Memorial to American freedoms

On April 6, 1961, The New York Times planned to print a story on the upcoming Bay of Pigs invasion as a four-column front-page lead. The story was to say that invasion was “imminent.” However, concerned about national security issues, the editors conferred and decided to bump the story to a secondary position and remove the word “imminent” from both headline and story.

The invasion was indeed imminent, and the Bay of Pigs fiasco took place on April 17 with great loss not only of life but of national prestige. President Kennedy later remarked to managing editor Turner Catledge that if the paper had gone ahead with the article as planned, it might have spared the nation the debacle.

The Bay of Pigs is an example writ large of a dilemma with which newspapers all the way down the scale have to wrestle on a regular basis. Suppose, for example, that in a small town there’s a dispute between one of the larger businesses and an individual. Three hundred people—in a town whose total population is under 2,000—assemble to protest. A 50-year resident says she has never seen a demonstration of such a size in town. The people carry signs. They express their opinions and feelings. They circulate a petition. The business makes a statement.

At first glance, it seems clear that this is a newsworthy story. It is important especially because, whether the protestors’ complaint in this particular case is justified or not, the possibility of such unified community action is of immense potential power in a town facing such challenges as a threatened school closing.

But what if the protest could hurt the business in an area where jobs are hard to find? Might that be a good reason not to print the story? Or what if the protestors don’t know all the facts? Or what if the story winds up hurting, not the business, but the individual? At what point and under what circumstances can and should a newspaper decide not to make the truth public on some matter?

It is easy to be tempted, like the editors of The New York Times at the time of the Bay of Pigs, to take a “least said, soonest mended” approach to these questions. But at the end of the day the trump card for the press must always be the principle that freedom of information is the keystone for every other freedom in a democracy. To rule ourselves wisely we must, in the first place, simply know the facts.

It is thus no accident that freedom of speech appears as the very first freedom enumerated in the Bill of Rights. Without the open and unrestrained conversation that this article guarantees, there would be no way to find out the truth; no way to negotiate; no way to reach consensus; no way to base our votes on anything but rumor and propaganda. It is especially apt to remember this with Memorial Day approaching, when we remember those who have died to preserve the liberties enshrined in the Bill of Rights.

The press is only one part of this freedom of speech, but it is an important one. Our job is to reflect the community back to itself, provide verified and verifiable facts instead of gossip and innuendo, publicize dissent which might otherwise be ignored or buried, challenge the powers-that-be, celebrate the community’s achievements and critique its shortcomings.

Considerations can and will arise that challenge our willingness to go to press on some stories, ranging from the financial to the compassionate. But if we are to serve the community, we must remain committed to preserving the flow of information vital to any democracy. This Memorial Day, we would like to rededicate ourselves to stating the facts as clearly and fairly and completely as we know how. Let that be our memorial to the men and women who gave their “last full measure of devotion” to the ideal of a free society.

Dr. Punnybone

Donor Egg