The scourge of investigative journalism
Since investigations are expensive and yield minimal or no return, the option has been to publish and disseminate documents provided by authorities.
21st-century journalism is experiencing a state of continuous inflation: never have so many journalists been prosecuted, never have so many newsroom positions shrunk. Subject as never before to the fury of the justice system, and to equally frequent outbreaks of inaccuracies, investigative journalism suffers the most from this scourge: after all, this practice was born from the idea that reporters themselves would construct scenarios with precision and accuracy. The reasons for the crisis now seem clear: journalists have begun to massively and en masse copy data provided by authorities. What should be a starting point has become the end point: the document provided by the authority is born as the final point – precisely the one that, according to the ethical standards of journalism, has always been seen as merely an initial starting point to be rechecked.
Well, there is very concrete data to analyze the veritable Punic War that journalists have become embroiled in. Not only has the reader's preference for social media contributed to the financial dissipation of newsrooms, but Brazil also holds the world record for lawsuits against journalists. The latest publicly available data is from 2007, when there were 3.133 lawsuits out of 3.237 professionals. The average value of compensation increased from R$ 20 in 2003 to R$ 80. Today, it is estimated that there are more than five thousand lawsuits, with claims filed in court, totaling more than R$ 50 million. The British NGO Article 19 maintains that Brazil is still the country that sues journalists the most.
This situation has made investigative journalism an expensive business. Not only because of the cost-benefit ratio, but also because of the salaries paid to professionals supposedly qualified to exercise such expertise. Let's look at the situation in the US: the number of journalist positions eliminated in US newspapers since the "Paper Cuts" monitoring center began counting in 2007 is 21.008 in four and a half years. The record was in 2008, with 15.992 cuts. The year 2011, up to June, shows 1.133 cuts. The focus of the cuts, obviously, is on investigative journalists.
The reasons are very clear in newsrooms around the world: since investigative journalism is expensive and its return has been minimal or nonexistent, the option has been to publish and disseminate documents provided by authorities. The reasons are clear: a prosecutor's indictment, a judge's sentence, or a legal police wiretap bear the glossy seal of approval from an authorized source. Possessing material that should be their starting point, the reporter makes it, as already mentioned, their destination. Faced with an official document, the legal departments of newspapers end up authorizing the publication of the "scoop." The reporter has become viewed negatively when they become the "agent provocateur" of the story: the business now is to take a ready-made official document and send it forward.
But a question arises clearly in light of this situation. What happens when the authorities who generate these documents make mistakes, whether through negligence, bad faith, or even pure inattention? Simply put: the journalist obviously makes the same mistake. But this time he is protected by a delicate safeguard: after all, he only published what an "unblemished" authority passed on to him.
Thus, with time, the scoops disappear, but the lawsuits remain. The practices of this bad journalism (which only takes pleasure in publishing what it receives ready-made) today level cases that are geographically distant – but which always constitute, to the same extent, the frighteningly nuptial relationship of the journalist with such sources.
It took journalist Roberto Cabrini three years to learn that what had been published in the press against him, with accusations of drug trafficking, was merely a "plant" orchestrated by corrupt police officers. The Opportunity Group took a slightly longer period, and depended on the case reaching the higher courts, to learn that Operation Satiagraha was sponsored by private interests vying for territory in the telecommunications market.
Outside, things are handled erratically, too: but the repair time is significantly shorter. In a matter of months, the pieces woven against Dominique Strauss-Kahn fell apart like a puzzle. In England, a newspaper that bought illegal tapes from authorities had to close its doors.
In Brazil, with no other options, those publicly disgraced by the release of tainted documents must wage apocalyptic battles against the unrepentant delays of our courts. Now we know why investigative journalism, which in the past prided itself on standing on its own two feet, now walks, in a liberticidal and ultimately suicidal way, supported by the "leaked tapes."