Who Owns the News?

Recently, a friend gently chided me on our choice for the lead story on her community news site. It was the sort of lead story that journalists love: controversial, outrageous, despicable, with worrisome national implications. In the good old fashioned American tradition, a candidate for public office was attempting to drum up support by race-baiting. Prey on neighbors' fears, make them worry that people of a different nationality or religion or hue are out to get them, and by golly, voters might elect you to keep them "safe."

In this case, the target was Muslims. This brilliant would-be public servant branded the entire religion, of a billion or more, including 1.5 million Americans, as the enemies of America. "It turns out, folks, they are here, they're among us" he said in a debate. "We are at war with Islam. I don't tolerate people who are not tolerant."

Better still, from a newsroom perspective, we broke the story. You heard this filth first on our sites. It was good reporting, the kind of story that wins prizes. Our newsroom was right to be proud.

But should it have been the lead story on The Daily Westport? Our friend didn't think so. News, yes, but not the news of most interest to our Westport readers. It was a beautiful sunny weekend. Lots of pleasant events were happening in Westport. Why weren't focusing on them?

My initial reaction, I confess, was pique that our friend didn't share our admiration for our lead story. I react to criticism like most people – that is, poorly – until I remind myself how often I've been wrong and my critics have been right.

Was our friend really telling us that a popular sand-castle competition should take preference over hate-mongering? She was. And she was right. This conclusion so startled me that I hurried into Jane's office to tell her. "We should have led with the sandcastles," I shook my head. "I'll be damned."

The choice of home-page lead stories may seem like an esoteric topic. But this decision-making process sheds a light on how any of us decide anything. What we take to be journalistically right and wrong, better or worse, is only what we're used to, not an absolute standard.

Because we're in the news business, we'd selected a newsy lead story that we'd cottoned to. Journalists relish controversy and politics and stories of national consequence and breaking news. Juicy stories about politicians are why many of us chose this profession.

The story pleased us, but was it the best choice for Westport?

For the past century, the journalism profession has been telling readers what stories they should be interested in. There was "hard news" – the latest on unfolding developments – and "soft news" – stories about folks doing good things. The good-news stories were somehow less important. Excellence meant producing the kind of stories that journalists prefer. Excellence had nothing to do with reader interest or popularity.

I'm not bashing journalists. I love journalism, it has been my life. What shocked me was how easily I had slipped into conventional thinking. Because we liked a story best, we assumed our readers should like it too. We were serving news the way some parents serve broccoli: eat it, it's good for you. The story definitely should have been reported – it's important to know what office-seekers think. But should it have been the first story you saw for three days running?

At Main Street Connect, we describe ourselves as "your neighbor who brings you the news." What would you expect of such a neighbor? That she or he tell you immediately the "most interesting" thing going on. The most interesting thing might be a fire or an election or a parade or a prom or a new trend in juvenile jewelry. It might be a race-baiting politician but it might not be. The point is, it's not up to us to pronounce what is interesting. It's up to us to listen to our readers, then do our best to satisfy their news appetite. In Westport, on a sunny Sunday, sandcastles might be a better lead than the response to a political bozo. And that's OK. Because the news doesn't belong to us, it belongs to you. We're here to provide you the information you want to read.

In each of our towns, we recruit what we call a Local Advisory Board, interested neighbors who help us listen better. They tell us if the news we're cooking up hits the spot. Our best Local Advisory Board members are tough on us. They keep us from getting smug.

At some point in the 20th Century, newspapers stopped listening to what their readers wanted. Professional journalists continued to award each other prizes and pat themselves on the back while their readers drifted away. The newspaper business pooh-poohed and sniggered while the largest information medium in the history of mankind was being born. It's called Facebook. I myself don't much like Facebook but lots of people do, more people than live in the whole United States. They like coming to a cheerful place where they see people they know and can talk about mutual interests. We try to incorporate some of that positive Facebook feeling in our community news sites.

So, thank you, Catherine, for taking the time to tell us how we could do better. And thank you to the hundreds of you who care enough about your community to keep your "Digital Town Green" in good repair. This is your news, not ours. And if you think we're not doing our job, let us know. My cell phone is 914-907-5771. Call me. Please.

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