Washington Post columnist and former White House speechwriter Michael Gerson will deliver the inaugural McCullough Lecture in Responsible Journalism and Government on Oct. 29 (Wednesday) at the University of Notre Dame.
Gerson, a senior fellow at the Council on Foreign Relations, will speak on2008 and Beyond: Looking at the New Political Landscapeat 7:30 p.m. in the auditorium of McKenna Hall. The lecture is free and open to the public.
The McCullough Lecture series seeks to promote greater understanding of journalistic and governmental work as a form of public service. Since 2007, Sandra and John McCullough Scholarships in Journalism or Government have supported Notre Dame students interested in careers in elected office, a government agency or public affairs journalism.
John McCullough, a 1955 Notre Dame alumnus, is a retired broadcast journalist, who is a member of both the Wisconsin Broadcasters Association Hall of Fame and the Milwaukee Press Club Hall of Fame. He began his career in television news at WNDU in South Bend.
From 2000 to 2006, Gerson served as policy advisor and chief speechwriter for President Bush. In 1999, he was a senior editor at U.S. News and World Report. He is the author of the bookHeroic Conservatism,published in 2007, and a frequent contributor to Newsweek magazine.
_ Contact: Robert Schmuhl, Gallivan Program in Journalism, 574-631-5128,_ " rschmuhl@nd.edu ":mailto:rschmuhl@nd.edu
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Tim Russert, Washington bureau chief of NBC News, will deliver the 25th anniversary Red Smith Lecture in Journalism at the University of Notre Dame on April 14 (Monday).
Russerts lecture,When Politicians Meet the Press,will begin at 8 p.m. in Washington Hall. Tickets are required for the talk, and they are available without charge at the LaFortune Student Center ticket office.
Moderator ofMeet the Presssince 1991 and the networks chief political analyst, Russert also serves as senior vice president of NBC News and as anchor ofThe Tim Russert Show,a weekly program on MSNBC. He joined NBC in 1984.
Russert received an honorary doctorate from Notre Dame in 2002, when he also delivered the commencement address. Hes the author of two best-selling books:Big Russ and Me(2004) andWisdom of Our Fathers(2006).
Named the most influential Washington journalist in magazine rankings, Russert is the recipient of numerous awards, including an Emmy, and hes a member of the Broadcasting&Cable Hall of Fame. He holds 43 honorary doctorates from American colleges and universities.
The Red Smith Lecture in Journalism was established in 1983 to honor the sportswriter and 1927 Notre Dame graduate Walter W. “Red” Smith, winner of the Pulitzer Prize for distinguished commentary in 1976. At the time of his death in 1982, Smith was a columnist for The New York Times.
The Smith Lectureship seeks to foster good writing and to recognize high journalistic standards. It is administered by the John W. Gallivan Program in Journalism, Ethics and Democracy at Notre Dame. Previous Red Smith Lecturers include James Reston, James J. Kilpatrick, Art Buchwald, Charles Kuralt, Judy Woodruff, Ted Koppel, Jim Lehrer and Frank McCourt.
The series is made possible by a gift from John and Susan McMeel and Universal Press Syndicate. A South Bend native and 1957 Notre Dame graduate, John McMeel is chairman of Andrews McMeel Universal, the parent company of Universal Press Syndicate. Hes a member of both the advisory council for Notre Dame’s College of Arts and Letters and the advisory committee of the Gallivan Program.
Universal Press Syndicate, based in Kansas City, will publish Russerts lecture and distribute it to journalists, educators and students.
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Contact:* Robert Schmuhl, Gallivan Program in Journalism, 574-631-5128,_ " rschmuhl@nd.edu ":mailto:rschmuhl@nd.edu
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]]>What role should an unnamed source play in coverage affecting a president and a nation at a critical time, and what is the responsibility of a news institution to the public in transmitting information provided by someone who, for whatever reason, refuses to go on the record?
Such concerns take on added meaning in the media environment that currently exists because it is so vastly different from 30 years ago. Now, many more outlets are chasing what they consider news, and competition is more intense. Mainstream sources (newspapers, magazines, broadcast networks) have seen cable news, radio talk programs and Internet blogs grow in importance and create alternative options for information. Greater choice scatters the audience, forcing each medium to look for ways to engage readers, viewers and listeners.
Motivation stands out as a principal factor in assessing whatever an anonymous source might provide. What’s behind the disclosure of any sensitive information? Is the person pursuing an objective on behalf of a greater good? Could personal pique or even revenge exist as the primary rationale?
In Felt’s own case, debate approaches new decibel levels between those who think what he did was justifiably honorable and others who vigorously criticize his leaking of unauthorized governmental material. One’s larger opinions of Richard Nixon and his presidency come into play at this point, leading to polar opposite conclusions as well as the full-throated controversy.
For a younger person unfamiliar with what happened during the Watergate era, it might come as a surprise that early in their journalistic investigation reporters Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein were covering an unfolding story for the Washington Post that other news outlets deemed of marginal significance. Unlike today, when an “exclusive” story in one place usually captures far-flung and multimedia attention, the Post was almost alone in piecing together the “dirty tricks” of the 1972 Nixon re-election campaign and other White House misdeeds.
Here the paper’s policies in evaluating and using what Deep Throat and other unnamed sources provided offer a continuing lesson. Sensitive, insider information required confirmation from two separate sources. Felt and others could supply guidance, but verifying what the paper would decide to publish took time and effort. One person meeting a reporter at 3 a.m. in a Washington garage wasn’t dictating an article for the next day’s edition.
Over several months, the Post, in effect, kept the Watergate story alive and in front of governmental and judicial figures who, ultimately, could conduct their own investigations and follow their defined constitutional procedures. To claim that two young reporters “brought down” a president is an exaggeration bordering on myth without historical basis. Of course, they did their valuable work, but others (in the Senate, House of Representatives and on various levels of the judiciary) pursued formal processes that eventually resulted in Nixon’s resignation.
In today’s media world, so absorbed in bottom-line, dollar-sign concerns and daily worries about maintaining audience, one wonders whether editors and producers would provide the resources, time and space for a story that took so long to emerge and develop. Deep Throat was but one character in a long-running and high stakes story that seems light-years away from the quick-hit scoop we tend to see and hear now. In the deadline-driven minds of many journalists, immediacy has become a premier professional virtue.
It’s possible, however, that all the attention being devoted to Felt’s role and what he (and others) did will rekindle interest in serious, investigatory reporting of the kind Woodward and Bernstein performed before they became famous. Such work is far from glamorous and often leads to frustrating dead-ends. But it’s a matter of keeping the broader picture in mind, regardless of the costs and whatever else might be involved.
Since the early 1970s, Watergate has been the journalistic yardstick for measuring stories involving the powerful, and almost every scent of scandal has prompted some in the news media to affix the suffix “-gate” to transgressions, large and small. For instance, when Bill Clinton was president, we kept hearing about “Troopergate,” “Whitewatergate,” even “Monicagate.” More recently, with George W. Bush in the White House, there have been references to “Weaponsgate” and “Iraqgate.”
Solving the mystery of Deep Throat’s identity is an appropriate time to reflect on the reasons — both positive and negative — motivating anonymous sources and why they operate in the shadows with the intent of revealing information to the public at large. It’s also an opportune moment to close forever the suffix “-gate” — and to pursue new thinking in a journalistic mediascape that desperately needs standards and practices all of us can acknowledge serve a civic purpose.
* Robert Schmuhl is professor of American 91Ƶ and director of the John W. Gallivan Program in Journalism, Ethics&Democracy at the University of Notre Dame. *
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]]>If George W. Bush and Dick Cheney complete their second term — and the vice president keeps his promise not to make his own Oval Office run — the next national campaign will be the first in 56 years without either an incumbent president or vice president at the top of a major party ticket.
Incumbency doesn’t dictate the winner of a presidential contest, as three presidents (Gerald Ford, Jimmy Carter and George H.W. Bush) and three sitting vice presidents (Richard Nixon, Hubert Humphrey and Al Gore) learned in six of the 13 elections between 1956 and 2004. Yet occupying high office provides institutional advantages for campaigning and usually reduces intra-party challengers — the insurgent efforts of Ronald Reagan against Ford in 1976 and Sen. Edward M. Kennedy’s attempt to derail Carter in 1980 notwithstanding.
But continuity has been a hallmark for more than a half-century, making the political landscape for 2008 largely uncharted territory.
When Harry Truman decided not to seek a second full term as president in 1952, he opened the door for Illinois Gov. Adlai E. Stevenson and the first of his two unsuccessful races against World War II hero Dwight D. Eisenhower.
By choosing retirement over another campaign, Truman followed the practice of the two previous 20th century vice presidents who reached the White House because a president had either died or been assassinated. Both Theodore Roosevelt and Calvin Coolidge won individual terms on their own — but elected not to run again (in 1908 and 1928, respectively).
The fourth presidential campaign of the 25 between 1908 and 2004 without an incumbent president or vice president as Democratic or Republican standard-bearer took place in 1920. Warren Harding, the first senator to go directly to the White House (the only other was John F. Kennedy), defeated Ohio Gov. John M. Cox.
That the ‘52 battle between Eisenhower and Stevenson is the only non-incumbent contest over eight decades from 1928 to 2008 is, in part, a reflection of Franklin Roosevelt’s democratic (and Democratic) dominion for a dozen years and, more recently, the elevation of the vice presidency to an office of governmental and political consequence.
The nation’s first vice president, John Adams, confided to wife Abigail in a letter that he occupied “the most insignificant office that ever the invention of man contrived or his imagination conceived.” Over a century later, John Nance Garner, FDR’s running mate in 1932 and 1936 (before, unsuccessfully, seeking the presidential nomination against his boss in 1940), characterized the second spot as not “worth a pitcher of warm spit” (or words to that effect). But times and responsibilities change.
Beginning with Walter Mondale’s policy involvement under Carter and especially with Cheney’s influential clout throughout the current administration, vice presidents (who, constitutionally, act as president of the Senate) now do more than cast the occasional tie-breaking senatorial vote or serve as “stand-by equipment” in case something happens to the president.
During recent decades and in stark contrast to historical precedent, being No. 2 has become a serious steppingstone in seeking the highest office. In fact, assuming Cheney completes his second term and declines to run, he’ll be the only elected vice president since Nixon to end his allotted time as understudy without seeking the principal role.
After Nixon lost to Kennedy in 1960, he came back in 1968 to defeat Lyndon Johnson’s vice president, Hubert Humphrey. Mondale lost to Reagan in 1984, while Reagan’s vice president, George H. W. Bush, won the presidency in 1988. Dan Quayle, Bush’s veep, sought the 2000 Republican presidential nomination, but couldn’t stop George W. Bush, the winner over Bill Clinton’s vice president, Gore. (Spiro Agnew, of course, was elected twice as, in the popular phrase, “Nixon’s Nixon,” but he resigned in disgrace in 1974, never returning to elective politics.)
It’s possible, for whatever reason, Cheney will step down, permitting President Bush to select a new vice president, who could then run as an incumbent. Yet, barring health problems, this seems unlikely and would create the animosity of unelected favoritism within GOP ranks.
At this point, the election of 2008 is shaping up as the combination of an open-field marathon and an elbows-flying free-for-all. One Web site already lists nearly 40 potential candidates in each party as possible contenders for the Democratic and Republican nominations. Will the next four years be long enough for Americans to make up their minds?
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]]>Back in 1969, writer Michael J. Arlen called Vietnam the “living-room war.” Today, because of television, the “living-room factor” plays an increasingly significant role in presidential politics. To a certain degree, the road to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue goes through your residence.
Textbooks might describe national campaigns as contests of ideas, competing policies, and proposals charting the country’s future. But those messages, by and large, come to us via our TV sets from candidates as concerned with how they dramatize themselves and their cause as with any wonkish prospectus or 12-point plan.
The “living-room factor” means someone campaigning for president needs to conform to the medium’s theatrical values. Portraying oneself as a comfortably likable person is essential. Television creates a sense of intimacy between candidate and voter, and the political figure hopes to become a regular guest in the collective American household for the campaign season – and the next four years.
The trick in cultivating a successfully telegenic “image” involves marrying personal traits – the authentic self – with qualities that make one engaging or appealing. If a candidate seems to a viewer to be in command and wears well, an emotional connection develops, and that bond can prove significant in the voting booth.
Before television, Franklin Roosevelt’s mastery of radio in his “fireside chats” staked out the living room as a place politicians could go to establish a direct rapport with the citizenry. The nation listened, and FDR gave voice, authoritatively and compassionately, to problems Americans faced in their lives and homes.
With its visual dimension, television magnifies the connection radio created. An early observer of TV’s growing involvement in political affairs was author Joe McGinness. In his still-instructive account, “The Selling of the President 1968,” Mr. McGinness chronicles how communication advisers to Richard Nixon transformed the former vice president, who had lost in 1960 to TV-savvy John Kennedy, into an image-oriented winner eight years later. Nixon’s opponent, Vice President Hubert Humphrey, never found his footing on the new terrain of the political-media landscape.
“Television did great harm to Hubert Humphrey,” McGinness noted. “His excesses – talking too long and too fervently, which were merely annoying in an auditorium – became lethal in a television studio. The performer must talk to one person at a time. He is brought into the living room. He is a guest. It is improper for him to shout.”
As television expands with more channels and means of delivery, chances for candidates to pop up – and pop by – multiply. It’s no coincidence that since 1980, the only presidents to be elected twice – Ronald Reagan and Bill Clinton – used television so effectively that even opponents had to acknowledge their skill.
Mr. Reagan could poke fun at himself, but he understood what mattered. Leaving the White House, he told an interviewer: “For years, I’ve heard the question: ‘How could an actor be president?’ I’ve sometimes wondered how you could be president and not be an actor.”
Although George W. Bush and John Kerry seem inescapable on TV these days, the upcoming debates provide sustained comparison. Especially for undecided voters, the living room will become a critical precinct for taking the measure of each candidate. At its heart, the viewer’s decision is deeply personal: Do I agree with what animates or drives each nominee? Which one seems more genuine and convincing? Whom am I most comfortable with as a national leader in troubling times?
Four years ago during the debates, historian Richard Norton Smith remarked (on TV), “There is a dynamic in this race right now and it can be summed up by the question of whether you want Al Gore in your living room for the next four years or whether you want George Bush in the Oval Office for the next four years.”
Behind Mr. Smith’s sage quip were concerns about Mr. Gore’s stiff, know-it-all persona and a perception that Mr. Bush, though likable, lacked high-office gravitas. Resolving that dilemma – and the race itself – proved anything but simple in 2000.
But there’s also a larger point. Winning the Oval Office can depend on how well candidates come across in our living rooms – and whether we want to keep welcoming them into our homes.
Robert Schmuhl is professor of American 91Ƶ and director of the John W. Gallivan Program in Journalism, Ethics&Democracy at the University of Notre Dame. He’s the author of ‘Statecraft and Stagecraft: American Political Life in the Age of Personality.’
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