JEFFERSON, OHIO — The banner headline in the Ashtabula Star Beacon the day after the President’s annual State of the Union Address was pretty straight forward. “Trump: End investigations; President calls for rejection of resistance politics in Washington.”
There were other critically important stories on that front page. One piece announced a new police chief for a local village. Another noted the closing of an iconic grocery store known for selling milk, eggs, and ammunition in its heyday. There was also a photo of the local high school boys’ basketball team.
The story on President Trump’s speech was an Associated Press story penned by Washington-based reporters: It took nine paragraphs before one positive nugget from the speech was mentioned in the story.
The AP reported that Trump refused to yield on the hardline immigration policies, accepted no blame for his role in cultivating the rancorous atmosphere in the nation’s capital, and is staring down a two-year stretch that will determine whether he is re-elected or leaves office in defeat. It painted a dark and foreboding picture of the risks posed to Americans by illegal immigration.
I suspect had a local reporter from Ashtabula County traveled to Washington to report the story, the viewpoint of the story, not the facts, would be different. In short, where you are from, where you live, and what you have experienced all impact how you deliver the news.
Local reporters for the majority of the remaining small and medium newspapers don’t attend these types of speeches anymore. Newspapers today are understaffed and just don’t have those kinds of budgets anymore. But those important stories, delivered by local reporters, used to help shape the relationships Americans have had with their news organizations.
Nothing in the AP story was factually wrong, but the dark portrayal of the speech and the president’s chances of holding on in 2020 reflect a particular perspective — that held by most reporters and most of Washington.
It might not be how people outside of Washington see his presidency or saw his speech. And if these same people outside of Washington were watching the Washington- and New York-based “fact checkers” tweeting throughout the night, their eyes probably rolled permanently into the backs of their heads.
The fact-checkers at NPR dinged him for lauding the record number of women in Congress. He was right, but somehow the fact that most new women in Congress are Democrats triggered the fact-checkers.
NBC’s fact checkers knocked Trump’s boast that the U.S. is “now the No. 1 producer of oil and natural gas.” What’s wrong with that? “While it’s true that U.S. is the leading producer of both oil and gas in the world, the president is claiming undue credit. That’s been the case since the middle of the Obama administration.”
For a man who frequently engages in hyperbole and deserves critical coverage of his statements, this is the kind of “fact check” previous presidents never faced.
Our industry is in a downward spiral. Part of the problem is our lack of diversity in newsrooms — not just on race and gender, but also in the place and experiences reporters come from. We need more reporters who went to state schools, come from working-class backgrounds and don’t hold that background in contempt, who are pro-life, sit in a pew regularly, and own a gun or two.
Look at the coverage of working-class people, which is consistently condescending. Same with coverage for Christian conservatives and pro-lifers (if they get covered at all). Own a gun? Basically, you are a dangerous nut in the eyes of most journalists.
People outside of Washington wonder why the major media deploy an army of fact-checkers to seek a fault in every word the president says, but somehow they have failed to investigate the past of any of Virginia’s statewide elected officials.
Reporters often blame Trump for the cantankerous relationship between the D.C. press and the rest of the country. Their blame is misplaced. This has been brewing for decades, and had they traveled outside of D.C., they would know that.
