Interview young journalists for a job these days, and their inevitable response to the question as to why they want a career in the written word comes back to basic principles: expose injustice, fight for the public's right to know, and - in one memorable case - change the world.
In reality, journalism is more often a mixture of mundane police calls, follow-ups, caption-writing and fruitless phone calls or brick walls erected by public relations flacks. When the big story does come along, a journalist's career can alter course overnight.
Like any industry, the pressure to perform as a journalist is constant - reporters, news editors and editors want exclusives - but with one important exception. A journalist's work will always be in the public eye, and 99 per cent of us are guided by an inherent principle: get it right. If we get it wrong, the world will find out. For most journalists, this self-policing principle keeps them as straight as the newspaper's columns of ink.
Newspapers also adhere to the Press Council's statement of principles, the foremost of which is a commitment to accuracy. This hardly needs spelling out.
Yet, just like the banking, medical, legal industries, among others, you'll get an occasional rotten egg and it happens to the best of newspapers: over the past few years, several major ones have been stung by reporters who fabricated stories.
The most infamous case is that of former New York Times reporter Jayson Blair, who was found to have committed 36 instances of journalism fraud at the newspaper, including plagiarism and outright fabrication.
Blair wrote a book about the scandal (it, too, was riddled with inconsistencies), in which he blamed his troubles on previous drug problems and a manic-depressive illness.
There are other cases, too:
Stephen Glass, a bright young star at The New Republic, wrote a number of pieces that contained false information. His deception was elaborate, creating false websites and cellphone numbers and enlisting the help of friends and family to outwit the magazine's fact checkers.
Jack Kelley, a respected war zone reporter, who admitted fabricating stories for USA Today.
And Janet Cooke, who had to return the Pulitzer Prize she won in 1981 after it was discovered her winning Washington Post article about an 8-year-old heroin addict was entirely concocted.
In a written commentary on the Blair case, American press critic Jack Shafer says in almost all cases, the fabricator will cite emotional or personal problems. "Folks rush to swaddle the liar and his motives in psychobabble instead of placing the onus where it belongs."
Here on the Herald on Sunday we have struggled to understand why a seemingly capable journalist would turn to invention and denial. Reporter John Manukia initially denied then admitted fabricating an entire interview with former south Auckland police officer Anthony Solomona. Manukia, 38, said he felt personal pressure to perform and accepted full responsibility for his actions.
Yet, until then his performance had not been under question - he was a senior reporter with 15 years' experience, including many years on large newspapers, and had been considered an asset in the newsroom.
Inevitably there will be questions over the checks and balances around news stories and these are under review. However, I do believe they are robust - they are virtually the same as any other newsroom in the country - and it's difficult to see how Manukia's deceit could have been picked up before publication.
It was elaborate to the point where senior editors were provided times and locations of the so-called meetings with Mr Solomona - and the news editor was provided a full transcript of written quotes.
Astoundingly, they had all been made up. Manukia neither met nor spoke to Mr Solomona, and was at a loss to explain how he thought he might get away with it.
Howell Raines, the New York Times' executive editor who resigned after the Blair scandal, said: "Frankly, no newspaper is set up to monitor for cheats and fabricators."
Shafer, in his commentary on the Blair scandal, said that when an editor handed a reporter a notebook, it was "like giving somebody you barely know a loaded gun".
"You expect him to use it wisely and honestly ... most reporters don't make things up because they're as ethical as Jesus Christ or they know they'll get caught."
Readers can be reassured that the Herald on Sunday's staff are ethical and honest - and feel as betrayed and disappointed as their editor about their former colleague's actions.
- HERALD ON SUNDAY
Journalist's trail of deception and lies
AdvertisementAdvertise with NZME.