Joseph Harker
The historic election of Barack Obama as the United States’ first black president produced a wealth of comment in the British press about the possibility of a black British prime minister. Could it happen here? Is Britain as racist as America? Are there any home-grown black politicians of Obama’s calibre? Much of this involved much wild speculation and many gross generalisations. They might instead have used the occasion to make more informed comments about matters closer connected to their field of experience: namely, are we likely to see a black British national newspaper editor in our lifetime?
In late 2007 Kamal Ahmed, the Observer’s executive editor, left the paper to join the UK’s Equality and Human Rights Commission. With him went probably the best chance we’ll have in a long time to see such a breakthrough (ironically, the Observer’s editor, Roger Alton, stood down just a month later). Just as with Obama, for the British press the appointment of the first black editor, if it ever happens, will also be hugely symbolic.
Ahmed was a former Observer political editor, as well as media editor on his previous newspaper, the Guardian – positions never before or since held by a person of colour on any national newspaper. Indeed, the number of racial minorities in editing positions across all Fleet Street is tiny. One thinks of Peter Victor, who news-edits the Independent on Sunday, or Malik Meer on the Guardian’s Saturday Guide, as possibly the only two, at the time of writing, who run significant departments. Aside from that, most of the main desks on the nationals – home news, foreign, city, features, sports – are run by entirely white teams. One may find the occasional black or Asian journalist in a junior role on the commissioning desk, but rarely, if ever, in a position where they can make a decision on what goes into the next day’s paper, let alone have any major long-term impact.
Don’t get me wrong. Things have improved. I entered journalism, working within the black press, in the late 1980s. Within the nationals, this was the era of “black crime shock” headlines emblazoned across the tabloids and long before any industry codes on race reporting. Almost without exception, black people were only reported when crime statistics came out, or when there were riots on the streets. Asian people were invisible.
I worked with several very good journalists in a niche sector that was thriving; but as my colleagues moved on to new challenges, just one of them gained a staff job on a national newspaper – the rest went into television. The national press was effectively a closed shop: jobs were, proudly, never advertised and only those moving within established media circles stood any chance of getting one. This did not include black or Asian people.
Now things have changed a little and some newspapers have accepted the unfairness of the old system. There are ethnic minority reporters and/or sub-editors on most papers, though mostly in very small numbers. But progress has been slow. Of those editors who recognised this as a problem, many initially believed – and some still do – that they could change their mix of staff without changing traditional methods of recruitment. Earlier, this had, after all, been sufficient to bring women into the ranks. Nepotism could be extended to female family and friends, and the dinner-party circuit gave women guests a chance to impress. With racial minorities, though, both routes were non-starters. They were raised a long way from the privileged and often publicschool backgrounds of many Fleet Street editors and their associates.
Further, it’s now more than 50 years since sections devoted to women’s issues – written by women, for women – began to appear in the British press. Through their pages have emerged many top women writers, seizing the available space to hone their skills, to prove their ability, and to demonstrate incontrovertibly that their voice is valid, product-enhancing, and impossible to ignore. There has, however, been no equivalent outlet for any minority-race coverage, despite the potential benefits – although some of the regional press, covering areas with significant minority populations, have run dedicated sections.
A few national newspapers have made some positive efforts to redress the imbalance, occasionally offering traineeships specifically for black and Asian starters. At the Guardian – a daily paper which along with its stablemate the Observer and website guardian.co.uk forms Britain’s leading liberal media organisation – we have been running a positive-action work placement programme, targeting racial minorities. The large numbers of intelligent, enthusiastic, hardworking and motivated young men and women we’ve been able to bring into our office (and, yes, Muslim women too) have given the lie to that old media mantra, “but they don’t apply”.
In 2007 the editor Alan Rusbridger introduced a plan of action to redress inequality. This includes interview, recruitment and management training for editors and section heads; consultations with minority staff; advertising all entry-level jobs externally; and alerting minority journalists on our database when vacancies arise.
This plan is backed up by ethnic monitoring, so we can measure the progress we’re making. But the Guardian apart, most papers seem to believe the small steps they’ve already taken are enough to level the playing field. I contacted four other national newspaper groups, and all were quick to claim that they do not discriminate, yet none had even a rough idea of the numbers of minority staff they employ. This despite the fact that diversity organisations see monitoring – now common in many industries such as banking and manufacturing – as a crucial step in tackling institutional inequality.
Monitoring “is not something I regard as significant”, Sunday Times managing editor Richard Caseby told me. “The overriding factor when employing people is: if someone can do the job well, they get the job. Performance is the only issue we consider.” But without any supporting information, can newspapers really be sure that their recruitment is unbiased and that their editors see beyond the indeterminate cultural factors that so often lie behind selection decisions, such as: “Do I feel comfortable with him?” “Would she be a good laugh down the pub?” “Would they fit in with our reporting team?” Journalists I contacted who work in some of these newsrooms reported that they are very white places indeed.
Of course, though, representation is more than just a recruitment issue. The internal culture of a media organisation is a major influence on its external output, which in turn can have a significant impact on the wider public and its attitudes. The negative and imbalanced reporting of 20 years ago generally gave way to a more measured approach during the 1990s – most notably in the reporting of the racist murder of black teenager Stephen Lawrence and its aftermath, with even the conservative Daily Mail weighing in heavily on the side of the victim’s family. And when the Macpherson report into the Metropolitan Police’s investigation of his killing was published in February 1999, there was a real sense that papers should in some way reflect the communities they served. The inquiry’s central finding was that the police were guilty of “institutional racism”; but any journalist who wanted to join the criticism need only have looked at the faces in his or her newsroom to see that the accusation did not apply only to the police.
A little fewer than 1,000 days after the report, however, came 9/11 – and a new form of scapegoating was unleashed, with Muslims bearing the brunt. Space prohibits examining this issue in detail, but I will just ask why is it that picture editors so often choose pictures of niqab-wearing women to accompany articles on Islam? For the most part, this veil has no relevance to the piece and, in any case, it is worn by only a tiny number of Muslim women. In effect, this image has become the modern equivalent of the notorious police mugshot of Winston Silcott (the man wrongly convicted of killing a policeman during riots in Tottenham in 1985) – a face of menace that demonised a whole community.
What do Britain’s ethnic minorities think about this? At about 9 per cent of the national population, and 30 per cent of London’s – where most of the media is based – they are now an established part of the country and play an increasingly important role. Despite this, our newspapers have made little or no effort to attract them as potential readers. Marketing executives tend to think in terms of social status (A, B, C1, C2, D, E: the former deemed readers of quality broadsheets; the latter of red-top tabloids) or job type (public sector, the Guardian; lawyers, The Times; business, the Daily Telegraph). Promotions departments then put their efforts into shoring up their own traditional group, or launching advertising campaigns in attempts to reach out to others. They assume that racial minorities fit wholly into this matrix – they buy the dailies just like the rest of the population, so surely they’re no different to any other readers?
In 2004 at the Guardian we carried out what was possibly the first focus-group research aimed purely at minority readers. Talking to black and Asian broadsheet buyers, we found that they had markedly negative views about the coverage of minorities – both in terms of the space given and of the issues reported. And this was true for all papers, regardless of political stance. In another focus group, one member said he believed that black people were only ever reported as “victims, villains, or village idiots”.
To find out if there was any basis in fact for these perceptions, we carried out some analysis of content from a fortnight’s papers. Obviously this has to be viewed with caution – we weren’t using established scientific methods – but it was interesting anecdotally nevertheless. It should also be noted that this was before Barack Obama’s election campaign and presidency, which has provided the front pages with numerous positive black stories. The underlying problems persist, though.
Outside the foreign pages, we found that a tiny amount of space was allocated to minorities. And within the overall coverage, white people were reported overwhelmingly positively; Asian people were reported overwhelmingly negatively (half the stories were about Muslim terrorism); and, although black people’s coverage was equally balanced between positive and negative, almost all the positive stories were, stereotypically, either entertainment- or sports-related. So it seems that the black and Asian readers were not paranoid – the media really have got it in for them.
Editors would no doubt counter that we’re in the middle of a major Islamic terrorist threat, so this is bound to affect coverage. I accept this point. But the issue is balance. For every story about a (white) politician who’s been exposed as incompetent, there’s another of (white) human achievement, or act of selfless charity, or miracle birth, or whatever – and, let’s face it, even stories of white criminals, for example, are offset by the appearance of a prominent, responsible, white authority figure, be it a judge, barrister or police chief. With black and Asian coverage, such counterbalance is rare. It has to be significant that almost every story which is published in the national press has to have the approval of a white desk editor – most of whom have had little or no contact with any of Britain’s minority communities. This means that a story which might be of great importance to, say, a person of Indian or Caribbean origin is far less likely to arouse the interest of the man or woman deciding the news list.
In 2006, the then Metropolitan Police Commissioner for London, Sir Ian Blair, accused the British media of institutional racism over their coverage of white murders compared with black – the latter victims, he said, gained far fewer column inches. Leader articles and columnists swiftly and roundly condemned him: this was a ridiculous and unfounded allegation, they declared in united outrage. The facts, though, were with Blair. In 2008 knife crime became a burning media issue, with 27 teenagers murdered in London alone by September. Only three of these victims were white. I did an analysis of press coverage and discovered that the 24 black and Asian victims had generated about 50 stories each – apart from one which, because the investigation threw up several leads and the alleged killers were quickly caught, created just over 100 articles. The three white victims had received between 200 and 350 articles. On average, therefore, the loss of a white life gained five to six times more coverage than that of a non-white.
Around that time, I appeared on the panel for a BBC Radio 4 media show. When I pointed this out, I was told by a senior and well-respected journalist from another paper that this was because the white murders were “random”, and hence were especially shocking because they could happen to any reader’s child. This, to me, epitomises the lingering stereotypes which infect media coverage of minority issues. Somehow a black murder isn’t due to some random attack; in all 24 cases, this journalist would have us believe, the victim – either through their circle of associates or by their behaviour – must have contributed in some way to their own murder. In other words, a non-white victim’s innocence must always be suspect.
I am certain that this person is not alone in her thinking. Think of the commonlyused phrase “black-on-black”, always in the context of violence. This is a term which dehumanises those to whom it refers. It’s shorthand for saying: there’s no need for further explanation – it’s just what these people do. Would Rhys Jones, the 11-year-old Liverpudlian shot in 2007 in crossfire between rival gangs, be written off as a victim of “white-on-white” violence? No, there must have been some kind of reason for it. We must find out what happened. If only those last two sentences applied more often when black people make the news.
With overseas stories too, one often gains only a one-dimensional impression of events. When sporadic fighting broke out in Kenya over the disputed election results of December 2007, many of the press dusted off their tired old “tribes fighting each other” line to report what was mainly a politically based conflict. The word “tribe”, evocative of those spear-carrying “natives” from the old Tarzan movies, is also racially loaded shorthand. It says: they’re savages, they’re irrational, and they’ll fight over anything; so there’s little need to explain any details, or any complex history. Compare the coverage of similar conflicts in Europe, such as Northern Ireland or the Balkans – which could equally be described as tribal warfare but never are. Europeans don’t walk around carrying shields and wearing grass skirts – and neither do Kenyans.
Foreign reporting, though, has to be more than just about disasters, or wars. We hear of white people – be they in Australia, South Africa, Europe or, of course, the United States – when they have surfing accidents, when the sprinklers on their golf courses run dry, or when they have embarrassing TV incidents. All of these serve to bring us closer to the citizens of those countries: we see them in their full humanity – as more than just victims of atrocities or natural disasters. People of colour, however, seem to make news only when the four horsemen arrive in town.
If our media reported internal American news the same way as they do Africa’s, which stories would we have heard this century? Probably only that the centre of one of its major cities was reduced to rubble by a terrorist attack; and that when another city was flooded, with its homes destroyed and a thousand dead, the dominant tribe left the minority tribe to rot. Doesn’t exactly provide the full picture, does it?
So why, despite the fact that black and Asian journalists are playing a role in our national newspapers, does this kind of reporting still happen? Obviously, the low numbers are a key factor. Despite the reticence of newspapers to give figures, I’m willing to bet with any of them that their minority journalists could be counted on the fingers of one or two hands. Their responses are reminiscent of the comments one would receive ten or so years ago: “We can’t have a racism problem here – we don’t have any black journalists!” Another factor is the lack of seniority. Given that many minority journalists have joined their papers only in the last decade, they are not able significantly to affect their newspaper’s editorial line. Having said that, anecdotal evidence is that black and Asian journalists, who’ve been around for many more than 10 years, haven’t risen up the career ladder as quickly as their white colleagues. There are several white editors who have been in the industry less than a decade.
In a way, this mirrors the situation with black footballers. Two decades ago, they were seen as not having the right attributes to make it as professionals – “not enough strength of character, not quite the right temperament”, the managers and pundits would say. Today, black footballers are at the highest levels everywhere, yet they still face the same old prejudices if they want to move into management. Despite the large number of black players, in the entire 92-club Premier and Football Leagues there is only one black manager – and there has only ever been one, short-lived, black British boss in the top division. So do today’s newspapers really trust us minority journalists yet? It seems they now feel reasonably OK about sending us out to cover stories, but giving us real responsibility for managing staff and deciding tomorrow’s news agenda is another matter.
Added to that is the need felt by so many journalists to fit in. National newspaper offices can be very intimidating to those either straight out of university or who have worked only on small publications. Imagine you’re the only brown face in an all-white office: you’re likely to feel inhibited suggesting ideas about the latest Bollywood film or black theatre production. Your first contacts are likely to be with junior editors who know that the best way to move upwards is to get to understand the boss and give him or her what they want. The higher up the chain – as a 2006 survey by the Sutton Trust educational charity confirmed – the more middle-class, public school and Oxbridge the structure becomes. Would they prefer a story from Peckham or Purley? Brixton Academy or the Royal Academy? After a few rejections (and I’ve had this conversation with several black and Asian colleagues), many minority journalists are left wondering whether they should simply keep their individualism quiet. Moreover, what do you say when you see a particularly negative and misleading example of reporting of your own community? Speak up, or shut up? Risk your career by alienating your bosses, or live a lie and take the misery home with you? All of this calls into question the very meaning of the word “diversity” within the print industry.
Do we want our newspapers to reflect properly the communities they cover? Or is it just about having brown faces covering the same stories, from the same angles, as before? Aside from the editors, the major newspaper power figures are columnists and critics – the so-called opinion formers. On politics, books, music CDs, cinema, theatre, DVDs, concerts, restaurants, these are the people paid to tell the readers what to think. And their exclusive club is even whiter than the editors’. Across the press there are literally hundreds of pundits with a regular space to air their views, yet the number from a minority background does not even reach double figures. Gary Younge of the Guardian, the Independent’s Yasmin Alibhai-Brown, and Daily Mail showbusiness columnist Baz Bamigboye are rare exceptions to the rule. In fact, as I write, a visit to the “Our columnists” section of Britain’s national quality newspaper websites reveals only two non-white faces from a total of over 100.
In the earlier reference to police chief Ian Blair, every one of the columnists so quick to condemn his comments was white, and few of them even bothered to examine the grounds for his claim of media bias. Might it not have been interesting to see a black or Asian perspective on this issue – or did commissioning a different voice require too much creative thought, too much thinking outside the box?
A little while ago I had a call from actor/writer/director Kwame Kwei-Armah, whose play, Statement of Regret, was then running at the National Theatre. He couldn’t understand why many of his black acquaintances had been complimentary about it, yet the national paper reviews had been mixed. So he organised a separate viewing evening for black journalists, many of whom worked in the national press (but, obviously, not as critics). I went along and thought that the play was entertaining and raised many significant and thought-provoking issues about the relationship between British Africans and British Caribbeans. Many others present that evening thought likewise.
Reading those press reviews afterwards, it was as if I’d seen a completely different play. One reviewer couldn’t get over the fact that it was set in a black think-tank (such a thing, he surmised, was beyond the bounds of possibility); another wondered why anyone would be at all interested in such an internal black issue; yet another was annoyed that it left his mind “swimming” with thoughts (I always assumed that this was the sign of a good production – would a visit to a Picasso exhibition be seen as irritating too?). I’m not claiming that every white critic will automatically pan black productions, only that sometimes you need a little knowledge to understand exactly what it is you’re critiquing.
In the current context, having a black Fleet Street editor would almost certainly make little difference beyond symbolism. Would anyone with a significantly different outlook be able to work their way up to a position where they could seriously be in the running for such a post? If we really are to make our press more fair and representative in its coverage, we need to get beyond mere “diversity” and move towards inclusion – where members of staff feel equally valued whatever their background; where they wouldn’t feel it damaging to their career to query the selection of stories, the columnists’ lazy stereotyped assumptions, or their paper’s leader line; where the difference of their culture, religion or global origins is seen as an asset, and a way of reaching new readers, rather than a threat to the established order.
In modern-day Britain, papers retaining a mono-cultural outlook could soon begin to appear outdated and out of touch to their readers and risk missing out on major stories. On July 7, 2005, as London was ravaged by bombings, how many news editors were pleading: “Is there a Muslim in the house?” And as global issues become more and more local, how much of an advantage would it be to be able to call on someone with, say, a Zimbabwean or Middle Eastern family connection?
After all, what personal qualities make for a good journalist? The ability to spot a story; to think creatively; to be tenacious; to analyse the facts; to be a thorough researcher? Are these specific to one ethnicity or one background type?
As newspapers face more and more intense competition, both in print and online, surely they can’t afford to ignore Britain’s growing minority populations. The assumption that things can continue as they always have, with a wealthy, wellconnected elite handing down news from above, expecting their underlings to try to imitate them, just doesn’t fit with a twenty-first-century world. Ultimately, surely what we all want is for all sections of society to feel they are properly represented in the range, variety and balance of stories written about them. In other words, extend the overall treatment afforded to white people in the press – as journalists, readers, and those reported – to the whole population. But how many newspaper organisations will genuinely commit themselves to reaching that goal?
* This chapter draws on material from my article, ‘Ethnic Balance: Race Against the Tide’, published in the British Journalism Review (www.bjr.org.uk) in 2008 (19(1): 23-31). It is used here with permission.
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