News

Dean Nicholas Lemann Commencement, May 21, 2008

May 22, 2008

Transcript of Dean Lemann 's remarks.

There are two things everybody knows about what they teach in journalism school. One is the five W’s—who, what, where, when, why—that every story must address, and the other is that if a dog bites a man, that’s not news, but if a man bites a dog, that is news. What we teach at Columbia Journalism School sometimes gets a little more complicated than that, but, nonetheless, the old bromides have a certain timeless appeal.

The graduation-speech version of the dog bites man story is telling students who are about to receive degrees that they represent the future. In deference to journalistic standards, I shouldn’t do it here. But I can’t help myself.

This is my fifth Commencement as dean. In that short time, the mood of our profession has changed profoundly. There are a number of reasons why, but the main one is the manifold effects of the Internet. The Internet has a nearly miraculous power to put the ability to publish, and to receive, journalism into the hands of untold millions of people all over the world. For more sophisticated practitioners like many of the people in this auditorium, it gives journalists a greater variety of means of conveying information than we have ever had before. But at the same time, the Internet has clearly eroded the economic basis of at least the corner of journalism into which this school has traditionally sent the plurality of its graduates, the American big-city daily newspaper.

When Columbia Journalism School opened in 1912, most American cities had several daily papers—certainly New York did—and there was no radio or television journalism. Through the twentieth century the newspapers died one by one, casualties of competition or suburbanization or the arrival of new-media competition, but the net result in most cities was a small number of papers that looked quite secure.

The big American newspaper of the late twentieth century was, it seems now, an odd institution, a kind of museum of all the historical phases of journalism, from partisanship (on the editorial page) to pure entertainment (in the comics and horoscopes) to serious political reporting. It was the most efficient way for people to get a big packet of information in one place. Even today’s graduates will remember the days when, if you wanted to find out who had won a ball game, or when a movie was playing, or by how much someone had won an election, you naturally picked up the newspaper. And, in the realm of business, if you were an auto dealer or a department store owner, or an individual engaged in small-scale commerce, the newspaper was the best means of getting people to buy what you were selling. Remember? And, because of the immense plant, equipment, paper, printing, and delivery costs that publishing a newspaper entailed, people who were already in the business were well protected from new competition.

Well, none of that is true any more. Most of the individual aspects of a traditional newspaper are available on the Internet, for free. Newspapers are still producing great quantities of original information, thanks to the hard work of people like you, but they no longer have local quasi-monopolies as sources of information. Their audiences are now primarily on the Internet—that wasn’t the case just a few years ago. And, even more recently, on the Web the lines between the various originating media have started seriously blurring. On the front pages of newspaper Web sites, you’re starting to find what we would recently have taught as television stories—video and audio presentations a few minutes long. Television sites publish what we teach as newspaper stories—stories made up only of printed words, without images. Magazine sites publish animated cartoons. And so on. The tectonic plates underlying our profession—those traditional categorical divisions by type of news, by news medium, by geography—are palpably, and rapidly, rearranging themselves.

Today, more of you have definite plans that entail paid employment in journalism than had such plans when I first stood at this podium five years ago. How can that be? Much of the credit is due to the great work our Career Services office does, but it’s also that employers want you because you’re energetic, because you have skills that people already in newsrooms don’t have, and perhaps also because you aren’t so wedded to doing things the way they’ve always been done in journalism.

You soon-to-be graduates are a diverse lot. You come from all over the world, work in every news medium, and cover the whole range of complicated subjects--but every one of you is a reporter: You know how to gather information, primarily through in-person interviewing, and to present it accurately, fairly, and engagingly. I would urge you, however, not to take it for granted that the best way to present information is an 800-word, all-text, pyramid-style news story—a method of presentation that grew up in the nineteenth century and dominated our profession for most of the twentieth, but may not in the twenty-first. And, as you’re well advised to be creative about how to present each individual story, the news organizations you work for are going to have to be similarly creative about figuring out, in the aggregate, what package of material they are presenting. It is going to have to be something unobtainable elsewhere—a rich mix of information about a community or a subject that the news organization’s Web site puts together more powerfully and efficiently than anybody else. It is not going to look just like the package of material that populates a newspaper now.

Inventing this is your task. You can’t avoid it—the old way doesn’t work any more—but it’s a far more creative, challenging assignment than what was handed to my generation when we went to journalism. Our job was to improve on the old model. Your job is to create a new model. You shouldn’t be daunted by this: newspapers in particular, and news in general, have been changing in non-incremental ways for three centuries. Benjamin Franklin’s Pennsylvania Gazette and Joseph Pulitzer’s New York World (the profits from which endowed this school) had almost nothing in common except that they were printed on cheap paper and distributed in cities, and neither had much in common with a big-city newspaper today. On your watch, newspapers will be primarily digital, but the primary task for you is not to switch delivery media, it’s to invent a new social compact with a community around the gathering and presentation of information.

I suppose that qualifies as a man bites dog story—but it’s still contained within a dog bites man story, which is that you are leaders who hold the future of journalism in your hands. Sorry, it’s unavoidable. Have fun with it.