Britain: Dumb and Dumber?

There is something thrilling about an English newsstand. Where an American might expect to see one or two or -- the pride of New York -- four daily papers, here in London even the meanest corner shop routinely stocks at least nine titles. Nine! Every day! Sundays, too! Your average British journalist takes a raffish pride in the fiercely competitive nature of his trade.

 Not to mention the rewards: after a decade or two of high-minded opinionating, a British columnist who doesn't get a knighthood could well feel short-changed. Reporters on British tabloids, meanwhile, console themselves with the knowledge that their (relatively few) words are read by as many as 4.5 million readers. So you'd think that British journalists would hardly be fazed by a little criticism. You would be wrong.

 The scene was Ditchley Park, a country house ("mansion" in American) near Oxford where, earlier this year, a conference was held to consider "What Future for Quality Newspapers?" At least that was supposed to be the topic. Instead, the distinguished gathering of top editors and pundits from Britain, the U.S., France, and Germany quickly degenerated into a slanging match, with the Americans and Germans accusing most of the quality British broadsheet press -- specifically The Times, The Daily Telegraph, The Guardian, and The Independent -- of "dumbing down" under the malign influence of Rupert Murdoch. "Boring, boring!" retorted the Brits, accusing their critics of working for papers that were fat on monopoly profits, lazy, and out of touch with their readers.

New York Times columnist Anthony Lewis, widely credited with inaugurating the hostilities, is unrepentant. "Partly it's 'dumbing down' and partly it's that the reporting has become so ideological," he told CJR. Lewis focused on The Times, which he claimed has degenerated under Rupert Murdoch's ownership from one of the world's great newspapers into a shrill, hatchet-wielding scandal-sheet. Other Americans charged that most of Britain's broadsheets have lately become noticeably less authoritative and more frivolous. Do they have a case?

Certainly British journalism has undergone  enormous changes. Economically, a crowded field has been squeezed even tighter by the introduction of new titles and a price war at both ends of the market started by Murdoch in 1993 but quickly joined by his competitors. Politically, the failing fortunes of John Major's government encouraged the press as a whole to take a far less respectful tone than it had under Margaret Thatcher.

 Journalistically, too, British newspapers have changed over the past decade. On May 10, for example, The Times ran on its front page a photo of two members of the band Spice Girls kissing Prince Charles. In the paper's pre-Murdoch "golden age" such an image would have been unthinkable - mostly because mere pop stars would never have been seen touching a Royal. Before piling on The Times, though, we should note that the same picture also ran on the front page of Conrad Black's Daily Telegraph. And it was The Guardian, owned not by a tycoon but by a nonprofit foundation, whose front page greeted President Clinton's arrival in London as follows: "The president had a walking stick, calling to mind the old American joke: 'How does a Razorback (Arkansan) count to twenty? Takes his boots off. And twenty-one? Drops his pants.' Now President Clinton can count to twenty-two."

 Do all these changes add up to dumber newspapers? Any American answer to that question has to begin by asking some other questions: Compared to what? Starting from what?

British daily journalism is divided into three segments. The three "red-top" tabloids (The Sun, the Star, and The Daily Mirror all sport red banners) fight it out with contests, cheesecake, and soap-star scandals. With a total circulation of about 9 million, the red tops can't be ignored. But with a news content that makes the New York Post look like The Christian Science Monitor, the argument about standards isn't about them. Nor have the two middle-market tabloids - The Daily Mail and The Express, sparring over a steadily shrinking readership of 3.5 million - figured much in this debate. Rather the focus is on four of the broadsheets aimed at the so-called "chattering classes" (a fifth broadsheet, the Financial Times, is not a target).

British journalists argue that much of what American critics brand as dumb is simply a reflection of their country's long, honorable - and different - journalistic traditions. Compared with prestigious U.S. broadsheets, for instance, British newspapers seem to shout louder - and to leave little doubt about where they stand. Peter Stothard, who edits The Times, explains it this way: "Because we're in a more competitive market, we have to be much more adventurous in getting people to read, understand, and find their way around what you people call the newshole."American papers, he continues, are "produced with the satisfaction of their writers as a very high aim and the satisfaction of their readers as a somewhat lower one."

In America, a newspaper has a pressing obligation to make a profit. But in Britain, where three of the five broadsheets have made virtually no profit this century, a newspaper's first obligation is to be authoritative.

 Authority, however, does not always mean accuracy. (In the U.S., "Holocaust denial is illegal," a writer in The Guardian blithely declared recently.) Guardian editor Alan Rusbridger himself recently asked: "Why do no British papers carry a regular column, such as American newspapers have, for daily corrections and clarifications?" Probably because it would be too embarrassing.

American newspapers want their readers' trust. "We want all readers to think our news judgment is based on intellectual, not ideological criteria," writes Washington Post managing editor Robert Kaiser in the current issue of the British Journalism Review.

 British newspapers, their defenders would argue, trust their readers. "People choose newspapers here based on support for their own biases," says Roy Greenslade, a former editor of The Daily Mirror who now writes a press column for The Guardian. "We're used to seeing heavily angled material on the news pages - we know how to read it, how to make allowances." With The Guardian and The Sunday Observer on the left, The Independent in the middle, and The Times and The Telegraph on the right end of the political spectrum, there is plenty of scope for cross-checking. The cornucopia of commentary and reportage in English news stems from the competition that is, British journalists contend, the most decisive difference between U.S. and U.K. newspaper cultures.

 But if much of what looks like "dumbing down" is really just difference, enough remains to disturb thoughtful observers.

"If 'dumbing down' means less emphasis on and effort devoted to foreign news, you'd have to say yes," says Ian Hargreaves, editor of the left-wing weekly New Statesman and a former editor of The Independent. There is also less genuine investigative reporting and much more of the kind of prying invasion of privacy also endemic among American newspapers. But Hargreaves warns against the "risk of characterizing anything as 'dumbing down' other than high politics and foreign affairs. Putting more resources into writing about bio-ethics, the breakdown of the family, birth technology - all the issues resulting from the increasing public prominence of women - is a shift in the public agenda that is not really trivial."

 Stephen Glover, a co-founder of The Independent who now writes a media column for the right-wing weekly Spectator, says British broadsheets have gone "from boutiques to supermarkets. You can still find very high quality delicatessen," he says. "What has been lost is a sort of high seriousness."

While Murdoch's Times may not be much worse than the other broadsheets - "Canadians beat their breasts on topless bathers" was a recent Guardian headline - it is clearly the most successful. Five years ago The Daily Telegraph sold 1,126,000 copies a day compared with 415,000 for The Guardian, 386,000 for The Independent, and 368,000 for The Times. Today The Telegraph has climbed to 1,123,479, Guardian sales have slipped to 402,000 and The Independent has plunged to 256,000. The Times, however, now sells 772,000 copies - more than at any time in the paper's history, and nearly triple the number from the 1930s, when The Times was the undisputed voice of the British establishment (and when it enthusiastically backed the policy of appeasing Hitler).

Some of those gains are the result of Murdoch's price war - at 35 pence The Times is 10 pence (about 15 cents) cheaper than its rivals. Most of the rise, though, is probably due to changes in British society, as the mandarin class who once read The Times is replaced by the more numerous, slightly less well-educated children of the Thatcher ite revolution. Once known - and marketed - as "the top people's paper," The Times under Murdoch has become deliberately less elitist.

 "Readers who in the past would never have dreamed of buying The Times are now reading it," says Stephen Glover. "They switched to a more serious paper - 'dumbed up' if you like."

 As a prime beneficiary of this trend, Peter Stothard of The Times is understandably bullish: "I believe in Gresham's law - the truth will drive out the trash." The problem is: Gresham's law says that bad money will drive out good - cause for alarm, not reassurance.

 Ian Hargreaves is still worried: "With papers operating on very thin editorial resources, corners are getting cut. And all this is happening at a time when the objects of coverage - businesses and politicians - are smarter and faster than ever before."

 So which is dumber: a press that panders to its readers, slants its politics, and mixes lots of entertainment with the news? Or a press whose high public standards are built on the (sometimes arranged) absence of competition, and whose cult of objectivity masks its honored place at the very corporate banquet whose manners it should be scrutinizing?

 As total newspaper circulation continues to decline on both sides of the Atlantic, the question becomes less academic: Which is dumb? And which is dumber?

cjr  |  archive  |  resources  |  contact  |  search  |  subscribe