Sitting here in my near-centennial colonial, warmed by the well-worn hearth of my living room on another frigid north-eastern New York evening, I can’t help but dwell on the transformation and evolution of news reporting over the decades. Through the small window of my den, I can just about make out the flicker from the television screen in my neighbor’s bay window. Somewhere between the blinding neon-blue haze, splattered with color as moving images race across the screen, there used to be the sanctity of news — real news.
It used to be a time when journalism stood for accuracy, objectivity, and above all, truth. Honesty wasn’t a subjective interpretation, but a commitment taken seriously, without the slightest willingness to swerve into the lane of embellishment or sensationalism. I miss those days. I miss the era of Cronkite, Rather, and Brinkley; when the line between reporting the news and making the news was as clear as the Mohawk River that graces our dear Schenectady.
I’ve spent all my 50 odd years here, and in these five decades, this humble town has been through its fair share of events – some painted with the excitement of progress, like the installation of the Proctors Theater marquee, others imbued with the melancholy of hardship, like the devastating limb-cracking, power-stealing Ice Storm of ’98. Mainstream media swirled around these events, as journalists parachuted in from other parts, their mouths braying like New York City taxicabs in rush hour about the ‘impact,’ ‘fallout,’ and ‘catastrophe.’ But the truth is, they were spectators to Schenectady’s lived reality.
On that freezing morning of the ’98 ice storm, I clearly remember how our local news reporter, Don, who had spent most of his life in the same community, reported from the scene. His breath visible in the frosty exhalation, yet his voice warm with an undertone of shared experiences and genuine concern — he wasn’t just delivering the news, he was living it with us. The distinction might seem minute, but it’s fundamental in fostering credibility — something alarmingly sparse in contemporary coverage.
But lamenting over the deteriorating quality of journalism while huddled in the warmth of my hearth or tossing sage words of wisdom into a conversation during Sunday mass is one thing, to discuss it analytically is another. That requires not just emotion, but empirical evidence.
Consider this, for instance. A study by the Pew Research Center in 2019 found that only 15% of individuals can correctly identify a factual statement from an opinion. Now, in today’s heavily polarized world, there’s no shortage of people ready to point fingers at various groups, organizations, or politicians as the root cause of this decline. But I see it as an inevitable outcome of news outlets in the digital age escalating the race for eyeballs — often making the unforgivable concession of substituting fact for viewer-grabbing sensationalism.
Then, let’s not forget the blaring implications of a Knight Foundation report, stating that trust in the media has fallen, with nearly half of Americans asserting that media is ‘very biased.’
Perhaps it’s the relentless drive for higher ratings or the desire to land the next viral tweet; whatever the reason, it seems today’s journalists are more preoccupied with being a sensation than delivering substance. I still recollect the electrifying newsroom from the fourth floor of the Schenectady Gazette, where journalists like Robert Sullivan committed themselves to delivering concrete facts to their readers, not serving reheated gossip with their personal bias as a garnish.
In these troubled times, where ‘alternative facts’ and ‘post-truth’ are hijacking public discourse, I yearn for the professionalism, integrity, and neutrality that used to be the foundation of journalism. I yearn for that elusive line between news and opinion. I yearn for the simplicity, the credibility, and above all, I yearn for the truth.
As I get older, growing closer to the grumbling dialogues of Archie Bunker and farther from the youthful optimism of Jimmy Olsen, I hope we can reestablish what made journalism important: its dedication to accuracy and impartiality. Real news needs a comeback, not for my sake or for some nebulous moral ideal, but for our communities, for our democracy, for Schenectady, and for us. And with that, I conclude my soliloquy for tonight.
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