Pigs, dogs and journalists

By Andrew Salmon

It's big news.

A senior education ministry official, Na Hyang-wook, speaking pompously in a boozy meeting with journalists, likened the public to "pigs and dogs." Several reporters were present, but only one, from a leftist newspaper, dared report Na's comments. A public uproar resulted and Na was flagellated and fired.

I don't know what happened. I was not there. Nor do I know the parties involved. But having been a reporter here for over a decade, let me hazard some guesses.

Korea's mediascape is, to a large degree, dominated by "press pools" assigned to ministries and government agencies. These pools are exclusive and (arguably) collusive; they generate ties between reporters and government officials. Officials sometimes invite reporters out for dinner, drinks and "off-the-record" chats (officials usually pay).

The resultant problem is obvious. As a colleague said: "I don't want to be friends with the people I cover."

What happened that evening? I cannot say for sure, but I guess this. Na, believing (naturally) that the meeting was unofficial and off-the-record, relaxed. He drank. He talked. He had a few too many. Egged on, he made outrageous comments. One reporter reported this. Should the reporter be praised for busting a collusive system and breaking a story?

No. I have major problems with press pools, but I have even greater problems with this story. Its ramifications are horrendous ― and not, perhaps, in the way you may expect.

"Off the record" ("Don't mention my name/title") is a sacred trust in journalism. Ideally, sources are named and identified, but in our imperfect world, there are circumstances in which a person cannot speak openly for fear of losing his/her privilege, position or even life. In these cases, a journalist grants anonymity in order to report.

"Off-the-record" is dubious. It provides a convenient excuse for officials, bureaucrats and businessmen to float trial balloons and to evade responsibility for what they should state openly. It provides unscrupulous journalists the leeway to invent quotes (or even stories). So problematic is it that some leading global media outlets insist only on named, titled sources.

But Korea is neither an ideal nor a transparent society. While I despise "off-the-record," it is standard here for "sensitive" (translation: "newsworthy") issues. "Off-the-record" briefings provide a conduit through which Korean leaders pass information to reporters, who then report to the public.

The abuse by a reporter of this privilege deals a serious blow to one of the few channels of transparency that exists in Korea. How serious?

I have heard ― again, I can't confirm this, but it has the whiff of veracity ― that a very senior businessman gave an off-the-record briefing about government policy to local reporters in the late 1990s. One reporter breached trust and named the source ― to the source's embarrassment and endangerment. The businessman (a second-generation chaebol head) never again spoke to the media. Other chaebol bosses followed suit.

So, one reporter's breach of trust dealt a massive blow to Korean transparency. It is a bitter joke among Seoul correspondents that it is easier to interview crowned royalty than a chaebol head.

I suspect that, in Na's case, the reporter got a pat on the back for his "scoop." If I were his editor I would have killed the report, dead. For what exactly was the report? "Senior official is anti-democratic?" Or, "Official talks piffle while drunk?"

This was an abuse of journalistic privilege, sans reason. If Na had admitted corruption or boasted of a forthcoming abuse of position, public interest would have been involved. But as far as I know, Na was clean. He was an efficient bureaucrat, with no plans to abuse his position.

That is the problem with this "story:" There was neither victim nor public damage. A shrewd recorder judges deeds, not words ― especially not drunken words.

(And please: No holier-than-thou attitudes. If you, kind reader, or I, were on-record 24/7, we might say things that could incriminate ourselves with one or more indignant groups in society. Such is the nature of free speech, gossip and inebriation.)

Anyway, an indignant public, bristling with "the politics of envy," feels righteously satisfied to see a senior bureaucrat hung out to dry. I do not share their schadenfreude. This was no victory for free reporting or public morality. Instead it was a victory for populist journalism and lynch-mob sentiment.

Abuse of "off-the-record" ― for no public good ― is not praiseworthy. It erodes trust and corrodes one of the few channels of transparency that exists in an opaque society. Henceforth, officials, bureaucrats and businessman have an excuse to distrust the press and shut their traps even more firmly.

That makes the media's job more difficult. And that is most definitely not in the public interest.

Andrew Salmon is a Seoul-based reporter and author. Reach him at andrewcsalmon@yahoo.co.uk.