Men and journalism

There was the married senior editor who, shirt unbuttoned to his navel, would perch himself on the desk where the young female intern sat and talk to her in great detail about the story he was working on. He’d sometimes do the same with the young male interns, but it was rare. It was all harmless, we’d joke afterwards in the safety of the pub. He’d never actually try it on though, would he?
There was the married news editor who never came to the pub with the young journalists, until the day he thought we were going with a female intern he fancied — something he’d made clear through a series of smirks and raised eyebrows with other senior male journalists. Realising she hadn’t come, he left the pub without having a drink.
There was the married editor who made a series of sexual comments about his newest hire in the very meeting he gave her the job. What could she do, we commiserated later? He was a sleaze, everyone knew, but at least she got the job.
There was the young male journalist who was as adept at schmoozing his bosses as he was sleazing over women. Editors laughed at his “laddish” behaviour, joked wistfully about his “pulling techniques”. He was promoted, again and again.
I saw all of this when I was working in newspapers in my 20s and I did nothing. If I could relive those years I’d like to think I’d be bolder and stand up for my beliefs, but it’s unlikely. I was junior. My job was precarious. I didn’t want to offend. I knew I had to rely on these very same editors to advance my own career.
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Like so many industries where the ways in and ways up are often informal and based more on who you know than what you know, journalism has a problem with predatory men. Newsrooms are still overwhelmingly male — senior management even more so. These are the people with power and influence. These are the people the young and keen need to impress.
If you’re an intern you make yourself useful — making coffees, picking up dry cleaning, laughing at editors’ crap jokes — anything to stand a fighting chance of sticking around. If you’re a young freelancer, you take every opportunity to meet editors, every opportunity to write something for someone that may help you get one tiny step further up a ladder that may, one day, lead to some sort of career in something you love.
In the debate over what needs to change in journalism, women’s voices must be heard more than men’s. But recognising that fact does not absolve men from addressing these issues and offering ideas as well. In fact, given the dominance of men at the top of journalistic power structures, it’s essential that men speak up too. This needs to go beyond speaking out against harassment — it is about changing the power structures that allow harassment to take place.
I’m 36 now, and a senior editor myself. If we, a new generation of senior writers and editors, are to help to change the culture of journalism, what do we need to do?
We need to commission more women. That means finding and approaching women journalists. Don’t just wait for them to come to you. If your inbox of unsolicited pitches is anything like mine it will be at least 80 per cent male. When I started at Prospect I put out a general request for story ideas on Twitter. Within a few hours more than a dozen people had pitched. All male, all white.
When we approach women writers we need to remember that there is a power imbalance. I meet a lot of writers, maybe two or three a week. Most I’ve approached out of the blue. They are people whose writing excites me, or whose reporting is outstanding — they are people I hope to hire. I have the power. I can give them money, an opportunity, work. In the past I’ve often suggested meeting for a coffee or a quick drink after work. By quick drink I really mean a quick drink — usually because it’s easiest to meet at the end of the day. But do they know that? No, they don’t. Could my offer of a drink make a young, female writer uncomfortable? It could. So, no longer.
When we’re looking for a writer to work on a specific story, we need to pause before we reach for the first names that spring to mind. For too many of us they will almost always be men. We can make excuses that this is because men dominate other industries, from think-tanks to the upper echelons of academia, but it is just that, an excuse — and further evidence of patriarchal power structures. Think harder, read more widely.
We need to stop turning to the women in our office for thoughts only when the topic is about gender, feminism or any other story that in your mind is more of “women’s issue”. Ask them for advice about the big piece you’re commissioning on foreign policy.
We need to stop promoting people because they’re bullies. This happens at almost every newspaper. Bullies whip a newsroom into shape. Bullies get things done. Bullies make sure their journalists bring in the big stories. Bullies are also bullies. They make life miserable. And while most bullies I’ve come across were equally content to bully men as women there was always a nastier, somewhat sleazier side to their dealings with their female staff.
We need to stop dominating story meetings, interrupting women journalists and belittling their ideas.
We need to take mentoring seriously and — this should go without saying but given the circumstances it obviously doesn’t — we should make sure mentoring is done professionally and without putting a young woman journalist in an awkward situation.
Most importantly, we need to listen to women in the industry and introduce harassment policies that young women journalists can rely upon.
I hope that our generation can be better than the last. I hope that this is a genuine turning point. However, it won’t just happen on its own. Women journalists, such as the team behind The Second Source, are already taking the lead. Male journalists in positions of power need to act too.






