Sea Hag: Who You Calling A Journalist?

That is the question that Jeff Gannon, alias James Guckert, asked in his own defense during a National Press Club panel last week.

The club sponsored the discussion to illuminate the differences between legitimate journalists and bloggers -- or imposters.

Gannon made news recently after some liberal bloggers began investigating him when he asked President George W. Bush a question that had as its premise the assertion that congressional Democrats were "divorced from reality."

Bush comes to his rare news conferences armed with a list of reporters his staff has designated for him to call on. In giving Gannon the nod, he passed over some of the regular White House journalists -- including yours truly -- all with our hands up.

Gannon had attended White House briefings over a two-year period by getting a regular flow of one-day press passes that allowed him to enter the White House grounds. He did not qualify for a permanent White House press pass or a congressional press pass because he failed to meet the accreditation rules, which include the requirement that the applicant work for a news publication or broadcast outlet.

Gannon was known in the press room for asking softball, right-leaning questions. The digging bloggers revealed him to be a Republican operative, employed by the Talon News Web site, run by volunteer GOP activists and linked to GOSPUSA, a Republican consulting group, owned by Bobby Eberle of Houston.

Once that was established, questions arose as to why he was allowed to attend the daily press sessions.

Gannon complained that he had been targeted by liberal bloggers who did not like his "pro-administration" questions and argued that the harsh treatment he was getting in the mainstream media would have a "chilling" effect on other conservatives in the media.

"I was about the only news source providing ... information without a filter," he said in defending his use of White House press releases verbatim in his so-called "news" reports.

"There is nothing wrong with reporting what the administration says about a particular issue," he said. "Why does everything have to be looked at through a lens that represents every point of view?"

In the ensuing hullabaloo, Gannon resigned from Talon, telling Editor & Publisher magazine -- a news industry trade publication -- that he felt he was a "legitimate" correspondent.

One does wonder where the lines are these days that distinguish between legitimate reporters and anyone who has a laptop computer or a Web site.

Where do the bloggers fit in? They may have something to say -- and nobody is stopping them. Still, the description "journalist" does not apply to what they do.

Edward Wasserman, a professor of journalism at Washington & Lee University, defines a journalist as someone who "is professionally dedicated to truth seeking." He conceded that although the whole job description "has gotten muddied," Gannon shouldn't be considered a journalist.

Gannon was a propagandist, a flack for the White House. Thus, he fails to meet the requirement -- as Wasserman wrote in the Miami Herald last September -- that "anybody who enters the (journalism) profession makes a core commitment to do his or her best to determine and tell the truth."

Tom Rosenstiel, head of the Project for Excellence in Journalism, said the proper question is not whether you call yourself a journalist, but whether your work constitutes journalism.

"A journalist tries to get the facts right" and tries to get close to a "verifiable truth," not to take sides but "to inspire public discussion," he said.

Professional reporters and editors are trained to understand the need for neutrality in straight news stories. They also have been trained in the ethics that distinguish their profession.

It's in the nature of our work that the public has every opportunity to scrutinize what we do. No one lasts long in the news business if there are deliberate distortions of the news.

The late Martha Gellhorn, a legendary foreign correspondent, said: "In all my reporting life, I have thrown small pebbles into a very large pond, and ... have no way of knowing whether any pebble caused the slightest ripple. I don't need to worry about that. My responsibility was the effort."

Fortunately, most newspapers in this country are still devoted to delivering impartial news stories. The editors and publishers see it as an indispensable public service.

Helen, ya puker, got some news for you _

You swine. You vulgar little maggot. You worthless bag of filth. As we say in Texas, I'll bet you couldn't pour p!ss out of a boot with instructions on the heel. You are a canker. A sore that won't go away. I would rather kiss a lawyer than be seen with you. You're a putrescent mass, a walking vomit. You are a spineless little worm deserving nothing but the profoundest contempt. You are a jerk, a cad, a weasel. Your life is a monument to stupidity. You are a stench, a revulsion, a big suck on a sour lemon. You are a bleating foal, a curdled staggering mutant dwarf smeared richly with the effluvia and offal accompanying your alleged birth into this world. An insensate, blinking calf, meaningful to nobody, abandoned by the puke-drooling, giggling beasts who sired you and then killed themselves in recognition of what they had done. I will never get over the embarrassment of belonging to the same species as you. You are a monster, an ogre, a malformity. I barf at the very thought of you. You have all the appeal of a paper cut. Lepers avoid you. You are vile, worthless, less than nothing. You are a weed, a fungus, the dregs of this earth. And did I mention you smell? Try to edit your responses of unnecessary material before attempting to impress us with your insight. The evidence that you are a nincompoop will still be available to readers, but they will be able to access it more rapidly. You snail-skulled little rabbit. Would that a hawk pick you up, drive its beak into your brain, and upon finding it rancid set you loose to fly briefly before spattering the ocean rocks with the frothy pink shame of your ignoble blood. May you choke on the queasy, convulsing nausea of your own trite, foolish beliefs. You are weary, stale, flat and unprofitable. You are grimy, squalid, nasty and profane. You are foul and disgusting. You're a fool, an ignoramus. Monkeys look down on you. Even sheep won't have sex with you. You are unreservedly pathetic, starved for attention, and lost in a land that reality forgot. And what meaning do you expect your delusionally self-important statements of unknowing, inexperienced opinion to have with us? What fantasy do you hold that you would believe that your tiny-fisted tantrums would have more weight than that of a leprous desert rat, spinning rabidly in a circle, waiting for the bite of the snake? You are a waste of flesh. You have no rhythm. You are ridiculous and obnoxious. You are the moral equivalent of a leech. You are a living emptiness, a meaningless void. You are sour and senile. You are a disease, you puerile, one-handed, slack-jawed, drooling, meatslapper. On a good day you're a half-wit. You remind me of drool. You are deficient in all that lends character. You have the personality of wallpaper. You are dank and filthy. You are asinine and benighted. You are the source of all unpleasantness. You spread misery and sorrow wherever you go. You smarmy lagerlout git. You bloody woofter sod. Bugger off, pillock. You grotty wanking oik artless base-court apple-john. You clouted boggish foot-licking twit. You dankish clack-dish plonker. You gormless crook-pated tosser. You churlish boil-brained clotpole ponce. You cockered bum-bailey poofter. You craven dewberry pisshead cockup pratting naff. You gob-kissing gleeking flap-mouthed coxcomb. You dread-bolted fobbing beef-witted clapper-clawed flirt-gill. You are a fiend and a coward, and you have bad breath. You are degenerate, noxious and depraved. I feel debased just for knowing you exist. I despise everything about you, and I wish you would go away. I cannot believe how incredibly stupid you are. I mean rock-hard stupid. Dehydrated-rock-hard stupid. Stupid, so stupid it goes way beyond the stupid we know into a whole different dimension of stupid. You are trans-stupid stupid. Meta-stupid. Stupid collapsed on itself so far that even the neutrons have collapsed. Stupid gotten so dense that no intellect can escape. Singularity stupid. Blazing hot mid-day sun on Mercury stupid. You emit more stupid in one second than our entire galaxy emits in a year. Quasar stupid. Your writing has to be a troll. Nothing in our universe can really be this stupid. Perhaps this is some primordial fragment from the original big bang of stupid. Some pure essence of a stupid so uncontaminated by anything else as to be beyond the laws of physics that we know. I'm sorry. I can't go on. This is an epiphany of stupid for me. After this, you may not hear from me again for a while. I don't have enough strength left to deride your ignorant questions and half baked comments about unimportant trivia, or any of the rest of this drivel. Duh. The only thing worse than your logic is your manners. I have snipped away most of what you wrote, because, well... it didn't really say anything. Your attempt at constructing a creative post was pitiful. I mean, really, stringing together a bunch of insults among a load of babbling was hardly effective... Maybe later in life, after you have learned to read, write, spell, and count, you will have more success. True, these are rudimentary skills that many of us "normal" people take for granted that everyone has an easy time of mastering. But we sometimes forget that there are "challenged" persons in this world who find these things more difficult. If I had known, that this was your case then I would have never read your post. It just wouldn't have been "right". Sort of like parking in a handicap space. I wish you the best of luck in the emotional, and social struggles that seem to be placing such a demand on you.

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