Have we buried investigative journalism?

Oct 01, 2024 Features / Columnists, Peeping Tom

Kaieteur News – There was a time when journalism was not just a profession—it was a calling. Investigative journalists moved around with pens and notepads poised to uncover secrets that no one dared whisper. Now, it seems, those pens have dried up, and the notepads have gone out of extinction, replaced by the mobile phone or laptop.

In Guyana, the media once thrived on the essence of investigative reporting. Journalists were out in the streets, chasing stories, knocking on doors, sitting in bars prying out scoops from those whose tongues were loosened by one too many drinks, calling up contacts to see what secrets can be unearthed.

Today, the most vigorous activity one might witness in a newsroom is a heated debate over who will go and buy the Chinese food or pastries. It’s not that there aren’t stories to be uncovered—it’s just that no one seems to want to leave the comfort of their swivel chairs to uncover them.

Take, for instance, the tragic helicopter crash that occurred almost a year ago. It was a national tragedy. Five servicemen, all senior officers of the Guyana Defence Force, were killed, and two survived. This was a disaster that shook the country, and naturally, the public wants to know what caused it. Was it mechanical failure? Pilot error? The wrath of some long-forgotten sky deity? We don’t know, and neither does the media, because they’re waiting for the investigative report to drop into their laps like manna from heaven.

Now, if this had been 20 years ago, we’d already know what happened on that fateful day in December. Journalists would have found a way to interview the survivors, even if it was in secret. Or they would have sweet-talked some insider with “knowledge of the investigation” to spill the beans.

Instead, the survivors’ stories remain untouched by the curious minds of today’s so-called journalists. Can you imagine Woodward and Bernstein sitting on their laurels, waiting for a government report to tell them what went down at Watergate? They’d be rolling in their graves—if they were dead. (Which, thank goodness, they aren’t. Someone needs to keep journalism alive.)

But let’s move on from this aviation tragedy to a more grounded nuisance—literally. Over at Leonora, a group of residents is up in arms over noise pollution. They say they are victims of blasting music loud enough to rattle the rafters of their homes and probably send their dogs into therapy. The police, however, after an unannounced visit to one such bar have declared the place soundproof. Soundproof! Nothing to see—or hear—here, folks.

But has anyone from the media gone to Leonora to check? You know, to do a little independent verification? Perhaps visit the bar at 11 p.m., mingle with the patrons, listen for the telltale thump of bass reverberating through the walls? No. Instead, they report the police findings verbatim, as if the law enforcement officers are the last word on sound physics. You’d think the press might be curious about whether the police operation was an anomaly or if the residents are just hallucinating the noise. But no, better to stay at the office and wait for a press release.

In the old days, journalists were like bloodhounds on a scent. Now, they seem to be more like those decorative porcelain dogs your grandmother used to have—just sitting there, collecting dust, looking vaguely interested but making no real effort to do anything.

And this brings me to the pièce de résistance: the alleged racial altercation outside an art school. Apparently, someone parked their car in the wrong spot, racial slurs were allegedly thrown around, and the matter ended up triggering a controversy.

But instead of diving into the meat of the matter—Who said what? Why? — the media decided to focus on the dust-up between a government minister and the school’s administrator that followed the incident. I can picture it now: the seasoned investigative journalist from years past would have already tracked down the driver, found the passenger who supposedly made a call, and gotten the full scoop. They would have had them photographed, their quotes bolded and ready for the front page. Today’s journalists? They’re probably still trying to figure out where the art school is located.

It’s not that stories aren’t out there, ripe for the picking. It’s just that no one wants to pick them. There’s a new ethos among the new generation of journalists: Why bother going out into the world to dig for facts when you can just copy and paste what the police, government, politicians, or PR firms hand you? Why investigate when you can summarize?

It seems we’ve arrived at a point where investigative journalism is no longer a priority. Maybe it’s been slowly slipping away for years, but its absence is more glaring now than ever before. It’s been replaced by convenience journalism—the kind that doesn’t require dirty shoes or knocking on doors or making phone calls. So, what happened to investigative journalism? It’s not dead—at least not officially. It’s more like a coma patient whose loved ones are waiting for them to wake up. But at this rate, someone should just pull the plug. Not that anyone would notice. After all, the media’s too busy snoozing at the wheel.

(The views expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of this newspaper.)

• Defence Force, journalism, knowledge, profession, supposedly, Woodward