There was a time when a television anchor walked into your living room every evening like the oldest man in the family. He did not scream. He did not wink at the camera. He did not chase clicks because clicks did not exist. He simply told you what happened. You trusted him because he spent decades earning that trust, one broadcast at a time. That man was Walter Cronkite. Today, I look at the news landscape and I cannot help saying it: they don't have them as Walter Cronkite anymore.
Cronkite was not perfect. No journalist is. But
perfection was never the point. Credibility was. When he looked into the camera
and signed off with, "And that's the way it is," millions of
Americans believed that he had done everything humanly possible to separate
fact from rumor and reporting from theater. He became known as "the most
trusted man in America" because the public saw him as a referee, not a
player. During the 1970s, public trust in television news reached levels around
72%, a figure that seems almost mythical today.
Fast-forward to today, and the newsroom often looks less
like a courthouse and more like a boxing ring. Every network has its cheering
section. Every headline seems designed to trigger outrage before understanding.
Speed beats accuracy. Emotion beats evidence. Opinion often wears the costume
of reporting. The race is no longer to get the story right. It is to get the
story first, collect the clicks, dominate the trending list, and worry about
corrections later. By then, the damage has already packed its bags and moved
into millions of minds.
I sometimes wonder whether we even reward honesty
anymore. Suppose a reporter spends 3 weeks verifying documents, interviewing
witnesses, and checking every claim before publishing a story. Another reporter
posts a half-baked rumor within 20 minutes. Guess who gets the viral traffic
first? The Internet has turned journalism into a food fight where whoever grabs
the biggest slice first wins, even if the meal turns out to be rotten.
The business model changed, and journalism changed with
it. Cronkite worked in an era when the evening newscast competed mainly on
credibility. Today's media competes on engagement. Outrage is engaging. Fear is
engaging. Tribal loyalty is engaging. Calm analysis? That often dies quietly in
the algorithm.
The numbers tell an ugly story. Gallup's long-running
surveys show that Americans' trust in mass media has steadily fallen for
decades. Recent measurements put overall trust around 31% to 32%, depending on
the survey, a dramatic collapse from the trust levels enjoyed during Cronkite's
era. (
That collapse did not happen because Americans suddenly
became allergic to facts. It happened because too many people began believing
that facts were being filtered through political, corporate, or ideological
lenses before reaching the public. Whether every suspicion is justified is
almost beside the point. Trust, once broken, behaves like a cracked mirror. You
can glue it together, but everyone still notices the lines.
History offers painful reminders of why credibility
matters. During the Watergate scandal, investigative reporting helped expose
abuses of power that eventually forced President Richard Nixon to resign. The
reporting was relentless because journalists understood that evidence mattered
more than applause. Cronkite's broadcasts did not resemble courtroom dramas.
They resembled court records. Facts first. Conclusions later. That discipline
helped strengthen public confidence rather than exhaust it.
Even the Vietnam War demonstrated the weight that trusted
journalism could carry. After traveling to Vietnam in 1968, Cronkite concluded
that the conflict appeared headed toward stalemate rather than victory. His
commentary mattered precisely because he had built decades of credibility
before expressing that judgment. His reputation gave his words extraordinary
influence, not because he shouted louder than everyone else, but because people
believed he had earned the right to be heard.
Today, the opposite often happens. Every microphone comes
preloaded with suspicion. Before a report even airs, half the audience assumes
it is propaganda while the other half assumes it confirms everything they
already believe. That is not journalism serving democracy. That is journalism
trapped inside tribal warfare.
I find it ironic that technology promised unlimited
access to information, yet many people have never been more confused about what
is true. We have thousands of news sources, millions of social media accounts,
endless podcasts, livestreams, influencers, anonymous leaks, edited clips,
artificial intelligence, and algorithms deciding what deserves attention. We
are drowning in information while dying of certainty.
Some argue that journalists merely reflect society's
divisions. I disagree. They also amplify them. If every disagreement becomes a
national emergency, every rumor becomes breaking news, and every political
opponent becomes a villain, then eventually the audience forgets how to
distinguish smoke from fire. Cry wolf every day, and the real wolf eventually
walks through the front door unnoticed.
I do not blame only journalists. Consumers deserve part
of the bill. Too many people no longer search for truth. They shop for
confirmation. They do not ask, "Is this accurate?" They ask,
"Does this agree with me?" News organizations noticed. They gave
customers exactly what many wanted. In business, demand creates supply. In
journalism, that can become poison.
The saddest part is that excellent journalists still
exist. They spend months investigating corruption, exposing fraud, documenting
wars, and risking their lives in dangerous places. They deserve respect. But
they now operate inside an ecosystem where one viral conspiracy can outrun a
year of careful reporting before breakfast. Their voices compete not merely
with other reporters but with influencers, anonymous accounts, edited videos,
fabricated images, and artificial intelligence capable of producing convincing
falsehoods within seconds.
When I hear someone say that journalism has always been
messy, I nod. Of course it has. Newspapers made mistakes long before television
existed. Reporters have always carried biases because reporters are human
beings. But there is a difference between occasional failure and institutional
surrender. There is a difference between making an honest mistake and building
an entire business model around perpetual outrage.
Maybe I sound old-fashioned. Fine. Some things deserve to
become old-fashioned only after they are replaced with something better.
Integrity has not been replaced with something better. Neither has patience.
Neither has verification. Neither has trust.
When Walter Cronkite ended his broadcasts, people felt
informed. Today, many people finish watching the news feeling angry,
suspicious, exhausted, or manipulated. That may be good for ratings. It is
terrible for democracy.
So when I say they don't have them as Walter Cronkite
anymore, I am not talking about nostalgia. I am talking about standards.
Cronkite represented a profession that understood a simple truth: credibility
is earned in drops and lost in buckets. Once the public believes the referee
has picked a team, the game changes forever. That is exactly where we are now.
And unless journalism rediscovers that old-fashioned addiction to accuracy over
applause, future generations may remember Walter Cronkite not merely as the
most trusted man in America, but as the last one.
This article stands on
its own, but some readers may also enjoy the titles in my “Brief Book
Series”. Read it here on Google Play or in Barnes & Noble
bookstore: Brief Book Series.
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