Without resorting to research, I confess that I am unfamiliar with the current director-general of the BBC or the editor of any newspaper, except for those who have attempted to lure me away from my beloved FT. What accounts for this lack of interest in my own professional realm?
Firstly, it’s a matter of practicality. Individuals in other fields can afford to have better-stocked wine cellars. (You won’t find a 2007 Clos Saint-Jacques being served at a journalist’s home.) Furthermore, journalists are inclined to think in concrete terms, focusing on specific events and announcements, rather than indulging in abstract and conceptual thinking, which is more common among hedge fund managers, architects, and diplomats.
Nevertheless, this detachment equips me to respond to a pressing question: Why is the field of journalism so self-absorbed? This issue has only intensified over the years, with figures like Tucker Carlson, Gary Lineker, and Phillip Schofield contributing to the surplus of media coverage about the media. Even shows like “Succession,” which is often regarded as highbrow television but fails to generate significant reader interest, receive disproportionate attention. What lies behind this narcissism?
One contributing factor is the increasingly challenging nature of this industry. I confess that I am spoiled like a pampered cat. However, for each journalist like me, there are countless others doing arduous and insecure work. Additionally, the cultural power journalists once held as gatekeepers has sharply diminished in an era where anyone can publish anything—an unfortunate development that the world will undoubtedly come to regret. One consolation is the sense of belonging to a branch of show business, complete with parties, distinct social circles, and public recognition. By treating our world as a self-contained Hollywood, we cushion the blow of dwindling audiences and tighter budgets for travel and reporting.
This decline-driven insularity is further perpetuated by a glaringly obvious truth that a friend recently pointed out: the absence of foreign labor. I reside in London, where various establishments—restaurants, construction sites, investment banks, tech firms, cafes, garages, luxury boutiques, and laundromats—often employ foreign workers, many of whom constitute the majority. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for journalism, with the FT, The Economist, and perhaps Bloomberg being partial exceptions. In the US media, “foreign” writers are typically Canadian or British. Consequently, journalism tends to be a predominantly monocultural and inherently parochial industry. The recurrence of the same surnames over generations only reinforces this parochialism.
However, I don’t intend to divert too much attention from the central theme of decline. Journalism is undergoing a fate similar to that of the serious novel. As interest wanes, the field becomes increasingly insular and self-indulgent. Consequently, fewer people take an interest in it.
Cormac McCarthy, my hero, passed away this week. He belonged to a time when novelists focused on the outside world—horses, scalping, ranch boys with predictably mundane names like John Grady Cole. He died in New Mexico, a place far removed from the literary circles of Bloomsbury. No master of literature has written less about literature itself. McCarthy’s penultimate novel offered a rare glimpse into his contemplation: “But I will tell you Squire that having read even a few dozen books in common is a force more binding than blood.” (If I had written that, I would have rewarded myself with a leisurely decade-long break.) In all other instances, he left the subject untouched. This stands in stark contrast to contemporary fiction, which frequently revolves around hyper-articulate individuals with underutilized humanities degrees lamenting their existential distress in cafes. Sally Rooney and Ben Lerner are not to blame; rather, it is the lack of public interest in their field that induces this self-referential attitude.
I understand. The same sentiment is implicitly evident in my own profession.
And yes, I am aware that this column serves as an example of journalism about journalism about journalism. The postmodern circularity of it all is not lost on me, in case you were inclined to point it out. Unfortunately, there is no other way to illuminate the truth about the media’s predicament. An industry in decline must take itself seriously because nobody else will. Ultimately, you, the readers, are complicit in this state of affairs.
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