FOMO JOURNALISM

How “Fear of Missing Out” can set up the media to be fooled - and it's easier than you think

Media commentary by Steve Dunlop  

In our last post, we discussed how mainstream media are becoming part of the problem in distinguishing fact from fiction – passing on erroneous, unchecked online information without verifying it first. 

But there’s another way in which the media hang their credibility out to dry - and they have no one to blame but themselves.  The fourth estate, unfortunately, has a little understood softness in the underbelly that I like to refer to as FOMO: Fear Of Missing Out. 

Long before the Internet, groups of journalists working the same story could demonstrate a pack mentality.  We pile on a simple, entertaining story that grabs our attention.  And because we all see our competitors going after it, the effect multiplies.  We don’t want to be stuck in the desert without it.  Lulled by the same set of questionable facts, we drop our collective guard.

FOMO thus leaves us all vulnerable to a well-timed, professional hoax.  I know. 

"Charlie Taylor" at the famous lottery hoax party, 1990.  Image from WNYW/New York.

When I was a TV news anchor, the Associated Press and several New York stations – including mine (WNYW Channel 5) – reported on a suburban woman who identified herself as 30-year old Charlie Taylor, who claimed to have hit the $35 million jackpot in the New York State Lottery.  At that time, it was the largest such payout to date.

We knew our competitors were reporting the story.  And why shouldn't they?  Taylor had what looked like a photocopy of the winning ticket.   She booked a suite at the Park Central Hotel.  She poured champagne for her friends, handed out $10 bills to passers-by, and produced a “pool video” of the revelers at her celebratory bash, which we played back on air.  The following morning, the New York Times, the New York Post, and Newsday all joined us with their own versions of the story. 

Steve Dunlop (left) and co-anchor Rosanna Scotto interviewing "Charlie Taylor" via phone, perhaps not quite making sense of her claim.  Image from WNYW/New York. 

But every single one of us was lied to.  “We were had,” said the Post’s editor, Jerry Nachman. 

All of us had shared a basic assumption – that the lottery story was true.  And once we saw the photocopy of the ticket, that’s not an unreasonable position. 

“It would not be possible to live in a community if the general expectation is that people deceive without reason,” writes Christopher H. Sterling in the Encyclopedia of Journalism (Sage Publications, 2009).  “Deception is successful because people assume that others are generally truthful.” 

Of course, people have a variety of motivations to lie – especially to reporters, and even if only for sport.  But even FOMO can't explain how so many of us fell victim to the same lie, all at once.  How did that happen?

We later learned the lottery hoax was orchestrated by a professional: Alan Abel, a self-styled media prankster who had a track record of pulling similar stunts dating back to the Tonight Show of the 1950’s.  

In retrospect, it's easy to see how Abel laid his lottery media trap:

A copy of the so-called winning ticket. 

·      Fake the evidence.   For starters, you create a copy of the “winning ticket” with a copying machine.  You doctor the numbers to match the announced winners, then wrinkle and fold the copy as though a number of people have examined it for authenticity.  You explain that the original is Iocked in a safe.  Makes perfect sense.

·      Pick a weekend.  Pull the hoax on a slow Sunday evening.  Not only would there be little else happening news-wise, but newsrooms be operating with a barebones staff.  State lottery offices would be closed, and even journalists who were inclined to verify the ticket would be unable to reach the right people. 

·      Hire your friends.  At the Park Central, Abel enlisted seven friends to play the partygoers.  He brought in an actress to play “Charlie Taylor,” made sure she was attractive, and told her to tell the media she was single.  (So she’s rich, pretty – and available?)

·      Get it on the wires.  Abel’s coup-de-grace was planting the story with the Associated Press first.  Even though we all supposedly know not to trust something just because it runs “on the wires,” it nevertheless gains third party credibility inside newsrooms, and thus, the benefit of the doubt.  

There was one moment when Abel’s stunt came close to being exposed.  It was in how he prepped Charlie Taylor for the inevitable question of how she picked the winning combination.  

“I dreamed that Malcolm Forbes and Donald Trump were circling me on magic carpets, spewing out the numbers to me,” she said. 

That answer brings to mind another acronym: YGBFKM.  It should have been a warning sign.  But because of FOMO, no reporter had the presence of mind to remember an admonition we’ve heard countless times over the years: “If your mother says she loves you, check it out.” 

A footnote to journalists, and everyone else for that matter: at age 85, Alan Abel is still in business.  “Alan continues to poke fun at the media's complicity, its fallibility and a reporter's all-too-often blind rush to scoop a salacious story,” his web site states.  

Could Alan Abel do it again today?  YGBFKM.  Of course he could - especially since a new generation of reporters might never have heard of him. 

But as one visit to snopes.com attests, the difference now is it doesn’t take a mischievous professional to fool millions of people at once.  

HOW THE MEDIA HELP SPREAD ONLINE RUMORS - And what to do about it

New research details major media's role in helping unverified rumors go viral

Media commentary by Steve Dunlop

“Nuclear Bomb Found After 57 Years,” read the subject line in my inbox.   A longtime friend had forwarded what appeared to be a news story from Savannah, Georgia, announcing that a pair of scuba-diving Canadian tourists had stumbled on a Mark 15 thermonuclear bomb, lost by the Air Force in a mid-air crash in 1958. 

The story was false.  (We all surely would have heard, if it were true.)  Yes, the crash had occurred, 57 years ago - and the bomb was indeed lost.  But the so-called discovery was a hoax – a mere urban legend.  I messaged my friend. 

“Hard to believe that someone would bother to make up such a story,” she responded.  “Just for fun?  No one profits from misinformation.  There’s no political pitch either.  So, why?”

Of course, there have always been those who profit from misinformation.  Supermarket tabloids, miracle diets, and any given issue of The Onion come to mind. 

What’s different today is that respected news organizations are becoming a part of the problem. 

And it’s not just because of stretched budgets and staff cutbacks.  Major outlets can actually play a role in circulating false stories online – and that has implications for media consumers, advertisers, professional communicators, and society at large.

The current issue of The Quill, a magazine published by the Society of Professional Journalists, takes a deeper dive into recent research by Craig Silverman, a fellow at Columbia University’s Tow Center for Digital Journalism. 

“Rumors and claims that 15 years ago may have found their way into a newsroom and been reported out are instead going public,” Silverman says.  “They circulate and gain credibility before anyone begins to apply a level of verification.”

Silverman assembled a database to collect and analyze examples of rumors and unverified claims being reported by news websites.

Case in point: a 2014 post on a site covering the comic book industry.  It said that one of the Batmobiles used in the filming of Batman vs. Superman had gone missing, and might have been stolen.  The original post cited “scuttlebutt” from anonymous sources in Detroit.

Police quickly confirmed the Batmobile never went missing, and was never stolen.  But in a matter of hours, that single web post had set off a cascade of other articles – including one on the site of CBS’s Detroit affiliate, which only served to give the erroneous story additional credibility. 

“With the rumor proven false, some sites updated their post,” Silverman said.  “But many — including CBS Detroit — did not.”  And misinformation, if repeated long enough and often enough, becomes reality to too many people. 

So what should major media outlets do?  If they care about their credibility, their reputation, and the truth, should they simply steer clear of online rumors? 

On the contrary, Silverman argues.  As the political philosopher Edmund Burke once said, all that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good people do nothing.

“Quality journalists and news organizations do not make enough of an effort to knock down false claims,” Silverman says.  “Today that means knocking down the fake stuff and being more effective at handling information that resides in the gray space between true and false.”

I don’t know about you – but for me, that starts at my inbox. 

Here’s another inbound email:  

“INCREDIBLE. I DIDN'T KNOW TOM HANKS’ DAD WAS THE LEAD SINGER OF THE DIAMONDS WAY BACK IN 1957! THEY SOUND EXACTLY THE SAME AS THEY DID!  Check out these 2 Performances 47 years apart!

Sorry - wrong again.  Tom Hanks’s father never sang with The Diamonds, a 1950’s doo-wop group.  He died in 1992.  The rumor, unfortunately, lives on. 

So, as my friend asked, why?  Why do we feel compelled to pile on a questionable story?  More on that in my next post. 

_______

Steve Dunlop, a former correspondent for CBS and Fox News, is president of Dunlop Media, Inc., a media and presentation coaching and training firm. 

WHY DO PARENTS BRING SMALL KIDS TO SEE CHAPPIE?

The film’s biggest shocks aren’t on the screen, they’re in the audience

Media commentary by Steve Dunlop

If the highest aim of good cinema is to make you stop and think, Chappie, the science fiction thriller directed by Neill Blomkamp, brilliantly hits its mark. 

Target demographic?  (Photo by Ilya Haykinson, via Wikimedia Commons)

But as my wife, our teenage son and I left the theater, we didn’t find ourselves thinking primarily about the film.  We wondered instead: why did so many parents bring so many small children to see it?

When one of the characters was hurled against a wall and splattered, boys and girls not yet old enough to be in school were laughing and squealing in back of us.   Their running commentary was more like something I’d expect to hear in the back row of The Lion King.  “Wazzat?”  “He go boom!  He go boom!”   “They hurt, Mommy!” 

One toddler became full-on hysterical and disruptive following one of the film’s many gory explosions.   The parents, tellingly, did not remove the child from the theater.  (Maybe they’d leave for a diaper change?)

Obviously, it’s beyond inconsiderate for parents to bring small children to an R-rated feature, and allow them to wreck everyone else’s experience by acting out.  There are rules about filmgoing that we all understand.  Smoking was banned long ago.  So were cameras and tape recorders.  We are now lectured about how rude it is to text during a movie, and warned to turn off our cell phones before the feature begins. 

But there is a larger point to be made here, and the irony is unmistakable.  In many ways, Chappie is a movie about child-rearing.  The film’s lead character did not become a thug - until he was taught.  

Cuddly and likeable

Billed by Columbia Pictures as “the first robot with the ability to think and feel for himself,” Chappie – whose design requires that he learn piecemeal, processing what he sees, hears and feels - is one of the cuddliest machines ever to grace the screen.  In likeability, he is right up there with Wall-E, R2D2, and for those of us old enough to remember, Astro Boy. 

The official trailer is almost Disney-esque, in a post-apocalyptic kind of way.  Chappie has ears that perk up like a bunny rabbit’s. He watches cartoons.  He snuggles in bed with a storybook.  He is startled when he spills milk from a carton in the refrigerator, in a scene reminiscent of ET, Hollywood's paradigm for cutie-pie humanoids.

The trailer’s message was clear.  If you liked Gremlins, you’ll love Chappie. 

But when you lay your money down to see the whole movie, Chappie is hijacked by the bad guys - and the fantasy almost literally crashes and burns.   The narrative degenerates against a backdrop of numbing violence, gangsta swagger, language that would make Lenny Bruce blush, and copious blood.  

“People are shot at, crushed, punched, stabbed, and even sliced in half,” writes a review on commonsensemedia.org.  “Motherf—-er is thrown around casually, even by the robot.”  Even in front of 2 and 3 year olds.

So what do we have here?  A truth in labeling problem on the screen?   A parenting problem in the seats?   A failure in society’s responsibility to its children?  Or all three? 

R rating a “badge of street cred”

To be fair, Chappie is a deep film for a mature audience.  It asks profound questions about whether man-made machines can ever acquire human consciousness.  It reminds us that the brains behind our increasingly digital society are still flesh and blood human beings, with all the foibles and weaknesses that implies. 

But an R rating, for many kids (and their parents), is a badge of cultural street cred these days. 

We stayed and watched them exit.  The parents seemed to take it all in stride, as casually if they were leaving a soccer game.  If their consciences bothered them, either for the psyches of their children, or for the other patrons who were expecting a distraction-free evening at the movies, it didn’t show.

It’s heartening to learn of the action of Classic Cinemas, a small, family owned theater chain in suburban Chicago.  For three years running, Classic’s policy is that children under the age of six are not allowed into R-rated features at any time, even when accompanied by a parent or guardian. 

“Our intent is not to dictate family values or determine what is appropriate for children,” Classic’s web site states. 

But the fact is, we all need to be deeply concerned about what content is appropriate for young children. Any responsible parent knows the risks inherent in allowing their child's mind to become inured to extreme violence.  Or they should know.  

And that, ironically, is one of the central messages of Chappie. 

NET NEUTRALITY, the Appian way

What one of Rome's early leaders can teach us about a fair Internet

by Steve Dunlop

When Verizon issued a press release in Morse code, warning that the FCC’s move toward “net neutrality” was imposing 1930’s rules on the Internet, I winced.  And not just because I’m old enough to know a little Morse code. 

Clever media relations gambit?  Absolutely.   Spot-on analogy?  Hardly.  

To find a comparison that’s truly relevant to today’s digital land of opportunity, we need to delve further into history than the advent of radio.  We need to turn the clock back.  Way back. 

Appius Claudius Caecus, dicatator of ancient Rome.  Not exactly an Internet pioneer, but closer to the mark than you think. 

Appius Claudius Caecus (340 BC – 273 BC) was one of the critical figures in the building of ancient Rome.   He is best remembered not just for constructing the Appian Way - the early highway that connected Rome to the rest of the world - but also the first of hundreds of aqueducts that brought free-flowing, clean water to the city. 

As foundational as those aqueducts were to the growth of Rome, so the Internet is to the growth of our Information Age.  But Rome would never have been built if its leaders told their citizens to go find their own water. 

It’s therefore fair to ask: what sense would Appius have made of Verizon’s claim today?  How would he feel about creating special “fast lanes” for access to an indispensable public good?

We can only deduce.  But my guess is this proto-technocrat would have gone to bat for net neutrality, big time. 

Appius was a dictator.  But he had a strong individualist streak.   “Every man is the architect of his own fortune,” he is quoted as saying.  He was also, one could argue, an early democrat - with a small d - in the sense of enabling the little guy.   He extended voting privileges to those in rural areas who did not own their own land, and he even allowed the sons of freed slaves to serve in the Roman Senate - something quite radical at the time.  

To be sure, the wealthy in ancient Rome had water pipes going directly into their homes.  But their water didn’t arrive any faster, cleaner, or in greater quantities than anyone else’s.  All of Rome drew from the same sources.   Thanks to public fountains, baths, and drinking basins, everyone had more or less equal access to this essential public commodity.

“Usurping” the Internet

Appius went blind as an old man, and his writings have long been lost.  But we still know the name of one of his major works.  Tellingly, it’s titled De Usurpationibus (“Of Usurpations”).  

A surviving section of the Aqua Appia, an aqueduct built by Appius Claudius Caecus, east of Rome.  Circa 312 BC.

It’s fair to surmise that in the net neutrality debate, this architect of Rome would not be inclined to side with the owners of the aqueducts.  On the contrary.  He would be cheering on the free market entrepreneurs and the content providers - the real architects of our Information Age. 

They don’t want to see the best of the Internet usurped.   They don’t want a well-positioned few to pay for premium access to the information superhighway, while the rest of us are forced onto the service road. 

I got into radio as a teenager.  I grew up with those heavy handed, archaic rules about access that Verizon - a descendant of the old phone company monopoly, by the way - once benefited from, but now mocks.  The Communications Act of 1934 made a point of noting that the airwaves were a “scarce public resource,” and therefore required broadcasters to act in the “public interest, convenience and necessity.” 

Opponents of net neutrality argue that the Internet can hardly be described as scarce, that technology has made that notion obsolete.  

But imagine a handful of large private interests cornering the market on the best water, and it will dawn on you how hollow that argument rings. 

That's especially true in what we still tell our children is the land of opportunity.   We shouldn't need an ancient Roman dictator to remind us. 

MORE THAN GREAT JOURNALISM: Why Bob Simon will be missed

by Steve Dunlop

As news broke of Bob Simon's untimely death in a car accident on Manhattan's West Side, the superlatives started ricocheting around the Twittersphere, all of them richly deserved.   Great journalist.  Fearless reporter.  Winner of 27 Emmys.  A gentleman. 

Bob Simon, veteran 60 Minutes correspondent, 1941-2015.   Image by John Paul Filo/CBS News.

The word "gentleman" hit home with me because it described Simon's persona precisely.  And it made me reflect on how TV news today identifies and nurtures its top prospects.   Recent events have made it clear that we are not turning out enough Bob Simons. 

Electronic journalism is stereotyped for thriving on the pretty face, male or female.  An entire industry of agents and talent scouts exists on the periphery of the industry, looking for that perfect mix of the "Q" score, developed by Long Island market researcher Jack Landis in 1963. 

"Q" stands for quotient - in this case, the quotient between the "familiarity" and "likeability" of a brand.   According to this formula, a product can be highly familiar but not very likeable - or, conversely, highly likeable but not widely recognized.   And both will score roughly the same "Q."

Bob Simon entered network television in the 1960's, just a few years before the Q score began to migrate from selling dishwashers into evaluating newspeople.  One wonders if someone as intelligent and courtly as Simon would have made the cut today. 

Simon was raised in the Bronx during the 1940's.  He was the only child of Jewish parents.   His German father worked in a bank, but it was his Russian mother, an accountant, who introduced him to libraries "even before I could read," he told the Los Angeles Times in 2003. 

Simon did not yearn to be a TV star.  He yearned for knowledge, which would later drive his journalist's curiosity.   He was accepted to Brandeis University and majored, not in communications or television, but in history.   He graduated Phi Beta Kappa.  He went on to become a Fulbright Scholar, a Woodrow Wilson scholar, and an officer in the American Foreign Service.  

But the ivory tower was not what he wanted.  On joining CBS in 1967, Simon plunged right into covering campus unrest and inner city riots.  From there his assignments only became more perilous.  By talent and temperament, he could have been one of "Murrow's boys," although he was born too late to have actually been among them. 

I will leave it to those who knew Bob Simon better than I did to chronicle his journalistic accomplishments.   Suffice it to say that for the electronic version of the Fourth Estate, my biggest worry is its reliance on a system that is not nurturing new Bob Simons.  His unique brand of courtliness and professionalism doesn't often find its way onto the screen anymore.   Barely does it find its way into society.