raab, a science writer for the Albany Tribune, a daily newspaper in the state’s capital just thirty miles from the Hudson Institute. With an undergraduate degree in microbiology and a master’s degree in journalism, Raab was no scientific neophyte and skillfully blended her empirical education with her professional journalistic skills. To keep herself abreast of the latest scientific research, Raab read the leading scientific journals, including the Journal of the American Medical Association. Keisha Cantrell’s call from Joanne Raab was not unexpected. As director of public relations for the Hudson Institute, Cantrell frequently received inquiries from Raab following public relations releases announcing various scientific breakthroughs.

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On this occasion—one day before the next press release officially announcing the proposed experiments on human subjects—Raab called with some questions about Summerfield’s studies, his plans to begin trials on human subjects, and the prospects of an imminent cure for Alzheimer’s. She was particularly interested in how the Institute had made such great strides in finding what could perhaps be a cure for Alzheimer’s, whereas other researchers had had only modest success in arresting the progression of this debilitating disease. Raab requested an interview with Summerfield, the approval for which was the prerogative of the public relations office. However, Summerfield was uncharacteristically reticent in acceding to Raab’s request as forwarded to him through Cantrell, a reluctance that did not go unchallenged by the Institute’s public relations director. Cantrell’s aggressive interrogation, induced as much by curiosity as frustration, led to Summerfield’s confession of the ethically shaky foundations of the Institute’s research project on Alzheimer’s, as well as other neurologically based afflictions. Cantrell immediately notified the Institute’s president, who instructed her to forward a recommendation within twenty-four hours on how to handle the public relations aspect of this startling revelation. In the meantime, Joanna Raab would have to wait. “And that’s where we are on this issue,” Cantrell said with an air of resignation as she closed her briefing with public relations News Division chief Charlotte Horner and assistant public relations director James Roider. “Very shortly we’ll issue a press release concerning our human subjects experiments on the Alzheimer’s project. The issue is whether we acknowledge what we’ve learned from Summerfield or just leave well enough alone. But of more immediate concern, of course, is the request from Joanne Raab. I don’t know whether she really knows anything—perhaps a rumor she’s picked up—or whether this is just natural journalistic curiosity.” “The potential consequences for the Institute could be staggering,” acknowledged Horner. “If we admit that the Alzheimer’s project—as well as some of our other research enterprises—is based, in part, on scientific data generated by Mengele’s

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‘mad scientist’ experiments, we’ll be savaged by some segments of the scientific community. And of course, this could cost us some funding.” “That may be true,” replied Roider. “But I think we should take the initiative and be out front on this. After all, this doesn’t involve an institutional cover-up—at least, not at this point. We just discovered the truth ourselves. It was concealed from us by Heimlich’s associate. Surely the public, as well as the scientific community, will be somewhat forgiving under the circumstances. We can schedule a press conference, state categorically that we do not condone Summerfield’s lack of candor, but point out the medical benefits that may soon derive from this research.” “I have reservations about this approach,” responded Horner. “Heimlich is dead. His research and Summerfield’s follow-up studies have contributed significantly to medical science. Perhaps some of the data on which the Alzheimer’s project is based is tainted, morally speaking, but at least it’s being used for a noble purpose. If we release this information, the ethical purists within and outside the scientific community may demand that we scrap the studies based on this data—or at least postpone indefinitely the human subjects trials. This could delay a much-needed medical breakthrough while the ethical debate rages.” “I still think the public has a right to know how this research originated,” said Roider, although he silently acknowledged the appeal of the News Division chief’s arguments. “After all, the benefits will accrue to them. Besides, much of the funding for this research came from the public till.” “Does the public really care?” inquired Horner. “It seems to me that the public mood on such matters is rather permissive—as long as there is some benefit to society.” “I’m not so sure,” replied Roider, not willing to concede the public’s apathy on issues of scientific or medical ethics. “There’s more and more coverage of scientific discoveries, especially when they involve some kind of medical breakthrough. And medical and scientific ethics is also increasingly grist for the journalistic mill. I don’t doubt that there will be public interest in this issue. The question is whether the public in general, and the scientific community in particular, has a right to know.

And there’s one segment of the public that may have a lot to say—the Jewish community, particularly the remaining Holocaust survivors.” At this point Cantrell’s two staff members fell silent, tacitly signifying the end of their spirited debate. The public relations director had listened attentively as she began mentally to frame the issues that must be addressed. “The first thing we must do is buy time,” she told her two colleagues. “I’ll phone Raab and tell her that Summerfield can’t meet with her today because of a heavy lab schedule, which is true. But I’ll also tell her that a press release on the human subjects trials will be issued tomorrow and that if she still has questions we’ll consider an interview with Summerfield. Beyond that, I’ll work up a public relations strategy to present to the president for approval, and we’ll meet first thing in the morning to go over it.”

THE CASE STUDY What should the public relations strategy be in this case? One could argue that the public acknowledgment of the tainted data on which much of this research is based is unnecessary because it doesn’t involve crisis management in which the public’s health or safety is in immediate peril. On the other hand, many of the experiments have been conducted with public funding. But more important, from an ethical perspective, Heimlich’s and Summerfield’s impressive medical breakthroughs were made possible through data gleaned from diabolical experiments performed on victims of the Holocaust and their relatives. Does the public have a need to know this information? The scientific method is based, among other things, on disclosure, a value that usually parallels those of the public relations practitioner. But Cantrell’s problem is that she must also safeguard the long-term interest of the Hudson Institute, its reputation, and its financial viability. Does this reality favor disclosure or nondisclosure? The issues here are complex, but from a public relations perspective Cantrell has several options: Option 1: She could issue the press release concerning the anticipated human subjects experiments without mentioning Summerfield’s confession. As a

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corollary, she could then stonewall Raab, hoping that the reporter would not persist in her desire to interview Summerfield. Option 2: She could issue the press release without mentioning Summerfield’s confession but could then submit to Raab’s request for an interview, with instructions to Summerfield to say nothing about the tainted data. Option 3: She could issue a press release (or perhaps hold a press conference) in which the Institute acknowledges what it has learned from Summerfield, recognizes the profound ethical implications of this turn of events, and expresses regret for its lack of diligence in not ferreting out this morally distasteful practice. Option 4: Cantrell could follow the approach in Option 3, except that she could move the institutional mea culpa to the background and instead attempt to put a positive spin on the situation by concentrating on the medical advances that have derived from this research and which will have profound positive consequences for the public welfare.

For the purpose of discussing this case, assume the role of public relations director Keisha Cantrell. And then, using the SAD formula for moral reasoning, construct a public relations strategy that, in your judgment, is based on sound ethical principles. In so doing, you should consider the pros and cons of each of the options.

C AS E 4-8

Vow of Silence This was the year of Brandon Layfield’s discontent. As CEO of Actron Pictures, he had endured a strike by Hollywood actors, barely staved off a hostile takeover bid by a formidable competitor, and suffered through harsh questioning from a congressional committee accusing Hollywood of being Satan’s disciple in emasculating the nation’s family values. And now he watched with growing annoyance at the parade of devout Catholics in the street below with their picket signs that indicted his cinematic empire for being in league with the Devil. Layfield could sum up the source of their anger in two words: Aaron Moeller.

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Moeller was one of Actron’s most imaginative producers but he was also a cultural gadfly, always eager to challenge social conventions and to “push the envelope” on matters of artistic propriety. His graphic films on child prostitution, the drug culture, and the realities of the gay lifestyle, including violence within the gay community, had been box office hits but had also earned him the enmity of his conservative detractors. While his films generally won critical acclaim, Moeller was also accused of fueling a “culture of cynicism” toward society’s various pathologies. His latest film, Vow of Silence, was proving to be the most controversial of his professional career. Vow of Silence took an unvarnished and dramatic look at an unpleasant fact that challenged the very foundations of Catholic Church doctrine— the fact that Catholic priests are dying of AIDS at four times the rate of the general U.S. population. Moeller’s project was prompted by a wellresearched article published in the Kansas City Star,143 but he believed that a dramatic rendition of this issue on the big screen would place the matter on the national agenda and provide a sense of urgency to its resolution. His sense of realism propelled him toward an actual case history, but this was no mean task considering the resistance of the Catholic Church to any discussion of the issue. Undaunted by such obstacles, Moeller had put out “feelers” in various venues in the hopes that his contacts might provide an entrée to someone with knowledge of such a case history. His break came when a Hollywood agent and friend phoned Moeller and told him that she knew a woman whose brother, a priest, had died of the AIDS virus. “She might be willing to cooperate because she is still upset that her brother’s superiors misled her as to his affliction,” she said. “They told her that her brother had contracted hepatitis. She is his only surviving family member and feels she should have been told the truth.” Moeller lost no time in contacting the woman, informed her of his proposed project, and over time gained her confidence. The woman told Moeller that her brother confided to her just before his death that he had AIDS and confessed that he had probably contracted the disease from a brief relationship he had with a church employee.

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The bishop had compelled his silence during this tragic ordeal, but the young priest was inspired by guilt to divulge his secret to his sister. Moeller took voluminous notes, turned them over to a scriptwriter, and assembled a cast and staff to produce a fictionalized rendition of this heart-rending story. While he planned to take the appropriate poetic license with some of the details, Moeller’s film would remain faithful to the “greater truth”—that priests are dying of AIDS, a tragedy that has not been publicly acknowledged by the Catholic Church. For the sake of realism, the film’s director decided to employ the documentary technique, similar to Steven Soderberg’s award-winning film, Traffic, and Steven Spielberg’s Saving Private Ryan. In Moeller’s fictional account, the film opens with Father Michael, a much-beloved young parish priest at St. Thomas, in a hospital bed dying of AIDS. At his bedside is his sister, Rebecca, to whom he begins a confession of how he contracted the disease and how his superiors dealt with it. Many of the plot transitions are executed through interviews with Rebecca that are inserted at strategic points throughout the film, thus adding to the documentary demeanor of the project. The director also introduces a series of flashbacks that begins with a brief scene of Father Michael as a priest fresh out of seminary. He quickly befriends a troubled parishioner, a young advertising copywriter, and an affectionate relationship emerges. In one poignant scene Father Michael confides to his friend that he is having a difficult time dealing with his sexuality, a topic that was not adequately explored in seminary. The audience is led, through a sequence of creative and subtle interactions between the two, to believe that the priest is gay, although this is never fully explored in a dramatic fashion. Nevertheless, as the flashbacks continue, Father Michael is diagnosed with the HIV virus, a fact that he initially conceals from his bishop and the other parish priests. But over time he becomes ill with AIDS, and his bishop, fearing a scandal because of the imputations of homosexuality that usually accompany this frequently fatal disease, puts in place an elaborate cover-up. He commands Father Michael to remain silent about his condition, even to his parents and siblings, and

arranges for medical treatment outside the parish. He also forbids the young priest to wear his clerical garb when undergoing periodic blood tests and filling prescriptions intended to prolong the life of the young priest. The underlying theme of Vow of Silence is unmistakable: There is a serious AIDS problem among the Catholic clergy, and the Church is attempting to cover it up. At the conclusion of the flashbacks Father Michael soon dies, but when his sister examines the death certificate she notices the cause of death is listed as “unknown” and that his occupation is listed as “clerk.” Her faith in the Church shaken, Rebecca is determined to force the parish clergy to confront the realities of her brother’s death and begins a lengthy search for the truth. In the end, she fails, unable to penetrate the veil of secrecy that appears to stymie her inquiries, and she even experiences some self-doubt as other family members attempt to convince Rebecca that her brother would not have approved of her relentless crusade. The advance publicity on Vow of Silence had galvanized the Catholic faithful into action, and weeks before the premiere of Moeller’s latest film demonstrators arrived at Actron Pictures and theatres in the major markets that had booked the controversial movie. The Catholic hierarchy condemned Moeller’s project and publicly denied the major premise of the movie—that AIDS is a serious problem within the Catholic Church. Noting that priests take a vow of celibacy, Catholic clergy publicly savaged the film and condemned it as an insult to the priesthood and as an assault on the fundamental values of Catholic doctrine. They also objected to the film’s apparent conclusion—that Catholic clergy are involved in some kind of coverup. They demanded that Actron Pictures cancel the scheduled release of Vow of Silence. The news media ensured that the protests would receive national exposure, while Actron Pictures executives fretted about how to respond to this assault on their artistic freedom. Layfield and his minions had weathered public censure and critical condemnation before, but the Catholic Church was a formidable foe. As he surveyed the cacophony of critical voices piercing the tranquility in the street below his twelfth-floor office,

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Layfield decided to consult with Bess Cooper, his studio’s director of publicity, and Renita Marcos, Actron’s vice president for domestic distribution. Aaron Moeller was also summoned to the meeting. “We’re under a lot of pressure,” declared Layfield in an understatement, as Cooper, Marcos, and Moeller settled comfortably into their chairs. “We’ve received calls from several worried theatre managers, the Catholic clergy have incited their parishioners to write letters and join in protests, and we’re getting a lot of bad press. It hasn’t all been negative, of course. Some groups have urged us to release the film, but we need to make a decision soon. Vow of Silence is scheduled to open in three weeks.” “I’ll go first, since it’s my film that’s causing the ruckus,” volunteered Moeller. “If this were a news story about the prevalence of AIDS cases among Catholic priests, we might get some complaints but we wouldn’t be here talking about self-censorship. This is an important topic, and the premise of the film is based upon facts. We can’t cave in to pressure.” “But this isn’t a news story,” responded Cooper who, as Actron Picture’s publicity director, was acutely aware of the fragility of public tastes. “It has alienated a large segment of our audience. The film is morally offensive to many Catholics because they believe this is a problem for the Church to handle, assuming there is a problem in the first place. They particularly object to the insinuation that Father Michael is a homosexual. Some are even accusing us of being anti-Catholic.” “I sympathize with this view,” replied Marcos, herself a practicing Catholic. “We have to ask ourselves whether this film is really designed to bring an important issue to light or is it just a form of exploitation. News accounts are different. The story runs and if the Church chooses to ignore it and if they’re lucky, it might just die a natural death. Besides, reporters always provide an opportunity for a response from the targets of their investigation. If the Church chooses to remain silent, that’s their choice. At least there is some fairness in the process. In the case of Vow of Silence the controversy itself will undoubtedly increase the box office receipts, and this will ensure a longer life span for the film. Catholics can take to the streets, but this

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will only serve to enhance people’s curiosity about the movie.” “I object to the characterization of my film as sensational,” responded Moeller testily. “The fact is that the Church does have a problem with priests dying of AIDS. There has been some news coverage of this, but it hasn’t received national exposure. Sure, Vow of Silence was inspired by an actual case history, but it’s a fictionalized account. Nevertheless, there is some fundamental truth in the film, and this dramatic portrayal may even have more of an impact than a news account. I regret that some Catholics are offended, but this shouldn’t be our concern.” But Marcos was unwilling to concede Moeller’s point. “The disclaimer that Vow of Silence was inspired by an actual event and the use of the documentary technique will lead many moviegoers to conclude that your portrayal is typical of the way the Catholic Church handles AIDS cases. This is unfair because the conflict between the requirement for celibacy and a priest’s sexuality is complex; it can’t be encapsulated in one feature-length film. In addition, this film depicts the Church as involved in a cover-up. It’s possible that such things might happen, but the truth is more complex than this. While some in the Church hierarchy might refuse to discuss the issue of AIDS among priests, the notion of a cover-up of the type described here reflects upon the entire Church.” “I’m not attempting to deal with every facet and nuance of this issue,” replied Moeller. “My film represents a greater truth—that the Catholic Church does have a problem, namely that the violation of their vows of chastity are costing many priests their lives. In addition, this kind of reaction from the Church is not unusual when there’s an embarrassing revelation. My film is inspired by an actual case, but the story line is not accurate in many of the details. My depictions are fictionalized accounts—but the underlying message is that the Church is in denial. At the least I can make the public aware of this problem. And perhaps this controversy may precipitate a more open dialogue within the Church.” “This is a hot topic,” responded Cooper. “We might justify this film based upon an appeal to some higher truth, but in this case I wonder whether

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the dramatic format can do justice to this issue. Once we acknowledge that Vow of Silence is inspired by a true event, many moviegoers will assume that the story itself is truth and that in fact the Church is involved in a cover-up. I realize we have a lot of money invested in this project, but we’re also getting a lot of bad publicity out of this. Perhaps now is not the time to push the envelope.” “Well, the buck stops here,” said Layfield with an air of resignation. “I could let someone else make this decision, but it’s really my call. I don’t like self-censorship, but I also must take into account the interest of our company and the audiences we serve.” With that Layfield adjourned the meeting and once again peered out the window at the protestors below as he prepared to render his verdict.

THE CASE STUDY Vow of Silence falls somewhere between a true docudrama and a work of fiction. It is inspired by an actual case history, and the filmmaker uses the documentary technique to add authenticity to his project. Moeller has taken one event and represented it as the way the Church deals with a problem that challenges fundamental doctrine, such as clerical celibacy. His use of the cover-up may or may not be accurate as a general proposition, but in this film it becomes a metaphor for what Moeller believes is a state of denial among Church officials. This is what he means when he refers to a “greater truth,” which is constructed using fictional characters and a fictionalized story line. Moeller obviously believes that the dramatic format is a legitimate means of alerting the public to a serious problem that, in his view, hasn’t been accorded sufficient attention through the traditional news media. Should filmmakers have more latitude in interpreting reality? Or is there a greater risk of distorting the truth when a social issue is distilled through a work of cinematic fiction that attempts to enhance its credibility utilizing some of the tools of the documentarian? Fictionalized accounts always run the risk of complicating or obscuring the truth. Moeller may be on solid ground with his claim that there is a problem with AIDS within the priesthood. However, there is clearly more than one interpretation of the

facts concerning the Church’s response to this problem, and Moeller has chosen to present one of them—that the clergy are involved in a cover-up. Is this a true ethical dilemma or just an agonizing public relations problem for Actron Pictures? For the purpose of considering this issue, assume the role of Brandon Layfield, the CEO of Actron Pictures. And then, utilizing the SAD formula of moral reasoning described in Chapter 3, make a decision on whether you will put Aaron Moeller’s film, Vow of Silence, into distribution.

Notes 1. “E-mail Urges Lying for Blood Drive,” The Advocate (Baton Rouge, LA), April 13, 2004, p. 2A. 2. David Goldman, “Storyteller: Stephen Glass Makes Fact from Fiction,” Biography Magazine, October 1999, p. 22. 3. Seth Mnookin, “Total Fiction,” Newsweek, May 19, 2003, p. 70. 4. See Joellen Perry, “Sign of the Times,” U.S. News & World Report, May 26, 2003, p. 46. 5. Doreen Carvajal, “Columnist’s Mea Culpa: I’m Anonymous,” New York Times, July 18, 1996, p. A11; “Not Very Neatly, ‘Anonymous’ Comes Clean,” U.S. News & World Report, July 19, 1996. The deception began to unravel when the Washington Post published the results of a comparative handwriting analysis between Klein’s handwriting and notes on an early manuscript of Primary Colors. 6. “Darts & Laurels,” Columbia Journalism Review, January/ February 1997, p. 22. 7. Ibid. ` 8. Carvajal, “Columnist’s Mea Culpa.” 9. Quoted in Carvajal, “Columnist’s Mea Culpa.” 10. Marvin N. Olasky, “Ministers or Panderers: Issues Raised by the Public Relations Society Code of Standards,” Journal of Mass Media Ethics 1 (Fall/Winter 1985–1986): 44. 11. John Leo, “Academia’s Lust for Lies and Disregard for Truth,” Seattle Times, January 19, 1999, online article at http://216.247.220.66 /archives/academia/leo1–20-99. htm 12. Charles Krauthammer, “The Case of the Suspect Bios,” Time, October 4, 1999, p. 122. 13. Richard Reeves, “Living in a World of Limited Truth,” syndicated column published in The Advocate (Baton Rouge, LA), February 6, 1998, p. 8B. 14. See Sissela Bok, Lying: Moral Choice in Public and Private Life, 2d ed. (New York: Vintage Books, 1999), p. 13; Richard L. Johannesen, Ethics in Human

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15. 16.

17. 18. 19.

20.

21. 22.

23.

24. 25.

26. 27. 28. 29.

30. 31.

32.

33.

34. 35. 36.

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Communication, 3d ed. (Prospect Heights, IL: Waveland, 1990), p. 110. Quoted in Warren Shibles, Lying: A Critical Analysis (Whitewater, WI: Language Press, 1985), pp. 19–20. For a good scholarly analysis of the trial of Socrates, see I. F. Stone, The Trial of Socrates (Boston: Little, Brown, 1988). John Stuart Mill, On Liberty (New York: BobbsMerrill, 1956), p. 21. Genesis 4:37, cited in Arnold M. Ludwig, The Importance of Lying (Springfield, IL: Thomas, 1965), p. 7. See William L. Rivers and Cleve Mathews, Ethics for the Media (Upper Saddle River, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1988), p. 15. Clifford Christians, Mark Fackler, Kim B. Rotzoll, and Kathy Brittain McKee, Media Ethics: Cases and Moral Reasoning, 6th ed. (New York: Addison Wesley Longman, Inc., 2001), p. 85. Bok, Lying, pp. 30–31. “Studio Pair Return to Work after Critic Scam” (online dispatch from Variety, July 10, 2001, accessed July 10, 2001), available from http://news.findlaw.com/ entertainment/s/20010710/filmphonydc.html Quoted in Margaret Carlson, “Pleading Guilty,” Time, July 9, 2001, p. 28. The allegations against Hill are contained in David Brock, The Real Anita Hill: The Untold Story (New York: Free Press, 1993). Johannesen, Ethics in Human Communication, p. 110. James A. Jaska and Michael S. Pritchard, Communication Ethics: Methods of Analysis, 2d ed. (Belmont, CA: Wadsworth, 1994), p. 132. Shibles, Lying, p. 19. See Frank Deaver, “On Defining Truth,” Journal of Mass Media Ethics 5, no. 3 (1990): 168–177. Ibid., p. 174. Some of these are discussed by Stephen Klaidman and Tom L. Beauchamp in The Virtuous Journalist (New York: Oxford University Press, 1987), pp. 34–55. Dan Gilgoff, “A Fine Mess at CBS,” U.S. News & World Report, October 4, 2004, p. 29. E.g., see Jim Rutenberg and Kate Zernike, “CBS Apologizes for Report on Bush Guard Service,” New York Times, September 21, 2004, Section A, p. 1. Jane Hall, “Gore Media Coverage—Playing Hardball,” Columbia Journalism Review, September/October 2000, p. 31. Barb Palser, “Virtual Wite-Out,” American Journalism Review, May 2001, p. 70. Ms. Palser conducts technical and editorial training for online news editors at television stations in the U.S. and Canada. Fred Brown, “Balancing accuracy with independence,” Quill, May 2004, p. 30. Ibid. See “It’s Gore! It’s Bush! It’s a Mess!,” Broadcasting & Cable, November 13, 2000, pp. 6–7.

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37. For example, see Meredith O’Brien, “How Did We Get It So Wrong?,” Quill, January/Feburary 2001, pp. 14–18; Gary Hill, “Election Coverage: A Major Media Mistake,” Quill, January/February 2001, p. 19. 38. Paige Albiniak, “Coverage on the Carpet,” Broadcasting & Cable, November 13, 2000, p. 12. 39. Steve Marshall, “Accuracy of Battlefield News Often Hazy,” USA Today, April 8, 2003, p. 7A. 40. For further discussion of this point, see Klaidman, The Virtuous Journalist, pp. 40–41. 41. “Not Their Finest Hour,” Newsweek, June 8, 1992, p. 66. 42. For a critical analysis of the role of the media in Operation Desert Storm, see John R. MacArthur, Second Front: Censorship and Propaganda in the Gulf War (New York: Hill & Wang, 1992). 43. Rachel Smokin, “Media Mood Swings,” American Journalism Review, June/July 2003, p. 17. 44. Quoted in ibid. 45. Ibid. 46. Jane Hall, “Gore Media Coverage—Playing Hardball,” Columbia Journalism Review, September/October 2000, p. 30. 47. Ibid. 48. Sherry Ricchiardi, “The Anthrax Enigma,” American Journalism Review, December 2001, p. 18. 49. Ibid, p. 21. 50. The Pew Research Center for the People & the Press (online report, November 28, 2001, accessed January 7, 2002), available from http://www.people-press.org/ 112801s1.htm 51. Quoted in Maria Trombly, “Ethics and War,” Quill, December 2001, p. 15. 52. For example, see Fred Brown, “Journalists Rise to Challenge of Tragedy,” Quill, October 2001, p. 31. 53. For example, see Trombly, “Ethics and War,” 14–17. 54. Elizabeth Jensen, “Interview Subjects Try Bending Rules of Journalism,” AP dispatch published in The Advocate (Baton Rouge, LA), October 31, 2001, p. 11A. 55. Dan Trigoboff, “CNN’s bin Laden Dilemma,” Broadcasting & Cable, October 22, 2001, p. 14. 56. Ibid. 57. Ibid. 58. Eason Jordan, “The News We Kept to Ourselves,” New York Times, April 11, 2003, Section A, p. 25. 59. James Poniewozik, “The Trouble with Sitting on the Story,” Time, April 28, 2003, p. 92. 60. Jim Rutenberg, “A Nation at War: The News Media; CNN’s Silence about Torture Is Criticized,” New York Times, April 15, 2003, Section B, p. 2. 61. Poniewozik. 62. Rutenberg. 63. James Risen and Jeff Gerth, “Breach at Los Alamos: A Special Report; China Stole Nuclear Secrets for Bombs, U.S. Aides Say,” New York Times, March 6, 1999, p. A1.

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64. Lucinda Fleeson, “Rush to Judgment,” American Journalism Review, November 2000, p. 22. 65. Angie Cannon and Jay Tolson, “The Old Gray Lady Is in the Spotlight,” U.S. News & World Report, October 9, 2000, p. 56. 66. Ibid. 67. For another assessment of the quality of news coverage of the Clinton–Lewinsky story, see Jules Witcover, “Where We Went Wrong,” Columbia Journalism Review, March/April 1998, pp. 19–28. 68. Steve Geimann, “Not Our Finest Hour,” Quill, March 1998, p. 24. 69. “Bill Kirtz, “Was Truth the Standard?” Quill, March 1998, p. 34. 70. “Concerns about Accuracy, Reliability: Television Top Information Source,” Quill, March 1998, p. 27. 71. Wiscover, “Where We Went Wrong.” 72. Jay Black, Bob Steele, and Ralph Barney, Doing Ethics in Journalism: A Handbook with Case Studies, 2d ed. (Boston: Allyn & Bacon, 1995), p. 121. 73. “Darts & Laurels,” Columbia Journalism Review, March/ April 1996, pp. 17–18. 74. Bill Kovach and Tom Rosenstiel, The Elements of Journalism (New York: Crown, 2001), p. 83. For further insights on the use of hidden cameras, see Bob Steele, “Hidden Cameras: High-Powered and High Risk,” Communicator, September 1999, pp. 73, 75. 75. “Paper Apologizes for Staging Photo,” Quill, September 2002, p. 53. 76. Ron F. Smith, Groping for Ethics in Journalism, 4th ed. (Ames, IA: Iowa State University Press, 1999), p. 99, citing “2 Plead Guilty to Buying Beer for Teens for TV Story,” Orlando Sentinel, February 24, 1993, p. A6; “TV News Pair Get Jail Time for Buying Beer for Teens,” Orlando Sentinel, March 24, 1993, p. A19. 77. Carol Anne Strippel, “Not Necessarily the News,” Communicator, April 1997, p. 24. Gardner also acknowledges that the station briefly considered using actors for the voices. 78. Ibid. 79. Cheryl Johnston, “Digital Deception,” American Journalism Review, May 2003, p. 10. 80. See Bob Steele, “Dull Tools and Bad Decisions,” Quill, April 2000, p. 21. 81. “Darts & Laurels,” Columbia Journalism Review, March/April 2000, p. 14. 82. Roger Clegg, “Photographs and Fraud Over Race,” Chronicle of Higher Education, November 24, 2000, p. B17. 83. Several such examples of digitally altered photos based on design or taste considerations were contained in a paper delivered to the 1994 annual convention of the Association for Education in Journalism and Mass Communication in Atlanta, Georgia: Tom Wheeler and Tim Gleason, “Digital Photography and the Ethics

84. 85. 86. 87. 88. 89.

90. 91. 92.

93. 94. 95.

96.

97. 98.

99.

100. 101. 102. 103.

104. 105. 106. 107. 108. 109. 110.

of Photofiction: Four Tests for Assessing the Reader’s Qualified Expectation of Reality,” pp. 5–6. “Times Reporter Who Resigned Leaves Long Trail of Deception,” New York Times, May 11, 2003, p. 1. E.g., see Seth Mnookin, “The Times Bomb,” Newsweek, May 26, 2003, pp. 41–46. “Leadership at The Times,” New York Times, June 6, 2003, Section A, p. 32. Karen Yourish, “The News NOT Fit to Print,” Newsweek, May 26, 2003, p. 44. Ibid, pp. 44–45. Matthew Cooper, “Too Good to Check,” Time, March 29, 2004, p. 20. For a more thorough analysis of this case, see Jill Rosen, “Who Knows Jack?,” American Journalism Review, pp. 29–38. Smith, Groping for Ethics in Journalism, p. 94. “Distorted ‘News,’” USA Today, August 11, 2000, p. 15A. Robin Pogrebin, “Prize-Winning Boston Columnist Losing Job over Faked Articles,” New York Times, June 19, 1998, pp. A1, A21. Quoted in John Leo, “Nothing but the Truth?,” U.S. News & World Report, July 6, 1998, p. 20. Ibid. William A. Rusher, “Fiction Problems with Docudramas,” syndicated column published in The Advocate (Baton Rouge, LA), November 13, 2003, p. 8B. “Twisted History,” Newsweek, December 23, 1991, pp. 46–49, citing comments made to the New Orleans Times-Picayune and Vanity Fair. Ibid. Warren Goldstein, “Bad History Is Bad for a Culture,” Chronicle of Higher Education, April 10, 1998, p. A64. “Movie Makers and the Historical Record: When Accuracy and Drama Intersect,” Chronicle of Higher Education, May 22, 1998, pp. B3, B9. Michael Nelson, “‘Thirteen Days’ Doesn’t Add Up,” Chronicle of Higher Education, February 2, 2001, p. B16. See “Racing the News Crews,” Newsweek, May 24, 1993, p. 58. For example, see “Ripping Off the Headlines,” Newsweek, September 11, 1989, pp. 62–65. Allessandra Stanley, “Battle of the Network Docudrama,” New York Times, November 7, 2003, Section E, Part 1, p. 1. Bruce Fretts, “Pretrial Motion Picture,” TV Guide, January 3, 2004, p. 45. “Ripping Off the Headlines,” p. 63. “Ripping Off the Headlines,” p. 65. Betsy Streisand, “An Underpowered Hollywood Summer,” U.S. News & World Report, July 2, 2001, p. 35. Ibid. For those who care to read them, however, the ingredients will be listed on the product package itself. Deaver, “On Defining Truth,” p. 172.

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111. For a thorough discussion of the ethics of advertising, see Michael J. Phillips, Ethics and Manipulation in Advertising (Westport, CT: Quorum Books, 1997). 112. Johannesen, Ethics in Human Communication, p. 113. 113. Ibid., p. 115. 114. Philip Patterson and Lee Wilkins, Media Ethics: Issues and Cases, 3d ed. (Boston: McGraw-Hill, 1998), p. 64. 115. Don R. Pember, Mass Media Law, 2003/2004 (Boston: McGraw-Hill, 2003), p. 531. 116. Otis Baskin and Craig Aronoff, Public Relations: The Profession and the Practice, 3d ed. (Dubuque, IA: William C Brown, 1992), pp. 207–208. 117. For a good discussion on the ethical concerns involved in the use of VNRs, see K. Tim Wulfemeyer and Lowell Frazier, “The Ethics of Video News Releases: A Qualitative Analysis,” Journal of Mass Media Ethics 7, no. 3 (1992): 151–168. 118. See Joan Drummond, “Ethics vs. the Economy,” Quill, May 1993, pp. 35–38. 119. Judith Havemann, “A Healthy Dose of Buzz: Madison Ave. Tactics Aid Medical Charities,” Chicago SunTimes, December 6, 1998, Section LI, p. 43. 120. Wulfemeyer and Frazier, “The Ethics of Video News Releases,” p. 156, citing “VNR’s—A New Tool Needing the Same Care,” PR Week, September 5, 1988, p. 4. 121. Doug Newsome, Alan Scott, and Judy VanSlyke Turk, This Is PR (Belmont, CA: Wadsworth, 1989), p. 353. 122. See Roy Peter Clark, “The Unoriginal Sin,” Washington Journalism Review 5 (March 1983): 43–48. 123. Black, Steele, and Barney, Doing Ethics in Journalism, p. 172. 124. Clark, “The Unoriginal Sin,” p. 47. 125. Lori Robertson, “Ethically Challenged,” American Journalism Review, March 2001, p. 21. 126. “Second Merc News Intern Fired for Plagiarism,” Quill, March 2001, p. 31. 127. Quoted in ibid. For further examination of this issue, see Meredith O’Brien, “When the Words Aren’t Our Own,” Quill, October/November 2000, pp. 24–25.

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128. Garry Wills, syndicated column published in The Advocate (Baton Rouge, LA), January 4, 1998, p. 12B. 129. Howell Raines, “The High Price of Reprieving Mike Barnicle,” New York Times, August 13, 1998, p. A22. 130. Felicity Barringer, “50 Globe Employees Protest Columnist’s Reprieve,” New York Times, September 13, 1998, p. A14. 131. Robertson, “Ethically Challenged,” pp. 24–25. 132. “Students Caught Lifting Material, Quill, May 2004, p. 31. 133. Clark, “The Unoriginal Sin,” p. 45. 134. See Deni Elliott, “Plagiarism: It’s Not a Black and White Issue,” Quill, November/December 1991, p. 16. 135. Ibid. 136. Ibid. 137. Ray Eldon Hiebert, Donald F. Ungurait, and Thomas W. Bohn, Mass Media IV: An Introduction to Modern Communication (White Plains, NY: Longman, 1985), p. 549. 138. Jaska and Pritchard, Communication Ethics, p. 128. 139. See Kathleen Hall Jamieson and Karlyn Kohrs Campbell, Interplay of Influence: News, Advertising, Politics, and the Mass Media, 3d ed. (Belmont, CA: Wadsworth, 1992), pp. 161–162. 140. For example, see Russ W. Baker, “Truth, Lies, and Videotape: Prime Time Live and the Hidden Camera,” Columbia Journalism Review, July/August 1993, pp. 25–28; Black, Steele, and Barney, Doing Ethics in Journalism, pp. 123–125. 141. This information is taken from Gary W. Selnow, “Internet Ethics,” in Robert W. Denton, Jr. (ed.), Political Communication Ethics: An Oxymoron (Westport, CT: Praeger, 2000), pp. 205–206. 142. Ibid., p. 219. 143. See Judy L. Thomas, “A Church’s Challenge; Catholic Priests Are Dying of AIDS, Often in Silence,” Kansas City Star, January 30, 2000, p. A1. Also see “Religion and Reality,” Columbia Journalism Review, July/August 2000, p. 15.

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5 The Media and Privacy: A Delicate Balance ETHICS AND PRIVACY: THE SEARCH FOR MEANING

concept that does not easily lend itself to definition.3 One common view is that the right to privacy means the right to be left alone or to control unwanted publicity about one’s personal affairs. Of course, the media are in the business of not leaving people alone. Their tendencies are in the direction of revelation, not concealment. Thus, the balancing of the individual’s interest in privacy against the interest of the public in access to information about others is one of the most agonizing ethical quandaries of our time. Invasions of privacy by the media encompass a broad spectrum, ranging from incursions on another’s physical solitude, or “space,” to the publication of embarrassing personal information. Some invasion of privacy is essential to the news-gathering process and a well-informed public. But the ethical dilemma arises in deciding where to draw the line between reasonable and unreasonable media conduct. Reporters are not the only media practitioners who invade our private domain. Most disseminators of mass media content, including advertisers and those who produce entertainment, are inherently intrusive. They seek us out in an effort to dominate our aesthetic tastes and economic choices. In a highly competitive media environment, this process is probably inevitable, but its very pervasiveness adds an ethical dimension to the relationship between

In early 2000 NBC Today show host Katie Couric, an advocate of preventative cancer screening, provided viewers with a ringside seat during her own colonoscopy. In the same year ABC’s Good Morning America featured a live broadcast of a woman giving birth.1 The Internet treats us to graphic portrayals of teens having sex. Ordinary, uninhibited individuals disgorge themselves of their pathologies on TV talk shows. And otherwise serious newspapers offer descriptions of the presidential penis and “also the testimony of anonymous sources who were said to have watched that organ in action.”2 In a media-dominated culture, our private and public selves have become indistinguishable. We remain emotionally tentative when it comes to how much we value privacy. We grumble about unwelcome spam on the Internet, for example, and yet eagerly provide Internet marketers with a wide variety of private information. We complain about unwelcome dinnertime intrusions from telemarketers while we carry on cell phone conversations in public places, often to the amusement (or annoyance) of others. Such apparent contradictions are due in part to the fact that privacy is an ambiguous

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media professionals and the audiences they serve. Most of us value privacy, and yet we are ambivalent about how much we should retain and how much we should relinquish. We object to government spying and intelligence gathering on private citizens but are willing to tolerate TV cameras and two-way mirrors to discourage shoplifting. Some workers object to polygraph exams as a condition of employment but accept drug testing as a necessary evil, although society is certainly divided on this issue. The media are frequently accused of unwarranted invasions of privacy, but the fact is that incursions into our private domain are rampant. We seem to relinquish more privacy with each passing year, turning over to governmental and private agencies volumes of data about our personal affairs. Society’s concern about invasions of privacy by the media lies just beneath the surface of public discourse and, like an active volcano, occasionally erupts into a raging debate whenever the standards of proper decorum appear to have been transgressed. Such was the case when the media asked a medical examiner for autopsy photos of NASCAR champion Dale Earnhart, who died in a crash during the 2001 Daytona 500. Of course, the line between public and private matters is particularly fragile where public persons are involved. The opening salvo in the contemporary media’s fascination with the lives of public officials may have been fired in May 1987 when the Miami Herald staked out the apartment of Democratic presidential contender Gary Hart to document his allegedly adulterous affair. In the aftermath of the Herald’s report, Hart’s popularity plummeted, and he soon withdrew from the Democratic race. Five years later it was then presidential candidate Bill Clinton who provided tantalizing coverage as reporters relentlessly pursued allegations of his twelveyear affair with Gennifer Flowers. While the networks basked in the glow of sizable ratings, news executives had to defend themselves against charges that they had lost sight of other campaign issues.4

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Such cases generate a lot of heat but are not always illuminating in our search for the delicate balance between public and private interests. Privacy is usually a prominent feature of media ethics texts and professional seminars in which hypothetical and real-life ethical issues are explored. Yet precise rules remain elusive, although some broad guidelines have emerged. “Few ethical issues will cause you more difficulty,” observes Professor Conrad Fink in Media Ethics, “than the godlike attempt to balance the individual’s right to privacy, the right to be left alone, against your responsibility to inform readers and viewers about matters in which they have justifiable news interest.”5 This is an awesome responsibility for media practitioners who must make difficult judgments under deadline pressures. In all likelihood the search for the meaning of privacy will proceed unabated, and the distinction between reasonable and unreasonable violations of privacy will continue to elude us. Nevertheless, sensitivity to the privacy interests of others is an essential ingredient of moral reasoning.

THE VALUE OF PRIVACY Why do we value privacy? Why is it so important to us?6 First, the ability to maintain the confidentiality of personal information is the hallmark of an autonomous individual. It can be taken as an article of faith that others are not entitled to know everything about us. To the extent that this principle is breached, we lose control, and our sense of autonomy is undermined. Consider, for example, the media coverage surrounding the crash of TWA Flight 800 in 1996 soon after its departure from JKF Airport in New York. While Donald Nibert and his wife, whose daughter was a passenger on the flight, anxiously awaited details of the crash, they became magnets for media attention. In the aftermath of this tragedy, Nibert had nothing but harsh words for the media, which he accused of aggressive and intrusive deportment. “We had a

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guy crawling under a bus with a TV camera trying to get a picture of [my wife] because she was crying,” he complained. “We were going through a grief period, which should be private, and the media interfered in that process.” Nibert said the lowest point came when a New York newspaper ran a picture of the Niberts, taken without their knowledge, as they selected a burial plot for their daughter.7 The principle of autonomy is also at the core of the prohibitions against false and deceptive advertising. When TV commercials, for example, enter the privacy of our home, we have the right to expect messages that will assist us in making informed product choices. Deceptive ads undermine our autonomy in making those decisions in the marketplace. Second, privacy can protect us from scorn and ridicule by others. In a society in which there is still intolerance of some human tragedies, lifestyles, and unorthodox behaviors, no one wants to be shamed. Alcoholics, homosexuals, and AIDS victims, for example, know only too well the risk of exposing their private lives to public scrutiny. Third, privacy produces a mechanism by which we can control our reputations. “Who cares what others think?” is a common refrain, but the fact is, we do care. The more others really know about us, the less powerful we become in controlling our destiny. Congressman Gary Condit found this out the hard way when his political future was jeopardized by a reported admission to police of an affair with 24-year-old Washington intern Chandra Levy, whose disappearance prompted an intensive police investigation and national news coverage.8 While Condit’s attorney assailed the media for focusing on his client’s personal life,9 New York Times reporter Maureen Dowd offered this blunt assessment: “Given the last few years in Washington, any politician who wants a zone of privacy shouldn’t lie publicly.”10 Fourth, privacy, in the sense of being left alone, is valuable in keeping others at a distance and regulating the degree of social interaction

we have. Our laws against trespassing and intrusion reflect this concern. Electronic eavesdropping and telephoto lenses have rendered personal solitude more difficult, but our interest in maintaining some semblance of privacy remains undiminished. Finally, privacy serves as a shield against the power of government. Knowledge is power! As individuals relinquish their privacy interests to the government, the dangers of manipulation and subservience to the state increase, as in a totalitarian society. Thus, privacy is a value that lies at the heart of a liberal democracy and is an essential ingredient in protecting the political interests of the individual.11 There is, then, a moral right to privacy that has value for those who wish to maintain a sense of individuality. However, as a fundamental value it is of recent vintage. As such it must compete aggressively with other values (such as truth and justice), particularly in our information society. We are curious about the activities of others, and revelations of facts by the media and other agencies have eroded our expectations of privacy. In other words, we are at once private beings and social beings, and these two roles collide, sometimes to our detriment.

The Emergence of Privacy as a Moral Value12 The concept of privacy, unlike that of truth, does not find its root in ancient history. In discussing such fundamental cultural values as privacy, it is always tempting to search Genesis for confirmation, as when Adam and Eve covered themselves with fig leaves. However, Adam and Eve’s sense of modesty was in no way comparable to the contemporary meaning of privacy. Anthropologists tell us that our modern ideas about privacy were absent from ancient and primitive societies.13 The origins of the word private in classical antiquity suggest that it was not a term of endearment. Because citizens were expected to be involved in public affairs, to refer to someone as a “very private person”

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(as we sometimes hear today) was to disparage that individual’s sense of citizenship.14 The average American voter would have failed miserably this rigid test of public responsibility. It took centuries for the idea of privacy to gain respectability, but we find some appreciation of the advantages of physical solitude in the seventeenth century, as landholders retreated to their estates and gardens to escape the concerns and pressures of public life.15 The birth of the United States was founded, in part, on the lack of religious privacy in England, and demands for religious tolerance—the privacy of one’s conscience—were later codified in the First Amendment’s guarantee of religious freedom. The colonists were also concerned with protecting their homes from unreasonable searches by government agents and preventing forced quartering of troops in their private residences, both of which are also dealt with in the Constitution. Nevertheless, protection against unwanted invasions of privacy by their fellow citizens was not an overwhelming concern to the colonists, because their agrarian society was characterized by considerable physical distance between villages and farms. On the other hand, within homes and public accommodations there was little real privacy, no sense of one’s own space. The press of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries was also vastly different from the contemporary mass media. Newspapers contained more commentary and opinion than news, and the lives of average citizens attracted little attention. With education still the preserve of the elite,16 the press was unavailable to the illiterate mass audience. The emergence of mass public education in the 1830s greatly expanded the potential newspaper audience and paved the way for the “penny press,” thus democratizing the media’s content for the masses. Following the Civil War, rapid urbanization revolutionized the economic, social, and cultural underpinnings of American society. The rugged individualism and frontier mentality of Jefferson’s day retreated as city dwellers became dependent on their neighbors for survival.

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In addition, the overcrowded cities virtually precluded any sense of real privacy, and fascination with the intimate lives of one’s neighbors became a spectator sport. These population centers created a lucrative marketplace for the development of the urban mass media. Advertisers eagerly sought space in the thriving press to tap the buying power of the newly affluent consumers. For millions of readers newspapers became a welcome daily diversion from the humdrum existence of the workplace, and editors and publishers adjusted their content accordingly. They retreated from the intellectually appealing articles of colonial America and replaced them with stories selected more for their excitement, entertainment, and human interest than their news value.17 Of course, not all papers succumbed to these temptations, but there is no doubt that those that did profoundly influenced the course of American journalism. This new brand of sensational reporting was characterized, in part, by frequent exposure of the affairs of both public and private figures, as the collective audience became increasingly fascinated with the foibles and misfortunes of both the famous and not-so-famous members of society. This form of journalistic enterprise was no laughing matter to the victims of such publications, especially the “blue bloods,” who rapidly grew tired of the press’s nosy inquisitions. Media critics were quick to accuse the press of engaging in sensationalism and boorish behavior to satisfy the morbid curiosity of some segments of society. Thus, as the United States entered the twentieth century, the value of privacy as a moral right increased dramatically because there was less of it. The right to privacy became an ethical concern in a complex urban society that still prized individual autonomy. The Industrial Revolution had resulted in crowded cities with little space and privacy, and newspapers had subjected human foibles to the glare of publicity as never before. This situation posed a moral dilemma for a culture that valued both privacy

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and press freedom: Whereas the press defended its intrusions on the ground of newsworthiness, its critics sought to impose public accountability on what they perceived to be unethical breaches of journalistic decorum. It was within this environment that the right to privacy became a legal concept, as well as a moral one.

Privacy as a Legal Concept Until the turn of the twentieth century, there was no legal right to privacy in the United States. By common agreement the contemporary notion of privacy as a legal concept began in 1890 with the publication of an article in the Harvard Law Review. In this scholarly treatise two young lawyers, Samuel D. Warren and Louis D. Brandeis, proposed a legal recognition for the right to be left alone. Offended by newspaper gossip and what they saw as violations of the standards of decency and propriety, the authors proposed monetary damages for citizens who had suffered from the prying and insatiable curiosity of an unrestrained and unrepentant press. The Warren and Brandeis proposal initially fell on deaf ears. Nevertheless, if they were alive today, they would surely be humbled by contemporary privacy law, which has greatly exceeded their modest proposal. In the hundred years since the publication of the Harvard Law Review article, the courts or the legislatures in most states have recognized some legal protection for the right to privacy. In American jurisprudence, however, the right to privacy has actually developed into four separate and distinct torts. Intrusion is what many people think of when the subject of privacy invasion arises. The media can be held liable for an unwarranted violation of one’s physical solitude. A journalist who enters a private home uninvited, even at the invitation of law enforcement authorities, may be sued for intrusion. The use of telephoto lenses to capture the private moments of an unsuspecting subject and electronic eavesdropping can also pose legal problems.

The second area of privacy law is publicity of embarrassing private facts. This is the kind of privacy protection that Warren and Brandeis had in mind when they published their treatise on the subject. The media can be held liable for publicizing embarrassing revelations about someone if the information (1) would be highly offensive to a reasonable person and (2) is not of legitimate concern to the public.18 Legal victories for disgruntled plaintiffs are rare, however, because most courts are reluctant to impose liability against the media for the reporting of truthful information.19 But this attitude has angered some members of the public, who believe that the media use this freedom to rummage, often irresponsibly and unnecessarily, through the private domains of both the famous and the obscure. Although most journalists may not do this, those who do create feelings of animosity and distrust. The media can also be held liable for publishing information that places someone in a false light. Legal problems can arise when a newspaper, magazine, or broadcast station reports falsehoods or distortions that leave an erroneous impression about someone. False-light cases often arise within the context of the mismatching of stories and pictures. A newspaper should use extreme caution, for example, in using a file photo to illustrate a current story, unless its purpose is clearly identified. TV stations are sometimes confronted with a legal problem when the audio and video are not properly matched and an erroneous impression is left concerning an individual who happens to be included in the news coverage. Appropriation is the oldest of the four types of invasion of privacy. Appropriation consists of the use of a person’s name, picture, or likeness without that person’s permission, usually for commercial exploitation. This is the least ambiguous area of privacy law and is designed to protect the right of individuals, both public and private figures, to exploit their personal identities for commercial and trade purposes. However, news coverage is not considered a trade

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purpose, and those who are featured in news stories cannot collect damages for appropriation. This framework of civil privacy law, designed to shield us from the excesses of the press and one another, has been supplemented by some constitutional protection from the excesses of government. In the past forty years the Supreme Court has discovered, among other things, a constitutional guarantee of access to contraceptives without government interference and a right to enjoy pornography within the privacy of our homes.20 Privacy is also a concern of our criminal laws, and although these statutes serve as legal restraints on all of us, they are particularly relevant to the news-gathering process. Our laws against criminal trespass are of ancient vintage and should serve as a strong deterrent to any reporter considering a transgression against private property, especially over the objection of the property owner. Electronic eavesdropping and recording have become commonplace within the journalistic community. Although the law is fairly tolerant of the use of such techniques in public places, some states prohibit the recording of a conversation without the consent of both parties. The ethical problems associated with surreptitious recording will be dealt with in a subsequent section. Such legal proscriptions are a reflection of society’s public policy on the matter of privacy. Thus, media practitioners have a moral obligation to respect the solitude of others unless they have relinquished their privacy (either voluntarily or involuntarily) through participation in some newsworthy event or unless there is some overriding public interest in violating this right in a specific instance. It is clear, therefore, that our preoccupation with privacy and the legal protection against violations of our right to privacy have increased dramatically as we seek solitude and attempt to maintain some modicum of autonomy over our personal affairs. It is equally clear, however, that privacy law has not achieved the balance between public and private interests envisioned

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by media critics at the turn of the twentieth century. Thus, there is a need for an “ethics” of privacy that goes beyond the legal principles and provides a moral compass for media practitioners in fulfilling their obligations to society.

THE NEED FOR AN ETHICS OF PRIVACY Basic Principles Legal principles are not a worthy foundation for making ethical judgments concerning the lives of others. They cannot be fitted neatly to individual cases, and, where the media are concerned, the courts have gone out of their way to ensure a minimum of interference with reporting and news gathering. It is a rare invasion-ofprivacy case that does not go the way of the media defendant. In view of the law’s strong presumption in favor of the media, there are several convincing arguments for a system of ethics that transcends legal considerations.21 The law of privacy, first, has virtually stripped away protection from public officials and public figures. Little about the lives of public people is sacred in the eyes of the law. The fact that they have chosen to inject themselves into the public arena suggests a willingness to undergo rigorous scrutiny and to suffer the consequences of embarrassing revelations. From a legal standpoint this argument has some merit; from an ethical perspective it is suspect. Undoubtedly, public figures must expect some fallout from the glare of publicity, and it is true that their “zone of privacy” is more narrow than that of the average citizen. But this is not to say that they must sacrifice all privacy and relinquish all autonomy over their personal affairs. Unfortunately, the media, believing that they are satisfying their audiences’ insatiable appetite for probing accounts of the sinful ways of public persons, have often justified their behavior by refusing to recognize any zone of privacy for such individuals, a view that may not be shared by their readers and viewers.22

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The threshold question should be to what extent the information relates to the public person’s performance, image, or involvement in some specific newsworthy event. But even here there is no bright-line rule that can serve as a moral beacon in every situation. For example, in the wake of the tragic death of Dale Earnhardt, who was killed in a crash during the Daytona 500, the Orlando Sentinel attempted to view Earnhardt’s autopsy photos as part of its investigation to determine if his life could have been saved by further safety measures now used by other racing leagues. Although the family eventually allowed a medical examiner to review the photographs for the Sentinel, Earnhardt’s widow also successfully lobbied for legislation limiting the media and public’s access to such photos.23 Privacy concerns can be particularly thorny in news coverage of the families, friends, or associates of public figures. The media have a credible record on this score, usually crossing the line only when news judgments require further scrutiny. For example, reporters generally respected President Clinton’s desire to shield daughter Chelsea from the glare of publicity. Conversely, when President George W. Bush’s daughter, Jenna, pleaded “no contest” to a charge of underage drinking, reporters played it down. But when she got into a second alcohol-related scrape just a few weeks later, the media could no longer let it pass.24 It would be difficult to argue with the story’s news value, since it involved a violation of law. “Like all presidential kids they’re entitled to a zone of privacy, and the press is not out there stalking them,” observed Tom DeFrank, the New York Daily News’s Washington bureau chief. “But as long as these girls keep doing things that give their father headaches, they’re making news and we’ve got to cover it.”25 Of course, ethical concerns about media coverage of public figures extends beyond embarrassing private information. The relentless pursuit of the rich and famous as they emerge from seclusion is a familiar trait of the tabloid media (and increasingly the mainstream media

as well). Should such subjects of public curiosity have any expectation of privacy in public places? Journalists argue that public figures “use” the media for their own publicity purposes and are being hypocritical in complaining about the press’s relentless pursuit of a story. This is a fair point, but the dividing line between legitimate news coverage and harassment can be a slippery slope. In recent years, photographic stalkers, known as paparazzi, have epitomized the darker side of celebrity journalism and have severely strained the public’s tolerance for such distasteful news-gathering tactics, as evidenced by the outcry over the alleged role of paparazzi in the death of Princess Diana in 1997. Princess Di’s untimely death was also the catalyst for congressional consideration of an antipaparazzi bill that, although of dubious constitutional validity, reflected Hollywood’s frustration with the paparazzi’s uncivil behavior toward its film stars.26 The second reason that an ethics of privacy is needed revolves around one of the primary legal defenses for the publishing of embarrassing private information: newsworthiness. The courts have taken a very liberal approach in allowing the media to define what they consider to be news or matters of public interest. Taken to the extreme, anything that is disseminated by a news organization might be considered news. But from an ethical standpoint more precise criteria are needed. More attention should be paid to what the public needs to know rather than to merely what it has a curiosity about. One problematic situation arises when a private person is not inherently newsworthy but is included in a story by way of illustration. Illustrative of this concern is a TV documentary about child abuse that included a therapy session with a 9-year-old abuse victim. During the session, the child was shown talking with her mother and demonstrating with anatomically correct dolls how her father allegedly abused her.27 The child’s father sued on behalf of his daughter, and the Lifetime Cable Network and the British Broadcasting Corporation

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eventually settled out of court without admitting liability.28 This case illustrates the legal pitfalls of invading the privacy of innocent parties who do not intentionally seek publicity. But legal issues aside, an ethics of privacy should be concerned with the real public interest value in information rather than how much appeal to mere curiosity can be tolerated under the law. As Clifford Christians and his colleagues have observed in their casebook on media ethics: “Clearly, additional determinants are needed to distinguish gossip and voyeurism from information necessary to the democratic decisionmaking process.”29 Finally, the law of privacy has accorded substantial latitude for news gathering in public places. The general rule is that anything that takes place in public view can be reported on. The idea is that activities that transpire in public are, by definition, not private. But even in public we sometimes covet some degree of solitude. Take, for example, lovers seated on a park bench. From a legal standpoint photographers might be within their rights to capture this moment on film and publish it as an item of human interest. A sense of ethics would suggest, however, that they obtain permission from the couple for two reasons: (1) common decency requires permission before intruding into this private moment, and (2) minor inconvenience may turn to acute embarrassment if these two lovers are married, but not to each other. Beyond the human interest realm, even “hot” news stories may require some restraint. There are times when good taste and simple compassion for the victims of unfortunate circumstances require a heightened degree of moral sensitivity on the part of media practitioners. This is particularly true in situations involving victims of accidents or other tragedies. The public, of course, has an interest in learning about accidents and tragedies. But such an interest does not, in every circumstance, demand a public airing of a tape of an accident victim or

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an interview with a grief-stricken parent who is probably still in a state of shock. From an ethical perspective, Jeffrey Olen, in Ethics in Journalism, makes the following salient observation regarding the ethical conduct of reporters covering accidents: “If we take seriously the claim that journalists are our representatives, then their moral rights at the scene are no greater than our own.”30 An offshoot of this public property defense is the use of material obtained from public records or government sources. Such information is generally privileged under the First Amendment,31 and the media have enjoyed some immunity from liability for the fair, accurate, and nonmalicious publication of this material. The theory underlying this principle is simple: a state is not required to place such embarrassing information in the public record, but once it does so, the matter is no longer private. Any citizen could conceivably examine this record. Thus, the press is merely providing publicity for what individual citizens could see for themselves if they wished. This is a convincing argument from a legal standpoint. From an ethical perspective, it is less so. The reality is that most private facts committed to public records remain unknown to society unless publicized by the media. Lawyers may rest easier if their clients rely on public records for their stories, but moral agents should still balance the public benefits against the possible harm that will accrue under such circumstances.

Data Mining and Privacy in Cyberspace Technology’s challenge to our right to privacy did not begin with the invention of the Internet. Tape recorders and photographic surveillance have for decades posed a threat to our desire to be left alone. One cannot venture very far into the public arena without being recorded. Automatic cameras at intersections that visually document automobiles driving through red lights and surveillance cameras in stores, banks, garages, and

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airport terminals are now a well-entrenched feature of modern life. We have accepted some of these intrusions as the cost of living in a secure society. Although there are many dimensions to our concerns about the impact of the unregulated World Wide Web on our privacy, the most immediate fear appears to be the ease with which others can collect data about our individual lives, preferences, and tastes. In a sense, this is not a revolutionary development. Both the profit and nonprofit sectors have for years collected these kinds of data through conventional means. Perhaps it is the facility with which the Web allows such data mining and the lack of technological sophistication of many consumers that have generated such disquiet concerning the protection of our privacy interests in cyberspace. In any event, it is apparent that advertisers, public relations firms, and any other entities that wish to direct their messages to particular target audiences can use computers and networks “to pull together those little bits of data into a picture that may be much more revealing than we realize or appreciate.”32 Our interaction with the Internet leaves an electronic trail of our activities that can be appropriated by those who wish to communicate with us in the privacy of our homes or in the workplace. By utilizing devices known as “cookies,” commercial websites can track an individual’s buying habits and purchases and can thus develop “consumer profiles” that can be used to fashion messages for particular target audiences. While some electronic defenses have emerged to safeguard our privacy, they are still primitive. At this juncture there is a healthy degree of online mistrust of the unregulated venue of cyberspace, the consequence of at least three factors. First, much of the activity on a computer is invisible from the data subject. Second, there is a lack of accountability in much of the data transfer. When information travels from one computer to another, it frequently carries no identification tag as to its source or limitations on its use. Third, while traditional modes of

communication are limited by geography, the sheer scale of the Net is staggering, linking people and organizations on a global scale.33 As is the case with most “frontiers,” there are countless rogues and pirates operating in the unregulated cyberspace. Nevertheless, there is nothing about this technological revolution that should change the ethical environment for traditional or unconventional media practitioners. Such values as respect for persons and their privacy, trust, fairness, honesty, and minimization of harm have not become anachronisms just because these new technologies have provided unprecedented opportunities to interact directly with individual consumers. None of the ethical guidelines discussed in Chapter 3 would sanction the abdication of traditional values simply because the Net is an unregulated universe. The ethical principles that should guide media professionals are of ancient vintage and are still worthy guideposts. If anything, the lack of legal regulation in cyberspace demands a greater degree of moral vigilance and deportment. Thus, advertisers, journalists, public relations executives, and other media practitioners must carry their moral compasses with them as they enter the increasingly competitive environment of cyberspace.

PRIVACY AND THE JOURNALIST: SOME SPECIAL PROBLEM AREAS Any story, even one that appears to be innocuous, has the potential for raising complaints from those who are featured in it. Some people might object to a funeral notice, for instance, for fear that a burglar might use that information to invade their home while they were at the service. Sensitive elderly citizens might even object to the publication of their age. Because some members of the public view such innocent intrusions as matters of privacy, the media should be sensitive to their concerns. But some areas of news coverage dealing with private and sensitive information and certain techniques of

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news gathering raise special problems for journalists. The discussion that follows is not intended to be exhaustive but simply to identify several areas that are ethically troublesome.

Contagious Diseases and Disabilities When Dorothy Barber entered a Kansas City hospital in 1939 for treatment for an unusual eating disorder, she did not anticipate that her medical condition would attract the attention of the press. When Time magazine published a story and a picture that had been taken without her permission by a wire service reporter, she sued the magazine for invasion of privacy and won damages of $3,000.34 More than sixty years have elapsed since Dorothy Barber’s public humiliation at the hands of Time magazine, but an individual’s medical history continues to enjoy a zone of privacy that the media transgress at their peril. Particularly where private persons are concerned, journalists must be convinced of the newsworthiness of any potentially embarrassing medical condition. And newsworthiness should not be defined simply in terms of the public’s morbid curiosity. At one point in history leprosy was considered one of the most loathsome diseases. And today, of course, AIDS presents a real challenge for the media.35 Despite a widespread public education program about AIDS and a more enlightened public, for some a stigma is still attached to the disease that could result in loss of a job, alienation from friends and relatives, and even expulsion from school. There is usually no public interest rationale for publishing the names of AIDS victims unless their disease is directly related to some newsworthy event. A case in point is estranged lovers who sue their sex partners for the failure to have warned them that they were suffering from AIDS. Where public figures are concerned, of course, society’s interest in their private lives is more acute. One could not argue with any degree of confidence, for example, that the

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public should be kept ignorant of a medical condition that threatened the life or wellbeing of the nation’s president. But even public figures are entitled to a certain zone of privacy, and the journalistic treatment of their medical conditions should be approached with caution. Former tennis great Arthur Ashe died of AIDS-related complications in February 1993 but not before bitterly denouncing USA Today for invading his privacy. As an African American, Ashe had overcome racial barriers to win the U.S. Open and Wimbledon tennis championships. He retired from tennis because of heart problems and later tested positive for the HIV virus as a result of a blood transfusion during one of his open-heart bypass operations. In April 1992 Ashe was contacted by a USA Today reporter about a rumor that he had AIDS. During the interview Ashe asked to speak with the managing editor of sports, Gene Policinski. In response to a question from Policinski concerning whether Ashe had AIDS, the former tennis star answered “could be” but said he would neither confirm nor deny the information. He then asked whether he could have some time to call friends and other journalists and to prepare a public statement. Believing that he had no choice but to confront the issue directly, he met again with a USA Today reporter and confirmed he had AIDS. The story was quickly provided to USA Today’s international edition and circulated to other news organizations.36 Like most difficult ethical decisions, the Arthur Ashe case divided the journalistic community. Jack Shafer, editor of the Washington, DC, City Paper, was sympathetic to Ashe but nevertheless found no fault with USA Today’s decision: “My heart goes out to Ashe for whatever anguish the news stories caused him, but news stories cause anguish all the time.” But USA Today columnist DeWayne Wickham was less enthusiastic about his paper’s controversial decision: “Journalism teeters on the edge of a very slippery slope when, by confronting Ashe

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with rumors of his infection, and thus forcing him to go public or lie, it attempts to pass off voyeurism for news judgment.”37 The paper’s readers were unforgiving in their assessment of the revelation. About 95 percent of the 700 readers who contacted USA Today about the Ashe story protested its appearance.38 Columnist Murray Kempton has decried what he regards as reporters’ willingness to apply their own standards of newsworthiness, often to the detriment of simple respect for others. “Journalists sometimes forget they are reporting on human beings,” he said.39 This respectfor-persons notion is always at the heart of the privacy debate and can be pivotal in the search for the delicate balance between news values and the value of individual autonomy.

Homosexuality With gay characters appearing with increasing frequency in television dramas and sitcoms and with more homosexuals being willing to acknowledge publicly their sexual orientation, it is reasonable to conclude that society’s views have moderated somewhat on this issue. Nevertheless, one’s sexual orientation is still viewed as a private matter, unless it involves a matter of clear public interest. The media’s comfort level in discussing homosexuality has noticeably improved only within the past several years. A news event from the late 1970s exemplifies how the media have historically dealt with gays and lesbians. In 1979 the editors of the Washington Post and the now defunct Washington Star were confronted with an ethical dilemma: How far should they go in identifying the victims of a fire at a homosexual club?40 The dead and injured had been watching all-male, X-rated films on the second floor of the Cinema Follies and had been unable to escape the flames, which were blocking the only unlocked exit. Eight men died in the fire, and six others required hospitalization. Most of the men were married, but none was well known in the city.

The Star decided to fully identify the eight men who had died because of the tragic circumstances surrounding their deaths. The Post published some of the names but buried them in the middle of the story about the fire.41 Both papers reported the nature of the club, but neither published the names of the injured. Both papers also later carried feature articles on the previously identified victims, delving into their backgrounds, their families, and what their friends had to say. The Star used the full names of the deceased, whereas its competitor published only the first names. The Post’s managing editor, Howard Simons, said that the paper’s primary motivation in not using the names was compassion for the wives and children of the men. The Star’s editor, James Bellows, said he felt that the names were news and should be published.42 About a week after the tragedy, the Post’s ombudsman, Charles Seib, in an editorial, criticized the paper’s decision to omit the names from the feature article. “In effect, Post editors said that homosexuality is so shameful,” wrote Seib, “that extraordinary steps had to be taken to protect the families of the victims.”43 Seib also contended that the names of the victims should have been reported because they were news, according to the paper’s conventional yardsticks for measuring newsworthiness.44 Until the 1980s, references to homosexuality in the media were virtually taboo. Although public attitudes toward homosexuality have softened considerably in the past twenty years, the frank discussion of homosexuality within the media can still challenge moral conservatives’ comfort level, as evidenced by the controversy surrounding the TV character Ellen’s “coming out” on the TV sitcom by the same name. At times, the labeling of someone as gay or lesbian can still be harmful. However, the national controversy over same-sex marriages has in a sense “mainstreamed” news coverage of the gay lifestyle. Nevertheless, in terms of news coverage, the key test for the moral agent is still whether a person’s sexual orientation is relevant

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to the story, such as when a police officer is fired or a service member is discharged from the military because of sexual orientation. This test of relevance, a key ingredient of newsworthiness, was at the heart of the debate over whether to reveal the sexual orientation of Pentagon spokesperson Pete Williams. While the rumors had circulated for months, the first revelation came in a column from Jack Anderson and Dale Van Atta in which they reported that Williams was considering resigning in the face of efforts by a “radical homosexual group” to out him as a closet gay.45 Many of the 800 papers that subscribed to the column published the story, while others “spiked” it. In Williams’s home state, six dailies in 1991 subscribed to the column and all six ran it. The Wyoming editors unanimously agreed that Williams’s sexual preference was irrelevant to his ability to perform as assistant secretary of defense. But they also saw some irony in the fact that gays were being ousted from the military while being allowed to serve as civilian employees of the Pentagon.46 This apparent contradiction, in the minds of the editors, met the requirement of relevance—in other words, it was newsworthy. The ethical concerns surrounding sexual orientation and privacy simmer because of attacks on sexual privacy from an unexpected source: gays themselves. In a controversial tactic known as “outing,” several years ago gay activists began publicizing the names of alleged homosexuals who have chosen to conceal their sexual preferences. The activists claim that by forcing reluctant gays into the open (that is, forcing them out of the “closet”), their numbers will swell, thus helping to eradicate the stigma attached to being gay. The comfort level of the news media in reporting upon the activities of gays and lesbians has undoubtedly increased, but one’s sexual orientation still has significant privacy implications. Just as most reporters have abandoned the use of race in their stories unless race is journalistically significant, the same consideration

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should be applied to the sexual orientation of a subject of news coverage.

Sex Crimes In August 2002 two teenage girls from Lancaster, California, were abducted at gunpoint from a “lovers’ lane” near Lancaster, California, while their boyfriends stood helplessly by. The girls’ pictures and the story of their abduction were the television story of the day. They were identified in both conventional news media and on Internet websites. The girls were soon freed following a shootout with their kidnapper, who was killed. Reporters covering the case had heard the girls were raped, a tragic twist to the story that was confirmed by a local sheriff on CNN’s Larry King Live. As the story quickly shifted from the kidnapping to the rape, newsrooms struggled to define their options in framing the coverage. There was no clear consensus. The Los Angeles Times, the Dallas Morning News, and the Washington Post withdrew the victims’ identities. The Boston Globe and Newsday named the girls and reported the rapes.47 Despite much discussion within newsrooms and professional soul-searching, the coverage of sex crimes is still one of the most troublesome for journalists.48 News gatekeepers have struggled with this dilemma for more than a century. Its resolution, if there is one, has been complicated by such diverse factors as definitions of sex, gender roles, the dignity of women, and race (e.g., some critics complain that an African American accused of raping a white woman still generates more coverage than other rapes).49 In a male-dominated society, there has also been, until recently, a tendency to “blame the victim.” For this reason, journalists have been reluctant to name rape victims because of the “stigma” attached to such an experience. “It took the rise of the women’s movement in the early 1970s,” wrote Helen Benedict in her 1992 book on rape, “to bring society to an awareness of rape as a crime that mattered not as a violation of male property or of white

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dominance, but as a violent act that causes human beings harm.”50 Occasionally, the lives of public figures and the coverage of sex crimes intersect, but usually “the dilemma of privacy invasion and sex crime victims revolves around intrusion by the media into public lives of private individuals who quite unwittingly have been thrust into public notice. Being involved in a sex crime is a guaranteed way to receive such notice.”51 Crime, of course, is by virtually any definition of news a matter of public interest, and the identities of crime victims are usually included in the accounts of these events. But the tradition among journalists in the United States is to omit the names of rape victims unless the victims have been murdered or are well known. The rationales for withholding the names of rape victims are familiar ones: Rape is different from other crimes because of the stigma attached, because victims are less likely to report the crimes if they know their names will be in the news, and because rape victims deserve a level of privacy not afforded other crime victims due to the public’s insensitivity toward them. However, critics of these arguments respond that rape has lost some of its social stigma, and thus the traditional rationale that women must be protected is no longer valid.52 In addition, because the names of the accused are usually reported, withholding the names of rape victims violates the principles of fairness and balance.53 Some note that once the charges are filed and as long as the issue is an open one before the courts, the media should be evenhanded in their coverage. This policy necessitates the publication of the names of both the victim and the accused, because the question of guilt or innocence has yet to be determined. Reporters and editors who subscribe to this view are appealing to our sense of justice. Needless to say, there is some moral ambivalence among those who have reflected upon this ethical dilemma. For example, one recent study found that the inclusion of victims’ names had little effect on how readers viewed either

the rape story or the crime. That being the case and considering the possible harm to the victim, this author concluded that withholding the name would appear to be the best policy.54 Of course, the increasing presence of TV cameras has done little to reassure rape victims in their search for both privacy and justice. This is particularly true of high-profile cases, which are the only ones likely to merit the attention of electronic media coverage. A classic example is the highly publicized 1991 rape trial in West Palm Beach of William Kennedy Smith. Under Florida law, identifying rape victims through the media was illegal,55 and the televised coverage featured a blue dot to mask the features of Smith’s accuser.56 The fact that this sensational trial, featuring the nephew of Senator Edward Kennedy, was televised nationally provided the catalyst for still another debate on whether rape victims should be identified. Nevertheless, when a supermarket tabloid, the Globe, published the victim’s name, NBC, the New York Times, and several other newspapers followed suit. But overshadowing the controversy about naming the alleged victim was the decision by the mainstream media to take its ethical cues from the tabloid press. Both NBC and the Times were accused of using the Globe’s revelation as an excuse for their own journalistic deportment. For example, in his on-air introduction to the story Tom Brokaw explained, “While Smith has become a household word, the identity of the woman has been withheld by the news media until now, and this has renewed a journalistic debate over naming names.”57 The next day the New York Times not only named the victim and members of her family but also profiled her sex life.58 But even within the Times organization feelings ran high, and more than 100 staffers signed a petition expressing “outrage” over the naming of the woman.59 To the extent that a news organization predicates its own judgments on others’ decisions, it is on rather shaky ethical terrain. Such behavior deprives the moral agent of the requisite degree of independence to formulate ethically

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reasonable and defensible judgments. And in this case, there was undoubtedly some of the copycat journalism mentality involved in the decision-making process. But in fairness to NBC and the Times, it should be noted that the decisions within both news organizations were arrived at after exhaustive discussions and a great deal of soul-searching. For example, NBC News president Michael Gartner, in spite of some powerful arguments against doing so from his senior staff, decided after a 36-hour debate that his network should report the name.60 Gartner, who has always been a strong advocate of naming rape victims, defended his decision in a column in the Communicator, the publication of the Radio Television News Directors Association. Because these reasons constitute the most compelling arguments in favor of naming rape victims, they are worth noting. First, according to Gartner, names and facts are news and they add credibility to the story. They round out the story and give readers or viewers all the information they need to understand the issues. Second, producers, editors, and news directors should make editorial decisions, including what information to include in a news account. The subjects of news should have no veto power over editorial judgments. In no other category of news do news managers and journalists give the news-maker the option of being named. Third, by withholding the names of rape victims, journalists become a part of a conspiracy of silence, reinforcing the idea that being raped is shameful. “One role of the press is to inform, and one way of informing is to destroy incorrect impressions and stereotypes.” Finally, because news organizations always name the suspects in a rape case, fairness demands that the accusers should also be identified.61 As news organizations continue to approach this ethical thicket with a healthy degree of caution, most are aware of the sensitive nature of stories involving the victims of sex crimes. Identifying the victims of sex crimes should be justified by some overriding public interest

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in the news value of the name. The fact that so many news organizations continue to struggle with this issue at least demonstrates a willingness to continue a healthy ethical dialogue and to calibrate carefully the relative harms and benefits to the naming of victims of sexual assaults.

Juvenile Offenders Youthful lawbreakers have also traditionally been protected from the glare of publicity. Since the nineteenth century such offenders in the United States have been dealt with through a separate juvenile justice system committed to rehabilitation rather than punishment. To this end most states have historically closed juvenile proceedings to the press and the public, although this practice has begun to change. And until recently, the media have honored this code of silence by withholding the names of juvenile offenders. But with the increase in the commission of serious crimes by juveniles, a trend that has led some states to try youthful perpetrators of violent crimes as adults, journalists have begun to challenge these ethical norms and even the state laws that threaten the press with punitive measures for publishing the names of juvenile offenders. The Supreme Court provided the media with an important victory in 1979 by ruling that a state cannot punish the press for identifying a juvenile accused of a crime when the information is lawfully obtained.62 Despite this reinforcement by the nation’s highest court, some reporters and editors are still reluctant to publish the names of juvenile offenders. Traditionalists argue that the release of this information will impede rehabilitation by subjecting such youths to the embarrassing glare of publicity. In addition, children and adolescents, whose moral guideposts may not yet be firmly anchored, are entitled to a mistake without being stigmatized in their later social relationships and employment opportunities. Nevertheless, the increase in juvenile crime has piqued the public’s interest, and there seems to be a growing feeling that many juvenile

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offenders, particularly teenagers, know the difference between right and wrong and that there is no compelling ethical justification to shield them from the consequences of their deeds, including the media spotlight. And the increase in violent crime among juveniles, including the rash of senseless school killings in 1997 and 1998 that shocked the conscience of the nation, has resulted in their early introduction to the adult criminal system. The majesty of childhood innocence, it seems, has vanished. Such heinous crimes among the young has prompted some journalists to reevaluate their policies against identifying children. For example, Joe Kollin, a reporter for the Sun-Sentinel in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida, believes the media should take a more proactive role in confronting the realities of juvenile crime. Conventional recommendations, such as tossing parents into jail or assessing them for damage caused by their children, are ineffective in Kollin’s view. “[T]he only way to get the attention of parents is to put the fear of God into them,” Kollin declared in a recent issue of Quill Magazine. “We can do what juvenile justice systems can’t; we can embarrass the hell out of parents. The threat of embarrassment and humiliation can have more impact on how parents raise their children than anything a judge can do. . . . Their fear, of course, is that neighbors will wonder what kind of parents they are. They fear the whispers, gossip and stares in the supermarket, on the golf course, at work, at the beauty shop. What parent wants that?”63 The threat of publicity may deter some forms of juvenile misconduct, but it may be wishful thinking to believe that the incidences of violent juvenile crime will decline with more intense media scrutiny. There are still those within the industry who believe the media should not retreat entirely from their sensitivity in dealing with juvenile offenders. In this view, rehabilitation of juvenile offenders is still a worthy goal, a goal that could be rendered more difficult by exposing them to the glare of news coverage. Whether to include the identity of a

youth accused of breaking the law will depend, among other things, on the nature of the crime, the age of the juvenile, and perhaps the circumstances surrounding the incident. Nevertheless, in view of recent court decisions stripping away the cloak of anonymity from youthful criminals and the trend in some states toward a presumption of public openness in their legal dealings with juveniles, media practitioners can no longer use the law as a crutch in their ethical decision making. They are now confronted directly with the dilemma of balancing the privacy interests of youthful offenders against the public’s need to be apprised of one of the nation’s most serious social ills.

Using Children as Sources When three middle school boys in Jonesboro, Arkansas, opened fire on their classmates, a TV reporter asked two students not only what they knew about the boys’ earlier behavior but why they had not reported it to the principal. That question prompted this strong rebuke from Richard Lieberman of the National Organization of Victims Assistance, who counseled the traumatized Jonesboro students: “These kids were consumed with guilt and shame, more so than the others. They had been given the idea that they should’ve done something.”64 Interviewing children has always been risky business, but the recent wave of school shootings and violence has elevated the intensity of newsroom discourse on how to use children as sources of information. Because of their lack of maturity and proclivity for fantasizing, particularly with younger children, reliability has always been an issue in using juveniles as eyewitnesses or new sources. But this is overwhelmingly a privacy issue, considering their inability to make informed judgments and difficulties in handling the glare of publicity. Since there are no legal prohibitions on using children as news sources, the ethical concerns are even more pronounced. Elizabeth Stone, writing in the Columbia Journalism Review,

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has framed the ethical issue using a series of questions: Should journalists interview children after they’ve been involved in a tragic or traumatic event? What about when kids are witnesses to a crime or to violence or trauma? Or even charged with a crime? And how reliable are they as sources, anyhow? Adults suddenly thrust into the limelight are often unprepared for what may follow, so don’t children need even more protection in order not to jeopardize their rights to privacy, or harm themselves or others, emotionally or legally?65

Like most ethical issues in journalism, the use of juvenile news sources involves the balancing of the child’s interest against the public interest in accurate and truthful information. “In the end, I have the obligation to tell the truth, and that supersedes what may be the wish to protect,” declared CBS producer Abra Potkin in a recent interview. Al Tompkins of the Poynter Institute agrees: “We do not start with minimizing harm. We must first consider our journalistic mission.” On the other hand, Anne Gudenkauf, a senior editor at National Public Radio, believes that a journalist’s “obligation to protect the children is a higher obligation than our obligation to report stories.”66 After reviewing comments from several news executives and journalists, Elizabeth Stone offers this conclusion: “Overly elaborate instructions as to how to proceed in interviewing children are probably as much a mistake as no guidelines at all. The best approach is for journalists to familiarize themselves with the factors they ought to be looking at well before the next crisis comes, as it surely will.”67 But what if the juvenile is not just an information source but is instead the focus of the news coverage? In such cases, the journalistic equation may change in terms of the news value of the interview but certainly not in the delicacy of dealing with the interviewee. The most vivid example in recent memory concerns the tragic plight of the 6-year-old Cuban refugee Elian Gonzalez, who was the subject of intense media scrutiny. Elian’s mother had drowned

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during their perilous voyage from Cuba, and he had been taken in by relatives in Miami. In the ensuing weeks, an international custody battle followed with Elian’s father, who still resided in Cuba. Following an interview with ABC’s Diane Sawyer, Dr. Alvin F. Poussaint, a Harvard professor of psychiatry, took Sawyer to task for probing Elian with “highly charged questions” that posed a “considerable emotional risk for this little boy” in reliving the memories of his mother’s death. Dr. Poussaint challenged ABC to “rethink its ethical guidelines for interviewing children, especially where there is a possibility of doing more harm than good.”68 Boston Herald columnist Howie Carr, in responding to Dr. Poussaint, acknowledged that Elian had been exploited but defended his relatives’ willingness to use any means at their disposal to prevent his return to Cuba, including interviews with journalists in which the child professed his desire to remain in the United States. “[Y]ou can rage all you want about Diane Sawyer and all the TV coverage, but that’s how the game is played now,” declared Carr.69 While overarching guidelines may be difficult to formulate in dealing with children, the following are worthy of consideration. The reporter should take into account: (1) the age and emotional maturity of the child, (2) the nature of the news event about which the child is being questioned, and (3) the extent to which the child’s information and knowledge are vital to the story. In addition, reporters should avoid a confrontational, investigative type of interrogation and, where appropriate, should make every effort to obtain the permission of a parent or guardian before using the intelligence provided by a youthful news source.

Suicides The coverage of suicides is such a sensitive issue that many editors contacted for an article on the subject in American Journalism Review declined to comment on their policies, even in hypothetical terms.70 Many news organizations

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have no standing guidelines and deal with the issue on a case-by-case basis. The right to die with dignity is almost an article of faith in our society. For this reason most news stories concerning deaths and obituaries reflect an acute sensitivity to the circumstances surrounding the death. Except in the case of a public figure, the cause of death is often unreported, and the media will generally defer to the wishes of the family in deciding what to include in the published account. Suicides present a ticklish problem for reporters and editors. There is the omnipresent possibility of copycat suicides, but from a privacy perspective the focus is upon victims and their families and friends. When the suicide is that of a public figure or when it occurs in public view, it should probably be reported. But even here journalists should approach such stories with a sense of compassion and an appreciation for the privacy of the family and friends of the victim. Consider the case of former Enron Vice Chair Cliff Baxter who shot himself with a pistol in his car in January 2002 and left a suicide note in his wife’s car in the couple’s garage. Baxter took his own life in the wake of a huge financial scandal that eventually led to the company’s demise. Baxter allegedly had complained to Enron’s president concerning the appropriateness of Enron’s financial transactions. News organizations clamored for the contents of the note, claiming that in light of the pervasive coverage surrounding the Enron debacle, Baxter was a public figure and thus the suicide note was a matter of public interest. Baxter’s family argued that the correspondence was private and had no public interest. The Texas attorney general eventually ruled that the note was a public record and ordered release of the note, excerpts of which were published or broadcast by several media outlets. Some journalists defended the publication and broadcast of the Baxter note on the grounds of its news value, but others chided the media for a lack of sensitivity to the family’s concerns.

While the development of formal policies for suicide coverage may not be feasible, considering the wide variety of circumstances under which such tragedies occur, promotion of public understanding is certainly worthy of consideration as a guiding principle. Deni Elliott, director of the Practical Ethics Center at the University of Montana–Missoula, concurs. “It’s important to report that deaths are suicide in order to help alert people to the high number of suicides in this country,” she says. “But publishing suicide notes and gratuitous gory details is voyeurism. Those details are important for families and professionals trying to figure out what happened.” Television coverage of suicides is particularly susceptible to an accusation of sensationalism because of its visual impact. Where suicides or suicide attempts are captured on videotape, a distinct possibility in today’s electronic age, TV stations should use such footage with caution. Competitive pressures and the excitement of such dramatic footage can lead to a moral lapse on the part of some producers and news directors. Not only is the respect for persons an important value in the ethical decision-making process under such circumstances, but matters of taste, especially where the suicide is graphic or gruesome, require that the moral agent be sensitive to the viewing audience as well. In addition, journalists should report on suicides in a straightforward manner, without romanticizing or sensationalizing the act or presenting it as an attractive alternative to depression or pain.71 Some commentators urge a more aggressive journalistic stance in combating suicides by going beyond the threshold mandate of serious, fact-based reporting and balancing the tragic aspects with information for their audiences on where to go for help in resolving their problems. In 1992, for example, the Nashville Tennessean reported the contents of a suicide note left by deputy police chief John Ross. In the note Ross defended suicide as “a rational act (Japanese style) when one brings disgrace to those whom he loves.”72 Frank Ritter, the Tennessean’s reader advocate (ombudsman),

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justified the publication of the suicide note but criticized the paper for not doing more: It was news, and the newspaper is obligated to report the news, no matter how painful that might be for us, or for the suicide victim’s family. But I would have felt more comfortable if the story had been accompanied by information on where people can seek help for problems that bring them to the brink of self-destruction. . . . [W]e needed to give expression to a voice of sanity: Suicide is not “a rational act.”73

Of course, as morally noble as this tactic is, it is likely to be controversial because it requires news organizations to abandon their traditional posture of neutrality and in a sense become activists within their news coverage. When a suicide occurs within the privacy of one’s home, the public’s need to know such details may be less compelling than when the victim is a public figure or commits the act in public view. One might inquire, for example, why a cause of death by suicide is any more essential to a news story or obituary involving a private person than the revelation that the deceased died of cancer or a heart attack. Nevertheless, some newspapers do report routine suicides, at least in news accounts if not in the obituaries. It would appear that suicides are no longer sacred cows for the press, but this does not lessen the moral responsibility of media practitioners to weigh the news value of such sensitive facts against the possible loss of dignity for the victim and the intrusion into the privacy of family and friends.

Secret Cameras and Recorders The ethics of privacy is just as concerned with how reporters acquire their information as with the distribution of the embarrassing facts themselves. Journalists are quite inventive, or even ingenious, in their detective work. The electronic age, plus a continuing interest in and demand for investigative reporting, has made video and audio recording devices an important part of the journalist’s arsenal for documenting discoveries.

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Reporters sometimes lie in wait in unmarked vans or in other inconspicuous positions, waiting for their prey to engage in some illegal or other form of nefarious conduct. When a hidden camera merely records a transaction in a public place, such news-gathering techniques can usually be justified from an ethical standpoint, although reporters must be careful not to implicate innocent persons in their surveillance. Of course, the use of hidden cameras should be the exception and not the rule, lest reporters be accused of becoming electronic “snoops” rather than protectors of the public’s interest. The surreptitious recording of a conversation between a reporter and a source also poses an ethical dilemma, as well as a legal one. Under federal law, and in some states as well, a conversation may be recorded with the consent of only one party to the exchange. In other states both parties must consent. But even when the conversation is recorded illegally, the Supreme Court has shielded individuals and the media from civil liability for disclosing its contents when they have been obtained lawfully from third parties.74 However, legal considerations aside, journalists disagree on the seriousness of the ethical dilemma involved in secret recordings or even whether an ethical problem exists at all. Some view secret recordings of conversations and interviews as more of a practical aid in the news-gathering process than as an attempt to subvert the privacy rights of the individual being interviewed. Tape recordings assist in documenting the accuracy of the facts and quotations to be included in the story and are used by both print and broadcast journalists. As long as the interviewees know that they are talking to a reporter, a recording device is no more intrusive than the reporter’s questions. Of course, assuming the validity of this view, the question then arises as to whether the reporter, having secretly recorded the conversation, should obtain the subject’s permission before airing the recorded interview. One could counter this argument by raising the following question: If a secret recording device is just an aid in the

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news-gathering process, why not ask the interviewee for permission to record the conversation? Needless to say, this would be foolish when a reporter is attempting to procure evidence of wrongdoing, and under such circumstances surreptitious taping of a conversation might be justified. An article in the Journal of Mass Media Ethics offers a reasonable approach to the ethical dilemma posed by surreptitious recordings. The author suggests that the proper focus for determining the morality of secret tapings should be based on the rules governing privacy, confidentiality, and source attribution: Rules about privacy require that both the reporter and the source are in their public roles as journalist and source, not in their private roles as human beings. Rules about confidentiality establish what information is intended for public consumption and what is not. And rules about attribution establish the extent to which the source will be publicly known.75

Thus, according to this view, journalists who employ surreptitious recording “do not engage in deception and they do not violate a source’s privacy.”76 The ethical issues are settled by the rules established for the interview. If the source strongly objects to a recorded interview, journalists who do so anyway are on shaky ethical terrain without some compelling justification. Such practices may also violate company policy. This was the case several years ago when 60 Minutes correspondent Mike Wallace and producer Bob Anderson were reprimanded by CBS News president Eric Ober for secretly taping a story source, who made it clear that she didn’t want to do an on-camera interview. Ober said this was a clear-cut violation of CBS News rules. Wallace said the tape would not have been used without the source’s permission.77

Accidents and Personal Tragedies Accidents and personal tragedies are often newsworthy, but victims may be unsophisticated in dealing with the media. Thus, reporters should

be careful not to take advantage of the situation and to respect the privacy of those who find themselves in such unfortunate circumstances. There are times, of course, when it is necessary to acquire certain information and to interview the victims of accidents or personal tragedies. But such requests should be handled with diligence and sensitivity. A TV reporter, for example, should not stick a microphone in the face of an unsuspecting grieving relative of an accident victim just to capture this dramatic and emotional moment on tape. The media are particularly vulnerable to charges ranging from insensitivity to prurience when they publish “broken-heart” photos that capture an individual’s private grief. Although we shall return to this subject in Chapter 10, we pause briefly here because of the privacy dimensions of such visuals. A case in point is the publication in the Minneapolis Star Tribune of a photo of Esteban Marques kneeling in grief over the slaying of his 8-year-old daughter. Readers complained that the picture shredded the man’s right to privacy. Shortly thereafter, the paper published the picture of Curt Hanson weeping when he learned that his former girlfriend had been found dead in her wrecked car. Readers again objected to the publication of the photos.78 It should be noted, however, that the protests did not come from the people whose pictures were published. And executive editor Joel Kramer defended the use of the photos as essential elements of the stories. Star Tribune ombudsman Lou Gelfand, while advocating a moratorium on broken-heart photos, also noted that neither picture had been taken surreptitiously. Marques fell to his knees as he was talking with the photographer, and Hanson was aware of the presence of the photographer in the restaurant where he and his friends and other news people awaited word from the search for his former girlfriend.79 Thus, although it might be emotionally tempting to discard such visual portrayals of life’s most tragic moments, contextual factors such as those described here are always essential ingredients in the moral

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reasoning process. In this way prurient interest becomes more readily distinguishable from the public interest. Sometimes media gatekeepers defend their use of disturbing visuals, not on the grounds of contextual relevance per se, but on the basis of some greater public good. Such was the case when a photographer for the Bakersfield Californian snapped a picture of a 5-year-old drowning victim moments after his body was retrieved by divers. The picture depicted the grieving family surrounding the boy’s lifeless body. The publication of this picture prompted 500 letters of complaint. The Californian’s managing editor, who chose to use the picture, defended his decision on the ground that he thought the photo might remind people to be more careful when their kids are swimming.80 Similarly, the editors of the Riverside PressEnterprise appealed to a greater public good that extended beyond the specific journalistic context when they ran a photo of the prayerful mother of a 22-month-old boy who had been hit by a car in front of his home. As paramedics attempted to save him, the child’s mother, covered by the blood of her son, knelt beside him; all of this was captured vividly in the paper’s photo. Photo editor Fred Bauman, who shot the picture, said that after a lengthy discussion in the newsroom, the paper decided to publish the graphic photo on the grounds that the realism of the picture might prevent future accidents by encouraging safer drivers or more vigilant parents.81 Such arguments, however, are not entirely persuasive. In most cases the personal tragedy and privacy concerns overshadow the alleged public benefit, which is marginal at best. The public does not need such graphic visuals to remind them of the dangers of children left unattended while swimming or playing in streets or driveways. At times, some invasion of privacy may be justified, especially when a firsthand account is essential to the audience’s understanding of the story. But competitive pressures can also lead to

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unwarranted invasions of privacy and harassment. The public sometimes sees such journalistic vigils as rather ghoulish. And such glaring displays of moral insensitivity, even if they are unusual or relatively rare, can further erode media respectability.

Computers and Database Journalism Several years ago the Seattle Times used computer data on everything from parking tickets to a detective’s expense vouchers to prove how a police investigation into the deaths of fortysix women was botched. At about the same time reporters at Knight-Ridder’s Washington bureau uncovered unusually high death rates at several hospitals around the country by analyzing computerized Medicare records of openheart surgeries. And when three Rhode Island children were hit and killed in three separate school bus accidents, the Providence Journal cross-checked its list of bus driver licenses with its reports of traffic accidents. The paper discovered that some bus drivers had been ticketed as many as twenty times over a three-year period. That information, coupled with the tape of criminal convictions, showed that several drivers were convicted felons. As a result, licensing procedures were improved and buses were made safer.82 These are all examples of investigative journalism in the finest tradition of the craft. But these stories would have been difficult, if not impossible, without the use of computers. Computer networks with their virtually endless storage and retrieval capacity have revolutionized investigative reporting. But when government accumulates so much data on so many people—information that is easily accessible by third parties (for example, reporters)— the potential for mischief is intensified. Under such circumstances, public knowledge must sometimes give ground to other competing values. And chief among these moral claimants is the individual’s interest in privacy. Government public records have traditionally provided a bountiful repository of information

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for investigative reporters, but the use of computers and government databases has expanded their horizons exponentially. The sheer drudgery of physically perusing “hard copies” of documents has been replaced by the facility of accessing data banks directly from the newsroom or even from the comfort of a reporter’s home. Like any technology, computers provide a seductive tool for improving the quantity and quality of communication. But no innovation has so crystallized the conflicting values inherent in the individual’s right to privacy, media access to information, and the public’s “right to know.” Journalists have long relied on the wealth of information available in public records, but members of the public are discovering, much to their consternation, that a lot of identifying information about themselves can be accessed from government files. In addition, some news organizations are now posting public records on their websites, allowing readers to mine the raw data for themselves and in effect become their own editors. While this process may be more “democratic,” it also challenges the traditional role of the media as filters, synthesizers, and purveyors of “value-added” information.83 It remains to be seen whether this use of technology will be healthy for the democratic soul. Recognizing the threats that lurk in public data banks to their privacy, some citizens are beginning to fight back. In response to pressure from their constituents, legislators across the country have begun to seal some databases, such as voter registration lists, vital statistics, and land transfer records. Perhaps the most visible example of this frenzied legislative activity was the congressional passage, in 1994, of the Driver’s Privacy Protection Act, a federal mandate requiring the states to limit access to drivers’ license and car registration records, which contain personal information.84 But these legislative initiatives, the result more of political pressure than intelligent deliberation of policy issues, have left the ethical questions unresolved. As noted earlier in this text, technology is ethically neutral. It enters

society in neither a virtuous nor a corrupt state. Thus, computers are the obedient servants of the moral agents who use them. The most visible example of this is the Internet, which is a repository of useful consumer information while also serving as a platform for the dissemination of hate speech and pornography. On the positive side, computer databases can assist journalists in fulfilling their role as government watchdogs. The media’s exposure of government wrongdoing instills confidence in the media as fiduciaries of the average citizen and assures them of some degree of governmental accountability.85 The use of computers can also bring reporters to “a new level of activism” in their reporting,86 providing quick access to a wealth of information, reducing the time for data collection and thus freeing them up to analyze the data, to develop relationships and correlations among diverse information, and to reflect on its significance. On the other hand, indiscriminate access to government data banks does raise privacy concerns, particularly when the information is used for a purpose other than that for which it is retrieved. For example, as private economic enterprises media might be tempted to use news-gathering computer tapes for marketing purposes, such as developing a potential subscriber list from the wealth of demographic information yielded by the tapes.87 In addition, the inaccuracy of some of the database information is well documented, as evidenced by the trials and tribulations of those who have attempted to get a false credit record expunged. Thus, the fact that information is retrieved, through an elaborate computer network, from government data banks does not relieve news organizations of the responsibility of corroborating the accuracy of that information. The use of computer data banks is no substitute for fact checking, as the Boston Globe discovered in preparing a series on money laundering across the United States. In analyzing the data, the paper discovered large and unexplainable swings in cash transactions reported in certain cities. Ultimately

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the discrepancies were traced to a clerk in Detroit, who occasionally added five zeroes to the actual figures—just to ease boredom.88

THE SEARCH FOR JOURNALISTIC GUIDELINES The infinite variety of situations in which concerns about privacy can arise precludes the identification of specific criteria that will accommodate every contingency. But at least four moral values should provide the foundation for an ethics of privacy for media practitioners. The first guideline is based on the notion of respect for persons as an end in itself. This idea is based, in part, on the Judeo-Christian creed described in Chapter 3. As autonomous individuals we are all entitled to a certain amount of dignity, which should not be arbitrarily compromised for the sake of some slogan such as “the people’s right to know.” Particularly when covering those who involuntarily become the subject of newsworthy events, reporters and editors should apply this value with exacting scrutiny. The second value is that of social utility. The moral agent must decide what information is essential or at least useful to the audience in understanding the message being communicated. This principle eliminates appeals to sensationalism, morbid curiosity, ridicule, and voyeurism as a justification for invasion of privacy. The third principle is based on the notion of justice. In Chapter 2, you may recall, I defined justice in terms of what one deserves. Moral agents are obliged to render judgments based on how much privacy their subjects really deserve under the circumstances. Public officials who are accused of violating their oath of office would, under most circumstances, deserve less privacy than victims of human tragedy. Certainly, the degree of “voluntariness,” or purposeful behavior, is a consideration in deciding what kind of treatment an actor really deserves.

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Finally, in making decisions that may offend or intrude into the private lives of others, moral agents should strive for a minimization of harm. This value is closely related to that of respect for persons. When invasions of privacy are inevitable, as they sometimes are when journalists report on matters of public interest, the goal should be confined to the coverage of those details that are essential to the newsworthiness of the event. The failure to heed this admonition, for example, is at the heart of many of the complaints about the news media’s treatment of the victims of crime and other tragedies. Such was the case when several Ohio newspapers published a graphic account of the rape and murder of two women near Akron. A friend of one of the victims, a student at Ohio University, criticized the papers for including the sordid details of the sexual assault, the physical abuse, and her slow and painful death in their account of this vicious crime. He accused the papers of violating the privacy of the victims and their family and friends.89 James Fallows, writing in U.S. News & World Report, places journalists in the company of a select group who are “authorized,” because of the nature of their responsibilities, to do harm: doctors (who must sometimes administer harmful treatments to save lives), soldiers, police, judges who deprive people of their liberty, and business competitors “who deprive rivals of markets and their employees of jobs.” All are limited, in some respect, by legal proscriptions and codes of conduct that are unique to their particular professions and occupations. “Yet for all these groups,” observes Fallows, “the internal constraints are more important: the daily judgments, by individuals whose daily decisions may harm others, about how many normal ‘human sympathies’ they can maintain and still do their job.” Of course, journalists can never fully escape the occasional public flogging for their alleged moral indifference in pursuit of a good story. However, the “inner awareness of the struggle to remain human”— that is, to balance news values against humanistic

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considerations—might serve to revitalize the public’s respect for the journalistic enterprise.90

ADVERTISING AND PRIVACY Advertising is ubiquitous. It not only intrudes into the privacy of our homes, but it also competes for our attention on billboards at athletic events, in the skies overhead on the sides of blimps, at movie theatres, in public transportation, on the Internet, and even on gas pumps. Advertising relentlessly seeks us out, marketing everything from fast foods to feminine hygiene products. The average American sees an estimated 3,000 advertisements per day.91 The sheer volume of ads that consumers must endure has led to complaints. Because we willingly relinquish a certain amount of privacy by venturing into public places, advertising prominently displayed in such arenas does not generally give rise to privacy concerns. But advertising that enters our home— even by tacit approval through the purchase of a radio or TV set or a computer—does implicate privacy interests. Under such circumstances, advertising might be viewed as a guest. It is welcome to stay (or at least tolerated) as long as certain minimum standards of decorum are maintained. Ads that are too loud or offensive in their delivery offend these standards. Likewise, exaggerated claims that exploit consumer ignorance or insult their intelligence are problematic.92 But what about ads that are simply in poor taste? Some commentators believe that matters of taste are not serious enough to raise ethical concerns.93 In their view, concerns about taste belong to the more genteel domain of etiquette rather than the more probing realm of morality. Certainly this argument holds some appeal. But when advertisers seek us out in our private spheres and offend our sensibilities with tasteless messages, then the line between etiquette and ethics is at the least ambiguous. If advertisers have any responsibility for their content—and they certainly do—then part of that responsibility must be moral in character.

Protecting one’s privacy has always been a challenge for the individual consumer, but the allure of the Web for advertisers has increased the stakes considerably. For example, an ad-server company can insert banner ads and other promotional material on websites targeted toward the most desirable consumers. The device used to track consumers and to develop profiles of their purchasing habits is known as a “cookie,” as described earlier. While some ad-server companies have provided only anonymous data about Web surfers to marketers, others have offered online profiles that help identity the surfers. Most consumers are unaware of this practice, although there does appear to be a heightened sense of awareness concerning the threats to privacy in cyberspace. Regardless of where the ad messages occur, the industry has been accused of promoting superficial values such as sex appeal, the connection between materialism and happiness/self-esteem, and stereotypes. To the extent that this accusation is true, advertising competes with the primary societal unit (the family) for control of the socialization process. For advertising critics, this is particularly troublesome when children are exposed to such unfiltered commercial messages. In the not-too-distant past there were certain advertising “guests” that were never welcome, particularly in the electronic media. At one time, for example, feminine hygiene and condom ads were considered taboo. Today, it seems, there are few legal products that have not found their advertising niche. Defenders of unfettered access argue that any lawful product should have the right (both legally and ethically) to advertise. Opponents contend that, at least where the electronic media are concerned, advertisements for some personal products (such as condoms) should be rejected because they are inherently offensive, even if the ads themselves are in good taste. In other words, because radio-, TV-, and computer-transmitted ads do seek us out in the privacy of our homes, privacy concerns should be greater than in other situations.

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PRIVACY: HYPOTHETICAL CASE STUDIES The cases that follow represent a wide range of privacy issues, although they are by no means exhaustive. In applying the moral reasoning model outlined in Chapter 3, you should keep in mind the three primary philosophical approaches. Because privacy is a fundamental value, duty-based moral agents (deontologists) believe that the consequences of one’s actions are always subordinate to the ethical principle itself. Thus, invasions of privacy cannot always be justified on the ground that society will somehow benefit. The value of privacy can be overridden only in the face of some more compelling principle. For example, a reporter might feel obliged to report a case of apparent child abuse even if it meant intruding into the privacy of a family relationship. Thus, a journalist’s commitment to truth, which also embraces a moral duty, can justify invasions of privacy when individuals become newsworthy and can then be said to have relinquished their privacy. As always, duty-based theorists confront difficult choices when two equally compelling principles compete for their allegiance. A consequentialist (teleologist), as noted earlier, examines the potential consequences of the decision. The public good is always a

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consideration here. Teleologists, although certainly not oblivious to the harm to individuals, look at the impact of the moral choice. In some cases, such as the utilitarian variety of teleology, the moral agent will consider the consequence to the greatest number of people. At other times the consequence to individuals or small groups will be of primary concern. In applying the guidelines outlined here for an ethics of privacy, however, even consequentialists must justify invasions of privacy based on some competing principle(s) and, in so doing, should not cause more harm than is justified by their decision. A virtue ethicist, in applying Aristotle’s golden mean, searches for some mean position between two extremes. Of course, in invasion-ofprivacy cases this approach is not always possible, but some situations do provide an opportunity to limit the intrusion or to make its impact more palatable. Television advertising, for example, is by its nature intrusive and invades the privacy of our home. Of course, commercials are here to stay, but the advertisers have an obligation not to offend the sensibilities of the audience. In other words, making TV a welcome guest in the home is a reasonable accommodation between banning intrusive advertising altogether and not having any standards at all.

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News Values versus Privacy: The Case of “Designer Baby” Anna Marie Laura Chaplin and Sarah Betts were lesbian partners residing in a middle-class and demographically diverse suburb of New Portsmouth, a scenic community of 300,000 located just 50 miles inland from the middle Atlantic coastline. Besides their

sexual orientation, they shared one other common bond: Both were deaf, Laura because of an ear infection suffered in early childhood and Sarah as a result of a genetically inherited trait. After they had lived together for five years, they decided to become parents. Sarah was impregnated through artificial insemination with sperm provided by a donor through a sperm bank in New York, and daughter Anna Marie quickly became the focus of the couple’s affection. Although Chaplin and Betts had participated in a couple of gay rights demonstrations prior to the

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commencement of their relationship, they did not consider themselves political activists and lived rather unobtrusive lives as they focused most of their energies upon their careers and the nurturing of their infant daughter. Since their state did not permit same-sex marriages and they did not expect the conservative legislature to initiate any change in the marriage laws that would sanction such unions, Chaplin and Betts were exultant when the Massachusetts Supreme Judicial Court opened the doors to same-sex marriages in that state. Six weeks after the Massachusetts court’s controversial decision, Chaplin and Betts traveled to Boston and were married in a civil ceremony, a legal bond they hoped would open the door to a variety of benefits enjoyed by heterosexual married couples. However, their optimism was short-lived. When Chaplin and Betts attempted to submit a joint state income tax return as a married couple, they were summarily rebuffed, prompting the couple to file suit against the state in federal district court on the grounds that the U.S. Constitution requires states to give “full faith and credit” to the laws of other states. The state, according to the couple’s petition, was constitutionally obligated to recognize the marriage performed in Massachusetts, thereby extending to them the same rights enjoyed by heterosexual couples. Chaplin and Betts had both declined interviews from the local media following their marriage ceremony, citing a right to privacy, but the lawsuit and its potential legal ramifications if they should prevail propelled their case to the top of the national and local news agenda. Channel 8, New Portsmouth’s ABC affiliate, assigned Harrison Waters, a veteran reporter and award-winning journalist, to chronicle the legal proceedings and to illuminate them for an audience untutored in the intricacies of the legal system. He first sought an interview from the previously publicity inhibited couple, and this time they were less reticent in taking their case to the court of public opinion. Harrison’s lead story, which focused primarily on the legal proceedings, included a brief reference to their hearing impairments and 2-year-old Anna Marie, but the couple was loathe to discuss their daughter in an effort to shield her as much as possible from the glare of publicity.

Harrison attached no special significance to the fact that both Chaplin and Betts were deaf until he received a rather startling call from Linda Carr, the head of the local Association for the Hearing Impaired, who had consulted with the deaf couple. She had witnessed their rapid evolution from relative obscurity to objects of public curiosity and provided the following remarkable account: When the couple began seeking a donor through a sperm bank in New York by the name of Certotron Enteprises, they had one unusual request: The sperm donor had to be deaf as a result of a genetic defect. A local doctor had told Betts that if she were impregnated with the sperm of a male who had a genetic defect similar to hers, the odds were significant that she would produce a deaf baby. When Anna Marie was born, an audiology test confirmed she was indeed deaf. Carr also told Waters that she had moral reservations about such “designer babies” and had strongly urged Chaplin and Betts not to pursue this option. She also asked Waters not to attribute this information to her, a request that Waters readily agreed to. Not content with this singular source of the startling revelation concerning Anna Marie’s conception, Waters contacted Certotron Enteprises in an effort to confirm the information. Unsurprisingly, the reporter’s overtures were not productive, but working through a journalistic colleague in New York, who was also intrigued by Waters’s story, Channel 8’s reporter soon received confirmation from a source inside Certotron of the accuracy of Linda Carr’s report. For Waters, the news value of the circumstances surrounding Anna Marie’s conception and birth was indisputable, not only because they were unique but also because they implicated profound questions of human morality concerning genetic engineering. On the other hand, he was sensitive to the infant’s privacy interests and the potential harm to both the parents and Anna Marie if he should divulge what he had learned. Waters knew that on such a sensitive issue Channel 8’s news director, Samantha Edwards, would serve as the moral gatekeeper, and he quickly summarized for his superior what he had learned about Anna Marie’s birth. Edwards decided that before she made a decision, she wanted input from the station’s

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early evening news producer, Latrelle Brown. As Edwards convened a hastily called meeting in her office, it was clear that Waters and Brown harbored different opinions on the news value of the unusual mode of Anna Marie’s creation. “As you know,” said Waters, “Anna Marie, Laura Chaplin and Sara Betts’s daughter, has remained in the background of our coverage. I’ve mentioned her in passing, but it’s obvious the couple prefers to protect her from the glare of publicity. But in my judgment, this new information changes things. Anna Marie is a designer baby, produced essentially through the union of a sperm and egg from two genetically deaf people. This sort of genetic manipulation is controversial and is therefore newsworthy.” “The procedure itself is a matter of public interest,” agreed Brown, “but Anna Marie is only 2 years old. If we divulge the unique circumstances of her conception and birth, this unwelcome intrusion upon her privacy could haunt her for the rest of her life. Admittedly, the circumstances of her birth are unique, but this has nothing to do with the story that has made her parents the focus of news coverage.” “I agree that Anna Marie’s handicap has nothing to do with our coverage of the couple’s marriage and legal proceedings against the state,” replied Waters. “Chaplin and Betts are clearly newsworthy, and under normal circumstances Anna Marie would not be a matter of public interest. However, this is a couple that deliberately set out to produce a deaf baby, a child with a handicap like theirs. They apparently believed they would be better prepared to care for a deaf child and that their daughter, in her later years, would more easily identify with her deaf parents. One could argue that their motivations in creating a deaf baby are selfish and in fact deliberately producing a handicapped child is an act of cruelty. This entire procedure is controversial and that, in my judgment, makes Anna Marie newsworthy, as unfair as it might be to the couple’s unfortunate daughter.” “We’re in no position to judge the motivations of the parents,” responded Brown bluntly. “They obviously love this child, and there’s no reason to doubt their parenting skills. Anna Marie may in fact be what we refer to as a designer baby but that by itself doesn’t make her a matter of public interest.

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Anna Marie can’t speak for herself; she is still entitled to a zone of privacy.” “Normally I would agree,” declared Waters. “But her lesbian parents are matters of public interest because of their marriage in Boston and their efforts to seek marital recognition in this state. The notion of homosexual couples having children is increasingly common but is still controversial. The circumstances surrounding the marriage of Laura Chaplin and Sarah Butts are certainly a matter of public interest. Anna Marie came to be a part of this family under rather unusual and perhaps even disturbing circumstances. This, in my judgment, makes her a matter of public interest.” “But your claim is still based upon the newsworthiness of the parents,” replied Brown. “Assume that Anna Marie’s parents were not gay and that there was no controversy surrounding their marriage. Would Anna Marie still be newsworthy? Before we trample upon her privacy we need to be convinced that she is somehow independently newsworthy. And I don’t believe a sufficiently compelling case can be made that would justify invading her privacy.” “I agree that under normal circumstances Anna Marie’s handicap would not be a matter of public interest,” said Waters. “But the fact is that her parents are newsworthy, and the circumstances of her birth are highly unusual. Children frequently become newsworthy because of the behavior of their parents. The zone of privacy has to be expanded because this couple’s decision to seek legal redress has thrown the spotlight on their family situation, and that includes Anna Marie.” News Director Samantha Edwards listened attentively to this lively exchange between Harrison Waters and Channel 8’s news producer. As a parent herself, she empathized with the plight of 2-year-old Anna Marie who could not enter into this conversation concerning the proposed publicity surrounding the circumstances of her birth. Despite the characterization of Anna Marie as a “designer baby,” Edwards conceded the strength of the privacy claims under normal circumstances. However, as Waters had noted, the newsworthiness of her parents had changed the equation somewhat. The question was whether the publicity swirling around the marriage of Laura Chaplin

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and Sarah Betts justified the incursion upon the privacy interests of their 2-year-old daughter.

THE CASE STUDY One of the most difficult ethical judgment calls for journalists is in deciding whether the public interest surrounding newsworthy individuals extends to those who are closely affiliated with them, such as friends and family members. In some cases, the answer may be obvious. But in others it would appear that the burden of proof is on the moral agent to demonstrate that those who are connected in some way with the newsworthy subjects are themselves independently newsworthy. When an individual is newsworthy, there may be legitimate public interest in reporting private information, although in doing so the goal should be to at least minimize the harm. In this scenario, the lesbian partners, Laura Chaplin and Sarah Betts, are clearly newsworthy because of their lawsuit to compel the state to recognize their marriage consummated in Massachusetts. While the initial reports mentioned their 2-year-old daughter Anna Marie—a degree of publicity to which even her parents would not object—at first glance she has no independent news value. In any event, the infant Anna Marie cannot represent herself in making her wishes known. The circumstances surrounding Anna Marie’s creation are certainly intriguing, but are they newsworthy? They are unrelated to the newsworthiness of her parents, but this case broaches the issue of motivation on the part of Chaplin and Betts in intentionally seeking to produce a deaf child. There is no evidence that their actions were not inspired out of love, but one could argue that deliberately “designing” a child with a handicap is cruel, even if the parents suffer from the same affliction. And beyond the specific case of Anna Marie, this form of genetic manipulation is controversial. Nevertheless, the moral agent must still struggle with the question of whether the newsworthiness of Anna Marie’s parents coupled with the unusual circumstances of her conception are sufficient to strip the zone of privacy from the 2-year-old infant. For the purpose of weighing the public interest in Anna Marie’s creation against potential harm to

all parties involved, assume the role of Channel 8 news director Samantha Edwards and, applying the moral reasoning model outlined in Chapter 3, render your judgment in this matter.

C AS E 5-2

The Supreme Court Candidate’s Untimely Withdrawal94 Chief Justice Byron Fitzhugh’s retirement had come as a surprise to the nation’s legal watchdogs, but the still robust 70-year-old jurist had decided to leave the bench to pursue other interests, confident that his successor would continue his legacy of constitutional restraint. The White House lost no time in organizing a search for Justice Fitzhugh’s replacement amidst presidential assurances that he would appoint a judge whose “record reflects an unwavering faithfulness to the constitutional text.” In the weeks following Fitzhugh’s announcement, media pundits and the White House press corps pursued leaks and rumors on the “vetting” process by which potential nominees for the federal bench are subjected to a vigorous FBI background check and their fitness is appraised by the American Bar Association. But while reporters kept up a relentless barrage of news dispatches from inside the beltway, fueling public speculation, the White House press secretary remained customarily evasive in her frequent briefings of White House reporters. Nevertheless, as the president’s staff worked tirelessly to develop a “short list” of potential nominees, confidentiality yielded to the inevitable leaks that fuel journalists’ insatiable appetite for inside information. According to “sources close to the president,” three candidates remained on the list, with Judge Harlan Askew as the odds-on favorite to receive the president’s benediction. Judge Askew had served both as a New York state prosecutor and a federal district court judge and had been appointed by the president’s predecessor six years earlier to the Second Circuit Court of Appeals. While his legal inclinations were those of a constitutional strict constructionist, he was not considered to be an ideologue, thus earning him

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accolades from both legal scholars and fellow jurists. His opinions were lucid and well-reasoned and described as “intellectually rigorous” even by his critics. Even in his relatively short tenure at the appellate level, Judge Askew had exhibited impressive leadership qualities among his fellow judges, a trait that further commended him for the center seat on an increasingly fractured court. The press corps dutifully reported what they had gleaned from their White House sources, including Judge Askew’s apparent preeminent standing as a finalist for the Supreme Court vacancy. Based upon their triweekly dispatches, syndicated columnist Maxwell Knight and his partner Louis Raymond, 12-year veterans of the capital’s political milieu, had penetrated the veil of official secrecy surrounding the nomination and had successfully extracted newsworthy details that had escaped the grasp of their competitors. The columnists were the first to report Judge Askew’s emergence as the front-runner, precipitating a mad scramble among their journalistic brethren to regain the initiative in the intensely competitive news environment of the nation’s capital. As reporters waited expectantly for an announcement from the White House, Knight learned from his usually reliable source inside the Oval Office, presidential aide Michael Palmer, that Askew had withdrawn his name from contention, citing “family” reasons. Knight pressed Palmer for more details, but the presidential aide was evasive. The columnist shared this information with his coauthor, and they quickly conveyed this shocking revelation to their geographically diverse readers, who had remained attentive to the president’s progress in filling the Supreme Court vacancy, according to the daily e-mail correspondence. They allowed the story to resonate for a couple of days before Knight again approached Palmer for more information on the real reason for Askew’s untimely retreat. He was determined not to be outmaneuvered by his highly competitive peers. Palmer was reticent in his second meeting with Knight on the subject of Askew’s withdrawal but eventually succumbed to the columnist’s irresistible and persistent entreaty. Even for the veteran journalist, Palmer’s disclosure was a surprise and confronted the columnist with an unexpected ethical dilemma. He quickly

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returned to his cramped quarters in the White House press room and summoned his partner Louis Raymond and their editorial assistant, Janice Meehan, both of whom were opinioned and could be counted on to provide counsel, usually accompanied by a rather energetic debate. “I’ve discovered why Askew withdrew from the nomination process,” Knight began as his two colleagues listened attentively. “This information comes from Michael Palmer, the presidential aide. He’s asked not to be quoted by name, but I’ve found him to be a credible source in the past. He tells me that Askew’s 8-year-old son, Chad, is adopted, but the boy has never been told.” “And so Askew is afraid this might crop up amidst the pervasive public scrutiny he and his family will undergo if he should be nominated?,” Meehan asked rhetorically. “Precisely,” replied Knight. “And he’s deeply concerned about the psychological impact this kind of sudden revelation might have on Chad. Askew just doesn’t want to take a chance that his son’s adoptive status will be made public.” “I’m perplexed as to why the Askews decided to keep the fact of his adoption from their son,” Raymond said. “Most parents today believe that adoptive children should be told as soon as they are old enough to understand.” “I posed this question to Palmer,” responded Knight, “and he said Harlan Askew is old-fashioned. He’s 56, and his wife is sixteen years his junior. The judge’s personal beliefs are apparently as conservative as his judicial ideology. During an interview with the White House staff, Askew said he and his wife had agreed to break the news to Chad when he became a teenager and would be mature enough to handle such an unanticipated confession.” Knight paused briefly and then posed the question that would precipitate a vigorous ethical discourse between his two professional colleagues: “Do we disclose this information in tomorrow’s column—do we tell the nation that Harlan Askew withdrew as the front-runner because of concerns his 8-year-old son, Chad, would find out through press coverage he’s adopted?” “As painful as it is, I think we have to,” Raymond declared unhesitatingly as he rose to the challenge. “By all accounts, Askew was the front-runner for

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the nation’s highest judicial post. The president was only days away from the nomination and suddenly Askew withdrew his name. We know the reason, and I think our readers have a right to know.” “I couldn’t disagree more,” noted Meehan emphatically. “The publication of this information would be an invasion of privacy. It’s a private matter for the Askews to deal with. They’ve decided to conceal from Chad his adoptive status for several more years. This may appear to us to be unwise and even an outmoded way of thinking, but that’s not a decision for us to make.” “Normally I might agree with you, Janice,” Raymond replied, “but Askew is a public figure. He’s currently serving on the appellate bench, has written some controversial and highly publicized opinions, and until a couple of days ago was the leading candidate for Chief Justice. The public was expecting this nomination, and for some inexplicable reason Askew withdrew. We have the answer to this puzzle, and I believe we have a responsibility to share it with our readers.” “Although there was never an official announcement of Askew’s withdrawal since the president was still considering the matter,” declared Meehan, determined to defend the Askews’ right to privacy and the sensibilities of their young son, “the fact is that Palmer confided to Max that Askew was withdrawing for family reasons. That’s what we initially reported. Why can’t we just leave it at that? Do our readers really need to know the specifics?” “In this case I believe they do,” replied Raymond. “I can appreciate Palmer’s attempt to shield Askew from unwelcome publicity by just citing family reasons for his withdrawal. But this vague account raises more questions than it answers. Askew knew when he started this process that the press coverage would be intense and relentless and that his family might even become a subject of media scrutiny. If he had apprehensions about the public disclosure of his family secret, he should never have become a candidate for Chief Justice.” But the young researcher was unconvinced. “If Askew had been officially nominated, then perhaps this would be a different matter,” she answered. “But he withdrew before any announcement was made. Besides, I have a child of my own. He’s not adopted, but I can sympathize with the Askews’

dilemma. I don’t agree that they must relinquish all right to privacy simply because Harlan Askew is on the federal bench and was considered for a Supreme Court appointment. His son’s adoptive status is not a matter of public interest, and keep in mind that Chad Askew is a stakeholder in this ethical dilemma concerning whether to reveal the real reason for his father’s withdrawal. The emotional impact could be tremendous.” “You may have a point,” Raymond conceded. “But I still say that Harlan Askew invited public scrutiny when he accepted the president’s invitation to become a candidate. Surely he must have known the risk, particularly once the senatorial hearings began on his nomination. It’s possible that the press would never have learned about his adoptive son, but on the other hand in today’s celebrity-obsessed media environment that is improbable. As a potential nominee for the nation’s highest court, I don’t see how Askew can claim a right to privacy for himself or his family when a member of his family is the reason why he is withdrawing from consideration.” “But this private information—his son’s adoptive status—has nothing to do with Askew’s fitness for the position of Chief Justice,” Meehan replied. “And besides, now that he’s withdrawn from contention, your rationale for publishing what we know is even less convincing.” Maxwell Knight listened attentively as his two staff members engaged in their spirited verbal dual, summoning to their defense the countervailing values of newsworthiness and the right to privacy. Since the inception of their journalistic alliance, Knight, as senior partner, had assumed the mantle of senior editor when ethical dilemmas arose. Thus, as moral agent, he would make the final decision on whether to reveal publicly the real reason for Harlan Askew’s sudden withdrawal, but the dialectic between Raymond and Meehan helped to crystallize the competing claims on his moral sense. On the one hand, the privacy argument registered high on his ethical barometer because of the rather dubious news value of Chad Askew’s adoptive status. On the other hand, despite the official White House silence on the matter, Harlan Askew had become a candidate for nomination to the Supreme Court’s center seat,

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knowing that his life would soon become an open book. And then he suddenly withdrew with an abrupt announcement that was curiously vague. The Knight/Raymond Report had an exclusive, but the ethical dimensions of this story mitigated the usually passionate temperament of the two prominent Washington columnists.

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For the purpose of analyzing the ethical dilemma posed in this scenario, assume the role of syndicated columnist Maxwell Knight and, applying the model for moral reasoning outlined in Chapter 3, decide whether you will report the real reason for Judge Harlan Askew’s sudden withdrawal as a candidate for Chief Justice of the United States.

THE CASE STUDY Awkward situations involving children can be ethically troublesome for practicing journalists. In this case, the potential harm to young Brad Askew is real if he discovers his adoptive status through news accounts. Depending upon his emotional maturity, he might survive this shock with few aftereffects or he might suffer severe trauma. Thus, the moral agent in this case must ask whether the journalistic imperatives of this story outweigh the potential harm to Judge Harlan Askews’s adoptive son and the privacy interests at stake here. But whose privacy interests are implicated? Do the Askews have a privacy interest in maintaining their family secret? Since Harlan Askew was never officially named as the president’s nominee and withdrew before the expected announcement, should he have a greater expectation of privacy? Does 8-year-old Chad Askew have a privacy interest in being shielded from the glare of publicity? If so, how does his father’s sudden withdrawal as a candidate for Chief Justice—a withdrawal based specifically upon his desire to protect his son— affect the newsworthiness argument surrounding the disclosure of this information? These are vexing questions, but professional journalists must sometimes step back from the emotional precipice and render a rational judgment based upon what they believe to be sound and defensible ethical principles. The zone of privacy, particularly where the vulnerabilities of young children are at stake, should be penetrated with reluctance and only where the public interest is clearly manifest. Of course, the cognitive components of moral reasoning cannot always be easily segregated from the affective dimensions of our humanity, which is why ethical dilemmas sometimes challenge the limits of our moral endurance.

C AS E 5-3

The Pregnant Place Kicker Football was a secular religion to the citizens of South Platte, and the Jefferson High Panthers were their sacred altar. Each Friday night in the fall, when the local gridiron powerhouse was playing on its home field, the team’s supporters gathered to cheer their high school heroes to victory over their hapless opponents. Fanaticism reigned supreme in South Platte on Friday evenings. The faithful not only expected the Panthers to win; they demanded it. Memories faltered when attempting to recall the team’s last losing season. They were perennial contenders for state playoff honors and on several occasions had made it to the final round, claiming the much-coveted prize of state champions three times in the past ten years. The coaching staff was always blessed with a boundless pool of football talent at their disposal. Virtually every athletically inclined young male aspired to don the Panthers uniform and perform before the hometown crowd. Judith Watkins also aspired to join the Panthers. Fifteen-year-old Judith had played on a recreational football team before entering high school, where she had displayed an incredible aptitude for the game. She had played some defense, but her specialty was place kicking. The kicking game had been the Panthers’ Achilles heel for several years, and Judith assumed her talents would be a blessing to head coach Mackie Jones and his staff. However, when she appeared for spring tryouts, the coach informed her brusquely that football was a male sport and that she could not participate. Under the threat of a court order, Mackie relented but warned Judith that he was according

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her a right to compete for the position of place kicker and nothing more. By the end of spring training, it was clear to the coaching staff that they could not deny Judith Watkins a place on the football squad. She had range and accuracy, both desirable traits in a field goal kicker. Judith’s admission to the previously all-male bastion of gridiron prowess was not applauded by the team’s loyal fans, whose conservative community still celebrated traditional gender roles as the natural order of things. The publicly stated reasons for their disenchantment varied, but they were united in their condemnation of coach Jones’s controversial decision. Some supporters opposed the move on principle. Others, noting Judith’s physical attractiveness, worried that her presence on the team would be a distraction for the other players. Still others were concerned for her safety, anxious that an opposing player might risk a “roughing the kicker” penalty just to prove that women were not cut out to be football players. The sight of Judith Watkins being taken from the field on a stretcher, they feared, would place a pall over the entire season. Judith’s first appearance in the inaugural game of the season precipitated the predictable boos and jeers from the stands, but they quickly subsided as the young woman kicked a 38-yard field goal in the face of a stiff breeze. By the end of the season, some unreconstructed critics were loathe to acknowledge Judith’s contributions to the team’s winning season, but much of the public censure had subsided. She not only had the best kicking percentage of any high school player in the state, her “golden toe” was directly responsible for two of the team’s victories, when the offense faltered on fourth down. In her second season, the young place kicker continued her impressive performance, and by midpoint in the season she was being touted for all-state honors. In addition, the Panthers appeared to be on their way to an undefeated season and the postseason playoffs. However, with only two games remaining, Coach Jones’s unexpected announcement quickly changed the dynamics of the Panthers’ prospects. During a press conference just four days prior to his team’s matchup against their archrival, the Avondale Wildcats, Jones announced

that Judith Watkins was leaving the team for medical reasons. Because of privacy concerns, he said, no further details would be provided. “She’s under the care of a doctor, and we wish her well,” noted Jones in a prepared statement read to the assembled reporters. Victor Simms was curious about Judith Watkins’s sudden departure from the team, but he respected Coach Jones’s plea for privacy during the press conference. Simms was perhaps best known for his colorful commentary on the local cable system’s weekly telecast of the Panthers’ games, which was fed to cable outlets in surrounding communities. But Simms was also a journalist and anchored the sports segment of a locally produced cable newscast. He was well respected by the entire Jefferson High coaching staff, and his entrée for weekly interviews and insights into the school’s athletic program was always assured. Three days following Coach Jones’s startling announcement, Simms was interviewing the team’s part-time trainer, Nathan Brown, about the players’ overall physical condition as the season neared its climax. At the close of the interview, when the camera was no longer rolling Brown volunteered some astonishing information: Judith Watkins had left the team because she was pregnant. The reporter was unsure why Brown felt compelled to reveal this piece of intelligence that Coach Jones had described as a matter of “privacy,” but Simms was aware that Brown had never reconciled himself to Judith’s membership on the Panthers football squad. At this point Simms was unsure of the news value of what he had learned, but in a subsequent meeting with assistant coach Paul Samuelson he raised the issue. Samuelson confirmed what the trainer had told him and added that they had known about her pregnancy for three weeks but were undecided what to do about it. The team doctor recommended she quit the team. Simms returned to his office at the cable system building and hastily arranged a meeting with his producer, Katheryn Cross, and Oliver Holmes, the system’s director of program origination. The sports journalist then briefed his two colleagues on the unexpected details of Judith Watkins’s departure from the team.

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“This is very interesting,” volunteered Holmes when Simms had completed his summation. “The question is what we should do with this information, if anything. This will be my call, but I would like your views.” South Platte Cable’s rather modest staff had no news director, but Holmes was nominally in charge of all locally produced programming, which included the daily newscast. He would be the moral agent in deciding the news value of the reason behind Judith Watkins’s untimely departure from the Panthers football squad. “During his news conference Coach Jones referred to Judith’s ‘medical condition’ as a private matter, and normally I would agree,” responded Simms. “A teenager’s pregnancy is hardly newsworthy, and the publication of such information would be an invasion of privacy. But this case is different. Despite her youth, Judith Watkins is newsworthy. She broke the gender barrier for the first time in our state’s history of high school athletics. She is the number one place kicker in the state. And she was in line for all-state honors before leaving the team. The public has a right to know why their team’s first female player has left at the end of only her second year.” “I agree that all of these things make her a matter of public interest,” admitted Cross. “But why is her pregnancy newsworthy? This is a private matter and is particularly sensitive for a teenager. She’s only 16.” “The question I’ve asked myself,” replied Simms, “is whether Judith’s pregnancy is sufficiently related to her public persona to make this matter newsworthy. I believe that it is. Her sudden absence from the team could diminish the team’s chances in the playoffs, particularly in close games. In addition, Coach Jones announced that Judith was leaving the team for medical reasons. I suppose that’s technically true, but it’s also misleading. Just in the past couple of days I’ve heard a lot of speculation around town concerning Judith’s departure, ranging from academic problems to fraternization with another team member. No one really believes the medical excuse. Perhaps we should set the record straight.” “If Judith were a professional athlete, I might agree with you,” asserted Cross, who was determined to defend the honor of Jefferson High’s first female football player. “But she’s a student first—an

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adolescent student—who just happens to be playing football for the local high school team.” “I’m not sure that any of these players are really amateurs,” noted Simms. “They are given almost as much press coverage as college and pro athletes. They are treated like heroes by the loyal citizens of South Platte. And everyone knows that the academic program can’t compete with these adolescent superstars. When was the last time a football player flunked a course?” “Your argument is unpersuasive, Victor,” replied Cross. “We can’t do anything about the rumor mill concerning Judith’s departure, but in this case I don’t think it’s our job to set the record straight. Coach Jones was acting in good faith when he ascribed Judith’s untimely exit to medical reasons. I don’t think that news values should trump her right to privacy in this case.” “This is a small town, and her pregnancy won’t remain a secret for long,” noted Simms realistically. “Reporting what we know will at least satisfy the public’s curiosity and stop the rumor mill. And since Judith’s pregnancy is directly related to her inability to continue on the team, I think it’s newsworthy.” “I have no doubt that her pregnancy won’t remain a secret for long. But should we be a party to divulging this kind of personal information? Shouldn’t that decision remain with Judith and her family?” With those final queries, Holmes told Victor Simms and Katheryn Cross that he would consider their arguments and render a decision within 24 hours. He was not unaware of the possible legal consequences if South Platte Cable were to publicize Judith Watkins’s pregnancy. His company could face an invasion-of-privacy lawsuit, but for the moment he was preoccupied with the ethical dimensions of the issue. Besides, Holmes believed that the burden of proof was on those counseling publicity of embarrassing private information, and if he were convinced by his reporter’s newsworthiness argument in favor of disclosure, a similar rationale might serve as a legal defense.

THE CASE STUDY Concerns over personal privacy are enduring in our society, and the unregulated domain of the World Wide Web has simply exacerbated those fears. But

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as ethicists and media critics struggle to cope with these new challenges, the traditional media must continue to cope with ethical concerns of their own. Hovering over many privacy cases is the possibility of a lawsuit concerning the revelation of embarrassing personal information. That’s particularly true in the case of those who are not of the age of majority. However, the legal defenses underlying the privacy lawsuits are not entirely distinct from the ethical rationales advanced in support of publicizing such embarrassing information. Newsworthiness is foremost among these rationales, but journalists are frequently too casual in using the “public’s right to know” as a justification. Such platitudes are empty vessels without some ethically defensible explanation as to why the public has a right to know certain information. This concern must animate Oliver Holmes’s moral reasoning process. However, in any privacy case involving a private individual the first question that must be resolved is whether the subject herself is newsworthy. Is Judith Watkins newsworthy? If so, why? Assuming that she is newsworthy, is the fact of her pregnancy newsworthy? Is there some public benefit to be derived from this knowledge, that is, do the benefits outweigh the harms in this case? Should the fact that she is a high school athlete rather than, say, a professional athlete be a significant factor in your decision-making process? For the purpose of addressing these challenging questions, assume the role of Oliver Holmes, the local cable system’s director of program origination, and applying the model for moral reasoning described in Chapter 3, render a judgment on whether to include the fact of Judith Watkins’s pregnancy in your next sports report.

C AS E 5-4

The Massacre at Langdale High and Laura’s Secret Diary High school senior Laura Devlin was looking forward to graduation day, the ritualistic validation of an academic milestone. May 16, just three weeks before she was to receive her diploma, was indistinguishable from any other school day as Laura

moved almost absentmindedly through the cafeteria line following her fourth-period social studies class. As she turned from the cashier in search of her 15-year-old brother Jeffrey, who had preceded her through the line, she spotted him standing alone at a far table—and then watched with horror as he pulled a .38-caliber pistol from beneath his windbreaker and methodically began pulling the trigger. Within a matter of seconds four classmates lay seriously wounded, and three students and a teacher lay dead. From that moment on the events resembled those that had transpired at too many high schools across the nation: A frantic call went out to 911, police and paramedics rushed to the scene to confront the tragic consequences of a disturbed teenager’s violent deportment, counselors were brought to the school to assist its inhabitants in coping with the unexplainable, and a community mourned and asked “How could this happen here?” It did not take long for the police to take Jeffrey Devlin into custody. Moments after the shooting the police found him sitting calmly behind the gym, still holding the weapon that had turned the Langdale High cafeteria into a monument to death. Jeffrey was charged as an adult with first-degree murder and was held without bail in the city jail. In the meantime, the police used a search warrant to retrieve three weapons and five boxes of ammunition from Jeffrey’s room, along with other material evidence that might be useful in his prosecution. On the advice of Jeffrey’s court-appointed attorney, Laura and her divorced mother rejected all overtures from the local and national media. Like other members of the community, Sharyn Lassiter was shocked by the shootings. Lassiter was the police and court reporter for the Andersonville Tribune, a four-year veteran of the local paper. During her relatively brief tenure at the Tribune, Lassiter had compiled an impressive portfolio of articles documenting her community’s law enforcement and juristic activities. Most of her coverage dealt with the more sinister side of human nature and the community’s disaffected rogues whose social obscurity was transformed only through their arrest for some felony or misdemeanor. Lassiter’s diverse journalistic menu ran the gamut from murder, rape, and simple burglary on the criminal side

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to the civil docket’s less sensational array of lawsuits alleging a variety of physical and emotional injuries. While Lassiter was sometimes repelled by what she heard in court or by the evidence provided by her police sources, she had fostered an emotional detachment in reporting on the legal foibles of society’s miscreants. But the Devlin story was different. Kids killing kids! did not follow the script of the typical criminal case. Nevertheless, the young reporter covered the initial phases of the case with her usual commitment to journalistic objectivity and neutrality, the animating principles of her university education and the Tribune’s newsroom culture. But like most good journalists, Lassiter was not satisfied to report just the facts surrounding the tragic events at Langdale High. The citizens of Andersonville deserved answers, and the Tribune was the proper forum in which to satisfy her readers’ justifiable curiosity. Because Laura Devlin and her mother, perhaps as much out of shame as the legal advice provided by Jeffrey’s attorney, had refused any public comment and had consistently rejected the media’s requests for interviews, Lassiter began her investigation by talking to the principal and several teachers at Langdale High, neighbors of the Devlin family, and, with their parents’ permission, several of the Devlin children’s classmates. To probe beyond the information contained in the official crime report, she also interviewed detective lieutenant Andy Cherry, a source with whom the reporter had had a cooperative relationship since her arrival at the Tribune four years ago. Cherry was in charge of the Devlin investigation. From these disparate sources, a rather grim assessment of the Devlins’ family life emerged. Neighbors remembered Laura and Jeffrey as quiet but friendly children in their formative years. But shortly after Laura’s tenth birthday, according to their recollections, she suddenly had become sullen and withdrawn. Her high school classmates rendered a similar verdict. She counted few friends among her classmates, with the exception of three girls who frequently came to her house to study. Jeffrey was described as very bright, a good student, and socially well adjusted—that is, until his father abandoned the family when Jeffrey was 13.

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From this point on, the teenager’s good-natured disposition changed. Several classmates recounted his growing fascination with guns and even a threat to bring one to school to “liven up the place.” However, they had not taken him seriously. His mother, who had never been a strict disciplinarian, was unable to compensate for her husband’s faithful influence in Jeffrey’s life, and his obedience to her maternal commands became increasingly erratic. Perhaps Jeffrey’s unanticipated rampage was triggered by his unforgiving resentment against his father. Some of these details were confirmed by Lieutenant Cherry in recounting some of the conversations that several witnesses had had with the investigating officers. But it was not Cherry’s confirmations that piqued Lassiter’s journalistic curiosity; it was Laura Devlin’s diary. The diary—which actually consisted of three separate books covering eight years—had been seized by the police to be used as possible evidence in the case against Jeffrey Devlin. Perhaps the diary would provide some clue as to her brother’s motivations in carrying out his armed assault. Lassiter, who felt uncomfortable at the idea of penetrating the unspoken code of privacy that surrounds a diary, nevertheless buried herself in Laura’s personal musings. The diary was a virtual tour de force through Laura’s childhood and adolescent fantasies and dreams, but it also revealed a worldview of an increasingly troubled young woman. Laura’s chronicle began when she was about 8 and reflected a fairly happy, well-adjusted child. It provided some keen insights into her personal world, a father who was domineering but suitably attentive, and a mother who was loving but clearly unassertive in her relationship to the children’s father. But shortly after Laura’s tenth birthday there was a noticeable change in the tone of her youthful literary recollections. Her father figured even more prominently in her accounts, which revealed a pattern of sexual abuse that continued until his departure when Laura was 15. Her increasingly desperate entries, a cathartic attempt to cope with her victimhood, described an emotional evolution from confusion and fear to loathing for her oppressive father. Some of her notations were suicidal, although there was no evidence that Laura

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had ever attempted to take her own life. She had tried drugs but apparently decided that her personal diary was more therapeutic than the unpredictable consequences of marijuana and speed. The diary’s references to her brother were somewhat circumspect and not entirely illuminating of the case at hand. However, it did contain regret at Jeffrey’s apparently blissful ignorance of his father’s sexual perversion and some evidence of her brother’s growing disaffection with their father’s authoritarian impulses, which seemed to contradict Lassiter’s accounts from other sources of Mr. Devlin’s departure as the immediate cause of Jeffrey’s psychological demise. Despite the apparent estrangement between father and son, several entries also recorded, paradoxically, Jeffrey’s depressed state following his father’s untimely desertion and his subsequent experimentation with drugs. There were other incidents of his youthful rebellion recorded in the diary. It was clear that Jeffrey had lived a life of quiet desperation. Lieutenant Cherry allowed Lassiter to take notes and even to photocopy pages of the diary; the original would be retained in the event that the district attorney decided to use it as evidence. Laura’s diary helped to explain the pathologies that had engulfed the Devlin family. As a firstperson account of wasted youth, it would also make an interesting story—but not before it underwent the ethical scrutiny of managing editor Douglas Hawthorne. Lassiter had not yet written her proposed story when she met with Hawthorne and city editor Marcia MacKenzie. She understood Hawthorne’s ethical concerns but was prepared to argue in favor of a human interest story based on Laura Devlin’s diary. “The information in that diary is indeed interesting,” began Hawthorne in convening the meeting in his rather spacious office on the third floor of the Tribune’s new headquarters. “But I am concerned that we may be crossing the line here in terms of Laura’s right to privacy.” “I’ve thought of that,” replied Lassiter somewhat reflectively. “But much of the information is a matter of public interest because of its connection to the school shootings. It helps to explain the circumstances that may have turned Jeffrey Devlin from an apparently normal teenager into a killer.”

“In a sense that’s true,” responded MacKenzie. “But much of this material is very personal and private information, particularly the part about sexual abuse. If we publish this, its impact on Laura could be devastating. Diaries are by definition private; there’s nothing to be gained by publishing the contents of this diary.” “But the confidential nature of the diary has already been breached,” asserted Lassiter. “The police department has examined it; it could even become evidence in Jeffrey’s trial, although the DA hasn’t made up her mind about that. And, of course, Lieutenant Cherry let me peruse it at will.” The city editor was obviously not persuaded by this line of argument. “It may be true that a handful of people have examined this diary,” said MacKenzie, “but the contents are still not public knowledge. The real embarrassment will come if we publish a story based on this diary in our newspaper.” “I realize that Laura is truly a victim and did nothing to invite this kind of public scrutiny of her family,” Lassiter replied, attempting to alter the line of argument somewhat. “And even though she won’t talk to the press, her life and that of her mother have been put under a microscope—all because of what Jeffrey did. They’re hounded by the media every time they visit him in jail or accompany him to a court appearance. The fact is that they’re newsworthy by association with the suspect.” “I’m not so sure,” responded MacKenzie, who silently acknowledged the superficial appeal of her reporter’s claim but was not quite willing to concede its moral merit. “Where matters of privacy are concerned, we should be clear about where to draw the line between the real public interest and what the public is interested in. I question using any of the diary’s contents as the basis for a story, particularly the personal details of her father’s sexual abuse. How is that relevant to this case?” “It’s relevant because it places this whole episode into context,” Lassiter asserted. “It places part of the blame right at the father’s doorstep—a fact that can be most forcefully documented through the pages of this diary. Besides, the diary contradicts the rumors that are floating around that Jeffrey went into a tailspin entirely because of his father’s desertion. This may be partially true, but the diary suggests

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a problem of longer duration. It may be a little more complicated than people realize, and this story could help to set the record straight.” “In addition,” Lassiter continued, “stories such as this could serve as an early warning to the community about the dire consequences of not intervening sooner in the lives of troubled kids. I don’t know whether anything could have been done in this case, but the signs were there. And that alone justifies using this diary as a source for my story.” At this point Hawthorne decided that all relevant arguments had been vented and dispatched his two staffers with the promise of a quick decision. As his newspaper’s managing editor, Hawthorne was the moral agent because, assuming that he approved this project, the story would be published in both the paper and the Tribune’s online edition.

THE CASE STUDY Are the contents of Laura’s diary newsworthy? Does the public interest in this information override the privacy interests of Laura and her mother? Does the teenager’s relationship to the accused diminish her expectation of privacy, particularly in matters that are tangential to the crime under investigation? The privacy concerns arise at two different levels. First, there is the status of the diary itself as a viable source of news. Second, the nature of the information must be the focus of the moral reasoning process. An ethical purist might argue that diaries by definition are sacrosanct; except in highly unusual circumstances, a diary’s contents should not be violated. The writer has an expectation of privacy that even parents must respect unless a child’s safety or well-being is at stake. In this view, the police might be entitled to review the diary to collect evidence in the case against Jeffrey Devlin. But this gives them no right to reveal its contents to third parties. Of course, if some of the contents are introduced into evidence during the trial, then the privacy rights are clearly diminished as far as press coverage is concerned. But this isn’t a factor in this case study. On the other hand, one could argue that once the diary is removed through official action from the custody of its owner, it is no longer strictly a private document.

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The other issue in this case focuses on the content itself. Sharyn Lassiter apparently believes that there can be no line-drawing here in terms of the news value of the contents. Admittedly, some of the diary’s commentary is directly relevant to Jeffrey’s state of mind and motivations; some, such as the father’s sexual abuse of Laura, appears at best to be tangential to the case. But Lassiter contends that the totality of the diary’s contents helps to explain the family circumstances that may have led to Jeffrey’s psychological demise. The counterpoint to this is that, assuming that the use of any material from the diary is justified, the reporter should use a fine scalpel and include in her story only the material that directly relates to Jeffrey Devlin’s personal behavior and his relationship with his family. For the purpose of exploring these issues, assume the role of managing editor Douglas Hawthorne, and using the SAD formula, decide whether you will authorize a story based on Laura’s diary and, if so, what limits (if any) you would place on the use of its contents.

C AS E 5-5

Electronic Billboards on the Freeway and Motorist Privacy For Timothy McNabb, the president and CEO of the McNabb Outdoor Advertising Agency, the steady stream of commuters on San Fernando’s northsouth freeway was a much-coveted target audience. Where motorists saw gridlock and road rage, McNabb saw a mobile consumer market ready to be cultivated. Billboards, of course, were an important venue in his agency’s advertising arsenal, and McNabb did not underestimate the importance of commuters to a successful outdoor advertising campaign. Under his aggressive and innovative stewardship, the McNabb agency had emerged as a powerful presence in the outdoor advertising industry, and McNabb’s devoted and talented workforce remained vigilant for opportunities to expand the agency’s horizons and hence its clients’ commercial exposures. McNabb had taken a rather modest

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inheritance from his father and invested in a financially floundering and creatively stagnant outdoor advertising enterprise headquartered in San Fernando’s vibrant commercial district and within five years had triggered a creative renaissance and profitable resurrection within the agency. From the outset, McNabb’s entrepreneurial mind-set was analogous to that of a defense attorney; he accepted any client (within reason) who had money to spend. His client list was not determined by whether he personally approved of their products. McNabb believed that any client had a right to promote its wares in the economic marketplace, and his agency would be a willing partner in forging a psychological bond between corporate America and the nation’s acquisitive consumers. Among his advertising contemporaries, McNabb was known as an innovator, but he was also willing and even eager to embrace successful techniques employed by agencies in other markets. Imitation was the sincerest form of flattery, in McNabb’s view, and besides, his clients did not scrutinize closely the genesis of his creative ideas. They were interested in results. McNabb believed that electronic billboards would produce such results. He had read an article in the trade press describing the installation of electronic billboards along a California freeway equipped with sensors that scan the traffic and register the radio station frequencies (and hence the musical tastes) from passing motorists. This information is fed into a central computer, which correlates it with certain products favored by such consumers. The computer then selects an ad for an appropriate product from among a data bank of preprogrammed ads and displays that product ad on the billboard. The products can continually change depending upon the musical tastes of a majority of automobiles scanned at any particular time. McNabb had presented this idea to his staff, who enthusiastically developed a proposal to erect an electronic billboard along the San Fernando north-south freeway on a three-month trial basis. A successful experiment here would then be followed by a proliferation of electronic billboards on other San Fernando thoroughfares, as well as in other communities with agency branch offices. Sara Lockett, McNabb’s director of sales and marketing,

had been commissioned to begin lining up potential clients. Lockett issued a brief press release indicating that the agency expected the experimental sign to be operational within 30–45 days. However, the brief announcement in the San Fernando Chronicle did not go unnoticed by Marsha Britt, president of Citizens for Responsibility in Advertising, a consumer watchdog group that kept a wary eye on each new advertising initiative. She asked for and was granted an audience with Timothy McNabb. The agency’s CEO was reluctant at first but knew from experience that Britt could be a formidable adversary. At least a meeting with her would allow for a frank exchange of views. McNabb was determined to listen attentively and summoned Sara Lockett to represent the agency’s position on the proposed electronic billboard. After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Britt got to the point. “We’re asking you to scrap your plans to install electronic billboards along the San Fernando freeway,” she declared bluntly. “It’s one thing to place billboards along a highway with a message that motorists can choose to view or ignore. But you’re using personal information to target drivers with a variety of advertising messages.” “We don’t see it that way,” responded Lockett. “Advertisers are constantly gathering demographic information and facts about consumers’ product choices. What’s the difference?” “I’ll concede the fact that there’s a lot of personal information already available to marketers and advertisers,” acknowledged Britt. “But in this case you’re electronically eavesdropping on motorists while they’re driving. With the sensing devices on the electronic billboards, you can tell what stations these people are listening to. That’s how you select the particular product ad at any given moment. This is an invasion of privacy.” “I disagree,” replied Lockett. “Our device merely scans the automobile pool within its range at any given moment and provides information on the most popular stations. Our computer then matches this with a profile of consumer product preferences and selects an appropriate ad from our data bank. How can this be an invasion of privacy?” “It’s a privacy issue,” responded Britt emphatically, “because the motorists are unaware they’re being electronically monitored. The stations they

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listen to on their way to work are their own business. This process is not like a ratings survey where listeners agree to participate in the data gathering.” “I would like to return to a point I made earlier,” said Lockett. “Advertisers and marketers constantly gather data on consumers from a variety of sources. This personal information is all over the place, including the Internet. In today’s consumerdriven market economy, I’m not sure that a claim of privacy is any longer valid.” “That may be the view from the vantage point of advertisers,” declared Britt, confident that she spoke for a majority of citizens, “but loss of privacy is a big issue among consumers. That is why there has been such a backlash against telemarketers and junk mail. These electronic billboards are just one more device to intrude into individuals’ private domain without their consent. An automobile is private space, and motorists have a right to know when they’re being monitored, even if they can’t be individually identified in the computer data bank.” “Motorists are on a public freeway,” responded Lockett. “We’re using the information on listening habits simply to target an advertiser’s product to consumers with particular product preferences. They can choose to ignore the ads. I disagree that this is really an issue of privacy.” “It’s true that drivers can ignore the ads,” conceded Britt. “In that respect the electronic boards are like other forms of outdoor advertising. But it’s the electronic eavesdropping to collect data on personal listening habits without the knowledge of motorists that we object to. This is a violation of personal autonomy. In our judgment, this is clearly a privacy concern.” During this spirited exchange between Marsha Britt and his director of sales and marketing, Timothy McNabb had listened attentively. He thanked Britt for her candor and concern for consumers’ wellbeing and promised to give her remarks serious consideration. Sara Lockett had also defended her agency’s interests quite well and competently deflected their visitor’s privacy arguments. As president and CEO of the McNabb Outdoor Advertising Agency, Timothy McNabb would be the moral agent in deciding to pursue the firm’s plans to install an electronic billboard along the San Fernando north-south freeway. His entrepreneurial instincts

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naturally propelled him in the direction of utilizing this innovative technique of targeting mobile consumers. But he was also acutely sensitive of the privacy concerns raised by Marsha Britt. Aroused consumer activists had succeeded in procuring government intervention against telemarketers. Public opinion was a formidable foe when aroused, and McNabb wondered if the kind of data gathering envisioned by his plans for electronic billboards would cross the line. Of course, his “test” clients— those who had signed up for the agency’s freeway experiment—would have little sympathy for Marsha Britt’s privacy arguments, particularly in light of the massive personal data gathering that was endemic to advertising and marketing strategies. With little time remaining before the proposed launch date for the electronic billboard, Timothy McNabb reflected upon the competing interests that had emerged in the dialogue between Sara Lockett and consumer activist Marsha Britt.

THE CASE STUDY Advertising is ubiquitous, and data gathering by the advertising industry is commonplace. Personal facts and statistics on consumers are catalogued in corporate and governmental computer data banks, and the Internet offers a virtual bonanza of information for demographic profiles. Advertisers and marketers make liberal use of this information in targeting consumers and discovering their product preferences and purchasing habits. Advertising itself can pose privacy concerns when it intrudes unreasonably and perhaps objectionably into our personal domain. However, this case is not about the intrusiveness of ads themselves but rather about the techniques employed to target potential consumers. In the view of consumer activist Marsha Britt, the NcNabb agency’s proposal to install an electronic billboard that would scan the morning rush-hour traffic to ascertain listening preferences which would then be correlated with ads for particular products constitutes an invasion of privacy. Her premise appears to be that the electronic scanning collects personal information without the knowledge or consent of unwitting motorists. In another words, the information-gathering process is intrusive.

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Sales and Marketing Director Sara Lockett, responding on behalf of the NcNabb agency, rejects this complaint. Such data gathering is already so pervasive, she argues, that this is no longer a privacy issue. However, considering the litany of complaints that continue to emanate from disaffected consumers, particularly as they relate to the intrusiveness of marketing strategies and advertising messages, one cannot dismiss the privacy issue so casually. Although the ethical dimensions of privacy are often associated with the practice of journalism, I noted earlier in this chapter that advertising can also raise privacy issues. And because advertising seeks us out, it is by definition intrusive. In this case, the intrusiveness occurs at the data collection stage used to present advertising messages to particular target audiences. Personal autonomy includes the right to be aware of and have the opportunity to reject electronic data-gathering techniques that invade one’s private domain. At the same time, in a highly competitive market economy, advertisers have the right to employ reasonable means to confront consumers and to use innovative devices to gain their attention. For the purpose of considering these competing interests and the ethical implications of this case, assume the role of Timothy McNabb and, using the SAD formula for moral reasoning outlined in Chapter 3, decide whether you will follow through with your agency’s proposal to place an electronic billboard on the freeway. In so doing, construct arguments to explain your decision to those who are most likely to be unhappy with it.

C AS E 5-6

The Right to Die with Dignity To his supporters, Dr. Michael Dvorak was an angel of mercy. To his detractors, he was possessed of a God complex that manifested itself in his arrogant defense of euthanasia as a morally acceptable solution for terminally ill patients. Dvorak, a rather controversial internist, had acquired a reputation as a medical gadfly and had lobbied relentlessly with the legislature for a “right-to-die” law that

would institutionalize physician-assisted suicide for terminally ill people who freely choose to end their lives with dignity. He was viewed with some annoyance by the medical establishment, who still believed that euthanasia was an assault on the Hippocratic oath’s prescription to do no harm. But opinion polls reflected increasing public support for Dvorak’s legislative agenda and a law that would legalize physician-assisted suicide. Nevertheless, the legislature, under pressure from the medical establishment, repeatedly rebuffed the right-to-die initiative while various special interest groups debated the ethics of euthanasia. But Dvorak grew impatient with the tediousness of the political process and decided to take matters into his own hands. When one of his patients, a 54-year-old woman who was in the terminal stages of multiple sclerosis, asked for his assistance in ending her life, he readily agreed. Dvorak’s participation in the carbon monoxide death of his patient brought a quick response from Riverside County District Attorney Robert Nix. As a conservative Christian, Nix was a foe of euthanasia and relished the opportunity of bringing the unrepentant physician to justice. The DA obtained a murder indictment against Dvorak, but following a six-day trial, with both national and local media in attendance, the jury acquitted him of the charge. Emboldened by this legal triumph, Dvorak pledged to continue his assistance to any terminally ill patient who expressed a desire to die with dignity. Nix was equally determined to resist what he considered to be the doctor’s insane disregard for the sanctity of life and the laws of the state. Three months after his acquittal, Dvorak was again front-page copy with reports that he had assisted a terminally ill cancer patient, 62-year-old widow Helen Tate, commit suicide, and again he was indicted for murder. The opening salvo was fired in this high-profile trial when the district attorney released statements by two of the woman’s children disputing the doctor’s claims that their mother wanted to die. “At times she did express a desire to end her life,” according to one of the statements, “but in the couple of weeks prior to her death she told me she had had second thoughts because of what this might do to her family.” Nix

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knew that the children’s testimony would be crucial during the trial. Dvorak’s attorney, Melvin Sanderson, also a veteran litigator in the court of public opinion, retaliated by releasing to the media, a week before the commencement of Dvorak’s trial, a videotape of his patient’s “last wish” that was allegedly made about an hour prior to the time of death listed on the coroner’s report. The tape showed an emaciated, pathetic woman, whose body and spirit had been ravaged by the months of chemotherapy treatments. On the tape Tate is heard, in a barely audible whisper, apologizing to her children for causing them so much grief and begging their forgiveness. But the sound track also contained an unmistakable desire to end her life and a request for Dvorak’s assistance in doing so. “This tape should remove any doubt as to Ms. Tate’s desires to end her suffering,” the defense lawyer announced confidently in his public statement accompanying the much-publicized release of the visual documentation of Tate’s last moments. “And my client is not guilty of murder,” continued Sanderson. “He did not kill Helen Tate. He just provided a means for her to end her own suffering.” This was quickly followed by a statement from Tate’s children denouncing Sanderson’s disgraceful behavior and calling on the news media to repudiate this “blatant and sensationalistic attempt to manipulate public opinion.” “This tape was made as a personal farewell to her children,” the statement said. “We believe that the expression of her wish to die was coerced by Dr. Dvorak when our mother was no longer in full control of her faculties. To broadcast this tape or to publish pictures of our mother in this condition would constitute a gross violation of her privacy, as well as that of her family.” For Sanderson, this videotape was defense Exhibit A in the case of People v. Dr. Michael Dvorak. To Sandra Feinstein it represented a challenging ethical dilemma. Feinstein was the news director of Channel 8, a CBS affiliate in the competitive three-station market of Harrisburg, the Riverside County seat. Two hours before Channel 8’s News at 6, Feinstein was huddled with producer Bruce Baxter and Stephanie Hunter, the reporter who was covering the criminal proceedings against Dvorak.

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The tape they were watching was a solemn testament to the ravages of disease and the pathos of human suffering. “We have to decide whether to put this tape on the air,” Feinstein broke the silence with her usual air of authority. “Both Channel 3 and Channel 12 have this tape; I don’t know what their plans are, but we must assume that at least one of them will run this tape—especially Channel 12. They run a lot of graphic video and tabloid-type stories.” “This is news,” responded Hunter. “This tape represents one of the key issues in this case. Was Ms. Tate’s desire to die unequivocal or did she, as her children claim, have second thoughts about her decision?” “But what about the privacy issue?” responded Baxter. “Her children have asked the media not to use the tape. Despite the fact that Dvorak’s attorney released this tape, I certainly don’t think Ms. Tate expected her dying moments to become a public spectacle. This tape was clearly intended as a personal farewell message to her children.” “Ms. Tate is dead,” said Hunter. “I don’t see this as a privacy issue in her case. As far as her children are concerned, they are key witnesses in this trial. Whether they like it or not, they have become matters of public interest. Besides, once this tape is entered into evidence at the trial it will become a public record—and anyone can attend this trial and see the tape. Hasn’t the privacy surrounding this case really been lost because of the criminal proceedings against Dr. Dvorak?” “I’m not so sure,” replied Baxter with increasing defiance. He enjoyed challenging Hunter, with whom he often disagreed, and probing for the weaknesses in her arguments. “It’s true that this tape will become a matter of public record and that those in the courtroom can view the tape. But the fact is that most of our viewers will not be in the courtroom. They’ll be watching this tape at home. Obviously, we should report the proceedings of the trial itself. But if Channel 8 airs this graphic videotape that was not originally intended for public dissemination, then we’re the primary culprits here. Ms. Tate might be dead, but she has a right to die with dignity. And as far as her children are concerned, they didn’t ask to become a part of this spectacle.”

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“I question Sanderson’s motives in releasing this tape,” said Feinstein. “But I’m also concerned about our viewers’ reactions. They might see this as nothing more than journalistic exploitation and a ratings ploy. The tape is a good visual. But is it essential to the content of the story?” But Hunter was persistent. “Perhaps Sanderson’s motives are less than pure in releasing this tape at this time. But we just have to bite the bullet and run it anyway. This is a key piece of evidence in a murder trial; our viewers should understand this. The tape is essential to the story and provides context. We are a visual medium. Pictures can’t be divorced from the other content of the story. In this case the news value of this tape outweighs any privacy interests of Ms. Tate or her children.” As Hunter made her final plea for what she viewed as the integrity of the station’s news judgment, Feinstein began pondering this ethical dilemma. It was now only an hour until airtime. The notion of delaying a decision on the matter and perhaps airing the tape on another night occurred to Feinstein, but she knew that at least one of her competitors, and perhaps both, was likely to include the tape in that night’s newscast. She regretted that her reporter and producer had brought different perspectives to the table. A consensus would have made Feinstein feel more comfortable if not fully confident in her role as moral agent.

THE CASE STUDY Helen Tate made this tape as a private farewell message to her children. She apparently never anticipated the public scrutiny to which this visual account of her last moments of suffering might be subjected. She is not alive to express her own wishes, but one might argue that the airing of the tape could serve to remove any doubt in the public’s mind as to her desire to die with dignity. On the other hand, the graphic image of this frail, pathetic woman might raise some questions about whether she made this declaration with a clear mind. Would the airing of this tape undermine the respect that is due Tate, even in death? Reporter Stephanie Hunter argues that the privacy question as it pertains to Tate is moot, because she is deceased. From a legal standpoint,

Hunter is essentially correct. Is this also a compelling ethical argument? The privacy of Tate’s children is also at stake here. They argue that the tape contains a personal communication to them from their mother and that their own privacy should be respected. Have they relinquished this privacy through their public statements concerning the tape or through their willingness to serve as prosecution witnesses against Dvorak? For the purpose of analyzing this case, assume the role of news director Sandra Feinstein and, applying the SAD formula, render an ethical judgment as to whether you will include this videotape in tonight’s rendition of News at 6. From an ethical perspective, you must decide whether the news value of this tape and its importance to the trial coverage outweigh the family’s request for privacy. As the moral agent, you must decide whether the tape is essential or useful to the audience in understanding the context of the story. It is a key piece of evidence in this case. The tape could be instrumental in the jury’s deliberations, and Tate’s children have challenged the defense’s explanation of the tape. The tape clearly does have news value. But because the case hasn’t yet gone to trial, it isn’t entirely clear as to how this evidence will be used or explained to the jury. Sanderson’s claim that this tape shows an autonomous woman expressing, with a clear mind, her desire to die will certainly be challenged by the prosecution. Thus, is it even possible to really place this tape into the overall context of the story? On the other hand, the station is faced with competitive pressures. Channel 8 could air the tape and let the audience render their own judgment concerning its meaning.

C AS E 5-7

Cyberspace Data Mining as a Public Relations Tool To Nicholas Wentworth, the Internet was not an unmixed blessing. As the director of public relations for Samacme Pharmaceuticals, one of the nation’s largest manufacturers of prescription drugs, Wentworth fully appreciated the public relations

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potential of cyberspace and his company’s attractive and informative website. On the other hand, Samacme was plagued by attack sites, some of which provided a safe haven for those who desired anonymity as they cast stones at the pharmaceutical industry. However, Wentworth had reconciled himself to such unregulated assaults and was determined to respond in kind on the Samacme.com website. His discomfort was ameliorated in part by the Internet’s potential as a marketing and public relations venue. While his public relations strategies still encompassed traditional media and other conventional public relations activities, Wentworth was attracted by the new technology’s low-cost means of communicating directly with Samacme’s target audiences in the privacy of their homes. The Web was a virtual gold mine of data about the preferences, tastes, and purchasing habits of individual consumers, but Wentworth moved cautiously in the unchartered waters of cyberspace in an effort to strike an ethical balance between the marketing and public relations objectives of his company and the privacy interests of individual consumers. Government regulation of the advertising of prescription drugs had been relaxed several years ago, and Samacme had moved aggressively into television and magazine advertising. These campaigns were accompanied by an assertive public relations blitz, under the capable management of Nicholas Wentworth and his talented staff. Although patients still needed prescriptions to purchase these drugs, advertising and marketing directly to consumers was effective, in Wentworth’s view, because they provided much-needed product information that might prompt patients to request a Samacme product from their physicians. Wentworth was concerned that some of his competitors might be developing public relations and marketing strategies that included data mining of the Web, but his own moral compass advised caution. Before unleashing his creative energies on devising a full-fledged Web-based public relations plan, Wentworth sought the counsel of two Samacme executives whose departments were instrumental to the success of any public relations initiative: Latoya Hampton, the director of consumer relations, and Louis Salbo, the company’s director of marketing.

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“As you know, the Web is full of data about our potential customers,” began Wentworth as he convened a meeting of his two colleagues. “Every time they hit a website they leave a trail. Some of these may be secure sites, but the unsecure ones are particularly valuable. There are many sites where customers provide medical information or ask questions concerning various medical conditions and the drugs that are most effective in treating these problems. Most of the HMOs have their own sites where consumers can look for information, and they frequently provide personal data. There are tools for gathering all of this data and then collating it according to certain demographic and other personal criteria. Using this data that we have mined from cyberspace, we could identify potential customers of our prescription drugs and communicate with them directly. We could pass this along to our ad agency, and they could handle the commercial end of this operation. Our public relations department would handle the informational aspects of this campaign, developing messages that would enhance our corporate visibility and cultivate a positive image of the company. I do have some reservations concerning privacy, however, and I would like your feedback.” “This sounds like a great marketing and public relations opportunity,” responded Hampton. “But I also have some concerns about privacy. These consumers that we plan to target may not be aware that some of their hits on other sites may provide information for our database. While most people understand, I think, that the Web is not a secure form of communication, many do not fully understand that a simple click on a site may provide commercial enterprises with a plethora of personal information.” “I don’t see the problem with privacy,” replied Salbo, who was eager to tap the Web for its abundance of personal data that could figure prominently in his company’s aggressive computer-based marketing and public relations strategies. “When consumers are linked to the Net, they know they are relinquishing some of their privacy rights, in the same manner as when they leave the seclusion of their homes and travel to a public location. And, as you know, the swapping of information among commercial enterprises has long been

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standard practice. When individuals order from catalogs, for example, their names are entered in data banks, and these lists are frequently sold to other companies. Consumers are accustomed to this practice. Why is the Web so different?” “First of all,” responded Hampton without hesitation, “consumers can have their names removed from these lists. But in addition, when individuals order through catalogs, they usually provide, along with their credit card number, only a limited amount of information. Of course, they reveal a lot about their preferences through these catalog purchases. On the Web, however, consumers often surf the Net looking for sites that will provide them with information without realizing they are leaving an electronic trail. They may not be aware that there are programs that can record every file they read and even how long they remain linked to a particular site. If we mine the Web for this data, I have no doubt that we’ll be able to develop consumer profiles that will be of immense benefit to our company. But at what costs? If we expect to attract potential customers, this approach may result in some resentment among those who object to our unexpected access to their computers. If we truly personalize our messages for maximum effectiveness, consumers may wonder how we obtained so much personal data on them. They may consider this to be an unwelcome intrusion on their privacy.” Salbo was unmoved at what he considered to be a rather austere ethical concern for consumer privacy. “Our job is to promote our corporate image and to cultivate a favorable environment in which to promote our products,” declared Salbo. “Computers are the latest venue for such marketing and public relations efforts. Consumers are so accustomed to receiving direct marketing mail— some refer to this as junk mail—that they probably won’t even consider the privacy implications of how we obtained so much information on them.” “Let’s assume you are correct,” replied Hampton, willing for the moment to concede the point. “Even if our target audience doesn’t object to this intrusion—perhaps they are so conditioned to direct marketing that computer-based strategies don’t give them pause—does this really relieve us

of our own ethical responsibilities to avoid unreasonable invasions of privacy? As I noted before, many consumers aren’t aware of how easy it is to mine this data from the Web. It’s still a mystery. The question we have to ask ourselves is whether, if they were fully aware of this process, would they object to our using this personal information to promote our company and our products? After all, they are autonomous individuals. In traditional direct marketing, they can request that their names be removed from mailing lists. Their failure to do this, I suppose, carries with it a tacit consent. But the average consumer may feel that it’s not that easy with electronic lists compiled from the Web.” This brief conversation with his two colleagues had been instructive but had provided no easy solutions to Wentworth’s discomfort. As the director of public relations, he had seldom encountered privacy concerns. Much of his effort had been directed toward media relations, but the Internet provided new opportunities to incorporate individual consumers directly into his public relations strategies. He contemplated the ethical dimensions of his concerns, even as he wondered whether his counterparts at other drug companies were experiencing similar moral qualms.

THE CASE STUDY Privacy is among our most vulnerable values in the unregulated recesses of cyberspace. Consider this commentary from a recent book on the social, legal, and technical challenges of the Internet: As we increase the amount of information and entertainment we receive through digital devices, it becomes more and more possible to collect detailed data about our reading and viewing habits. In principle, it would be quite easy to develop systems and programs that notice what we read or watch, when we read or watch it, and how long we spend doing so. A profile of our interests could be generated from such records, making it easy for advertisers to target us with junk mail, junk e-mail, or even personalized television advertisements. Net browsers already target our interests in this way.95

As noted previously, the device used to develop these profiles is known as a “cookie,” which

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allows marketers to “target advertising to users who have previously visited related sites, and thus are presumed to have an interest in related merchandise.”96 In this narrative, the public relations director for a pharmaceutical company is considering the ethical implications of using this datamining technique as part of his public relations strategy, whereby he can target specific corporate and product messages to individual consumers. His ethical concerns, of course, involve privacy. In addressing this question, he must acknowledge that direct marketing is well established in our consumer society and, except perhaps for an occasional offensive ad, privacy concerns have never been that apparent. Most unwanted solicitations are either discarded or the unconsenting recipients request that their names be deleted from the mailing list. Under new federal do-not-call laws, citizens can also request that telemarketing calls be blocked. But these options are not practical in cyberspace, at least at the moment. Are there unique characteristics of the cyberspace culture that raise the ethical bar for privacy concerns? Exactly how does data mining on the Web to devise consumer profiles differ from traditional means of tabulating personal data in order to construct advertising or public relations messages for individual consumers? Historically, public relations communications have been directed to mass audiences. Will cyberspace significantly alter the practice of public relations in such a way that one-on-one communication assumes a role as prominent as communication through traditional media? If so, what effect will this have on the ethical concerns of public relations practitioners, such as the value of privacy? Do you agree with Latoya Hampton’s concern that her company has a moral responsibility to avoid unreasonable invasions of privacy even if consumers aren’t fully aware that their privacy is being invaded? These are daunting questions and not susceptible to easy solutions. However, as a point of departure assume the role of Nicholas Wentworth, the director of public relations for Samacme Pharmaceuticals, and utilizing the SAD formula for moral reasoning described in Chapter 3, render a judgment on whether you will follow through with your proposal to target individual consumers using

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personal data mined from the vast recesses of the World Wide Web.

Notes 1. Craig L. LaMay (ed.), Journalism and the Debate Over Privacy (Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum, 2003), p. vii. 2. Max Frankel, Media Madness: The Revolution So Far, Catto Report on Journalism and Society (1999), p. 1, quoted in ibid. 3. For a fairly wide-ranging discussion on various ethical concerns of privacy, see Journal of Mass Media Ethics 9, no. 3–4 (1994). 4. “Clinton Coverage: Media Get Mileage, Flak,” Broadcasting, February 3, 1992, p. 13. 5. Conrad C. Fink, Media Ethics (Needham Heights, MA: Allyn & Bacon, 1995), p. 44. 6. For a good discussion on the value of privacy, see W. A. Parent, “Privacy, Morality, and the Law,” in Joan C. Callahan (ed.), Ethical Issues in Professional Life (New York: Oxford University Press, 1988), pp. 218–219. 7. Deborah Potter, “How the Media Treated Me,” Communicator, September 2000, p. 46. 8. For example, see Megan Garvey, “More Unease for Condit Colleagues,” Los Angeles Times, July 14, 2001, p. 15; Marc Sandalow, “Scandal Changes Condit’s Career Forever, Spotlight’s Glare Will Outlive Mystery,” San Francisco Chronicle, July 16, 2001, p. A3. 9. For example, see Richard A. Serrano, “Rep. Condit’s Lawyer Chastises the Media,” Los Angeles Times, July 9, 2001, p. A8. 10. Maureen Dowd (New York Times), “Next Disappearance Should Be Condit’s Career,” article published in the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, July 12, 2001, p. 13A. 11. Louis Hodges, “The Journalist and Privacy,” Journal of Mass Media Ethics 9, no. 4 (1994): 201. 12. For a discussion of the moral foundations of privacy, see Samuel P. Winch, “Moral Justifications for Privacy and Intimacy,” Journal of Mass Media Ethics 11 (1996): 197–209. 13. For a discussion of this point, see Alan Westin, “The Origins of Modern Claims to Privacy,” in Ferdinand David Schoeman (ed.), Philosophical Dimensions of Privacy: An Anthology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984), pp. 59–67. 14. Richard A. Posner, The Economics of Justice (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1983), pp. 268–269. 15. Ibid., p. 268. 16. Ibid. 17. Don R. Pember, Privacy and the Press (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1972), pp. 12–13. 18. William L. Prosser, Handbook of the Law of Torts, 4th ed. (St. Paul, MN: West, 1971), pp. 810–811.

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19. For example, see Don R. Pember, Mass Media Law (Madison, WI: Brown & Benchmark, 1997), p. 262. 20. See Griswold v. Connecticut, 381 U.S. 479 (1965); Stanley v. Georgia, 394 U.S. 557 (1969). 21. Clifford G. Christians, Kim B. Rotzoll, Mark Fackler, and Kathy Brittain McKee also discuss the need for a system of ethics in Media Ethics: Cases and Moral Reasoning, 6th ed. (New York: Longman, 2001), pp. 113–115. 22. E.g., see James Glen Stovall and Patrick R. Cotter, “The Public Plays Reporter: Attitudes toward Reporting on Public Officials,” Journal of Mass Media Ethics 7, no. 2 (1992): 97–106. 23. “Access Battle for Earnhardt Autopsy Photos Puts SPJ in National Spotlight,” SPJ Report, May 2001, p. 1. 24. Bill Keveney and Gary Levin, “How Can You Not Comment on Bush Twins?,” USA Today, June 7, 2001, p. 6D. 25. Quoted in Howard Kurtz, “Jenna Bush Gets No Pass from Press This Time; Privacy Bubble Shrinks with Second Incident,” Washington Post, June 1, 2001, p. C1. 26. See Tony Mauro, “Paparazzi and the Press,” Quill, July/August 1998, pp. 26–28. 27. Foretich v. Lifetime Cable, 777 F. Supp. 47 (D.D.C. 1991). 28. Kent R. Middleton, William E. Lee, and Bill F. Chamberlin, The Law of Public Communication (Boston: Pearson Education, 2003 Edition), p. 168. 29. Christians, Rotzoll, Fackler, and McKee, Media Ethics, p. 114. 30. Jeffrey Olen, Ethics in Journalism (Upper Saddle River, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1988), p. 71. 31. See Florida Star v. B.J.F., 491 U.S. 524 (1989); Cox Broadcasting Corp. v. Cohn, 420 U.S. 469 (1975). 32. Mark Stefik, The Internet Edge: Social, Legal, and Technological Challenges for a Networked World (Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 1999), p. 211. 33. Ibid., p. 223. 34. Barber v. Time, Inc., 159 S.W.2d 291 (Mo. 1942). 35. For a discussion of this issue, see Estelle Lander, “AIDS Coverage: Ethical and Legal Issues Facing the Media Today,” Journal of Media Ethics 3, no. 2 (Fall 1988): 66–72. 36. “Sports Editor: It’s a News Story,” USA Today, April 9, 1992, p. 2A. 37. “Arthur Ashe AIDS Story Scrutinized by Editors, Columnists,” Quill, June 1992, p. 17. 38. Anne Wells Branscomb, Who Owns Information? (New York: Basic Books, 1994), p. 65, citing Christine Spolar, “Privacy for Public Figures?,” Washington Journalism Review, June 1992, p. 21. 39. “AIDS and the Right to Know,” Newsweek, August 18, 1986, p. 46. 40. Ron F. Smith, Groping for Ethics in Journalism, 5th ed. (Ames: Iowa State University Press, 2003), pp. 158, 160.

41. Charles B. Seib, “How the Papers Covered the Cinema Follies Fire,” Washington Post, October 30, 1977, p. C-7. 42. Ibid. 43. Ibid. 44. Ibid. 45. Sue O’Brien, “Privacy,” Quill, November/December 1991, p. 10. 46. Ibid. 47. Kelly McBride, “Rethinking Rape Coverage,” Quill, October/November 2002, p. 8. 48. For a thorough examination of news media treatment of sex crime victims, see Helen Benedict, Virgin or Vamp: How the Press Covers Sex Crimes (New York: Oxford University Press, 1992). 49. Ibid., p. 9. 50. Ibid., p. 39. 51. Jay Black, “Rethinking the Naming of Sex Crime Victims,” Newspaper Research Journal, Summer 1995, p. 106. 52. E.g., see Smith, Groping for Ethics in Journalism, pp. 214–215. 53. McBride, p. 9. 54. Michelle Johnson, “How Identifying Rape Victims Affects Readers’ Perception,” Newspaper Research Journal, Spring 1999, pp. 64–80. 55. The Florida courts have now declared certain aspects of this law unconstitutional. 56. See David A. Kaplan, “Remove That Blue Dot,” Newsweek, December 16, 1991, p. 26. 57. Judy Flander, “Should the Name Have Been Released?” Communicator, June 1991, p. 10. 58. Ibid. 59. “Naming,” Newsweek, April 29, 1991, p. 29. 60. “NBC Creates Stir with Rape Report,” Broadcasting, April 22, 1991, p. 25. 61. Michael Gartner, “Why We Did It,” Communicator, June 1991, pp. 11–12. 62. Smith v. Daily Mail, 443 U.S. 97 (1979). 63. Joe Kollin, “Why Don’t We Name Juveniles?,” Quill, April 2003, p. 12. 64. Quoted in Elizabeth Stone, “Using Children as Sources,” Columbia Journalism Review, September/October 1999, p. 33. 65. Ibid., p. 32. 66. Ibid. 67. Ibid., p. 34. 68. Dr. Alvin F. Poussaint, “The ABC’s of Exploitation,” TV Guide, April 29, 2000, pp. 18–19. 69. Howie Carr, “Manipulation, American-Style,” in Poussaint, “The ABC’s of Exploitation,” p. 19. 70. See Mark J. Miller, “Tough Calls,” American Journalism Review (December 2002): 43–47. 71. Frank Ritter, “Reporting on Suicide Is Not Easy, and Needs Sensitivity,” Tennessean, January 12, 1992, p. 5-D.

CHAPTER 5 72. 73. 74. 75.

76. 77. 78. 79. 80.

81.

82.

83. 84.

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Ibid. Ibid. Bartnicki v. Vopper, 29 Med. L. Rptr. 1737 (2001). Louis W. Hodges, “Undercover, Masquerading, Surreptitious Taping,” Journal of Mass Media Ethics 3, no. 2 (Fall 1988): 34, citing T. L. Glasser, “On the Morality of Secretly Taped Interviews,” Nieman Reports 39 (Spring 1982): 17–20. Ibid. “In Brief,” Broadcasting & Cable, November 21, 1994, pp. 80–81. Richard P. Cunningham, “Seeking a Time-Out on Prurience,” Quill, March 1992, p. 6. Ibid. Smith, Groping for Ethics in Journalism, p. 315, citing “Graphic Excess,” Washington Journalism Review, January 1986, pp. 10–11; Nick Russell, Morals and the Media: Ethics in Canadian Journalism (Vancouver: UBC Press, 1994), p. 121. This case is discussed in Philip Patterson, “Public Grief and the Right to Be Left Alone,” in Philip Patterson and Lee Wilkins (eds.), Media Ethics: Issues and Cases, 4th ed. (Boston: McGraw-Hill, 2002), pp. 130–132. Gregory Stricharchuk, “Computer Records Become Powerful Tool for Investigative Reports and Editors,” Wall Street Journal, February 3, 1988, p. 25. See Jeff South, “No Secrets,” American Journalism Review, April 2000, p. 52. “When Privacy Trumps Access, Democracy Is in Trouble,” News Media and the Law, Spring 1995, p. 2. The Supreme Court later upheld the constitutionality of the law.

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85. Karen Reinboth Speckman, “Using Data Bases to Serve Justice and Maintain the Public’s Trust,” Journal of Mass Media Ethics 9, no. 4 (1994): 236. 86. Ibid. 87. Ibid., p. 237. For an example, see Karen Reinboth Speckman, “Computers and the News: A Complicated Challenge,” in Patterson and Lee, Media Ethics, pp. 139–146. 88. Stricharchuk, “Computer Records Become Powerful Tools,” p. 25. 89. Michael J. Bugeja, Living Ethics: Developing Values in Mass Communication (Needham Heights, MA: Allyn & Bacon, 1996), pp. 256–257. 90. James Fallows, “Are Journalists People?” U.S. News & World Report, September 15, 1997, pp. 31–32, 34. 91. “It’s an Ad, Ad, Ad, Ad World,” Time, July 9, 2001, p. 17. 92. For a discussion of ethical standards in advertising, see Richard L. Johannesen, Ethics in Human Communication, 3d ed. (Prospect Heights, IL: Waveland, 1990), p. 93. 93. For example, see Richard T. DeGeorge, Business Ethics, 2d ed. (New York: Macmillan, 1986), p. 274. 94. The idea for this case was derived from a real event reported in John W. Dean, The Rehnquist Choice (New York: Free Press, 2001), pp. 119–121. 95. Mark Stefik, The Internet Edge: Social, Legal, and Technological Changes for a Networked World (Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 1999), p. 211. 96. Madeleine Schachter, Law of Internet Speech (Durham, NC: Carolina Academic Press, 2001), p. 319.

C H A P T E R

6 Confidentiality and the Public Interest THE PRINCIPLE OF CONFIDENTIALITY

journalistic tradition of at least trying to be objective and detached.”2 In the summer of 1996 three Republicans were locked in a close race for their party’s nomination for a U.S. Senate seat in Maine: Susan Collins, Robert A. G. Monks, and W. John Hathaway. Just days before the primary election, the Boston Globe received a tip that Hathaway had abruptly moved back to Maine from Alabama because of a sex scandal involving a 12-year-old babysitter. The Globe quickly confirmed the story with sources in Alabama and published a front-page story outlining an 18month affair between Hathaway and the young girl. State and local prosecutors were thwarted in their efforts to prosecute Hathaway for statutory rape because the girl’s family had refused to allow the case to go forward. According to the paper’s assistant managing editor, the girl’s parents were friends and business associates of Hathaway and “did not want to put the girl through the ordeal of a trial and instead essentially drove the guy out of town.” Hathaway later denied the charges and suggested that his accuser was mentally unstable. He then accused Monks of being the source of the accusations against him. Monks and his staff initially denied the charge but Monks later acknowledged that he had hired a political consultant to conduct opposition research on Hathaway. In the

In the summer of 2003 columnist Robert Novak revealed that Valerie Plame, wife of Joseph Wilson, former ambassador to Gabon, was a CIA operative. Novak and perhaps as many as five other reporters had obtained this information from an official of the Bush administration. There was speculation the source was motivated by revenge. Wilson had previously undertaken a mission at the request of the administration to determine whether Saddam Hussein had purchased uranium from Niger. His report debunked the allegation that Iraq had tried to buy Niger uranium, and Wilson later wrote an op-ed piece for the New York Times questioning whether the Bush administration had suppressed his report and manipulated intelligence to justify the war in Iraq.1 After some hesitation, the Justice Department eventually opened an investigation into the source of the leak. However, the manner in which Plame’s CIA connection was made public received as much attention as the story itself, leading Fred Brown, cochair of the Ethics Committee of the Society of Professional Journalists (SPJ), to remark that the reporters “allowed themselves to become a major part of an important news story,” which is “hardly in the

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meantime, the Globe refused to identify the source of the damning information but shrewdly noted with such phrases as “widely held perception” that many believed Monks had tipped reporters to Hathaway’s dubious past. While Hathaway and Monks slung mud and exchanged insults, Susan Collins won the primary and later the November general election.3 In 1995 reporter John Rezendes-Herrick used a confidential source in preparing a series of stories for the Inland Valley Daily Bulletin in Ontario, California, about an agricultural company that opposed a planned landfill project. When the project later became the focus of a grand jury investigation, he was summoned to appear but refused to answer questions about the source of his information. A trial judge sentenced Rezendes-Herrick to spend five days in jail.4 What do these three situations have in common? All are based on the value of confidential relationships or information, an important principle in the practice of media communications. The principle of confidentiality imposes a duty to withhold the names of sources of information or the information itself from third parties under certain circumstances. Although this obligation is not absolute, neither is it a mere rule of thumb. The consensus among philosophers is that confidentiality is a prima facie duty that can be overridden only by other, weightier considerations.5 Thus, the burden of proof is generally on those who wish to override it.6 This is familiar terrain for media practitioners, who must decide, in an endless variety of situations, whether confidentiality or candor is the more desirable servant of the public interest. Of course, these ideas are not mutually exclusive, because a promise of confidentiality to a news source can lead to candor in the uncovering of corruption or other illegal activities. The notion of confidentiality, however, goes beyond the protection of news sources. Sometimes news organizations must decide whether to publish secret or confidential information provided to them by a source. Classified government

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documents and grand jury investigations are two prime examples. Under such circumstances the issue is not just one of source confidentiality but also of whether the media should release information they may not be entitled to in the first place. Because media practitioners are in the information business, they often have an irresistible urge to prefer disclosure over secrecy. But the notion that revelation and openness are always in the public interest is presumptuous at best. There are times when the court of public opinion is not entitled to information the release of which could offend or perhaps even cause harm to other parties. Thus, the case for confidentiality as an important societal value worth salvaging is a compelling one. The role of confidentiality in our social relationships is one that we learn early in life. Our parents instill in us the value of keeping secrets and admonish us never to break a promise. This is part of the socialization process by which we develop loyalty to our peers. In fact, secrets can provide a sense of power, because we are privy to information that is not widely shared by others. But promises of confidentiality also limit our freedom of action. An oath of secrecy places a burden on the moral agent to withhold information even in the face of conflicting (and sometimes more compelling) demands. Confidential relationships usually arise in three circumstances. First, there are express promises, as when a reporter promises anonymity to a news source. These are often oral commitments, but they may also be written. The oaths of secrecy signed by CIA agents are a case in point. A promise of confidentiality from a reporter, however, involves more than just a pledge not to reveal a source’s identity. The conditions of this “contract” of secrecy should be clear to both reporter and source. To this end, the journalistic establishment has developed its own lexicon to describe the different kinds of confidential relationships. “Off the record,” for example, is supposed to mean that the information provided to the

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reporter is not for public release. But sources sometimes interpret this to mean that they do not want to be identified with the information, which in the journalist’s mind is usually defined as “without attribution.” Thus, when some sources say “off the record,” they really mean that they don’t want to be quoted. “On background” generally refers to an arrangement whereby government officials or other sources call in reporters to brief them on some matter of public interest. The source is then usually identified in the story by such references as “White House aide,” “senior Pentagon official,” or “State Department spokesman.”7 It is not unusual for journalists to negotiate with their sources over which of these forms of confidentiality will be employed. Nevertheless, such ground rules are subject to interpretation, and it is important that reporter and source have a meeting of the minds on the conditions of their contract before any agreement on confidentiality.8 For example, sometimes background sessions are held between reporters and government leaders for the purpose of a candid exchange of views on public issues. Participants agree in advance whether the information will be on or off the record.9 Confidential relationships may also be formulated out of a sense of loyalty. In such cases there may not be an express promise of secrecy in every situation, but a sense of loyalty to an individual or company propels the moral agent in that direction. A personal secretary to a recently deceased celebrity who refuses to write a kiss-and-tell book and thereby eschews personal enrichment is acting out of a sense of loyalty. Public relations practitioners are expected to serve the best interests of their companies and not to release information detrimental to the corporate welfare. They are expected, in other words, to be loyal. Indeed, the Code of Ethics of the Public Relations Society of America (PRSA) requires a member to “[a]ct in the best interests of the client or employer, even subordinating the member’s personal interests” and to avoid “actions and circumstances that may appear to

compromise good business judgment or create a conflict between personal and professional interests.” But how should ethical public relations practitioners respond when their company is engaged in behavior inimical to the public welfare? Such conduct, of course, can erode company loyalty, and if the public relations practitioner cannot effect change from within the corporate structure, her conscience may compel her resignation. Resignation is a drastic remedy, however, for conflicting loyalties, and as a staff member a greater good can probably be derived from staying on the job and arguing one’s case directly to corporate management. Some practitioners elect to stay but become frustrated in their failure to change the system from within and become whistle-blowers. In other words, they secretly inform the media about their employer’s irresponsible deportment to bring public pressure on the organization.10 Whistleblowing, however, is a controversial practice. Some argue that if practitioners cannot be loyal to their employers, they should resign as soon as they become disaffected with the company’s questionable conduct. Practitioners themselves may also actually participate in the unethical or illegal activities before acting on their moral qualms, thus subjecting them to charges of “unclean hands” in leveling the charges against the company. In addition, although whistleblowing might stop unethical corporate practices, it still usually costs the whistle-blowers their jobs in the long run. Such was the case when a public relations practitioner charged his company, a multinational fruit conglomerate, with the manipulation of media coverage, as well as with political and military action in a Latin American country where the company was operating.11 Loyalty in the marketplace is not always based on genuine affection but is more often a reflection of a feeling of obligation. Thus, such loyalties are transitory and may lose their moral force when the circumstances under which they are formed are altered. What if public relations

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representatives, for example, move from one agency to another? Are they acting unethically if they use the knowledge of their former employer to lure away clients? The PRSA code admonishes members to “safeguard the confidences and privacy rights of present, former, and prospective clients and employees.” Nevertheless, loyalty, like patience, does have its limits, but the use of confidential information from a now-terminated relationship poses some intriguing moral dilemmas. The third type of confidential relationship is one recognized by law. Society has determined that some relationships are so important that they deserve legal protection. The protection accorded to confidential communications between doctors and patients, lawyers and their clients, and priests and penitents are examples. It is unnecessary for an attorney to make an express promise of confidentiality to a client; this relationship is automatically protected by law. In addition, many states and courts now recognize a privilege for reporters to maintain the confidentiality of their sources, a tacit acknowledgment of the role of the media as representatives of the public. Unlike other societal privileges, however, a reporter’s privilege is not predicated on the danger of personal embarrassment or a threat to the privacy rights of the parties per se. Instead, the rationale is that compulsory disclosure would lead to serious consequences for both the reporter and the source. For example, sources who pass on information about government or other corruption may fear for their jobs or even their physical well-being. On the other hand, reporters may be subject to contempt charges if they refuse to divulge the source’s identity.12 In those confidential relationships recognized by law, journalists share moral obligations similar to those imposed on the society they serve. For example, reporters who testify before grand juries are subject to the same oaths of secrecy as other witnesses. Thus, they should not divulge in the media the contents of their testimony, unless they are released from

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their commitment to confidentiality through due process of law. One reporter who chose to honor his commitment to confidentiality until it could be challenged through the legal system was Michael Smith of the Charlotte-Herald News in Florida. Smith was subpoenaed to testify before a special grand jury investigating activities in the Charlotte County state’s attorney’s office and the sheriff ’s department. The reporter was warned that disclosure of his testimony was prohibited by Florida law. On completion of the grand jury’s investigation Smith wanted to publish a news story and possibly a book about the investigation, including his observations of the grand jury process and the matters about which he had testified. To the reporter’s credit he did not simply ignore the statutory ban on publication but sued in federal court to have the law declared unconstitutional as a prior restraint on his First Amendment right of free speech. The U.S. Supreme Court eventually upheld Smith’s constitutional claim.13

THE JUSTIFICATION FOR CONFIDENTIALITY The principle of confidentiality has taken a beating in recent years. In our information-rich society, the public’s demand for knowledge about all manner of things is insatiable. Thus, other duties are sometimes seen as more important than secrecy. This trend, which is disturbing to some, is described by the ethicist Sissela Bok: So much confidential information is now being gathered and recorded and requested by so many about so many that confidentiality, though as strenuously invoked as in the past, is turning out to be a weaker reed than ever. . . . Faced with growing demands for both revelation and secrecy, those who have to make decisions about whether or not to uphold confidentiality face numerous difficult moral quandaries.14

Despite this assessment, several justifications exist for a reaffirmation of the principle of

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confidentiality.15 First, there is a concern for human autonomy in safeguarding personal information and knowledge. The ability to keep secrets—and to feed information to others selectively—provides a sense of power over the individual’s sphere of influence. In fact, most disputes over secrecy boil down to conflicts over power, the power that comes through controlling the flow of information.16 This power is of particular relevance to journalists, who value openness over secrecy in a democratic society. The press is the most important counterbalance against the natural tendencies of government and other institutions to control the flow of negative or sensitive information. The media, therefore, have a much clearer public mandate to challenge such policies of concealment than some other members of society, such as social scientists and private detectives.17 News sources are exerting their sense of autonomy (or power) when they channel confidential information to reporters. This is an important concept for journalists to remember, because anonymous sources act with a variety of motives. Some have an ax to grind, and others may breach confidentiality with the public’s interest in mind, as in the case of a whistleblower. Of course, the idea of autonomy in maintaining confidentiality does have its limits. For example, an individual who knows that a crime is about to be committed (and this includes reporters) is obliged to relinquish this secret to the proper authorities. The second justification for confidentiality is that it establishes a feeling of trust among individuals within society. The respect for the secrets of others is essential to maintaining relationships. Trust, the keeping of promises, and loyalty are the foundations of confidentiality, and it is against these cherished values that third parties who seek to breach the cloak of confidentiality must compete. Reporters who insist on complete candor from their public relations contacts in sensitive situations are asking them to place truth over institutional loyalty. Likewise, law

enforcement authorities who insist on knowing reporters’ confidential sources are asking that promises be broken in the name of an overriding principle, the fair administration of justice. Confidentiality is also sometimes necessary to prevent harm to others. Committee personnel decisions, even at public institutions, are usually closed to the press and the public because of the potential harm flowing from the rather candid and sometimes brutal comments during the deliberations. Reporters’ offers of confidentiality to news sources are usually grounded in the perceived harm that might accrue to those individuals if their identities should become known. Finally, confidentiality serves the ends of social utility. Without assurances of confidentiality, the trust surrounding certain professional relationships would be eroded. Clients would be less than candid with their attorneys, which could undermine the cause of justice. Patients might lose confidence in their doctors, diminishing the quality of personal health care. And, of course, reporters argue that confidential sources are often essential to uncovering crime and bringing it to the public’s attention. Thus, for a journalist secrecy can become a tool for ensuring the public’s access to the day’s intelligence.

SEEKING DISCLOSURE: THE MORAL POSITION OF THE ACTOR Because of the value attached to the principle of confidentiality in our society, the moral positions of the party seeking disclosure and the one claiming confidentiality must be considered in deciding whose claim should be accorded greater significance. Motivation is helpful in evaluating whether there are overriding reasons for disclosure. For example, an individual whose neighbor pleads that she cannot afford to repay a loan might desire a peek at the neighbor’s income tax returns, but his moral position is a weak one. Likewise, a reporter who seeks copies of a company president’s personal financial

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statement is also in a weak position unless the executive is involved in a matter of public interest to which the statement might relate. Public interest (as opposed to merely private curiosity or self-interest) is perhaps the most compelling justification for disclosure. Information is the lifeblood of democracy, and where certain knowledge is essential either to rational consumer choice or collective political decision making, the arguments favoring publicity over confidentiality assume critical dimensions. A case in point is Hill & Knowlton’s representation of “Citizens for Free Kuwait,” a lobbying group that sought to foster Kuwait’s interests in the United States at a time when this country was contemplating military action against Iraq to free Kuwait. According to the public relations firm, they made prompt disclosure under the Foreign Agents Registration Act of its relationship with the Citizens and the fact that the bulk of its fees were being paid by the Kuwaiti government.18 Among President Bush’s justifications for initiating military action against Iraq were Saddam Hussein’s atrocities against the Kuwaiti people. Perhaps the most sensational claim was that Iraqi soldiers removed hundreds of Kuwaiti babies from incubators and left them to die on the hospital floors.19 In October 1990 the Congressional Human Rights Caucus held a public hearing on conditions in Kuwait under Iraqi occupation and heard testimony from witnesses who had escaped from Kuwait after the Iraqi invasion. The most dramatic incubator story—and the one that attracted the most media coverage—was that of Nayirah al-Sabah, the 15-year-old daughter of the Kuwaiti ambassador to the United States. Hill & Knowlton had offered her testimony to the committee. At her father’s request, the girl’s last name and her relationship to the Kuwaiti ambassador were omitted from public testimony for fear of reprisals against her family in Kuwait. The claims of incubator atrocities were apparently influential in convincing some senators to support the resolution authorizing war.20 Several news organizations later challenged her

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testimony, suggesting that the girl had committed perjury and questioning whether she had even been in Kuwait and whether there had been any atrocities. Hill & Knowlton, citing evidence of atrocities after the liberation of Kuwait, stood by the maligned witness’s testimony.21 Regardless of the truth of Nayirah al-Sabah’s testimony, the more significant ethical question, from the public relations firm’s perspective, was Hill & Knowlton’s relationship with members of the congressional caucus conducting the hearings. In an op-ed piece in the New York Times, John R. MacArthur wondered why the caucus did not investigate Nayirah’s story. As it turned out, the committee’s chair, Tom Lantos, a California Democrat, and John Edward Porter, an Illinois Republican, had a close relationship with Hill & Knowlton. The company’s vice president had helped to organize the Congressional Human Rights Caucus hearings in meetings between the two congressmen and the chair of Citizens for a Free Kuwait. In addition, Hill & Knowlton provided office space in Washington at a reduced rate and phone message service for the Congressional Human Rights Foundation, a group founded in 1985 by Congressmen Lantos and Porter. A year after Nayirah’s appearance before Lantos’s committee, the foundation also named Frank Mankiewicz, Hill & Knowlton’s vice chair, to its board. Although the public relations firm came in for a great deal of public censure for representing a controversial client and a questionable cause, it was the testimony of the Kuwaiti ambassador’s daughter in a congressional hearing without full disclosure that raises serious ethical concerns. As Susanne Roschwalb observes in her rather exhaustive examination of the public relations firm’s involvement in the Kuwaiti hearings, “Hill & Knowlton becomes the focal point for the discussion of ethics because the basic concerns about public relations, media management and lobbying were magnified during a time when the country was debating war and Hill & Knowlton’s client was a foreign country with a direct interest in the outcome of the debate.”22

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The moral position of mass media institutions is often at issue when the release of confidential information is sought. From the standpoint of motivation, the media are at least on respectable moral ground when they publish sensitive information because they believe it to have news value. Such decisions, of course, do involve subjective judgments, but they are at least news judgments born out of public interest considerations. This is not to suggest that public interest concerns are the only noble ethical motivations. Obviously, the potential for harm to individuals, small groups within society, or even large institutions can provide a morally justifiable rationale for breaching confidentiality. But actors’ moral position is an important consideration in evaluating their claims of access to confidential information.

CONFIDENTIALITY IN JOURNALISM: SOME SPECIAL CONCERNS In early January 2002 aspiring author Vanessa Leggett was released from the Federal Detention Center in Houston after 168 days of incarceration. She thus achieved the rather dubious distinction of spending more time in jail than any other journalist in U.S. history for refusing to provide confidential tapes and notes to a federal grand jury seeking to charge millionaire bookmaker Robert Angleton with conspiring to kill his wife. The government claimed that Leggett, who was writing a book about the case but had no publisher and had never published a news story, was not a representative of the media and was thus not entitled to any form of reporter’s privilege.23 The duration of Leggett’s imprisonment may be an anomaly, but the issue of reporters’ privilege—the right to maintain the confidentiality of news sources and documentary materials— remains controversial, both legally and ethically. For many journalists, the right of confidentiality

is fundamental to the news-gathering process, but the punishment of reporters through judicial contempt for refusing to cooperate with law enforcement agencies is rather common. The issue of confidentiality confronts all media practitioners, but among journalists the ethical dilemmas posed by confidential relationships with their news sources are particularly acute. However, in staking out a claim to openness, as opposed to secrecy, journalists should beware of moral hypocrisy. Reporters serve a legitimate function as government watchdogs, and in this capacity they correctly view secrecy as antithetical to the democratic process. But from an ethical perspective this claim is undermined somewhat by the use of clandestine operations, surreptitious surveillance, and reliance on confidential sources whose veracity may never be subjected to public scrutiny. These practices may lead to credibility problems for the media, as Bok notes in her book on secrecy and confidentiality: The press and other news media rightly stand for openness in public discourse. But until they give equally firm support to openness in their own practices, their stance will be inconsistent and lend credence to charges of unfairness. It is now a stance that challenges every collective rationale for secrecy save the media’s own. Yet the media serve commercial and partisan interests in addition to public ones; and media practices of secrecy, selective disclosure, and probing should not be exempt from scrutiny.24

The Case for and against Confidentiality In 1972 the U.S. Supreme Court denied constitutional protection for the reporter–source relationship. In Branzburg v. Hayes, which was really a combination of cases involving three reporters, a 5–4 majority ruled that the reporters had no privilege under the First Amendment to refuse to testify before grand juries.25 The Branzburg decision sent a shiver through the journalistic community. However, the impact

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of this decision has been offset in recent years by the recognition of a First Amendment privilege in the lower federal courts and many state courts. In addition, many states have extended protection to journalists through “shield laws,” statutory privileges designed to protect reporters from having to reveal the identities of their confidential sources to judicial or investigatory bodies. In some jurisdictions the privilege is absolute; in others the shield laws provide only qualified protection. Some reporters have welcomed the arrival of shield laws within their states (there is no federal shield law), because such legislation reflects public policy and recognizes the importance of the reporter–source relationship. Others oppose shield laws, preferring to base a reporter’s privilege on the First Amendment, which is not subject to legislative whims. Even a liberal or absolute statute can be amended or repealed, depending on the political makeup of the lawmaking body. In carving out a privilege for reporters, some states and courts have relied on the dissenting opinion by Justice Potter Stewart in the Branzburg case. Stewart noted that he would require the government to demonstrate three things before compelling grand jury testimony from a reporter regarding a confidential source: (1) that there is probable cause to believe that the reporter has information “clearly relevant to a specific probable violation of law”; (2) that the information sought cannot be obtained by alternative means less destructive of First Amendment values; and (3) that there is a “compelling and overriding need” for the information.26 This three-part test, because it has been embraced in one form or another by lower courts and some states through their shield laws, represents an important summary of the circumstances under which journalists might be required to divulge their sources. Nevertheless, even where the law works to the advantage of reporters, the ethical quandary regarding the protection of sources remains problematic. The threshold issue is whether to

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promise anonymity in the first place. This is a critical decision because it sets in motion a potential conflict with other competing interests, particularly when the information provided by the sources relates to criminal or civil investigations or litigation. Thus, a promise of confidentiality should be used with extreme caution in the news-gathering process. News sources are the cornerstone of good investigative journalism. And reporters sometimes feel compelled to promise confidentiality to solicit candid testimony from those who bear witness to the unsavory conduct of others. Reporters point out, perhaps correctly, that without the assurance of anonymity, some sources would dry up. Thus, the audience would be deprived of valuable information about matters of public interest. In such cases reporters are laying claim to a fiduciary relationship with their readers and viewers, whereby they serve as representatives of the public in its quest for information. There is also resentment in the journalistic community at being used as an arm of law enforcement, a pawn for lazy prosecutors and other officials who are unable or unwilling to develop their own sources. At times, however, no alternative sources are available, and thus this argument loses some of its appeal as a defense for reporters’ privilege. But in general, confidentiality in a reporter–source relationship does serve a valid social purpose, and a promise to a source should be broken only when there are overriding reasons for doing so. Nevertheless, some serious reservations have been advanced about the use of confidential sources. Because the credibility of sources is one of the barometers of truthful communications, confidentiality deprives members of the audience of the opportunity to decide for themselves how much faith to put in the information. In addition, news sources, as noted earlier, act from a variety of motives, some of which are not commendable. Some like to influence public opinion by leaking information to reporters in exchange for a promise of confidentiality. Such sources are described variously as “authoritative,”

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“highly placed,” “unimpeachable,” or “wellinformed.” Others act from self-interest or with such objectionable motives as hatred or revenge. Still other sources are more altruistic and appear to be acting out of a legitimate concern for the public interest. Another concern is that sources sometimes use their cloak of confidentiality to attack third parties who cannot defend themselves against an unidentified opponent. They venture opinions and observations that might remain unexpressed if the source were quoted by name. There is also concern that such a privilege could serve as a license for irresponsible behavior by the media. Instead of searching for facts, they could spin webs of fantasy, maligning both public officials and private citizens in the process. There would be no means of redress, because the reporter could not be called as a witness to corroborate the allegations.27 Critics of reporters’ privilege, especially as it relates to criminal cases, also contend that journalists should not be exempt from the moral and legal duties imposed on the citizenry at large. According to this view, people have a general obligation to assist the cause of justice by offering any evidence at their disposal, and there is no compelling reason to relieve reporters of this moral responsibility. And the critics may have a point: Journalists, who are quick to point out that politicians are not above the law, are often reluctant to apply the same egalitarian ideals to their own professional conduct. This was the issue in late 1999 when a source confessed to Philadelphia Inquirer reporter Nancy Phillips that he had arranged the grisly murder five years earlier of Rabbi Fred Neulander’s wife, Carol, at the request of her husband. However, before confessing, the source had insisted that the conversation be “off the record,” and while police continued their investigation of the murder, Phillips harbored a secret that, if true, would have solved the case and could have earned the rabbi the death penalty.28 While the source, with the reporter’s assistance, eventually confessed to

the police, the ethical postmortems on Phillips’s conduct were predictable. For county prosecutor Lee A. Solomon, Phillips’s duty as a citizen should have served as her moral beacon. “Journalists have a moral and ethical obligation to come forward,” he declared categorically. “To cloak themselves in privilege and allow someone to get away with murder is unconscionable to me. Maybe it is legally permissible, but it’s morally unconscionable.”29 Media ethicist and University of Minnesota law professor Jane Kirtley was just as resolute in support of the reporter’s decision. “The definition of good citizenship for a journalist is different because of the constitutionally protected role we enjoy in our society,” Kirtley said. “One of the ways you fulfill your duty to the public is by maintaining your independence from the government. Police have a role to fulfill, but it’s not identical to journalists’. Keeping the line firmly drawn is tremendously important.”30 Inquirer Editor Robert J. Rosenthal, in a statement that undoubtedly reflected the ethical posture of the journalistic community, agreed. “It’s crucial for our long-term credibility to not be seen as a branch of law enforcement.”31 A promise of confidentiality might exempt a reporter from the normal editorial review processes, at least insofar as the credibility of sources is concerned. In the strictest sense the promise precludes disclosure even to the reporter’s employer, but some debate persists within the journalistic community over whether promises of anonymity are really the reporter’s or the institution’s. For example, if reporters reveal their sources to an editor, has the promise of confidentiality been breached? Regardless of the views of individual journalists and editors on this issue, there is a moral obligation to clarify this point with the source before extending an offer of unqualified confidentiality. In addition, at the risk of offending the sense of journalistic independence and autonomy, news organizations should develop a written policy on this matter to serve as a moral beacon for employers and employees alike.32

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Indeed, most news organizations now routinely require reporters to reveal their sources to their editors, a practice that was once opposed by both editors and independent-minded reporters. Some news organizations have specific policies stating that promises of confidentiality can flow only from the institution itself, not from individual reporters. Many news organizations discourage the use of confidential sources altogether. Only when all other “on-the-record” avenues of investigation have failed, according to these policies, should confidentiality be considered. It is also common practice to confirm the information provided by a confidential source with at least one other source. And when a story is based on a confidential source, the reason for the source’s anonymity should be explained to the audience.

A Delicate Balance: Confidentiality and Competing Interests The ethical dimensions of the reporter–source relationship are anchored in two important principles. First, the moral duty to keep a promise of confidentiality to a source is derived from the general obligations imposed on each member of society. Keeping promises, as pointed out earlier, is a value considered worthy of protection. A breach of secrecy should be the exception, not the rule. Second, the confidentiality of the reporter–source relationship is based on the reporter’s particularistic obligations (see Chapter 2) to the field of journalism. Such obligations are set out in the professional codes. Given this impressive array of moral support, some reporters have apparently concluded that their duty to protect their sources overrides all other obligations. And it is true that the special nature of the reporter–source relationship serves important societal functions, a reality that does not apply to most citizens in terms of their confidential relationships. Thus, the burden of proof is on those parties seeking the breach of confidentiality and the revelation of the sources’ identities.

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It does not follow, however, that journalists are exempt from competing obligations. A system of ethics cannot excuse any group from the rules of moral reasoning predicated simply on the role of that group within society. Reporters must engage in the same process of moral reasoning as the rest of us, in which competing values are weighed against the principle of confidentiality.33 If confidentiality is then deemed to override other duties, reporters will have some justification for defending these decisions against the critics of their ethical behavior.34 In summary, ethical concerns affecting the reporter–source relationship arise at three points: (1) when the reporter decides whether to promise anonymity to a source; (2) when the reporter decides whether to divulge the source’s identity to an editor or other supervisor, especially when there is no clear-cut company policy on this matter; and (3) when the journalist contemplates breaking a promise of confidentiality because of some conflicting moral principle or perhaps under penalty of law. The existence of a reporter’s privilege is, for some members of the journalistic community, an essential tool of investigative reporting. But this does not exempt reporters from the obligation to follow the normal procedures of moral reasoning and to acknowledge that there are competing moral claims to their promises of confidentiality.

CHANGES IN THE REPORTER–SOURCE RELATIONSHIP Journalists clearly face more pressure than ever before to reveal their sources of information. In the past some reporters have gone to jail rather than reveal their confidential sources, but the reporter–source relationship has changed perceptibly. Floyd Abrams, a prominent First Amendment attorney, once asserted that breaking promises to sources is more common than one might suspect and that there is a lot of “fibbing” about this practice because news organizations

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do not want to acknowledge it to the rest of the journalistic community.35 Needless to say, the breaking of a promise is not a casual enterprise and should be done only after much reflection and only when based upon some more overriding ethical consideration. The moral agent should always keep in mind that the consequences of naming a confidential source can be quite painful. Consider, for example, the TV news reporter in South Carolina whose husband was forced to reveal her news source to a grand jury. The source, an attorney who served as president of the state’s trial lawyers association, was sentenced to four months in jail and was forced to resign his law practice. Similarly, a former corporate attorney in Ohio was sentenced to two years of unmonitored probation and forty hours of community service for his involvement in illegally accessing corporate employees’ voice mail after a reporter named him as the source for a story critical of the corporation’s business practices.36 Perhaps the greatest source of pressure comes from the legal fraternity, especially in libel suits. In such cases journalists and their employers are confronted with the prospects of huge damage assessments, particularly when a plaintiff argues that the truth or falsity of an allegation can be determined only if the identity of the source is revealed. If reporters refuse to comply with a court order to divulge the source’s name, the judge may well enter a default judgment in favor of the plaintiff, a judgment that could run into the millions of dollars.37 A reporter might also justify the breaking of a promise based upon “altered circumstances,” that is, facts that are not in evidence at the time the agreement with the source was consummated. This was the dilemma faced by Howard Weaver, editor of the Anchorage (Alaska) Daily News, when he was confronted with whether to break a promise to an AIDS victim and his family. A young man, a hemophiliac, was suing a blood supplier, alleging that he had contracted AIDS from tainted blood he bought. In response to a plea from the man and his family,

Weaver agreed not to use his name in their coverage of the story. The stigma of having AIDS, they argued, was equal to that of being raped. But the paper later discovered the victim was having unprotected sex after he found out he had AIDS. “We were faced with the question of violating our pledge of confidentiality,” said Weaver, “stacked up against what could have been obvious life-and-death circumstances to his partners.” The editor told the victim’s mother he had a moral responsibility to warn his partners, and if he didn’t the paper would take action. The victim later notified his partners, and the paper was taken off the horns of an ethical dilemma.38 Although confidential sources will probably continue to occupy an important niche in investigative reporting, the trend away from the traditional view that the reporter–source relationship is sacred is unmistakable. News organizations have tightened their policies and have reined in reporters who might, in their enthusiasm to get an exclusive, make unnecessary promises of confidentiality to their sources. Nevertheless, in those cases in which promises are made—wisely or unwisely—reporters who are asked to break their pledge of confidentiality must still wrestle with the moral dilemma of whether to do so.

THE PRINCIPLE OF CONFIDENTIALITY: HYPOTHETICAL CASES The cases in this chapter provide the opportunity for you to examine several issues involving the principle of confidentiality. Although the scenarios deal primarily with the relationships between reporters and their sources and the ethical responsibilities of public relations practitioners, confidentiality is a value that affects all of us, regardless of our professional interest. In analyzing these cases, keep in mind the three approaches to ethical decision making described in Chapter 3: deontological (dutybased) ethics, teleological (consequence-based)

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ethics, and Aristotle’s golden mean. Of course, any ethical dilemma involving confidentiality must begin with the general rule outlined at the outset of this chapter: The burden of proof for breaching confidentiality is on the party seeking disclosure. A duty-based theorist would consider confidentiality a basic right grounded in the principle of autonomy. Thus, a breach of secrecy, especially when made pursuant to a promise, would be justified only when confidentiality must be overridden by some other basic right. An example would be the right to a fair trial, the outcome of which depends, in part, on a defendant’s access to a reporter’s sources of information. But even here there is a duty to keep promises, and the abrogation of a promise can seldom be justified, according to the deontological perspective.

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Consequentialists, on the other hand, would examine the potential impact of disclosure before breaching confidentiality. This process involves, first, measuring the short-term harm (or benefits) of the decision. Second, the long-term consequences must be evaluated. For example, in deciding whether to break a promise of confidentiality, a reporter should weigh not only the relative harm to the source and other interested parties but also the long-term impact on the journalist’s (and perhaps the institution’s) credibility and future effectiveness as an investigative reporter. Aristotle’s golden mean requires a search for a “mean” between two extremes. In most cases, however, there may not be a middle ground for exploration, because any release of information effectively violates the principle of confidentiality.

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Guarding a Secret about a Military Hero In March 2003 the 3rd Infantry Division crossed the border between Kuwait and Iraq and headed for Baghdad. Operation Iraqi Freedom had begun. Bypassing most of the major centers of resistance, the 3rd Division moved with dispatch toward the Iraqi capital, capturing the international airport and entering Baghdad from the west virtually unopposed. Pursuant to President Bush’s orders to topple Saddam Hussein’s regime, the military buildup of coalition units had occurred so rapidly that planning was still underway as the lead elements of America’s fighting forces began their incursion into the Iraqi homeland. CBS News correspondent Jim Axelrod, embedded with the 3rd Division, reported that they had made it from the Kuwait-Iraq border to the edge of the Euphrates River valley in less than six hours, an amazing feat considering

the anticipated resistance from elements of Saddam’s armed forces. While most of the American public watched with stunned fascination the televised accounts of what appeared to be a quick and decisive victory, the families of the soldiers left behind at Fort Stewart, Georgia, the home base for the 3rd Infantry, were understandably apprehensive about the potential dangers, including the reported weapons of mass destruction, that awaited their loved ones. Laura Sinclair, a bride of only three months, was among those who attempted to remain stoic while coping with her husband’s abrupt departure for Operation Iraqi Freedom. Jason and Laura Sinclair had been high school sweethearts at Roosevelt High in Annistonville, where Jason’s athletic prowess earned him letters in three high school sports and made him a local celebrity. Jason’s decision to enlist in the army shortly after graduation came as no surprise to his family and friends, who admired the youth’s patriotism and commitment to public service. Following

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his basic training at Fort Benning, Jason was assigned to the 3rd Infantry Division at Fort Stewart, where he was soon promoted to corporal. When the unit was alerted for its deployment to Kuwait and then Iraq, Jason and Laura decided to marry prior to Jason’s departure for Operation Iraqi Freedom. In her husband’s absence, Laura returned to Annistonville to live with her parents. She monitored the nightly television accounts of the 3rd Infantry’s operations and the optimistic reports from those journalists embedded with various units of the 3rd Infantry. Much to her relief her husband returned safely to Fort Stewart, where he was awarded the Silver Star for valor for liberating his squad from an ambush by Iraqi soldiers just 20 miles from Baghdad. Corporal Sinclair’s bravado under fire was front-page news in the Annistonville Courier, and he was quickly anointed a hero. Shortly after returning from Iraq, Jason’s enlistment ended, and he took a job as a security guard at a plant in his hometown. Laura took a job as a teller in a bank, and life appeared to resume some degree of normalcy for the Sinclairs. Friends and neighbors detected a more somber mood from the usually gregarious Jason Sinclair but attributed this to the period of decompression required for any soldier reentering civilian life from combat duty. Three months after he left military service, Jason was found dead in his car in a wooded area not far from the Sinclairs’ home, the victim of a self-inflicted gunshot wound. Kurt Bannister, the senior reporter for the Courier, was assigned to write the front-page account of Jason Sinclair’s tragic death. However, Bannister felt unfulfilled by his initial news report on Corporal Sinclair’s death and decided a few days after the funeral to write a more in-depth feature that would serve as a sufficient commemoration of the life of the young man who had served his country and risked his life for his fellow soldiers. He quickly gathered background material on his community’s military hero and interviewed friends, teachers, former classmates, and even those who had served with him in Iraq. The picture that emerged was of an optimistic, selfless individual who was always willing to make sacrifices for others. Some observed that Jason had been rather moody since his return from Iraq but ascribed this

to the difficulties of readjusting to civilian life after several months of intense combat and security operations. During a brief interview with Sinclair’s father, the reporter asked the senior Sinclair if he knew why his son committed suicide, and he reluctantly replied that Jason and his wife were having financial and marital problems but requested that Bannister not include that in his story. Bannister readily agreed, reasoning that this was a personal matter that his readers did not need to know. Besides, such a revelation might tarnish the community’s image of Jason as a well-adjusted family man, and the tarnishing of this image, in Bannister’s mind, would serve no purpose. However, Jason Sinclair’s brother, David, also a resident of Annistonville, tendered a somewhat more disturbing account of his sibling’s life following his return from Iraq. His interview with Bannister commenced with a rather mundane description of their childhood and adolescence but quickly turned to Jason’s decision to join the army and his subsequent deployment to Iraq. “I was opposed to my brother’s joining the army,” David Sinclair revealed to Bannister, “and I was opposed to our going into Iraq. Fortunately, Jason returned alive and was even honored as hero. He received the Silver Star for valor. But there’s another side to his combat experiences in Operation Iraqi Freedom. It’s all here in a journal he kept while on active duty. I discovered it among his personal belongings a couple of days ago. Since you’re doing a feature on my brother, including his military experience, I thought you might find this interesting.” Bannister reviewed the rather fascinating firsthand chronicle of one soldier’s triumphs and tribulations as his division marched relentlessly toward Baghdad and eventually occupied the Iraqi capital. Jason’s description of how he rescued his fellow soldiers from an ambush, for which he was awarded the Silver Star, was particularly tantalizing. The journal’s tone was decidedly upbeat, reflecting the optimistic disposition for which Jason was renowned during his high school years. But as the 3rd Infantry neared Baghdad, the realities of war began to take their toll on Corporal Sinclair. According to Jason’s account, on the outskirts of Baghdad his company encountered fierce resistance from an unknown number of Iraqis firing rifles and grenades

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from a series of reinforced bunkers and an old farmhouse. Jason’s squad was assigned to assault the farmhouse with heavy weapons and to neutralize the enemy combatants inside. After 30 minutes of intense fighting, the squad accomplished its mission, but in surveying the consequences of their assault discovered the bodies of not only three Iraqi paramilitary soldiers but also seven civilians, including two women and three children. Although Jason’s unit was unaware of the civilian occupants of the farmhouse, his journal revealed a deepening despair at this sobering but inevitable facet of war. As Bannister turned the pages of the journal and scanned the entries posted after the young soldier’s return from Iraq, Jason appeared to become increasingly despondent, and the recollections manifested a quiet desperation. It was clear that his role in an operation that had resulted in the deaths of innocent civilians had taken a psychological toll on the previously gregarious Jason Sinclair. Near the end, suicide was mentioned more than once as a permanent escape from the demons that continued to haunt Jason upon his return from Operation Iraqi Freedom. Bannister thanked David Sinclair for sharing his brother’s journal with him, although he was uncertain as to Sinclair’s motivation or how he might incorporate the journal’s contents into his feature on Annistonville’s hometown hero. The journal had clearly revealed the reason for Jason Sinclair’s despondency that was probably responsible for his suicide. As the Courier’s senior reporter contemplated his human interest feature on Annistonville’s military hero, he recognized the potential ethical quandary posed by his unexpected exposure to Corporal Sinclair’s anguish over his possible contribution to the deaths of innocent civilians and the role that this played in his decision to commit suicide. And because the revelation of such confidential information might tarnish the image of a local citizen who was revered as a military hero and thus subject his paper to public censure, Bannister asked for a meeting with Managing Editor Murphy Truscott, who would be the moral agent in this case. Truscott usually erred on the side of caution and listened to all points of view before rendering a judgment. He asked City Editor Lauren Anderson, Bannister’s immediate supervisor, to participate in

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the ethical discourse on whether to reveal the real reason for Jason Sinclair’s tragic death. “The buck stops here,” declared Truscott as he opened the dialogue with Bannister and his city editor. “I must give the green light on whether we run a follow-up story on Jason Sinclair and reveal our discovery on the probable motivation for his suicide. But first, I want your views.” “As you know,” began Bannister, “during the interview Jason’s father cited financial and family problems as the reasons for his son’s drastic action. I promised that I would not report this information because it really wasn’t a matter of public interest. But this changes things. Mr. Sinclair may have known more than he revealed. In any event, David Sinclair let me read his brother’s journal, which provides some pretty graphic insight into his mood change upon his return from Iraq and his ultimate decision to take his own life; he was despondent over what he believed was his role in the killing of innocent civilians.” “I have a different view,” responded Anderson. “You made a promise to Jason’s father that you would not reveal his family problems as a possible cause of his suicide. When you interviewed him, he may very well have been aware of this journal. We should assume he was. But in my opinion that doesn’t change the decision to omit any reference to the reasons for the suicide. Your information came from a journal that Corporal Sinclair clearly did not intend to be released to the public. The fact that his brother made it available to you doesn’t alter this fact.” “I’m not so sure,” replied Bannister. “I agreed to omit any reference to family and financial problems as a possible cause of suicide because these were personal matters, the discussion of which would serve no public purpose. And I don’t believe that Mr. Sinclair was attempting to deflect me from the real reason for his son’s tragedy. I’m inclined to believe that Jason’s Iraq experience and subsequent depression contributed to his family problems. However, I do believe the circumstances surrounding Corporal Sinclair’s suicide may justify the inclusion of this information in my story.” “I disagree,” responded Anderson. “Sinclair is a local hero. He won the Silver Star. What’s to be gained by reporting that he may have been

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responsible for civilian casualties, a mistake that apparently tormented him to the point that he was willing to take his own life? This could cause needless anguish for the family and friends of the victim. Combat casualties, civilian or military, are newsworthy, but this episode is not the focus of your story. If there had been an official investigation of this incident that focused on Sinclair—and so far we have no evidence of this—then I would have a different view.” “I’m aware of the potential reaction among our readers,” declared Bannister. “But describing this event through Jason’s eyes might help our readers to understand the unpredictable nature of war and its psychological impact on the individual soldier. Jason is a local hero—a soldier who committed suicide apparently because of an event that transpired during the same military campaign that turned him into a decorated hero.” “But doesn’t using this private account to inform readers about the human tragedies of war turn this article into a political statement?,” replied Anderson. “Besides, your information came from a personal journal—journals contain the private musings of their authors. They’re not intended to be made public. Jason Sinclair’s brother should never have showed it to you, but the fact that he did does not remove its cloak of confidentiality. Besides, David Sinclair admitted to you that he was opposed to Jason’s enlistment and in fact was opposed to the war. His motives are somewhat questionable.” But Bannister persisted in his defense of including some of the material from Jason’s journal, becoming increasingly confident of his rationale for doing do. “My original intention was to write a human interest story—a commemoration of the life of a local hero—but this new information casts this project in a different light. Civilian casualties are an unfortunate consequence of war, but Jason’s journal provides a personal account of one soldier’s psychological reaction to such tragedies. Perhaps family problems played a role in his death—they may even have been the result of his Iraqi experiences—but the journal leaves little doubt as to the underlying cause of his mood swings and the probable cause of his suicide. Since his suicide may have been the result of his

role, as unintended as it was, in the deaths of Iraqi civilians, this is a matter of public interest and should be reported.” Sensing that Bannister and Anderson had fully delineated their positions, Managing Editor Murphy Truscott instructed Bannister to continue work on his story, assuring him that he would consider the ethical dilemma posed by the just completed discourse and quickly render a judgment on whether to reveal the personal lamentations of a young soldier who could no longer speak for himself.

THE CASE STUDY This case raises some troubling questions concerning the use of confidential information that could cause harm to innocent third parties, as well as to the memory of a suicide victim who cannot object to publicity surrounding his private thoughts. Journalistic reporting on suicides is never easy, and in this case the difficulty is more acute because of the status of the victim within the community. Nevertheless, the newspaper’s reporter, Kurt Bannister, believes that the reasons underlying the young soldier’s suicide, which at first he believed to be strictly personal, are now a matter of public interest because of their connection to the same military campaign that resulted in his being anointed a local hero in the first place. Bannister may believe, although this is left unstated in the case, that the fact Jason Sinclair’s brother provided access to the victim’s journal constitutes tacit consent to include this information in the feature story concerning Corporal Sinclair’s combat experiences. Jason Sinclair’s involvement in an operation that killed innocent civilians and his subsequent despondency over this episode are chronicled in a private journal, the contents of which were certainly not intended for public consumption. Does the fact that the tragic results of this mission are a matter of public interest and are directly related to Jason Sinclair’s suicide alter the equation in favor of publication? The reporting of the contents of Sinclair’s journal will undoubtedly tarnish, at least in the minds of some, his status as a local hero. Should this be of paramount concern to Murphy Truscott as he decides whether to support Kurt Bannister’s point of view?

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Truth versus confidentiality! For the purpose of engaging these competing ethical values, assume the role of Managing Editor Murphy Truscott and, applying the SAD formula for moral reasoning outlined in Chapter 3, make a decision on whether the Annistonville Chronicle should divulge the real reason for Corporal Jason Sinclair’s suicide.

C AS E 6-2

A Public Relations Challenge: Fraud in a University’s Basketball Program The Fighting Tigers, North Central University’s Cinderella basketball team, were poised for their return to national prominence. After eight years of exile from the postseason tournaments, the Tigers had posted an incredible regular season record, which brought a well-deserved invitation to the NCAA tournament. They had vanquished their foes decisively in the first rounds and were now among the much-coveted final four. Only three teams stood between them and a national championship. For almost two decades the Fighting Tigers had been a perennial contender for regional or national honors, and their demise had not been accepted graciously by fans and alumni. Their overtures to the university’s administration to restore some measure of dignity to North Central’s flagging basketball fortunes had produced a series of coaching changes, all to no avail. President Julius Dickins was not unmindful of the correlation between a successful athletic program and alumni donations to the North Central University Foundation. He frequently compared a public university, not entirely facetiously, with the stock market. “Good economic news produces a rise in the stock market,” he declared realistically during a local Lions Club speech. “And a winning basketball team enriches our financial coffers.” Nevertheless, Dickins had been unable to stop the bleeding— until the arrival of Latrelle Savage. Savage had arrived with impressive credentials, with coaching experience at both the college and professional levels, but university alumni were skeptical that he could salvage the athletic debris

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inherited from his two predecessors. Nevertheless, team supporters were patient as Savage aggressively recruited a group of talented young freshmen from a nationwide pool and then proceeded to mold them into a formidable basketball presence. His first two “rebuilding” years did not produce any postseason tournament bids, but in his third year the Tigers had defied the lackluster predictions of most prognosticators and after only five games were listed in the top ten, a position that the university’s basketball upstarts never relinquished. The North Central faculty were less enthusiastic about the arrival of the much-heralded coach because they had always harbored a suspicion that the administration favored athletic success over academic excellence. However, Savage had moved quickly to assuage their concerns with promises to require class attendance, to promote the benefits of a college degree, and to improve upon the team’s dismal 21 percent graduation rate. How he planned to accomplish this latter objective he did not share with the alumni or the media. As the Fighting Tigers were moving confidently toward postseason tournament play, an internal university investigation was underway that threatened to derail the team’s bid for national glory. In early February a staff member employed by the athletic department’s Athlete Counseling Center notified her superiors that two of the center’s counselors were doing more than offering advice and tutoring to the basketball team. For those players who were in academic trouble, they were actually writing papers for their young charges, and on three occasions they arranged to have a “proxy” take exams for players. True to her expectations, no action was taken, and two weeks later the whistleblower reported these academic indiscretions to the university provost, Judith Whalen. The provost appointed a committee to investigate the allegations, which included the faculty senate president. Coach Savage was made aware of the charges but said he was confident that the counselors would be cleared of any wrongdoing. The provost cautioned the committee that the investigation was strictly confidential because any premature release of its findings would be embarrassing to the university and would be an untimely distraction for the

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team as it focused on basketball’s Holy Grail. The university notified the NCAA of its investigation, but the chair of the organization’s Committee on Infractions told President Dickins that they would await the results of the investigation before taking any action of their own. As the buzzer sounded signaling the Fighting Tigers’ final victory before beginning the final four competition, the committee delivered its report to President Dickins’s office. The accusations of fraud were confirmed, according to the forty-page document. Two counselors, two team starters, and one sub were implicated. One of the starters was an All-American candidate; the other was the team’s reliable three-point shooter. Dickins had traveled with the team to support them in their NCAA tournament play, but when he received news of the investigation’s conclusions he returned promptly to the North Central campus. The president recognized this debacle for what it was: a public relations disaster in the making. Thus, the focus now must be on damage control. To assess the situation, he quickly assembled his “brain trust,” whose composition always varied depending upon the issue at stake. In this case, Dickins’s brain trust consisted of Director of University Relations Lewis Hale, Sports Information Director Joseph Sawyer, and Provost Whalen. “Let me make one thing clear,” Dickins declared as he nervously fingered the explosive report of athletic fraud. “In the future any communications concerning our investigation will be disseminated through University Relations, as always. However, this is going to be an unpleasant journey. My office must personally approve any contacts with the media, NCAA investigators, or any member of the public. Now, as far as I know this whole matter is still confidential, but it won’t stay that way forever. At some point we must go public, but the question is when. Whenever we make an announcement, we’ll just cite disciplinary reasons for our decision because if we pursue this matter under the Code of Student Conduct, the proceedings will be confidential anyway.” “I hate to rain on your parade so early in our proceedings,” Hale stated, “but just before I left my office to come here I received a call from a local reporter who apparently has heard rumors of

our investigation. He wanted an update. I stalled him but I don’t know for how long.” “If we suspend these players and release this report just as we’re preparing for the final four,” said Sawyer, reflecting the athletic department’s view, “we may as well concede the national championship to one of the other teams. We could be forced to suspend three players, two of them crucial to our chances, until a hearing can be held.” “I’m well aware of the potential consequences of player suspensions which will then necessitate a public announcement on our findings,” responded Hale. “We could hold this report until the finals are concluded. But if the press finds out that we knew about this fraud but kept the report confidential just to protect our position in the playoffs, we’ll lose a lot of credibility, and we’ll be denounced in the media. In addition, the faculty senate, which has always been deeply suspicious of the administration’s motives, will undoubtedly turn this into a debating point at one of their meetings, which I might remind you is open to the media and the public.” “As you know,” replied Whalen, “the provost is the chief academic officer of the university. It’s my responsibility to protect the academic integrity of this institution. But the athletic department is an integral part of our university community, and I must also work with them. They are part of our team. My academic training tells me to move quickly to discipline the players and release this report to show good faith with the public and the state’s taxpayers—and then let the chips fall where they may. On the other hand, these players have worked so hard to get where they are. The other members are not responsible for the bad judgment of two counselors and three of their teammates. What difference will it make if we keep this report under wraps for another week or two?” “So what in the hell is your position, Judith?” demanded Hale. “Your waffling makes it sound as though you’re running for public office. And incidentally, what you refer to as bad judgment some of us would consider cheating.” Before Whalen could reply to this assault on her integrity, the sports information director unloaded his trump card. “Let me remind each of you,” he said, “that our alumni and boosters have waited a long time for this moment. It’s true that

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even without a victory in the final four our faith in Coach Savage will have been vindicated. But that isn’t likely to satisfy our rabid fans. They smell blood. And if we do anything to undermine our chances for a national championship, not only will we be viewed as pariahs, but the contributions to our endowment fund will inevitably decline as well. If we suspend these players and release this report now, we can congratulate ourselves on doing the ‘honorable’ thing from a public relations standpoint, while the university suffers economically from our moral intransigence.” “But if we sit on this report until after the final four and the media find out about it—as we must assume they will—then this will just confirm the faculty and our board’s suspicion that we care more about athletics than we do about academics,” responded Whalen, attempting to restore some measure of self-respect in the eyes of Lewis Hale. “In addition, we must remember that the public, the state’s taxpayers, are stakeholders in our decision, and I’m afraid of losing credibility and trust in their eyes. I must acknowledge, however, that if we release this report we’ll feel the heat financially.” “I think you’re operating under a faulty premise,” asserted Sawyer. “The faculty senate may condemn us for our actions, but many of these taxpayers are our boosters. They will not send accolades our way if we trash our chances for a national championship. Keep in mind that restoring prestige to a university that until fairly recently prided itself on its winning basketball program is high on the agenda of both alumni and fans. I’m still puzzled as to why we can’t protect the confidentiality of this report for a few more days and allow our players to participate in the final four.” “But it’s not just about making the report public,” responded Hale. “It’s what’s in the report that really matters. We now know that fraud was committed by members of the athletic department. I have a reservoir of trust with the media. If we have this report and fail to release it, my credibility will be eroded. Swift action must be taken, even if it includes suspending three players just prior to the final four. That will necessitate a public announcement. If we fail to act expeditiously, at the best we’ll be impeached for prostituting our academic integrity; at the worst we’ll be accused of a cover-up.”

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“Time is short,” concluded President Dickins. “The buck stops here, and I’ll make the decision. But I still want a formal recommendation from the director of university relations. After all, you’re our expert in public relations. I know how you feel now, Lewis, but I want you to take into account the views expressed here, including your own, and by tomorrow morning have a recommendation on my desk.” With that, North Central University’s beleaguered president adjourned the meeting as he contemplated the inauspicious climax to the Fighting Tigers’ basketball season.

THE CASE STUDY When the St. Paul Pioneer Press published a story in 1999 of academic fraud within the University of Minnesota men’s basketball program the day before the Golden Gophers were to face Gonzaga University in the first round of the NCAA tournament, the reader backlash and vehemence of their condemnation was astonishing. Some questioned the timing of the story, accusing the paper of “sensationalism.” Even Governor Jesse Ventura joined the cacophony of voices arrayed against the Pioneer Press.39 Ralph D. Barney, editor of the Journal of Mass Media Ethics, responded (correctly) that “[t]he underlying principle is, without worrying about the timing . . . you publish when it is ready.”40 Public relations professionals, however, operate in a somewhat different ethical orbit than journalists. While they should still subscribe to the fundamental values of truth and honesty, the self-interest of their clients must not be far from center stage. In this narrative, of course, Lewis Hale’s “client” is also his employer. The decision on the timing of the disciplinary actions will be left ultimately to the university president, but this event cannot be divorced from the public relations considerations. If suspensions are handed down prior to the final four, they must be accompanied by an announcement, which might also entail the release of the report itself. The other extreme is to keep the university’s findings confidential, await the tournament’s conclusion, and then suspend the players (which may mean little if their eligibility has expired). Hale is concerned that if the university is aware of academic fraud but fails to release immediately the results of

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the investigation, his unit will lose credibility with the media. Is there a middle ground—an Aristotle’s golden mean—that might accommodate both the athletic department’s anxieties and Lewis Hale’s determination to maintain his own integrity as director of university relations? This is an intriguing case because the salvation of Hale’s own credibility with the media could result in a public relations disaster among the team’s boosters and alumni. There are several stakeholders here: university relations, the university administration, the faculty, the alumni and team supporters, the general public, the athletic department, and of course the team itself. For the purpose of weighing your options and then making a recommendation on whether to publicize the results of the university’s investigation, assume the role of Lewis Hale. And then, utilizing the SAD formula for moral reasoning outlined in Chapter 3, outline your recommendation to university president Julius Dickins.

C AS E 6-3

Allegations of Sexual Harassment: Newsworthy or Political Dirty Tricks41 After three terms as mayor of Titusville, a community without term limits, Alton Fitzhenry was now fighting for his political life. His tenure as mayor had been preceded by four terms on the city council representing a precinct whose voters regularly tendered their patronage at the ballot box on behalf of his candidacy, and his first three mayoral races had similarly produced little effective opposition. But by the time that Fitzhenry announced he would seek a fourth term, Titusville’s voters were becoming restless, and polls reflected a growing disaffection with what one community leader described as “political stagnation coupled with a lack of civic vision” on behalf of the city’s leadership, a thinly veiled reference to Mayor Fitzhenry. Simon McCain, a highly successful and charismatic litigator with the law firm of Maxwell, Reynolds and Abercrombie, sensed Fitzhenry’s vulnerability to the vicissitudes of political life and aggressively challenged the incumbent’s bid for a fourth term.

McCain’s decision to abandon, at least temporarily, his lucrative law practice was fueled by a nagging political ambition that he had harbored since his graduation from law school. He aspired to higher office, but the mayor’s race would provide a fruitful learning experience for the political neophyte. With the support of a talented campaign staff and a progressive and ambitious political agenda, McCain’s candidacy resonated with the Titusville electorate, and just two weeks prior to the election he led Fitzhenry in opinion polls by two percentage points. The incumbent’s bid for a fourth term was clearly in jeopardy. Tonya Vergara was professionally obligated to neutrality in the mayor’s race, but she savored the spirited mudslinging that had emerged with a vengeance as the contest entered its final days. Vergara was the senior political reporter for the Titusville Ledger, covering the daily activities of local government and coordinating the paper’s coverage of local and state races during the political season. Vergara had joined the Ledger just prior to the mayor’s second campaign and was chagrined by the lack of serious competition for a political leader who once had been described by local pundits as unbeatable. Like most political journalists, Vergara relished the unpredictability and energy of competitive races and was stimulated by the vigorous contest between the seasoned politician and the young but politically savvy challenger. As the campaign entered its final two weeks, Vergara received an unexpected call from Samuel Cousins, the incumbent mayor’s campaign manager, who requested a secret rendezvous with the Ledger’s senior political reporter. Intrigued, Vergara agreed to meet Cousins at a park several blocks from the newspaper. Cousins told Vergara that he had done some research on McCain’s background and had uncovered a civil complaint that had been filed against him by a female paralegal and a clerk at his law firm accusing him of sexual harassment. As far as he could tell, the case had never received any news coverage and had been settled out of court for an undisclosed amount. The settlement included an agreement that neither party could discuss the case or the terms of the settlement. Cousins said the material had been provided to him by a friend at the district court. “We are concerned

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that if McCain becomes mayor,” Cousins nobly proclaimed, “he might subject the city of Titusville to civil liability if he repeated the kind of behavior toward city employees alleged in the sexual harassment complaint.” Left unsaid, of course, was the less virtuous motive of obliterating McCain’s slim lead among the voters. Cousins offered Vergara copies of the legal settlement on the condition that the source of the information concerning the civil complaint and its disposition remain confidential. Vergara agreed, with the caveat that her editors would have to be informed, but did not immediately pass judgment on its journalistic value. Vergara returned to her office, where she studied the confidential documents in greater detail. According to the civil complaint the paralegal had accused McCain of attempting to grope her on more than one occasion; the legal secretary attributed “lewd and sexually suggestive remarks” to the attorney in the workplace. According to the settlement, the complainants had been awarded $175,000 and $135,000, respectively, but there had been no admission of culpability on McCain’s part. The reporter then contacted the mayoral challenger and asked for his reaction to the sealed judicial settlement. McCain acknowledged that a civil complaint had been filed against him three years ago, but stated he was prohibited by the terms of the settlement from commenting on the case. As a veteran journalist and one who prided herself on her professional deportment, Tonya Vergara recognized the ethical implications of publishing the details of the confidential civil settlement provided by the mayor’s campaign manager. It could certainly influence the dynamics of McCain’s well-orchestrated campaign. With the election rapidly approaching, Vergara briefed the Ledger’s managing editor, Wallace Holbrook, and city editor Sofia Lamb on what she had learned about the previously unpublicized sexual harassment suit against Simon McCain and her conversation with Mayor Fitzhenry’s campaign manager. Because of the potential consequences of the injurious information for McCain’s mayoral bid, Holbrook would be the moral agent in deciding whether his newspaper would inject this unexpected revelation into the campaign.

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“I must confess to some ambivalence about publishing this information,” Vergara acknowledged in her meeting with Holbrook and Lamb. “Cousins’s overture to me and the provision of this information are clearly designed to sink McCain’s candidacy. On the other hand, he has a point when he notes that there’s a risk of electing someone mayor who has been accused of sexual harassment. If this kind of behavior should occur on his watch as mayor, the city could be exposed to civil liability. And then the taxpayers will be the losers.” “But we don’t really know whether he was guilty of sexual harassment,” replied Lamb. “He was sued for harassment, but there was never a jury verdict. An out-of-court settlement was reached without McCain admitting any liability.” “But the fact that a political candidate has been sued for sexual harassment in the past may have news value,” responded Vergara, “especially if there’s a good chance he’ll be our next mayor. “For some reason this suit was not reported when it was first filed, and the plaintiffs’ attorney apparently did not make a public issue of it. But this settlement involving a candidate for Titusville’s highest office could be a matter of public interest.” “But this settlement is confidential by order of the district court. I’m not suggesting that we should refuse to publish all officially sealed information. It’s our job to keep the public informed. But at the time of this suit McCain was not a public figure, and reporting it now rather than at the time the suit was filed may raise questions in the public’s mind as to our motivation. We may be accused of ‘dirty tricks,’ especially since we can’t name our source.” “At the time the suit was filed,” noted Vergara, “McCain was not a political candidate. His guilt or innocence on the issue of sexual harassment was not a matter of profound public interest. But the fact that he is now running for mayor has changed the equation somewhat.” Despite Vergara’s professed ambivalence about publishing the nature of the civil complaint and the settlement, she appeared to be building a case favoring publication, but the city editor was not persuaded. “McCain is prohibited by the terms of the settlement from discussing this matter,” observed Lamb. “He can’t even deny that he was guilty of sexual harassment. While most public figures can

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publicly respond to accusations against them, McCain has been deprived of this option. If we reveal what we have learned about this sexual harassment suit, this will be unfair to the candidate, and the voters may be the losers in the long run. And keep in mind that an out-of-court settlement is not proof of liability. Some attorneys advise settlements to avoid protracted and expensive litigation, even when the merits of the case favor the defendant. Sexual harassment law is still evolving. What constitutes sexual harassment is not always clear. From the materials that Cousins provided, we simply can’t draw any conclusions about McCain’s alleged nefarious behavior.” “His guilt or innocence is not the issue,” replied Vergara emphatically. “The fact that a suit was filed and a settlement reached is what’s newsworthy— more so now than when McCain was a private citizen. In this respect, a comment from him, which is prohibited by the settlement, is not really required for journalistic balance.” Wallace Holbrook listened intently to this ethical sparring between the paper’s senior political reporter and the city editor. He was troubled by the prospect of publicly confronting the mayoral candidate with this previously confidential information just a few days before the election, especially since McCain was legally prohibited from commenting on the matter. On the other hand, within the journalistic framework, everything that related to a candidate’s fitness for public office was fair game. In reflecting upon the facts of this case, Holbrook wondered whether this confidential legal settlement in a sexual harassment lawsuit three years ago met this standard.

serious questions about the candidate’s character are implicated. However, unlike most allegations introduced during political campaigns, the candidate in this case is legally prohibited from responding to them. The newspaper’s senior political reporter, Tonya Vergara, argues that McCain’s inability to respond publicly to the revelations concerning the lawsuit is, in the final analysis, not relevant to the news value of the material. The fact that a mayoral candidate was sued for sexual harassment and a settlement was reached with the plaintiffs is newsworthy. While there may be an element of unfairness in McCain’s forced silence on the matter, this does not outweigh the public’s need to know about the sexual harassment allegations. Vergara’s antagonist in the ethical debate, city editor Sofia Lamb, disagrees and believes the confidentiality of this information that includes a requirement that McCain refrain from public comment trumps any claims of newsworthiness. The harm to the candidate’s political campaign will be too great, and this last-minute entry into what is already a contentious and hard-fought campaign will smack of “dirty tricks.” The paper’s managing editor, Wallace Holbrook, is the moral agent in this case. For the purpose of tendering your own judgment in this matter, assume the position of Wallace Holbrook and, utilizing the SAD model for moral reasoning described in Chapter 3, decide whether the Titusville Ledger will publish the information provided to it by the mayor’s campaign manager.

C AS E 6-4 THE CASE STUDY Journalists frequently publish officially sanctioned confidential information under the claim of the public’s right to know. And in most cases the press has a legitimate moral claim in publishing such information. But in this case, the confidential information concerns a civil lawsuit filed three years before Simon McCain entered the political arena. Under normal circumstances, this suit and its officially sealed settlement would be of marginal public interest. But if the allegations are true, then

Gender Norming and the Admiral’s Public Relations Problem Admiral Jason McAlister was no fan of the news media. As a young ensign during the Vietnam War, McAlister had witnessed America’s first military defeat from offshore and, like many military officers who suffered in silence, blamed the Washington politicians for his nation’s humiliation. If America’s military arsenal had been unleashed against North Vietnam, in his view, the fortunes of war would

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have produced a swift victory. But McAlister had also embraced another facet of conventional military wisdom at the time—the liberal news media had turned the tide of public opinion against America’s involvement in the conflict, thus ensuring a loss of political will to continue the engagement. Thus, as a senior naval officer assigned to the Pentagon thirty years later, Admiral McAlister had applauded the military’s tightly controlled flow of information during the Persian Gulf War. Like his military brethren, many of whom were veterans of the Vietnam debacle, he was now painfully aware of the perils of an unrestrained press in a military theater. McAlister’s belief in the First Amendment’s free press guarantees was tempered by his professional commitment to military security. In the interval between Vietnam and McAlister’s present assignment as chief of naval operations (CNO), the media, especially the national press corps, had done little to redeem themselves in Admiral McAlister’s eyes. Vietnam had been followed by Watergate, which, McAlister believed, had reenergized the media’s emerging cynicism concerning the conduct of all government officials. And the military had been a favorite target of their journalistic prowess, as evidenced by the periodic investigations on the network news magazine programs of various alleged nefarious or irresponsible activities and policies condoned by the Pentagon brass. McAlister candidly admitted the accuracy of much of the networks’ information but faulted them for a lack of balance and perspective. He was particularly chagrined at the willingness of some retired military officers and those enlisted men who were apparently willing to risk censure by their superiors to serve as sources for myriad prime-time news magazine shows. Diane Kole’s overture to Admiral McAlister was not unexpected. Kole was a field producer for Dateline America, the latest addition to the primetime news magazine genre, and was working with correspondent Jeffrey Hughes on the safety record of the navy’s FA-18 fighter aircraft. As reported in the media during the past four years, the navy had experienced several crashes and other operational mishaps with the FA-18, four of which had resulted in fatalities. Although official reports released to the media blamed most of the incidents on mechanical

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failure, Kole told McAlister that she had learned a disproportionate number of the ill-fated aircraft had been piloted by women; Dateline America wanted the admiral’s perspective on this situation. The decision to place females at the front lines of the nation’s air defenses had not been made on Admiral McAlister’s watch and was widely believed to have resulted from pressure from congressional liberals and women’s groups. The navy’s top brass had had reservations, but these paled in comparison to the outright antipathy by the “top guns” whose machismo and bravado were legendary and who considered the flight line to be an all-male preserve. Nevertheless, the navy had admitted women into its pilot training program accompanied by repeated public proclamations of its confidence in the ability of women to perform admirably in training missions and aerial combat. In his current position as CNO, McAlister was an unapologetic disciple of gender equity in the navy. His subordinates considered him to be enigmatic. On the one hand, his temperament and experience inclined toward tradition. On the other hand, McAlister believed that the military should reflect the political realities of the society that sustains it. Thus, one of his priorities when he became CNO was to order an acceleration of the training of female pilots, a directive that some unit commanders apparently interpreted as moving women ahead of men in aviation assignments, if necessary. However, the performance records of some female pilots to date had betrayed the navy’s confidence in their program of gender equity. During the past four years, for example, there had been a number of crashes or other operational anomalies involving several FA-18 fighters, the navy’s most sophisticated aircraft carrier–based jet, a disproportionate number of which were piloted by women. Three of the four FA-18 fatalities had involved female pilots, two of which were assigned to one aircraft carrier. In all but one of the mishaps investigators had attributed the causes to equipment malfunctions, but flight instructors were dubious. Admiral McAlister was also dubious and ordered a more comprehensive investigation. His instincts and common sense, which had been reliable guides throughout his career, told him that human factors were somehow implicated in the

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disproportionate number of mishaps involving women pilots. The report of the investigation confirmed his suspicions. According to many of the instructors interviewed, they were under pressure to train women pilots and move them to their duty assignments on aircraft carriers as soon as possible. To fulfill this mandate, some female trainees were given preferential treatment, a practice referred to as “gender norming.” In a few cases, including one who died in one of the fighter mishaps, women pilots who had received lower evaluations than their male counterparts had nevertheless received earlier assignments to the carrier fleets. A couple of instructors, according to the report, complained that some women trainees with lower scores needed more flight time in the FA-18 before joining the carrier-based flight crews. Admiral McAlister’s investigators were unmerciful in their assignment of blame to “pilot error” in many of the FA-18 crashes and other operational abnormalities. They also documented incidents of gender norming by some overzealous commanders, which tracked closely the subsequent increase in FA-18 mishaps. The study that covered four years revealed a clear correlation, in McAlister’s view, between the alleged policy of gender norming and the increase in FA-18 crashes but stopped short of proving a cause and effect in individual cases. Nevertheless, McAlister appreciated the report’s candor but worried about its impact upon the many women pilots who had received exemplary evaluations and had moved to their duty assignments in the normal rotation. And now, just two weeks after receiving this troubling account of preferential treatment in some naval training facilities, Dateline America was on Admiral McAlister’s doorstep. As always, he sought the counsel of the navy’s highest-ranking public affairs officer, Rear Admiral Nathaniel Washington, the chief of naval information. McAlister’s query to Washington was simple: Should I meet with Kole, and should we release the most recent report of our internal investigation? He wanted a recommendation within 48 hours. Admiral Washington, who prided himself on efficiency, promised a recommendation within twentyfour hours. He quickly summoned Public Affairs

Officer Michael Donovan and Geneva Roundtree, a GS-14 civilian who served as the assistant public affairs officer. “As you know, the admiral is disturbed by the Dateline America inquiry on the FA-18 accidents,” Washington stated matter-of-factly as he met behind closed doors with Donovan and Roundtree. “We’re not sure how much they know. The field producer is focusing on the fact that a disproportionate number of women have been involved in these incidents. But there’s no indication that she has any knowledge of the report’s conclusion on gender norming. Admiral McAlister wants a recommendation on how we should deal with this issue.” “We’ve all seen the report,” said Donovan. “It’s pretty damning. It doesn’t indict the entire system, but it’s clear that some women pilots have been given preferential treatment. The one thing that isn’t certain is to what extent this so-called gender norming is responsible for the disproportionate number of accidents involving women. There’s a definite correlation, but the report doesn’t clearly establish cause and effect.” “That’s an argument that could cut both ways,” responded Roundtree. “If we release this report with a statement that we’re taking steps to correct the situation, it might work to our advantage in a public relations sense. On the other hand, the report is likely to be misinterpreted. There’s a danger the media will focus on the gender-norming findings and ignore the fact that it doesn’t clearly establish a cause and effect between this preferential treatment and the FA-18 mishaps.” “The only information that is public knowledge at the moment,” observed Washington, “is the reports that were released to the media following each incident. Most of these, of course, attributed the crashes to mechanical failures. Admiral McAlister’s investigation contradicts these findings. I could recommend that the admiral refuse to meet with the Dateline America crew on the ground that there is nothing to add—or that if he does meet with them, that he just refer to the reports that have already been released.” “I realize that the findings of Admiral McAlister’s investigation are confidential,” said Roundtree. “But if we don’t release the report and it’s leaked to the media, this will look like a cover-up.”

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“I question the wisdom of going public with this information,” Donovan countered with growing concern about the document’s embarrassing revelations. “Those commanders who practiced gender norming were not reflecting official navy policy. And because there is still some ‘wiggle room’ in this report to deny the cause and effect between the alleged preferential treatment of women and the placement of marginally qualified pilots into the cockpits of the FA-18, I see nothing to be gained by releasing it.” “But this isn’t exactly a matter of military security,” replied Roundtree. “It’s a classic example of how a good-faith effort to diversify the navy’s flight crews can go awry. I think the public needs to know. And when we release the report, we can also include a statement that applauds the overall success of the program, while noting that we’re taking steps to correct the deficiencies.” “But if gender norming isn’t official policy and most women pilots have performed admirably, then what’s to be gained by releasing the report?” asked Donovan. “It will reflect unfairly on those who do measure up. Besides, does the public’s right to know really outweigh the damage to the navy’s credibility that might result? There are still plenty of critics out there—and not just a few within the navy itself—who would like to bring an end to gender equity within the services. This report, despite its highly qualified nature, could provide a lot of ammunition for our detractors. And in the process it might even hurt our recruiting efforts if women believe they are being stigmatized by suspicions of preferential treatment. Even if we publicly confess our sins and promise improvements in our flighttraining procedures, there will always be a lingering suspicion that we are providing preferential treatment to female pilot trainees.” Admiral Washington had had such spirited discussions with his staff members before and was never disappointed in their candid assessments of the available options. He particularly appreciated their abstention from ideological imperatives and their pragmatism in balancing the public’s interest in receiving information with the military’s demand for confidentiality. As a navy public affairs officer, Washington had never viewed the media as enemy terrain and had counseled his superiors

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in the necessity of cooperating, when possible, with inquisitive reporters. On the other hand, he accepted the control of the flow of information about military training and preparedness to be a legitimate role for a public affairs officer. It was his job to provide intelligence that met the standards of accuracy and fairness without unduly harming the navy’s credibility. As he pondered the recommendation that he would offer to Admiral McAlister, Nathaniel Washington wondered whether releasing this confidential report would comport with this demanding standard.

THE CASE STUDY Military public affairs operatives are like other public relations professionals in that they must balance the interests of their employers against the public’s need to know. However, unlike public relations practitioners who work for the private sector, Admiral Washington is a public employee, although the needs of the military are admittedly different from those of other government agencies. When Admiral Washington synthesizes the views of his two subordinates, the concerns will come down to these: On the one hand, the CNO’s confidential report reflects unfavorably on the navy because it does document incidents of gender norming to increase the number of female pilots in the cockpits of the FA-18. But the report is highly qualified in that it (1) contradicts earlier reports of mechanical failures and (2) shows a correlation but not a cause and effect in individual cases between gender norming and operational mishaps with the fighter aircraft. When put into context, the report reflects unfairly on those women pilots who have performed admirably. There is a danger that the media will focus on the most damaging aspect of the report, the documented cases of gender norming. On the other hand, the fact that this report, based on more in-depth interviews with flight instructors, contradicts earlier published reports of mechanical failure is significant, and release of this information could actually enhance the navy’s credibility by setting the record straight. By the same token, if the report is leaked the service’s credibility could suffer.

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What recommendation should Rear Admiral Washington make to his superior officer? For the purpose of responding to this question, assume the role of Admiral Washington and, using the model for moral reasoning outlined in Chapter 3, render a judgment in this matter.

C AS E 6-5

Attorney–Client Privilege and the Public’s Right to Know The FBI was still basking in the publicity of its latest law enforcement triumph. Mohammed Ahmed, who had been indicted in absentia for masterminding the bombing of the Empire State Building just three years prior to 9/11, had finally returned to confront his accusers. Ahmed, a Palestinian by birth, had been a rather shadowy figure and a minor player on the international stage of terrorism until he had publicly claimed credit for the brutal bombing of a commercial jetliner over Greece in February 1995, which had resulted in the deaths of 325 passengers and crew. Ahmed was subsequently linked to a rather obscure Iranian-sponsored fundamentalist group committed to the destruction of Israel and its Western supporters. But Ahmed apparently had not been content to confine his terrorist activities to the Middle East and Europe. According to the FBI, he had slipped undetected through U.S. customs using a fake passport and had quickly organized a group of followers who had preceded him. Their goal was to carry out attacks on symbols of American power and prestige and to humiliate their antagonists in their own backyard. The Empire State Building was the first of several landmarks targeted by Ahmed’s group, but the mission had not been entirely successful. Although the first two floors of the structure were gutted in the explosion that killed three people, the edifice remained defiantly intact in response to this unprovoked assault. An FBI informant fingered Ahmed as the mastermind behind this plot, and the agency moved quickly to take him into custody. However, even as his lieutenants were planting the bomb in a remote

corner of the Empire State Building, the elusive Ahmed had crossed the border into Canada and returned to his base of operations in the Middle East. Within a few weeks the FBI had compiled enough evidence on Ahmed to link him to the crime, and a grand jury indicted the terrorist for his role in the bombing. The State Department was determined to bring Ahmed to justice and offered a $2 million reward for information that would lead to his arrest. This rather lucrative financial incentive soon produced results, as an informant in Pakistan, motivated more by self-interest than principle, led police to a local hotel where Ahmed had registered under an assumed name. The Pakistanis were anxious to rid themselves of this controversial guest and quickly extradited the terrorist to the United States and into the custody of the FBI. Ahmed was housed in a maximum security cell just a few blocks from where the bombing that had led to his arrest occurred. He was arraigned before a federal magistrate in New York, who appointed an Arab-speaking attorney, Yassir Assad, to represent the unrepentant defendant. During the next several weeks, Assad met repeatedly with Ahmed in an effort to forge a meaningful attorney–client relationship and to plan an aggressive defense against what Assad believed was a rather dubious chain of evidence against the accused. As the trial date approached, the media prepared for the high drama that was sure to emerge as Mohammed Ahmed was given his constitutional right to due process. Network reporter Daniel Thorn was among those journalists who eagerly awaited the jury selection process, which would signal the official beginning of the trial. Thorn had paid his dues as a foreign correspondent for twelve years in the Middle East and was culturally attuned to, if not a master of, the rather mysterious workings of the Arab fundamentalist mind. He had never met Ahmed, but during his tenure in the Persian Gulf region, he had often visited the breeding grounds of such religious and political fanatics. Since his return to his homeland, his fascination with and revulsion of state-sponsored terrorism remained undiminished.

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Thorn was looking forward to his journalistic role in this high-profile drama and had prepared thoroughly for his engagement. Three weeks before the commencement of the trial, the veteran correspondent was reviewing some notes in his New York office when he received a call from a government source, Jacob Marley, who had often supplied Thorn with inside information. Marley again asked for a meeting with Thorn. “I have something you might be interested in,” said Marley as he sipped a cup of black coffee in a diner just a few blocks from network headquarters. “You’re covering the Ahmed case, aren’t you?” Thorn responded affirmatively to what he considered a rhetorical question. “The government has been monitoring the conversations between Ahmed and his attorney,” continued Marley. “I’m sure they know nothing about this. I have dubs of two of the tapes here. I don’t know if they contain anything interesting. Most of it’s in Arabic. But you can have it translated.” As usual, Thorn did not inquire into how Marley had acquired the tapes. In the past Marley had been a valuable source of information, and he was confident that this instance would prove to be no exception. Thorn retreated to what he often described as the organized chaos of the network newsroom, where he found Joel Silverman, the executive producer of the evening news, huddled with several writers. He briefly described his journalistic coup to Silverman. The producer was impressed but immediately recognized the ethical and legal implications of the network’s use of these surreptitious recordings. Silverman asked for a meeting with Malcolm Sikes, whose position as news division president compelled a divided loyalty between the journalistic imperative and corporate responsibility. Unfortunately, sometimes the two seemed incompatible. Sikes, Silverman, and Thorn were joined in the meeting by a translator, who was also a network consultant on the Middle East. They listened intently as the recordings disclosed, often in barely audible tones, the confidential conversations in Arabic between Ahmed and his attorney in his maximum security residence. The two tapes, which ran for a total of ninety minutes, focused primarily

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on the credibility of two government witnesses, both of whom had been former lieutenants of the accused terrorist. Apparently Assad had succeeded in forging a bond of trust with his reluctant client as Ahmed chattered incessantly and candidly about his relationship with those he termed “traitors.” There was no admission of guilt on the tapes, but on two occasions he expressed sympathy for the holy war being waged against the “enemies of Palestine” and repeatedly accused his former associates of duplicity in attempting to undermine his leadership among his fundamentalist followers. To his attorney, Ahmed denied any involvement in the bombing of the Empire State Building. Sikes finally broke the silence. “You’re sure these tapes are authentic?” he asked Thorn. “Yes. I got them from a source who has always proved to be reliable in the past. And I recognize the voices on the tape. In addition, since receiving these tapes I’ve heard through other contacts that the feds have been monitoring the conversations between Assad and Ahmed.” “The tapes are quite interesting,” replied Sikes. “I don’t know whether Ahmed is telling the truth, but these conversations really raise some interesting questions about the credibility of the government’s two key witnesses. But if we air these tapes, we could be asking for trouble.” “But these recordings provide a rare glimpse into the defense strategy in this case,” responded Thorn. “The FBI, at least publicly, has always maintained that a conviction is a virtual certainty. But the defense apparently plans to attack the credibility of the two key witnesses. If they succeed, this case could come apart. The FBI has other circumstantial evidence, but in my judgment these witnesses are crucial to their case. I think these tapes are newsworthy. They relate to a high-profile case— the public interest here is high.” “I’m not so sure,” said Sikes, who held a law degree but had never joined the legal fraternity. “This could be a violation of the attorney–client privilege. This network did not actually monitor these conversations—that was the government’s misconduct—but if we air these tapes, we’ll certainly have to share part of the blame. And we could take a public beating on this, especially from

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the legal profession. And they won’t have any trouble catching the attention of our competitors and our print brethren.” “But like you said, we didn’t make these recordings,” replied Silverman. “If Assad has a complaint, he should direct it against the government. These tapes provide a rare insight into this case even before it goes to trial. Our job should not be to worry about the attorney–client privilege. The breach of confidentiality occurred when the recordings were made. But this case—every aspect of it—is a matter of public interest. We shouldn’t be in the business of suppressing relevant and newsworthy information relating to such an important story.” “Exactly where is the public interest?” asked Sikes rather testily. He didn’t disagree with Silverman entirely, but he felt compelled to play devil’s advocate out of allegiance to his managerial responsibilities. “Ahmed may be a despicable human being to the average American, but he is still entitled to a fair trial. And that’s what the public interest really is. I don’t see any compelling news value in violating attorney–client privilege and airing part of the defense strategy on national TV. There will be plenty of grist for the journalistic mill as the trial unfolds.” But Thorn was persistent. “But there’s more to this story than just this confidential conversation. Doesn’t the public have a right to know about possible government misconduct in prosecuting this case?” Sikes conceded that both points of view had merit. The tapes did add a dimension to this story that would certainly be of interest to the network’s viewers—an inside look at the defense strategy— as well as the government’s role in monitoring the conversations between Ahmed and his attorney. On the other hand, if they aired the tapes, the news division would become a major player in this breach of confidentiality. The network could suffer a public relations debacle. In addition, Sikes wondered whether Ahmed’s emotional and often fanatical recorded comments contributed much to the underlying search for truth that is the cornerstone of the American justice system. While the accused terrorist and his attorney continued their preparations for the trial unaware of this breach in their privileged relationship, the head of

a premier news organization wondered whether the public’s need to know was sufficient to justify this violation of the attorney–client privilege.

THE CASE STUDY The attorney–client privilege represents one of the most strongly defended confidential relationships in American society. It is considered fundamental to our system of justice. However, in this case the news organization is not responsible for the initial violation of the attorney–client privilege. The government, apparently without the knowledge of Ahmed and his attorney, secretly monitored their conversations, and these tapes wound up in the hands of the network. Are the networks also guilty of exacerbating the problem by airing these tapes to a national TV audience? Malcolm Sikes, the news division president, questions whether the network should participate in this breach of confidentiality. After all, both the government’s alleged misconduct and the broadcasting of these confidential conversations might adversely affect Ahmed’s constitutional guarantee of a fair trial. He is also concerned about the public relations fallout from what some might perceive as journalistic arrogance in the handling of this matter. But the network’s correspondent, Daniel Thorn, is less concerned with the constitutional implications and the intricacies of the attorney–client privilege than with what he feels is the journalistic imperative to evaluate the newsworthiness of the recorded conversations themselves and to accommodate the public’s need to know about alleged government misconduct in the case. As noted earlier in this chapter, confidentiality is a prima facie duty that can be overridden only by other, weightier considerations; thus, the burden of proof is generally on those who wish to override it. Can the network justify its participation in this breach of the attorney–client privilege on some overriding moral principle? Respond to this question by assuming the role of news division president Malcolm Sikes and, applying the formula for moral reasoning outlined in Chapter 3, decide whether the network is ethically justified in breaching the attorney–client privilege between Yassir Assad and his controversial client.

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C AS E 6-6

Client Confidentiality in Radio Sales Brad Dillon was not a happy camper! As the general sales manager of North Hampton’s only adult contemporary FM radio station, often promoted and identified simply as 106 FM, he had presided over a financial malaise as his staff struggled to extricate themselves from the recession that had ravaged his city’s economy for almost two years. Local merchants had responded to this economic downturn by trimming advertising expenditures, a move that had contributed significantly to the budgetary austerity of the media. Dillon had watched solemnly as revenues fell, along with staff morale, and as sales quotas had to be adjusted downward to accommodate more realistic expectations. But as the dog days of summer approached, the economic benchmarks began to show signs of a gradual recovery, and the station’s clients reassessed their rather fragile disbursements for advertising. The most optimistic clients, in Dillon’s view, were the automobile dealers who relished the prospect of an economic recovery as the new car models made their debut in the early fall. During the summer, the current stock had begun to move swiftly off the lots, and North Hampton’s car merchants were looking forward to the arrival of the latest in automotive craftsmanship from Detroit, Japan, and Germany. The significance of the automobile clients to the station’s recovery was evident in Dillon’s weekly staff meeting in early August, devoted almost exclusively to two of their most loyal clients. “Let’s begin with the Brian-Miller and McKay accounts,” Dillon said as he surveyed the meeting room expectantly. Brian-Miller Toyota and John McKay Chrysler-Plymouth had been two of the station’s most lucrative accounts until two years ago, and Dillon appreciated their allegiance. He also knew that their expenditures for the first six months of the new model year would be an important ingredient in the station’s own economic recovery. He quickly focused on Rashaneka Brown and Mark Todson as they opened their clients’ sales portfolios. Todson handled the Brian-Miller account, and

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Brown had adroitly courted John McKay in adding McKay’s dealership to her impressive account list. “I’m having a problem with my client,” Todson said. “Jason Miller makes most of the budgetary decisions for the dealership. He decides how much they will spend on advertising. But as you know he cut back a couple of years ago. Miller is apparently concerned that his dealership will not share in the recovery. American models are now more popular than ever—foreign dealers are having to play catch-up. Miller says he wants to wait awhile before increasing his advertising budget.” “Then we need to change that,” responded Dillon optimistically. “After all, McKay is a major competitor—and they’re coming back into the market in a big way. Because the car dealers will be instrumental in the economic recovery here in North Hampton, we need to develop a comprehensive strategy that will help them—and, of course, convince them to devote a large chunk of their advertising budget to advertising on 106 FM.” “I’m not sure what you mean by a ‘comprehensive strategy,’” replied Brown defensively. “I’m not keen about discussing my client’s campaign in a meeting like this, even if it is among our own staff. I realize that knowledge of McKay’s advertising plan might help Rashaneka sell Brian-Miller and develop a campaign for her client. It could certainly help Brian-Miller to become competitive again, and this would send some advertising dollars our way. But I have a problem with this from an ethical standpoint.” “But this is all in-house,” said Todson. “It’s not as though we’re divulging privileged information to another station or agency. We’re trying to do what’s best for all of our clients. And if they win, we win! How can we plan strategy in helping to sell our clients’ products—clients that are in the same business—without some coordination among ourselves and the sharing of information?” “That is a problem,” acknowledged Brown. “But much of the information provided to me by Brian McKay—much of what I know about his business— is confidential. There’s a bond of trust between us. Of course, we’re all working for a common purpose. But we should not use inside information from one client to gain a sales advantage with a competitor.”

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“But how is McKay Chrysler-Plymouth being hurt?” asked Todson. “Their campaign will stand on its own merits. And if we use what we know about their plan to help Brian-Miller, then another of our clients will benefit. After all, the real choice will be made in the marketplace; the consumer will decide. The effectiveness of these campaigns will reside in the creative aspect—that is, how good a job they do selling automobiles. If we can use some confidential information about one client to help another, then I don’t see a real ethical dilemma here.” Dillon listened intently to this debate. Brown was one of his most productive account executives, and he respected her views. She obviously saw a clear ethical dilemma in revealing her client’s plans in a sales meeting. On the other hand, Todson apparently viewed this as more of a simple business decision than an ethical dilemma. The objective, in Todson’s view, was to develop a comprehensive plan to benefit all clients—and if this meant using some confidential information, then so be it. And because all the information remained in-house, then Todson did not see this as an ethical breach. The loyalty, therefore, should be between client and station—not between the client and the individual account executive. With some time remaining before the arrival of the new car models, Dillon decided to put off further discussion of this issue until the next meeting. These assemblies were usually devoted to discussions about client problems, selling techniques, rates, and promotions. But now a moral dimension had intruded into these strategy sessions. Dillon’s responsibility was to improve his station’s financial posture, and the automobile clients would be important to his mission. As he prepared for his next staff meeting, he pondered his loyalties to the various parties directly implicated in this ethical decision: his clients, other advertisers, his station, and the sales staff.

THE CASE STUDY Is it unethical to use knowledge about one advertiser’s business and campaign to obtain an order from another client or to construct a campaign for that client? When an advertiser signs a contract with an account executive and provides information

to that salesperson, a special relationship develops in which the client has a right to expect that the station’s representative will operate in the client’s best interest. Does that include not divulging confidential information among members of the same sales staff? In this case, Rashaneka Brown argues that it is a breach of confidentiality to reveal strategies and campaign plans during a sales meeting. To do so, she says, is a violation of the account executive– client relationship analogous to the attorney–client privilege or the doctor–patient relationship. Mark Todson doesn’t see it that way. He believes that the bond of confidentiality is between the advertiser and the station, not the individual account executive and the client. He also believes that some knowledge of the client’s plans is essential both to the station’s overall sales strategy and as a means for helping the client’s competitors who advertise on the same station. For the purpose of examining this dilemma, assume the role of the general sales manager of 106 FM and, using the SAD formula, render an ethical judgment on this issue.

C AS E 6-7

The Student Newspaper and Faculty Evaluations As a senior at Southwestern State University, Jonathan Southall was feeling more impoverished than he had as an entering freshman. For four years he had subsisted on a series of low-interest student loans and the meager income from his part-time job as a waiter. But each year Southall watched helplessly as the relentless tuition increases exceeded the cost of inflation, further eroding his confidence in the administration’s financial management capabilities. Southall did not dispute the chancellor’s defense that competitive salaries, funded in part by the tuition hikes, were essential to attracting and keeping quality faculty. He was not convinced, however, that the tuition increases had been accompanied by a comparable increase in the quality of education. But now, as the newly elected president of the Student Government Association (SGA), Southall

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demanded accountability. He had been elected overwhelmingly on a platform committed, among other things, to “opening up” the faculty evaluation process and publicizing the results of the student surveys required in all courses at the end of each semester. Within the first two weeks of his ninemonth tenure as SGA president, Southall moved expeditiously to fulfill his passionate campaign promise. However, his overtures to the university’s administration were rebuffed, as they invoked various claims of confidentiality, privacy rights, and academic freedom. “The faculty evaluation results are for the eyes of administrators and faculty only,” said the vice chancellor for academic affairs in summarily dismissing Southall’s initiative. “They are used in the university’s tenure and promotion process and that ensures sufficient accountability to Southwestern’s teaching mission.” She also cited a court decision four years ago that, in effect, exempted faculty evaluations from the coverage of the state’s public records law. Undeterred by what he perceived as the administration’s cloak of secrecy designed to protect the substandard performance records of some of the university’s faculty, Southall continued to pressure the chancellor’s office through statements made to the SGA that were dutifully reported in the student newspaper. His flirtation with liberalism, albeit on a rather modest scale, had challenged one of the university’s sacred cows. He acknowledged to his political allies in the SGA that his campaign might not produce instant intellectual gratification, but he would not be denied his day in the court of public opinion. If the Southwestern State administration did not share Southall’s unbridled enthusiasm for complete faculty accountability, Felicia Cobb did. Cobb was the Watchdog’s SGA correspondent and was an unapologetic advocate for openness in government (and that included student government) and public accountability. She believed strongly that her classmates had a right to know how their peers assessed the faculty’s pedagogical handiwork. Andrew Jenner thought so, too. Jenner was a graduate assistant assigned to work in the Office of Data Processing and Retrieval, which was responsible for feeding the results of the faculty evaluations into the university’s mainframe computer.

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Cobb was intrigued when Jenner contacted her in her dorm and requested a clandestine rendezvous in a coffeehouse just off campus. “Shades of Watergate,” she thought, recalling the historical accounts of the clandestine meetings and anonymous sources surrounding the downfall of the Nixon presidency. Jenner was nervous but got right to the point. “I support Southall’s campaign to release the results of the faculty evaluations,” he began. “But that’ll never happen, at least not in the near future. I feel strongly that we students have a right to know. This is all the data on the individual faculty evaluations,” he told Cobb pointing to a package in his hand. “I have access to this information in my position as a graduate assistant. You can have this on the condition that you not reveal the source. If my department head finds out, I’ll lose my assistantship and be kicked out of school.” Cobb readily agreed. The young student reporter was only too eager to indulge Jenner’s request for anonymity as she savored her journalistic triumph. “I’ve finally recovered from my bout with information overload,” Cobb told Lyle MacArthur, the student editor of the Watchdog. “There are more than 1,200 faculty included in this survey from last semester, and most of them taught two or three courses. We can publish the results in a tab insert, and then include a story highlighting the results in a front-page story.” The paper’s faculty adviser, Richard Hammock, wasn’t sure the evaluations should be published at all. “We’ll take a lot of heat from the administration and the faculty if we publish these faculty evaluations,” stated Hammock matter-of-factly three days before the scheduled publication date in a hastily arranged meeting with MacArthur, Cobb, and student managing editor Amanda Tedrick. “The results of these evaluations are supposed to be confidential.” “I have no doubt that we’ll be under a lot of pressure,” acknowledged Cobb. “But the students have a right to know about the quality of teaching at this university and how their classmates rate their teachers. This is one factor that students use in choosing their classes, particularly when they have a choice of more than one instructor.”

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“This may be true,” said Tedrick. “But why is this news? Even if we assume that students have an interest in knowing how their teachers rate, I’m not sure that the results of the faculty evaluations are newsworthy. There’s even some doubt as to their reliability. I’m a senior, and I’ve filled out these forms faithfully every semester. But quite frankly, I’m convinced that the way students evaluate their teachers is related to the difficulty of instruction. That may not be true in all cases, but there’s certainly a tendency in that direction. The point is that faculty evaluations are inexact. I doubt that the results necessarily identify the good or the bad teachers. There too many other factors involved. Such surveys sometimes are nothing more than popularity contests that do not necessarily measure teaching effectiveness.” “That may be true,” acknowledged MacArthur, who was impressed by his reporter’s enterprise, “but it’s not our job to be concerned about whether these surveys measure teaching effectiveness. The only issue is what students think of their teachers. And this university has made the results of these surveys a part of the tenure and promotion process. And because the quality of faculty affects all students, that makes these surveys newsworthy.” “I am concerned about how we acquired this information,” said Hammock. “The university has determined that these evaluations should be confidential. We haven’t done anything illegal, but the publication of these survey results will violate university policy. And it could cause a rift between the faculty and the administration concerning a lack of security for what the faculty assumed was confidential information.” “That’s not our problem,” countered Cobb. “If we believe the students have a right to know this information, then we should publish it. The professional media often publish confidential information if there is a legitimate public interest in doing so. What makes us so different?” “We are different,” responded Hammock, “because of the relationship of the Watchdog’s staff. You are all students, and the faculty still hold the keys to your academic future here. This could blow over, and perhaps there won’t be any retribution. But most of our paper’s staff are enrolled in journalism courses. A professor whose evaluations

are poor could find ways to retaliate. In that respect, our reporters do not stand in the same relationship as the professional media in terms of the newsworthy individuals they cover.” “That could be a problem,” agreed Tedrick. “Of course, I don’t believe our paper should avoid controversy just because it makes the administration unhappy. Otherwise, we lose credibility with our readers. On the other hand, if we break the rules, we’re putting ourselves into an adversarial relationship with the administration and the faculty. They provide much of our information. The fact is that we breached the confidentiality of these evaluations. The faculty have always assumed that they would be seen only by the department chairs and deans.” “It’s true that we gained access to confidential information and in so doing perhaps we broke the rules,” said Cobb, who was a true believer in the people’s right to know. “But these evaluations are paid for by public funds. In addition, we pay tuition and have a right to demand accountability. In covering the SGA, I have discovered that there is a great deal of concern about recent tuition hikes, but there’s a perception that the quality of education hasn’t improved. We’re the voice of student expression. It’s our responsibility to look into these questions. And the only measure of teaching effectiveness currently employed to evaluate professors is this student survey.” “It’s your call,” Hammock said to MacArthur. “You’re the editor. As the faculty adviser, I have no control over what you publish. I can only advise. All I ask is that you weigh the benefits—that is, the news value of these evaluations—against the potential harm of releasing this confidential information.” Although the editor had sided with Felicia Cobb during this rather intriguing discussion, he now found his role as moral agent more challenging. Because the faculty evaluations were confidential under university policy and academic freedom and professional reputations were perhaps at stake, MacArthur knew that the burden of proof was on the student newspaper to justify any breach of confidentiality on the grounds of newsworthiness or public interest. In addition, he harbored no illusions concerning the consequences of publishing these evaluations: The access that the Watchdog had enjoyed to sources in the upper administration

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would evaporate. Of course, that was the risk that any newspaper confronted in offending their news sources. It was true that the surveys were conducted at taxpayer expense and that his classmates had a vested interest in the quality of their educational experience at Southwestern State University. But student grades were also the product of a heavy investment of public funds and yet were confidential. What was the difference? he wondered. As a student, would he be happy if his grades were available for public inspection? In confronting the ethical dimensions of publishing this confidential information, MacArthur was troubled by his conflicting loyalties. As a student, he had faithfully filled out these student questionnaires each semester, and he believed that he had the right to see the results. But he was a participant in the process, not an entirely disinterested observer. His role as a journalist-in-training also propelled him in the direction of disclosure, but unlike most professional journalists, MacArthur was a part of the institution whose policies favoring confidentiality were about to be breached. Nevertheless, the Watchdog was a student newspaper independent of administration control. It was supported by student fees and advertising, not state funds. The paper owed its primary allegiance to its student readers. And undoubtedly this information would be helpful to students in selecting their professors and courses. But he wondered whether even this justification was sufficient to overcome the officially imposed shroud of secrecy surrounding the faculty evaluation process at Southwestern State University.

THE CASE STUDY Most colleges and universities do not release the results of student evaluations of individual faculty members, although student governments sometimes conduct their own surveys and publish the results. School administrators view confidentiality of such material as essentially a personnel matter predicated upon privacy and academic freedom concerns. But such a system can also conceal substandard performance records by public employees. Thus, students might argue that they have a

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vested interest in the quality of their education and a right to know how their professors measure up in the classroom. In this scenario, both university policy and the state’s public records law (as interpreted by the courts) exempt faculty evaluations from disclosure. In addition, in most cases involving confidentiality, the party seeking disclosure must carry the burden of proof. Thus, the Watchdog’s moral claim in support of its decision to publish this information—particularly because it was obtained through an anonymous source—must be based on some overriding principle. Although the promise of confidentiality and the circumstances under which the paper received the material also raise ethical concerns, these issues are not central to this case study, since they are a fait accompli. In contemplating his decision, the editor, Lyle MacArthur, might consider the following questions: (1) Are the results of the individual faculty evaluations a matter of public interest? (2) Are students entitled to this information because the surveys are publicly funded? (3) Are the students entitled to this information because they pay tuition and have a right to demand accountability? (4) Should the paper decline to publish the evaluation results because they are an inaccurate barometer of the quality of teaching, or is the fact that they are taken seriously by the administration in their tenure and promotion decisions sufficient justification for reporting students’ collective opinions regarding the quality of their instruction? For the purpose of resolving this ethical dilemma, assume the role of student editor Lyle MacArthur and then, using the moral reasoning model outlined in Chapter 3, render a judgment on whether you will publish the results of Southwestern State University’s faculty evaluations.

Notes 1. See Maureen Dowd, “The Spy Who Loved Him,” New York Times, October 2, 2003, Section A, p. 31. 2. Fred Brown, “Anonymity Hurts Reporters and Politicians,” Quill, December 2003, p. 38. 3. Steven R. Knowlton, Moral Reasoning for Journalists: Cases and Commentary (Westport, CT: Praeger, 1997), pp. 74–75.

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4. “California, North Carolina Reporters Held in Contempt,” News Media and the Law, Winter 1999, p. 4. This order was stayed pending an appeal. 5. Nancy J. Moore, “Limits to Attorney–Client Confidentiality: A Philosophically Informed and Comparative Approach to Legal and Medical Ethics,” Case Western Law Review 36 (1985–1986): 191. 6. Sissela Bok, “The Limits of Confidentiality,” in Joan C. Callahan (ed.), Ethical Issues in Professional Life (New York: Oxford University Press, 1988), p. 232. 7. For a more thorough discussion of these categories of confidentiality, see Ron F. Smith, Groping for Ethics in Journalism, 5th ed. (Ames: Iowa State University Press, 2003), pp. 179–181. 8. For an interesting discussion of the reporter–source relationship, see John L. Hulteng, The Messenger’s Motives: Ethical Problems of the News Media, 2d ed. (Upper Saddle River, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1985), pp. 79–96. 9. Smith, Groping for Ethics in Journalism, p. 180. 10. Otis Baskin and Craig Aronoff, Public Relations: The Profession and the Practice, 3d ed. (Dubuque, IA: Brown, 1992), pp. 90–91. 11. Ibid., p. 91. 12. Maurice Van Gerpen, Privileged Communications and the Press (Westport, CT: Greenwood, 1979), p. 171. In recent years, some courts have held that agreements of confidentiality between reporter and source constitute an enforceable contract. See Cohen v. Cowles Media Co., 16 Med. L. Rptr. 2209 (1989). 13. Butterworth v. Smith, 17 Med. L. Rptr. 1569 (1990). 14. Bok, “Limits of Confidentiality,” p. 231. 15. Ibid., pp. 232–234. 16. Sissela Bok, Secrets: On the Ethics of Concealment and Revelation (New York: Pantheon, 1982), p. 19. 17. Ibid., p. 249. 18. Cornelius B. Pratt, “Hill & Knowlton’s Two Ethical Dilemmas,” Public Relations Review 20 (1994): 286. 19. Susanne A. Roschwalb, “The Hill & Knowlton Cases: A Brief on the Controversy,” Public Relations Review 20 (1994): 271. 20. Ibid. 21. Pratt, “Hill & Knowlton’s Two Ethical Dilemmas,” p. 287.

22. Roschwalb, “The Hill & Knowlton Cases,” pp. 271–272. 23. See Ross E. Milloy, “Writer Who Was Jailed in Notes Dispute Is Freed,” New York Times, January 5, 2002, Section A, p. 8; David D. Kirkpatrick, “Book Contract for Writer Jailed for Contempt,” New York Times, April 30, 2002, Section A, p. 26. 24. Bok, Secrets, p. 264. 25. Branzburg v. Hayes, 408 U.S. 665 (1972). 26. Ibid., p. 743 (Stewart, J., dissenting). 27. Van Gerpen, Privileged Communications, p. 172. 28. For a discussion of this case, see Alicia C. Shepard, “The Reporter and the Hit Man,” American Journalism Review, April 2001, pp. 18–27. 29. Quoted in ibid., p. 23. 30. Quoted in ibid. 31. Quoted in ibid., p. 24. 32. For an examination of one newspaper’s approach to this problem, see Richard P. Cunningham, “Should Reporters Reveal Sources to Editors?” Quill, October 1988, pp. 6–8. 33. See Jeffrey Olen, Ethics in Journalism (Upper Saddle River, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1988), pp. 40–41. 34. For a discussion of the reciprocal nature of the reporter–source relationship, see Stephen Klaidman and Tom L. Beauchamp, The Virtuous Journalist (New York: Oxford University Press, 1987), pp. 163–177. 35. Monica Langley and Lee Levine, “Broken Promises,” Columbia Journalism Review, July/August 1988, p. 21. 36. “Sources Disclosed by Reporter, Spouse Loses Job,” News Media and the Law, Fall 1999, pp. 21–22. 37. Ibid., p. 22. 38. Howard Weaver, “Unnamed Problem,” Fineline, November/December 1990, p. 7. 39. Lori Robertson, “Body Slam,” American Journalism Review, May 1999, pp. 53–56. 40. Ibid., p. 55. 41. The idea for this case is derived from a case decided several years ago by the Minnesota News Council (In the Matter of the Complaint of Roy Carlson, who was mayoral candidate in Savage against the Savage Pacer). This case can be accessed at the Council’s home page: http://www.mtn.org/~newscncl/

C H A P T E R

7 Conflicts of Interest CONFLICTS OF INTEREST: REAL AND IMAGINED

Hill & Knowlton also represented organizations that support abortion rights, the firm’s management was accused of violating Article 10 of the code of the Public Relations Society of America (PRSA), which prohibited a member from representing “conflicting or competing interests without the express consent of those concerned after a full disclosure of the facts.”3 Hill & Knowlton was also castigated by many of its female employees for accepting an assignment “whose ultimate goal is to limit our fundamental rights.”4 Conflicting loyalties were also at issue in March 2002 when the Wall Street Journal reported that recently retired GE chief executive Jack Welch had had an affair with Suzy Wetlaufer, a divorcee who edited the Harvard Business Review. Several of the magazine’s senior editors asked her to step down, and Wetlaufer resigned after conceding that “she had lost the confidence of her colleagues.”5 These three seemingly unrelated events share one of the most troublesome ethical terrains for media practitioners: conflict of interest. Simply stated, a conflict of interest is a clash between professional loyalties and outside interests that undermines the credibility of the moral agent. Conflicts generally arise from the roles we play within society and, for that reason, appear to involve particularistic duties (see Chapter 2) rather than our general societal obligations. Unlike the value of truth, there does not appear to be any all-encompassing moral rule urging our

As Fox News Channel reported election results on the night of November 7, 2000, John Ellis, director of the channel’s decision desk, was on the phone with Republican candidate George W. Bush and Jeb Bush, the governor of Florida, a pivotal state in the presidential race. Ellis was the executive responsible for collating and analyzing the exit poll information used to determine the winners in each state. He is also a first cousin to the Bush brothers. In the aftermath of the election, Bob Steele, director of the ethics program at the Poynter Institute, a journalism training and research center, described Ellis’s position as one of “irreconcilable competing loyalty.” Marvin Kalb of Harvard’s Shorenstein Center on the Press, Politics, and Public Policy said he was “surprised” and “dismayed” that Ellis remained in contact with the Bushes while working at Fox News.1 Fox executives said they had been unaware of the contact but acknowledged that “Mr. Ellis had misused his role with the network, perhaps damaging its reputation.”2 Several years before this election night ethical indiscretion, the usually conservative National Conference of Catholic Bishops, disturbed by the growing number of pro-choice church members, solicited the help of Hill & Knowlton, the nation’s largest public relations firm, to help recruit antiabortion Catholics and non-Catholics. When it was discovered that

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consciences to reject all conflicts of interest. A reporter, for example, should avoid endorsing political causes, but the rest of us are not so constrained. It is tempting, therefore, to say that divided loyalties do not involve any fundamental moral values. Our parents tell us never to lie, cheat, or steal. They say nothing about conflicts of interest. The fact is, however, that a conflict of interest raises some basic questions concerning fairness and justice, two important and fundamental values. A judge who owns stock in a company accused of violating the antitrust laws, for example, could not be counted on to conduct a fair and impartial trial. Likewise, a reporter who is married to a city official might be tentative in uncovering governmental corruption at the local level. Many news organizations have specific policies relating to conflicts of interest, such as banning the acceptance of perquisites and freebies from news sources or the participation in political and community organizations by members of the editorial staff. The professional codes also admonish media practitioners to avoid conflicts of interest. The code of the PRSA, for example, prohibits members from representing conflicting or competing interests without the express consent of those involved or from placing themselves in a position in which the member’s interest might conflict with those of a client. The code of the Society of Professional Journalists (SPJ) reflects a concern with potential conflicts of interest, as well as actual conflicts, when it observes that journalists should avoid conflicts of interest, “real or perceived.” The SPJ code also discourages secondary employment, political involvement, holding public office, or service in community organizations if it compromises journalistic integrity. Some are troubled by the sweeping nature of these restrictions and believe that they are not required by our

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