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If David Stockman survives in the Reagan Administration, it probably won’t be because of the damage-limiting support he got from two conservative newspaper columnists. On David Brinkley’s new ABC show, George F. Will predicted that “Stockman will come out of this as an enhanced asset” because the man who could testify one way to Congress and talk another way to a journalist friend who quoted him in the Atlantic Monthly had shown himself “open to evidence.” Try telling that to a Congressman whose vote turned on believing Stockman’s knowing deceptions the first time around. Or consider the reaction of Columnist William Buckley, who lapses into a worldly archness when someone on his side gets into trouble. “What is truly astonishing,” Buckley wrote, “is that there should be such an astonishment” about Stockman’s words; he had been guilty, at worst, only of using “here and there an unfortunate metaphor.”
Whether or not Stockman keeps his job, the press’s role in his troubles shouldn’t get lost. Much is made—in movies, books and preening editorials—about the press’s “adversary relationship” with government and arm’s length distance from sources. But a surprising amount of the news, like the Stockman story, comes from deals cut between consenting adults. The press finds these transactions awkward to talk about because they smack of collusion. Stockman wanted attention called to how brilliantly he slashed the budget; William Greider of the Washington Post wanted and got a good article for the Atlantic.
Stockman obviously didn’t realize how cynical his recorded remarks to a friendly reporter would look in print. Most interviewing isn’t prosecutorial; a sympathetic listener gets the best quotes. In Stockman’s case, the cries of betrayal when candor proved disadvantageous were relatively muted and gentlemanly.
Any transaction, after all, had first to be agreeable to both sides. A vain Shah wanted Mike Wallace’s vast audience to hear his imperious views, though knowing full well that in exchange there would also be tough Wallace questions about secret-police tortures. In the confessional world of check-out counter celebrity journalism, any show-biz figure courting publicity knows that one condition will be a lengthy exploration of his or her marriages and living arrangements. Only the inexperienced expect a journalistic transaction to be risk free. This includes intellectuals so disdainful of pop culture as to be innocent about it. Suddenly, in order to flog a book, they find themselves in a studio talking trivia with Merv or Kup or Mike, shedding their standoffishness and their standards to avoid looking pompous on-camera.
They hadn’t foreseen the need to appear livery on-camera, or interesting in print.
The third party to the transaction—the anticipated watcher or reader—has to gain something from the interview too, which helps to keep the process honest.
Nowhere is transactional bargaining more volatile than on the Sunday net work talk shows. A Senator or Cabinet member eager to be earnest about energy finds himself bumped for a Middle Eastern head of state ready to fly across the Atlantic just to Face the Nation or Meet the Press. Suppliants among politicians overnight become the sought-after when they become controversial. Timing can help or hurt. Stockman was to have been Brinkley’s first guest on his ABC debut, then canceled out. With a gulp, a disappointed Brinkley conceded that Stockman was wise to lie low a while.
Another form of transactional journalism is to draw the cameras to something you wish to expose. Next time 60 Minutes flags a little, play a game of transaction.
Study who is questioned sympathetically, who is hassled, then figure out which investigator, Congressman, insurance commissioner or local Librarian first alerted CBS to the story. The clues will be about the same as for those that govern news paper leaks. As Lyndon Johnson once told Henry Kissinger: “I have one piece of advice to give you, Professor. Read the columnists, and if they call a member of your staff thoughtful, dedicated, or any other friendly adjective, fire him immediately. He is your leaker.” That was in the days before Kissinger, as Secretary of State, became the most adroit leaker of them all.
Transactions—the press couldn’t live without them.
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