The Truth Behind Fake News

February 10, 2020

The first book my first professor assigned me on the first day of class at university was a tiny pamphlet entitled “How to Read a Book.” University of Chicago philosopher and educator Mortimer Adler was its author, and he was known for developing a series called the ‘Great Books.’ At its foundation, the Great Books Series promoted a list of books everyone should read in one's lifetime, many of them classics dating back to ancient times. Like a missionary of old, Adler pushed this curriculum on his own students, believing the sooner you learn the good stuff, the more expansive your world view, and the better off for the world. Adler’s own life was long; he passed away in 2001 at the age of 99.

During my college days, I had a thing for listening to late night interviews on WGN, a radio station in Chicago that broadcast throughout the Midwest region of the United States. Even if I was driving home from another state, my car radio wound miraculously pick up the faint radio signal from this so-called ‘super station,’ and the DJs and interviewers became a warm blanket when I tuned in, both comforting and educating me in those years of learning.

Milton Rosenberg, a professor of psychology at the University of Chicago, and the main interviewer each night, was an 'old school' expert on an array of topics of relevance, and he usually chose topics that were over my head--obscure science and math, philosophy, art, and a myriad of 'high brow' topics. Over the years, his interviews offered me almost as much learning as did my professors at university. 

One summer evening—and I still remember every detail—I was driving home from downtown Chicago, and I flipped on the radio to find Milt interviewing Mortimer Adler, author of the aforementioned book. The two University of Chicago gurus were good friends and colleagues and were discussing the idea of Adler's Great Books Series; the conversation was high minded and, yes, included obscure references you might have heard a century ago in a lecture at Oxford or Cambridge.

During this particular interview, a question arose about wisdom, and I found Adler’s response not only riveting, but refreshing. 'At around the age of 80,' he said, 'I started believing that I knew quite enough about the world.' I reached for the tuner on my car radio to turn up the sound, thinking I wasn't hearing clearly. He continued, 'Then, at about 90 I started to think I was getting to the point where I could call myself wise,' he chuckled. 

'Then at about 90 I started to believe I was getting to the point where I could call myself wise,' he laughed.

--Mortimer Adler--

An icon of intelligence, now well into his 90s, Adler was informing his listeners that at he had only just begun to enter the hallowed chamber reserved for wise old men. I wondered, ‘And what does this mean for a young man like me? Was there any hope to fit into the shadow of Mr. Adler?’ I was sort of depressed to be reminded once gain of the extent of my own ignorance. 

That first book I had read at university—Adler’s guide to reading critically—started to make sense, serving me well into grad school. 

As I have mentioned before in this column, I entered an unusual program at one of the finer universities in Chicago that taught a combined program of journalism and business. Both my studies and my work took me into the Commodities Exchanges, where I wrote a column on markets, learning about the relatively new business of derivatives—futures and options—and general investing. At times, it was more math and technical detail than I could wrap my head around. It was baptism-by-fire, as we say. 

Each day’s stories were posted to newspapers or wire services that had no access or understanding of these new markets. Most newspapers at the time had neither the resources nor the reporters to assign to these obscure financial exchanges. And these were the days before business news became popular. I was at the birth of what would become the big business of business news. Later, I used this combined skills set to co-author a popular book with a famous TV personality from Wall Street.

A large part of our academic studies involved learning the art of reporting the news. For those who think it’s all about a pretty face on television, think again. Those days found us disciplined and meticulous. We had to follow strict rules about sources and fact-checking our stories. We learned about legal troubles for failing to disclose information on our sources. We learned to ‘read between the lines,’ and develop a cynical eye toward everyone and everything we were reporting on. And never--never--to take the word of another without double checking for corroboration.

In short, we were digging for news that nobody had, looking for an angle that no one had covered, searching for that needle in a haystack that would give us credibility with our colleagues, our editors and, most of all, with our readers. Each day brought new challenges, new stories, a different ‘take’ on what we were seeing in the markets; we listened and asked lots of questions.

And we also knew how little we knew. It was a humbling experience like no other. I felt like a pioneer, and the jolt of joy from uncovering a new fact or interviewing a new person, was enough to carry my day. We didn’t do it for the money, but for the love of the business. It was a profession that required learning, knowledge, finesse and the ability to communicate clearly in writing, and in novel ways, distilling mountains of facts and figures into painfully spare articles and columns. Our editors held us accountable, and gave us a free hand to explore. The world was our oyster.

Through this exercise, we developed our own voice. It was a demanding business, and it was frightening to realize we had to defend our stories each day, accountable to our editors and to the public. Yet, there are few things quite as exciting as heading back home on the train after work and noticing someone sitting next to you is reading a story that carries your byline, in the afternoon edition of the local newspaper. I enjoyed each day, laughing, stressing, returning home exhausted, and sleeping like a baby.

Things Have Changed

The term ‘fake news’ has become a new Trumpian entry to our dictionaries and encyclopedias. We hear it constantly, and it conjures up a variant of what reporters used to call “yellow journalism,” or jingoism. These terms suggest a reporter or editor has twisted a story to achieve the goal of sensationalism, swaying his readers in one direction, factually, emotionally, and politically. 

To get to the essence of Fake News, and what it means for us today, I relay an experience that occurred nearly two decades after I finished graduate school. I think it was in the Winter of 2002.

During a business trip back to Chicago from my new home in Europe, my favorite former professor and academic advisor called me and invited me to attend a ‘Superbowl Party’ at his home near campus, with a group of his friends, their wives and families. Several of his colleagues in attendance were also my former professors at university, and most of them still lived on campus. The party was memorable, with good food and drink, and plenty of laughter. Everyone was hospitable, generous and encouraging. It was great to see old friends and colleagues once again. As I had been their student, I was the youngest attendee at the party, by far. The professors were approaching retirement, and would soon be leaving university life to enjoy a well deserved rest.

After the game and after dinner, we engaged in another hour or two of fine conversation, whereupon the topic arose about the state of journalism. One of the professors asked me the question, “So what’s your take on that Fox New Channel?” He asked the question out loud, but he didn’t sound upset or irritated. Instead, he seemed to imply he had only recently stumbled across this new cable channel, and had come to understand that Fox carried a different editorial direction, one that opposed the more common, mainstream media they had known and honored all their lives (and which many of these professors had worked for during their days as reporters).  

One of the professors asked me the question, “So what’s your take on that Fox New Channel?"

During those days I had been examining Fox News to gain a balance of information, and I remember responding to him in a way that was not too strident, but matter-of-fact and confident. “The reason you are questioning Fox,” I said, ‘is because before this network arrived, there WAS no other choice for news among the general public. All we had were mainstream commercial networks—the big corporate news organizations in New York and Washington DC.” In fact, Fox’s role was to offer the public--for the first time--another angle on the news, one that had never existed. 

As shocking as it may sound, when my parents’ post war generation sat before the TV each evening at 6 pm, to watch the evening news on the 3 or 4 major networks, the stories were identical, as was the editorial slant. And in retrospect, we now know 95% of the news was controlled, dominated by Center-Left media. During the days when Walter Cronkite delivered the news that man had landed on the moon for the first time, there was no other choice for the public, except some obscure programs broadcast on government channels--Bill Buckley's Firing Line is one such exception.

I explained my views to the professors as follows: “When you and your parents watched the evening news on television, or even read it the next day in the New York Times or Washington Post, there were many, many people throughout the US listening and reading and scratching their heads and thinking to themselves, ‘Yes, but, why?’ Or, ‘Yes, but something is amiss, and what this 'talking head' is saying on TV tonight doesn’t sound quite right.’ All these years, the post war generation assumed that the news was speaking truth, telling it like it was, honest and balanced, objective and informed. But, like George Orwell discovered a long time ago, it’s also possible that mainstream news was taking us for a ride the entire time.

The professors sort of quieted down, and looked a bit confused. “Fox exists,” I said, “Because there was no other choice, and you guys were selling half the country a lie, perhaps innocently, without knowing it. You guys were too much a part of it, to realize how deeply you were inside the cave. Once the head-scratchers from all of those decades of single-source news heard another perspective, they realized it was possible to think differently, and Fox found a willing audience.”

But, like George Orwell figured out a long time ago, it’s also possible that mainstream news was taking us for a ride the entire time.

To be sure, during those days, it was possible to find a few other Center-Right media outlets in print or magazine—like the Wall Street Journal. But television was growing in importance, and the public came to depend on TV for much of its daily news, if for no other reason than man, at his core, is a lazy creature; it is easier to watch the news on TV than to read it in print. And it was Center-Left media controlled most of this public demand. 

I can tell readers with some assurance, with the exception of Fox, it’s nearly impossible in the US today to find a Republican or Center-Right reporter in the newsrooms of any of the mainstream media. If your politics doesn't fit the editorial bias of the newsroom, you aren’t hired. It’s that simple. My own experience was a bit more nuanced in this regard, but I was easily the most conservative journalist in my circle of colleagues during my graduate days, and in reporting afterwards. Today, it’s not an exaggeration to say that 95% or more of journalists working for the big corporate media giants are Center-Left, politically. And the remaining 5% will never admit they think differently. Indeed, the same goes for tenured professors at Ivy League universities, career diplomats at the US State Department (or any Foreign Service) and, to a lesser extent, the public civil service sector of our governments. If your politics doesn't match, you don’t have a prayer of finding a job in these professions.

So, how does this trend bleed over into our Brave New World of internet and social media? Well, here we have an interesting evolution taking place, real time. Unless politicians and Silicon Valley gurus muck it up--always a possibility--the internet presents the potential for the most important expansion of free thought throughout the world. It is the single most vital element for getting to the truth in the future. Without it, we are doomed.

We need to support the internet, and unrestricted freedom of thought on the world-wide-web. This is despite the possible negative impact of a handful of small-minded people working on their computers in dark rooms, in their underwear, who would interfere and sully its reputation by raising the decibel level, Antifa-style.

The internet offers us ALL the news, not just one or two perspectives. We need to protect the internet with our lives, and against our politicians. We need to ensure that big media giants cannot control the pipeline of information, and we must protect this medium against intrusion by NGOs, the United Nations, telecoms, friendly and hostile countries who would censor the free flow of ideas. And if you think Western countries couldn’t possibly cut off the internet, think again. Twitter has already begun to do so, selectively and with blatant political favoritism. Some of our leaders would love to keep ignorant. For some politicians, it’s really their only hope for survival. 

Back to where we began, and that clever book I read in the first days at university--How to Read a Book. The lessons contained also apply to how we read on the internet. We consumers have our own set of responsibilities. We should be more discriminating between fact and fiction, detail and fluff. We need to learn to distinguish between credibility and nonsense, white noise and profundity. We ought to develop a cynical eye, and nurture a spirit that questions everything. 

We need to acknowledge the extent of our ignorance, inform ourselves, and strive, like Mortimer Adler, to look down the road to the day when we might call ourselves intelligent, informed, and wise.