Polls occasionally appear which reveal the extent to which people trust – or rather don’t trust – journalists. In one last year, something called the Edelman Trust Barometer found that just 31 per cent of the British public said they trust the media, a fall of 6 per cent in a year. This puts the media class at a level of trust somewhere between politicians and burglars in the public’s eyes.
Still, any British hacks reading this can console themselves with one thing: at least most of our media does not cloak itself in the mantle of the utmost righteousness and hold itself out as some sort of priestly class.
The same poll discovered that only 39 per cent of the American public trust journalists. To watch the US media feeding and back-slapping itself, you would think that the figures were quite otherwise.
The thought occurred to me after I had once again been dragged kicking and screaming to the White House Correspondents’ Dinner last weekend. This is an annual event where the American media class gathers in great numbers and with significant pomp. The flags and colours are presented at the beginning of the evening. A military band plays throughout, providing a soothing backdrop to the conversation. The national anthem is sung. Then some bizarre creations of the US media spend the night trying to talk over a roomful of journalists about how important they all are and how good they should feel about themselves.
At the best of times the dinner is excruciating. Much of the British media – as referred to in last week’s column – may be insufferable, but by and large we manage to avoid pushing the idea that democracy itself is at stake if anyone dislikes us.
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