Journalism as a Democratic Art: Selected Essays by Cole C. Campbell

Mathews

FOREWORD:

FIGHTING THE GOOD FIGHT

By Richard C. Harwood

THE MOMENT I THINK OF COLE CAMPBELL, a smile comes over me. He was a delightful person—a savvy conversationalist, instantaneously ready with an insightful quip, a sharer of anything he had. And he had so much to share.

But then, quickly, something deeper comes over me. For what I loved about Cole, and why I came to so deeply admire and respect him over the years, is that he was always in dogged pursuit of something meaningful, something vital, about our individual and collective lives.

We live in a time when so many of us are trying to run harder and faster just to keep up; when we feel unrelenting pressure to focus on our daily to-do lists; when our own urge within ourselves to step forward in life can be discarded, denied, or denigrated by others.

And yet, there was Cole Campbell, in dogged pursuit of some larger mission in life.

In this collection of his writings, you will come across some of those pursuits—his thoughts about the contours and public purpose of knowledge, the role of journalism and the journalist in society, and conceptions of public life and community, among others.

As a society, we need these writings—perhaps even more now than when Cole originally wrote each of them. For our politics has reached new levels of toxicity. Public discourse writ large is driven by acrimony and divisiveness. There are few institutions or organizations or leaders Americans trust nowadays. In many respects, many of our communities lack the very capacities—the leaders, organizations, networks, and norms—necessary to create the kind of community that reflects people’s shared aspirations and focuses on their chief concerns.

And many communities lack the healthy information environments people need to engage, become informed, and work together.

Journalism and journalists are pivotal in this changing environment. In people’s daily lives, they are struggling to see and hear one another, especially those different from themselves. Amid the deafening noise of public life, there is the hope to make sense of the issues and shifting conditions around them. And people long for a sense of possibility; they are tired and wary of all the negativity and gridlock, and they want to hear different perspectives on ways to move ahead.

These are basic human yearnings. They involve how people see themselves and their relationship to others and the ability to form effective and resilient communities together. These yearnings are about how people bring themselves to the public square and engage and connect with others.

Basic human yearnings: these are the matters of Cole’s work and life.

But his work was not always easily understood or embraced by others. Still vivid are my own memories of watching individuals and crowds of people listen to Cole speak about such pursuits. Some thought that he was operating outside the nitty-gritty of reality, others that his head was up in the clouds. While a fair share of his fellow journalists applauded his efforts, many more scratched their heads and wondered aloud about what all the talk and debate was about. It wasn’t always easy to bring Cole’s ideas down to ground level, or to readily make the implications clear, or to translate them into immediate, practical use.

Cole knew all this. And yet he kept going.

Over the years his own momentum and trajectory and influence would grow and deepen—notwithstanding some of the hard personal and professional falls he had along the way, many in plain sight for others to see.

But each time he got back up.

His pursuits—those matters of the heart and mind that drove him at his core—weren’t about empty ruminations, or idle notions, or lofty ideals. Nor did they spring from some youthful naiveté about life, or fanciful vision of a society untethered from reality.

Cole insisted that his work be practical and relevant.

Simply put, Cole’s work was about people, their lives, and the relationship of his profession to them. He did not see himself as a passive bystander in these pursuits. He never envisioned himself as a detached observer. He always had skin in the game.

For Cole, this was a fight.

It was a fight about the kind of society people want to create together. In his mind, as in my own, this was a process that could happen only when people came together to identify their common concerns; to argue and debate and deliberate on the choices they face, and the differences among us, even the deep-seated conflicts. It was about people in communities determining for themselves how they wished to move ahead. For Cole, democracy was not for the faint of heart, or for mere cheerleaders, but for active and engaged citizens.

It was also a fight within journalism about the heart of journalism. What was the purpose and role of journalism? How could journalists examine their own conventions and habits and the ways in which they could best contribute to society, knowing full well that old habits die hard?

When it comes to journalism and its relationship to public life, Cole was brave enough to be among a small cadre of catalysts to bring about a larger conversation in the nation about these matters. Then, amid much pushback, he was there to help keep the conversation going, to maintain a level of engagement with others, and always—always—to bring his full self to the table. This was not always easy for Cole, because as a thinker and change-agent himself, he had to withstand barbs and criticisms and distortions about his own motives.

But Cole never ran from the work at hand.

If you were to follow him around in his various daily jobs and listen in as he wrestled with ideas and practical applications, you would experience a man who strived to operate with a special kind of intentionality. This is an important topic in my own work. I am partial to a definition of intentionality that is made up of two pieces:

First, that we are wakeful in what we do, attentive, in the game, present—that we are visible to ourselves and others;

Second, that we see and embrace a moral responsibility for what we say and do—that we understand that our actions matter and there are consequences, which ripple out in all directions from them.

Cole operated intentionally because he believed change in society—namely, in journalism and public life—was so necessary. Anyone who came into contact with Cole knew immediately that he held little interest in working at the margins, or in fiddling around, or, worse yet, in pretending to be doing something of value.

I know this because over a span of 20 years or so, beyond the many conversations we had together, I also found myself working with him in the trenches of newsrooms and news operations. For instance, when my colleagues and I worked with Cole at the Virginian-Pilot, one of the early efforts in the news industry to deepen a newspaper’s relevance and significance in the life of a community, Cole didn’t simply deputize someone to do the work and then leave the scene. He was there each and every day—his hair often an utter mess, his wrinkled shirt seemingly just pulled from a pile of clothes, his infamous stack of books and papers towed along as helpful references.

Day after day Cole came ready to engage, sitting up at the table, with his big body sprawled out, and his endless energy providing a sense that we were all on an important mission together. He would openly argue with his colleagues and me about what it means for journalists to really know their community; indeed, he was fearless in ripping apart and putting back together journalistic conventions about who in a community needs to be engaged and in what ways. To Cole, everything was on the table, even if it meant a whole lot more work for him, and even if it meant making himself vulnerable to others.

Cole sought to understand and define what it would truly mean for journalism to be authentic in covering (and engaging) people and their communities. He kept testing whether people in the community—readers and potential readers alike—could see and hear themselves in the journalist’s work. He wanted people to know the newspaper held affection for the community, even when holding up a mirror to the community about difficult, even taboo issues. He sought to know whether people felt their experiences were reflected in what was being produced.

None of Cole’s efforts were about kowtowing to the community or advertisers or city fathers, or figuring out what news to cover by conducting some marketing study, or playing up to a foundation just because they might plop a grant in his lap. No, Cole took an alternate path—a path that asked people in communities to take ownership of their communities.

Cole believed in community.

He also felt strongly that journalists must take ownership of their part of the relationship in the community. Over time, Cole came to place more and more emphasis on the intrinsic promises and pledges journalists themselves make to communities in their work. Here, again, he was leading us to think about the essence of a journalistic enterprise and its relationship to the larger society.

Over the years I had the good fortune to watch Cole grow and deepen his thinking and his approaches. After the Virginian-Pilot, my colleagues and I worked with him when he was editor of the St. Louis Post-Dispatch. Cole also was involved in the Journalism Values Institute and other initiatives of the American Society of Newspaper Editors that I helped to lead. My relationship with Cole continued throughout his time with the Kettering Foundation, his various job searches, and then at Reno.

What I came to know about Cole was that above all else he was committed to the pursuit of journalism enterprises that transcended organizational goals of profit and power and position. He knew these things had their rightful place; but Cole’s first order of business was to work on the relationship of journalism to a democratic society.

He believed in people and their innate ability to move communities forward.

Perhaps it’s too easy or trite to say that Cole wanted to make a difference in the world. But when all is said and done, that’s where I end up. It wasn’t that he wanted to be somebody, but to enable others to become themselves. It wasn’t that he wanted his own journalistic enterprises to be the center of attention; rather he wanted to experiment and innovate with others so society itself would work better. It wasn’t that he sought out awards; instead, he was rewarded by seeing others grow and expand their own reach.

Like all of us, Cole was not without his own ego, his own set of blinders, and his own foibles. But he fought mightily to overcome those things, so he could fight the good fight on a larger stage, with a greater mission, and a deeper impact.

And so he was always on the move. Like the time when I spoke at a conference of newspaper editors. There was Cole, while everyone else was seated, walking slowly up the outside aisle of the room, only to stand at the bottom of the steps of the stage, so he could pounce when I finished. We hadn’t met before, and he wanted to talk. He quickly pulled me into the empty ballroom next door to find a way to work together.

In that moment, in that vast empty ballroom, where just the two of us stood, I could feel the presence of a man who was on a mission, who held a deep affection for society and his profession, and who was willing to bring his full self to his efforts. I will remember that day forever.

Cole Campbell fought the good fight. His dogged pursuits were about people, their lives, and the relationship of his profession to them. This collection of his writings keeps his voice alive and helps guide us down a path of meaning and hope.

We are grateful, Cole.

A REMEMBRANCE

By Catherine L. Werner

COLE SPENT HIS LIFE pursuing and drawing out what he saw as truth, justice, and the greater good. Although he was raised Episcopalian and I Jewish, it was Cole who taught me about tikkun olam—the Hebrew phrase meaning to heal the world, which, for him, was a way of being. Oftentimes that was reflected in his professional endeavors; always it was reflected in his personal relationships. Cole was brilliant, insightful, and compassionate. Combined with his selfless willingness to serve as provocateur, Cole was able to influence many and achieve much during his too-short life. He identified often with Don Quixote; although at times on a seemingly futile quest, he never gave up pursuing his convictions.

Ever since he wrote a book on competitive debate in college, Cole had a dream of putting his professional thoughts into a book, so that others would be inspired to ponder, assess, react, or take the ideas further. I would like to thank the Kettering Foundation and its president, David Mathews, for seeing fit to publish this compilation reflecting some of Cole’s thinking, as in doing so it fulfills one of Cole’s greatest wishes. He would be so pleased if his musings served to provoke thought, foster dialogue, and encourage democratic deliberation. That is a legacy of which to be proud.

COLE C. CAMPBELL:

AN APPRECIATION

By Tony Wharton

PEOPLE WHO HAD OCCASION to visit the spaces where Cole Campbell worked found themselves on the open range of Cole’s intellect.

The signal feature of that landscape was books—piles of books on every imaginable subject, stacked not so tidily, on every surface. Each book bristled with slips of paper, bookmarks, sticky notes. While Cole read many books cover to cover, he hunted through countless others for insights, connections, hidden lights that reflected off another surface he hadn’t seen, hadn’t suspected. This rendered Cole’s writing rich with layers of context and meaning as he drew upon a wide range of associations. In the articles and essays in this volume, Cole draws on Saul Bellow, Susan Sontag, Jedediah Purdy, Neil Postman, Taylor Branch, Toni Morrison, and Zen Buddhism, to name a very few influences.

I was fortunate to work with Cole for several years, first when he became editor of the Virginian-Pilot in Norfolk, Virginia. Technically, I worked for Cole, but it often didn’t feel that way. Cole enlisted you to travel alongside him in an ongoing enterprise to see what you both could learn.

We might as well get out of the way now why you’re reading these introductory notes, and why I’m writing them rather than Cole himself. Cole’s explorations were cut short in midwinter 2007. Driving to work in Reno, Nevada, he hit a patch of ice and skidded off the road. He was killed instantly.

His daughter, Claire, writes in a memorial essay:

Work was always a central, energizing force in Dad’s life; I don’t think he saw it as work so much as an essential and rewarding entanglement with the world…. As I’m sure you all came to know firsthand, Dad always welcomed a challenge—not out of a former debater’s desire to prove himself, but out of a deep conviction that what mattered was finding the best and most enlightened solution.

Cole saw journalism’s future, and I hate that he won’t be lighting our way to the new world, said John Robinson, editor of the Greensboro News and Record, at Cole’s memorial service.

But I’m more interested today in talking about the Cole we all knew: his infectious humor, his over-the-top generosity; his flamboyant showmanship; his distinct ability to irritate the fool out of us. Ben Bowers once told me that when he wrote his memoirs, he was going to devote an entire chapter to Cole. I wouldn’t frame it that way. To me, the Cole influence is more like a river that runs through it.

Cole was born in 1953 in Roanoke, Virginia, and was raised in Pulaski, a little town in the Appalachians. His father, John Robley Campbell, had been a lawyer, but became an Episcopal minister not long after Cole was born. His mother, Susie Clarke Campbell, was a psychology professor for 25 years. Teachers and writers peppered both sides of his lineage. Cole grew up, then, in a family that placed a high value both on learning and on service.

He was a middle child, with all the restless ambition that implies, and a Scot by heritage, so there was a healthy dose of stubbornness, too. At the University of North Carolina-Chapel Hill, he became a fierce, nationally recognized debater and wrote a book on competitive debate still cited in the field. All these qualities would become apparent in Cole’s professional career, particularly when he engaged his whole mind and soul in what came to be known as public journalism, a movement designed to reconnect journalism with democratic practices.

For Cole, who never stopped asking why?, looking at the norms and values of journalism