A narrow focus for truth

Harry Scherer
Class of 2022

(10/2021) Good Night, and Good Luck is a story of resilience, conviction, and most importantly, risk. The most consistent look of Edward R. Murrow, played by David Strathairn, is uncertainty. The questioning mind of Murrow drives his actions in the way of principle, constantly aware that monsters and goblins line his path on either side. The lesson that can be gained from this sort of prudential tunnel-vision is a difficult but necessary one.

Near the beginning of the film, Murrow says, "We’re going to go with the story, because the terror is right here in this room." The motive of this declaration is worth parsing out. Was it a concern for the national and international ramifications of such a move? Perhaps he spoke in such a way as the result of personal exhaustion from the painstaking deliberation. While both of these are plausible, and certainly have been motivations for choice and action in the past, they do not seem to apply here.

Rather, Murrow recognizes the intimate connectivity of the personal and social. Namely, he sees the "terror" in the voices, eyes, and words of his colleagues and decides that this attitude is not fitting for a republic. It was the quiet testimony of his peers that initiated a political firestorm. There does not seem to be anything imprudent about this method of decision-making, though. Murrow sees the consequential editorial board meeting as a microcosm of the American mind. ‘If my educated and informed colleagues are behaving in such a way,’ Murrow thought, ‘so are many other American professionals across the country.’

In this way, Murrow’s boardroom fulfilled its controversial role as the chambers for the fourth branch of government. The soft power held by the editors, writers, and producers of Murrow’s broadcast is hard to overlook. While some may view this influence as a tantalizing incentive to join the ranks of corporate media, it seems that such an attitude would be more destructive than beneficial for our republic. Similar to the sentiment that those who want to avoid institutional political work should pursue such a position, it seems that only those who do not want to work in journalism should seek the position of journalist. The temptation that goes along with such a position is as strong as it is common. To that end, a certain disinterest in the result or product of the journalistic act seems to be a prerequisite for any journalist seeking to "exult the importance of ideas and information," as the head of our newspaper would encourage.

Murrow sets himself up as a model for this sort of journalistic disinterest. While he was not ignorant of the forces against him on the levels of politics, professionalism, and personal reputation, he was more concerned with the propagation of his journalistic work than the certain political ramifications. The film would suggest that this sort of narrow focus is a virtue in the world of journalism; any broader focus forces the journalist to abdicate his position as invested observer and to join the messy world about which the journalist is tasked to write.

In pursuit of this focus, the film seems to identify a certain level of education necessary to fully respond to the rigorous demands of responsible citizenship. The film engages with issues of infiltration, deceit, and principle. While all of these phenomena are typical in the realm of human experience, the way in which the film deals with them requires a certain elevated awareness. For example, Murrow’s literary allusion in the middle of the film successfully refers their current institutional crisis back to an ancient one pursued by Shakespeare: "Cassius was right. ‘The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves.’" This sort of reference on national television flies in the face of our contemporary impulse toward accessibility at any cost, even if the cost is a weakening of national wisdom. Murrow, however, was taking advantage of a common language that he shared with the sections of the citizenry that would be most receptive to his message. This is political thinking at its greatest. Behind his attitudes of uncertainty, doubt, and relative discomfort in a situation of serious risk, Murrow maneuvers his political pieces on the board of national television.

This chess game does not go on for long, though. The chief executive of CBS named William Paley, played by Frank Langella, takes on the role of scapegoat, especially near the end of the film. Murrow engages with sensitive and controversial issues throughout his evening special. Paley thinks that this strategy, however popular with a certain contingent of consumers who search for beat journalism, is not sustainable in the long run. He cites the monetary and social influence of sponsors and the political capital that the station stands to lose as reasons for Murrow’s adjusted schedule to be placed on a Sunday afternoon. In this way, the film successfully portrays Paley as the cold-hearted capitalist, solely concerned with financial health and ignorant or apathetic toward a pursuit of truth-at-all-costs.

In this way, the film places an insurmountable dichotomy between the truth-loving journalist and the money-grubbing, functionary corporate bureaucrat. This dichotomy is, admittedly, a romantic one and one that probably exists in reality to some extent. It seems that one of the goals of Hollywood productions like this one is to place a clear distinction between the pitiful loser and the arrogant winner; after the distinction is made, a fight to the death is in order. Something closer to reality recognizes that Murrow, McCarthy, Paley, and all the characters implicated in this story did some things right and some things wrong. Of the things they all did right and wrong, they did them well or poorly.

As the 2021-22 university writing staff of the Emmitsburg News-Journal embarks on a new year (and my final year with the paper), it is my hope that our writing recognizes nuance, embraces truth, and identifies evil when it comes in our way. In other words, may we exult the importance of information and ideas.

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