Scarcely a week passes in which the newspaper press is not the medium
of attracting the attention of the public to a _cause célèbre_ of
one kind or another. Crimes of brutal violence, of gross immorality,
of wholesale fraud, have been so terribly prevalent of late, that we
might almost believe that civilisation and crime are going hand in
hand; certainly the horrors of the latter go a considerable way towards
neutralising the blessings of the former, and cause us to pause in our
self-congratulation upon the progress and enlightenment of the age in
which we live. At but too frequent intervals some villain is held up
before the public, and becomes, so to speak, fashionable for the period
over which his trial extends.
Every class of society provides its recruits now and again for the
ranks of the infamous, and no matter to which stratum the criminal
belongs, one newspaper or another is sure to be ready to report—with
a minuteness which could not be more detailed if it were inspired
by personal animosity—every stage and incident of his crime, and if
procurable and sufficiently sensational, to supply an epitome of his
antecedent career.
When the influence of the press is properly taken into consideration,
the responsibility of writing for it is a very serious one. To many
thousands even in great centres of human life like London, Liverpool,
Glasgow, or Edinburgh, the daily paper is almost the sole intellectual
food sought for and within reach; and when we further consider the
immense circulation of some of our newspapers, nearly approaching a
quarter of a million a day, and when we think that each copy becomes
the centre of an ever-increasing circle of information, we may
reasonably assert that the penny paper, once held in contempt, is
one of the most potent agents for good or evil which our generation
possesses; and in proportion to the influence which it exerts, is the
necessity of that influence being exerted in a right direction. So far
as regards politics, theology, and social problems, each paper may
legitimately represent a particular party or sect, and inculcate its
particular views; but upon certain broad principles of morality, and
as far as regards general rules for the inculcation and protection of
public morals, there ought to be no difference of opinion at all.
Without question, the newspapers of our day are animated by a laudable
desire to act for the moral as well as material welfare of the people,
and we could not accuse any one of them of voluntarily inserting matter
having a tendency subversive to morality; but as to what is and what
is not calculated to taint the public mind, the opinion of the press
seems to be very undecided. Particularly is this the case with regard
to the record of crime, which it is part of their duty to publish.
It is unquestionably advisable that the public should be informed of
every crime that is discovered; but the scope of the information to be
given becomes a matter for careful consideration, and upon which some
difference of opinion may reasonably be expected to exist.
What, it may be asked, is the object of a public report of the trial
of a criminal? Presumably that by the knowledge of what has occurred
the public may be on their guard against similar crimes, and that the
story of detection and punishment may act as a deterrent; the first
of these objects applying more particularly to what we may call the
respectable classes, and the latter to the criminal, vicious, or
viciously disposed. The story of crime should legitimately produce
in the public mind a sense of indignation against the criminal, of
pity for the victim, of personal caution; the criminal should not be
considered a sort of social scapegoat, and the indignation should not
be Pharisaical, but should have its origin in an abhorrence of the
crime rather than of the criminal. To the viciously inclined the story
of detected crime should be a warning and a deterrent, both on the
score of fear of detection as also upon higher moral considerations.
The history of crime or of a criminal career is invariably pitiable
enough; but it is possible in some instances to invest it with a
spurious interest, and even a sort of meretricious brilliance which is
calculated to work an immense amount of harm among a certain class of
people.
The principal object of a newspaper report nowadays would seem to be to
present the public with an exciting and dramatic narrative, rather than
a calm, unimpassioned statement of facts; to write, in short, rather
for their amusement than information. Undoubtedly few things increase
the sale of a newspaper more than a graphic account of heart-rending
‘Scenes in Court,’ and the demeanour, for instance, of ladies who have
been accommodated with seats on the bench! a style of reporting which
seems to us to be little short of a breach of trust, inasmuch as it is
pandering to that which it ought to suppress.
It may be said that in criminal cases it is well that the public should
have the fullest possible details of the proceedings, so that they may
follow them closely, and perhaps aid in the administration of justice;
but as public comment upon cases _still under trial_ is not recognised,
the value of full reports is nullified so far as this consideration is
concerned. But if a judge, a man of eminent experience in human nature,
learned in the law, and accustomed to the consideration of every
variety of evidence; and twelve jurymen, well meaning, unprejudiced, of
business habits and unimpassioned judgment, cannot be trusted to decide
a case upon its merits, surely it would be unreasonable to suppose that
the outside public could do better, reading as they do simply in print
the words which may have had their significance increased immeasurably
in either direction by the tone in which they were uttered, by the
bearing of the speaker, and the voluntary or involuntary gestures which
may have accompanied them.
When we read detailed accounts of the appearance of prisoners, verbatim
reports of their most insignificant utterances; when we are given
details of their meals; when we are told that one prisoner is dressed
with scrupulous care, and that the affection existing between two other
prisoners was very apparent to those in court; when we have a picture
of the judge passing sentence amidst sobbing women; when piquant
details of past careers are dragged to light, and the various amiable
or vicious points commented upon, although having absolutely no bearing
whatever upon the case under consideration—then we cannot avoid the
conclusion that the main object of all the report is to sell the paper.
It would be impossible to give the public such information regarding
the demeanour and tone of witnesses or prisoners as to enable them to
form a really just and reliable idea; while it is quite possible and
a very frequent practice to be just graphic enough to make the public
fancy that they are in a position not only to criticise and speculate,
but to dogmatise, and even to protest vehemently against the verdict
of a jury and the sentence of a judge, deliberately given after a long
and careful inquiry, in which the prisoner had the benefit of counsel
learned in every intricacy and subtlety of the law. The practice of
giving detailed descriptions of the personal appearance and social
habits of criminals, which are now acknowledged features of newspaper
reporting, has a tendency to invest the prisoners with something of a
meretricious glory, which ought to be condemned by all properly minded
people.
If crime has been committed, it is surely injurious to the public
morals to write or publish anything calculated to elicit misplaced
sympathy, and it is a poor trade to pander to morbid curiosity. If
people fairly appreciated not only the wickedness and horror of
crime, but its almost invariable meanness, pettiness, and misery, its
feverish restlessness, its ever-haunting dread of detection—crime would
be robbed of much of its semi-heroic character, and would cease to
prove so attractive a bait to those who gloat over its every detail.
It is common to speak of ‘great’ criminals as distinguished from the
vulgar herd; but there is never anything great in crime. Graphic pens
pandering to vulgar curiosity may produce a passing interest of even
absorbing intensity; the crime and the criminal may form a nine days’
wonder; but the end comes; and as soon as the convict dress is donned,
the erstwhile man is degraded into a mere automaton, a mere numeral,
and is utterly dead to the outside world; while if the scaffold should
be his destined finale, the only thing which survives the wretched
criminal is his infamy.
Sensational reporting pays, for papers with a reputation for ‘Special’
descriptions are at a premium whenever there is a _cause célèbre_
before the public; but it is eminently prejudicial to public morality.
The remedy rests solely with the proprietors, on whom lies also the
responsibility of purveying garbage to an unhappily large section of
readers; but until public opinion forces upon them the fact that they
are deliberately lowering themselves to the level of the vendors of
‘Penny Dreadful’ literature, sensational reporting of criminal trials
is likely to flourish, inoculating the public mind with an unwholesome
craving for details which should be banished from the pale of
discussion among people with any pretensions to refinement, good taste,
or common decency.