2008 was a banner year for what is now apparently being called citizen journalism. The existence of water on Mars was publicized not by NASA, but by Twitter - as were the earthquakes in China. Television journalist Tim Russert's death was first announced not on his employing network NBC, as had been protocol in such circumstances, but by an anonymous edit to his Wikipedia page, made before his family was alerted of his passing.
It is self-evident that as traditional media outlets continue to downsize their staff and technological advances make the dissemination of current events a collective endeavor, the barrier between plebe and reporter becomes increasingly obsolete.
We are all journalists, and in a way that seems both sensible and appropriate. If a citizen journalist witnesses an important event before a bona fide professional, then why shouldn't he or she share it?
Still, we can sense when a line has been crossed; the announcement of Russert's death could have been delayed for two hours with no consequences for the public, especially when compared to the consequences for his family.
The argument that standards must be put into place for new media reporting, along with the companion argument about the impossibility of enforcing such standards, is an old one. What has not been sufficiently discussed is whether this brave new reporting is not, in certain situations, self-defeating.
Citizen journalism promises unprecedented immediacy; we therefore assume that it will encourage greater candor and richer discourse. In particular, we hope it will bring us closer to those who lead us, whose opinions and actions we are so anxious to know.
But citizen journalists, armed with all the privilege of old-school reporters and none of the ethical obligations, only drive us further from this possible synergy. Continuously poised to make even the most off-handed comment a viral spectacle, citizen journalists simultaneously demand communication with politicians and discourage them from speaking frankly. The result is an inundation of dialogue paired with a scarcity of substance.
Consider one of the more ambiguously ethical uses of citizen journalism over the past year: Mayhill Fowler attended a private dinner in support of Barack Obama this past April. It was at this event that Obama made his now infamous comment about those heartland Americans who cling to guns and religion
which Fowler duly noted and published on Huffington Post.
Traditionally, members of the press have been obligated to declare themselves as such when appearing at any sort of public gathering. Fowler declined to do so, yet her experience of the event was utilized to shape a news story about Obama's comment on what media service company Technorati recently ranked as the most popular blog on the Internet.
It has been argued that Obama did not deserve protection from Fowler. Obama made his comment in front of a group, after all, and potential voters elsewhere have a right to additional information that would give them a sense of who they may be endorsing.
Such contentions are valid until studied in a larger context. Obama thought he was speaking to a group of supporters in confidence, and he directed his speech toward them. Was the insight that an undecided voter gained from this sound bite worth the price of increased recalcitrance on Obama's part overall?
We can all agree that politicians as a group talk too much and do too little, but the vigilance of millions of bloggers and Twitterers necessitates an unprecedented level of information control. The desire of citizen journalists to circumvent the bureaucracy inherent in traditional journalism is understandable, but their methods are self-defeating. The harder they press, the more elusive Obama and his ilk become, generating a continuous feed of babble all the while.
There is, of course, no way to guarantee that everyone with a story and an Internet connection considers the implications of his or her actions. As such, it falls to those who provide a forum for new media reporting to punish those who act inappropriately.
When Governor Sarah Palin complained about the gotcha media we all laughed at her. Journalists worth their salt ask hard questions, fact-check and follow up. But good journalists also respect themselves and their readers enough to do the task with integrity, while doing it well, and the rest of us could learn from them. The future of political discourse depends on it.
Jenna Reback is a student at Stanford University
and writes for The Stanford Daily.
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Opinion
