Ethically, Morris Is Deep In Dutch

We have a simple response to Edmund Morris, the author of “Dutch: A Memoir of Ronald Reagan.”

Facts do matter.

Call us old-fashioned, even old-fogeyish. Fair enough, we plead guilty. But we believe deeply that journalists and historians alike have a sacred responsibility to aim for a standard of honor and integrity in what we write.

Do we fall short of that standard? Often. There’s a reason journalism is called the “first draft of history.” We write and publish every day, knowing that the picture we describe is temporary, that tomorrow will bring new information and new perspectives to light. And history itself is a dynamic process, going through many drafts and versions. No historian has ever written the last word on any subject.

The important thing is where you aim, what values guide you. And that’s why the Morris book is so distressing. At the core of his work is a fictional character - the author himself, who pops up repeatedly at key points in the narrative.

But the made-up characters are not limited to the pseudo-Morris, as our friend, Haynes Johnson, himself a Reagan biographer, points out. There’s a whole fictional network of Morris friends and family who populate the book but never existed.

In our view, Morris’ approach adds confusion, not illumination, to the Reagan story. And that’s exactly the opposite of what journalists and historians should be doing.

Morris defends himself by saying that artists always engage in “exquisite distortion,” that they bend and shape reality to make their points. And that is certainly true for artists. If you want to write a novel, fine. Call it a novel. Let readers know, clearly and directly, that you are distorting the facts. Just don’t call it history or journalism.

Steve has a special perspective on this issue because he teaches young writers at George Washington University. The Morris book was the topic of lively discussion in his last class and he was struck by the number of students who thought the author’s approach was just fine. Several expressed the conviction that all writers take liberties with reality and Morris was just being honest about it.

It’s tough enough teaching students about ethics without a best-selling author out there making a bundle by trashing those ethics. One well-known presidential scholar told us his real fear: If Morris’ book sells well, in five years, every historian will be copying his technique.

But Morris is hardly the only sinner. In some ways, television is worse, blurring the line between news and entertainment to the point where viewers are never quite sure what they’re getting. A few years ago, a reporter asked one star of “The McLaughlin Group” why they were always yelling at each other. Everybody knows we’re not serious, the fellow replied, they know it’s just entertainment.

Excuse us. But we continue to labor under the quaint notion that news and information is a serious business. The least we can do is play straight with our audience. When journalists go on television and play roles, when they say things for effect, when they place the interests of “good television” above the interests of “good information,” they’re guilty of the same sins as Edmund Morris.

Let’s be clear here. Journalists and historians do not deal in perfection. All of us make mistakes and Lord knows, we’ve made our share. We also don’t like the word “objectivity” to describe what we do. It implies there is only one accurate way to write a story when in fact there are many. Every writer makes judgments every day - what subject to cover, what sources to consult, what facts to include. Fairness or impartiality are better words than objectivity. They admit that we make judgments and try to describe how we make them.

Moreover, there’s some validity to the argument that history - and even news - is written by the winners, mainly white males with a Eurocentric viewpoint. Newsrooms and universities are far better off if they contain a wide variety of backgrounds and perspectives. Not because of quotas or political correctness but because they have a better chance of reflecting reality more accurately.

And that, in the end, is the point. The job of journalism and history is to describe this world, as carefully and as fairly as possible, knowing that a complete picture is always beyond our grasp. Teaching students that lesson is a harder job now, after Morris’ book.