The Recasting of Journalism
As we find ourselves in a new era, it's time to look at good journalism for what it is: a necessity, and sometimes even art
Now, more so than ever, it feels like a time for reckoning with journalism. We’re so far removed from the Carl Bernsteins and Walter Cronkites of the world. There are so many different opinions, viewpoints and narratives easily accessible to the average American, mostly online. For every Adrian Wojnarowski and Lester Holt, there’s a Skip Bayless and Alex Jones. At the risk of sounding like an old head, the game isn’t what it used to be. As long as you are a compelling enough character with a platform, your “journalism” is viewed with at least some credibility. Because of this ocean-sized gap in quality reporting, there should be more of an appreciation for the great cultural commentators that remain; the cream will always rise to the top.
Journalism has always been of great importance to me. From an early age, I noticed and appreciated the staunch professionalism and seemingly bulletproof emotional stability of the world’s greatest and most prominent journalists. I remember intently watching all the breaking news on 9/11 when I was a child and thinking nothing of it until I watched Dan Rather break down in tears while discussing the reporting he did on that fateful day while on The Late Show with David Letterman, to which Letterman embraced Rather and replied, “You’re a professional, but good Christ, you’re also a human being.”
We still see that today. I was given a sober reminder about the art of responsible journalism during this week’s Monday Night Football matchup, when Buffalo Bills’ safety Damar Hamlin suffered a cardiac arrest on the field during the game, which was ultimately postponed. While it may not have been on too many people’s minds, watching ESPN’s top-tier talent guide heartbroken Americans through an unprecedented modern tragedy was compelling. Scott Van Pelt, Booger McFarland, Adam Schefter and Lisa Salters handled the situation with grace, objectivity and humanity.
That one hit particularly hard because my love of journalism grew through athletics, and I could see myself being put in such a situation at one point. I came of age deep in the sports realm, a Michigan State sports super-fan without a shred of natural talent and an unwillingness to work around it. My outlet was writing—I found out that I was pretty good at writing about Spartan athletics, and more than that, I actually enjoyed sticking with it. By my freshman year of high school, I was interviewing Tom Izzo after games in the bowels of the Breslin Center and traveling to Las Vegas to cover the NBA’s Summer League for ESPN with a bunch of people at least a decade older than me. At first it was an escape for me, an ADHD-riddled dork with an exorbitant amount of opinions, but eventually, it became an artistic endeavor of sorts.
I never looked at journalism as an art until I was years into my writing career. I’m still not convinced it’s only art, in the same vein as music or film— a big part of being a great journalist is being objective and grounded— but ignoring journalism’s artistic aspect is nothing short of ignorant. While sports has always had an air of inherent poeticism, at the end of the day you’re writing about performances, numbers, and peoples’ jobs. Eventually I stopped writing about sports and moved into pop culture and music, mostly because the job of a beat journalist can suck the aforementioned poetry out of the game. When it comes to music, it’s much easier to pen love letters about the medium; it’s even encouraged. Ultimately, though, whether you’re writing opinion pieces about Detroit hip-hop or rushing through an early November Michigan State versus Central Connecticut game, your job is to bring objective truths and happenings to the reader while utilizing your own unique voice, style and perspective to ensure your story remains human. Journalism is unique, and probably a mix of science and art. It’s rooted in facts and objectivity, but the best news people have a calling card— an unmistakable, identifiable persona or eccentricity that’s more akin to your favorite director or guitarist. In a society that’s terrified of AI creations like Replika or ChatGPT replacing our favorite linguists and cultural commentators of the modern world, there’s something intangible and irreplicable about Real People talking about Real Things. So, how is it not— at least partially— art?
Moreover, in today’s world, the best journalists seemingly differentiate themselves from the rest by throwing themselves straight into the fire. While traditional investigative reporters that descend from Carl Bernstein and Bob Woodward remain both alive and important, it doesn’t feel like those remain the most impactful journalists. The lineage of today’s great reporters feels more influenced by someone like Hunter S. Thompson. A divisive and controversial individual, Thompson essentially invented experiential journalism with his beloved “Gonzo” style. He’d go to the Kentucky Derby, or a motorcycle race in Las Vegas, and become a part of the event, schmoozing with the participants and imbibing with attendees. The result was always a peculiar and unconventional amalgamation of stories and events that, more often than not, amounted to a unique singular perspective on important American cultural events.
In today’s media landscape, short form content and video are king. While I don’t think Thompson would be as significant in today’s era (he was too poetic, and probably too fucked up to get any meaningful footage), his disciples are thriving. Nowadays, there are innumerable experiential journalists doing numbers, dating back to Kassem G’s notable California On YouTube series back around 2009, where he would carry a microphone around Venice Beach asking passersby important questions. It’s permeated everyone, from Gen Z on TikTok to late night shows like Jimmy Fallon doing “street question” segments.
A lot of it is fluff entertainment or contrived humor, but there are some actual journalists working in this medium right now. The most notable— and in my opinion, quality— Gonzo-style journalist is Andrew Callaghan, a gangly, acne-faced 25-year old Philadelphian that looks like a poorly-dressed Carrot Top if he grew six inches and ingested too many research chemicals in high school. He went to school for journalism at Loyola University, but found his calling while interviewing Dark Web vendors and Bourbon Street partygoers on the side. He eventually launched the YouTube channel All Gas, No Brakes, a self-described “memoir-zine” collection of vlogs and interviews he completed while on a 70-day road trip in an RV with his buddies.
It was originally a fun, esoteric look at the absurdity of modern America (something that would make Hunter S. Thompson proud) through the lens of various cultural events. In the past several years, Callaghan has interviewed people from all walks of life, from Daytona Bike Week attendees to climate change deniers at a flat-earther convention to hippies huffing nitrous outside of Phish shows. His objective questions and psychiatrist-like ability to just let his subjects talk— a very underrated interview skill— displayed a pretty cohesive look at the fringes of American culture, and how close to the normal fabric of American society they might actually exist.
It was a pretty harmless, fun and informative journalistic endeavor until the pandemic hit. At that time, Callaghan started posting interviews, videos and social content about a lot of more damning and dangerous cultural happenings, including QAnon functions, Black Lives Matter protests and anti-vax events. In his own words, “shit got real”. His journalism became the voice of civil unrest in this country, and he did an exquisite job displaying both the real plights and utter delusions of our nation’s political extremists. As it turns out, when a weird-looking tall guy with azure eyes awkwardly sticks a microphone in someone’s face and stares into the depths of their soul, they tend to reveal some uncomfortable truths about both themselves and the associated culture.
Callaghan’s image has grown to unprecedented proportions for someone who does what he does; his debut full-length documentary, This Place Rules, a video diary of the events leading up to the January 6th Capital Riots from the perspective of Callaghan and his crew, was just released on HBO Max to mixed reviews. A lot of people found it enlightening, scary and compelling.
Callaghan’s been doing a PR tour to promote his documentary and was interviewed by NPR’s Robin Young, who vehemently disagreed with Callaghan’s choice to include his night of drinking with Alex Jones in the documentary. While it’s clear she hasn’t seen any of Callaghan’s other content— it’s very on-brand for him to drink or hang out with his subjects in an informal place they deem comfortable, likely to evoke more honest opinions— she was incensed. At one point, Young even asks Callaghan how he thinks the parents of dead Sandy Hook Elementary children feel about him drinking with Jones, to which Callaghan uncomfortably shifts in his chair, looks around the audience and murmurs “is this real?” before explaining that the lawyer who represented the Sandy Hook parents personally reached out to him to let him know how enjoyable the documentary was.
It was an extremely awkward moment and indicative that some prominent commentators, even within the journalism industry, aren’t ready for Callaghan’s abrasive, no-frills style. It’s the same way a lot of people thought (or still think) of Hunter S. Thompson. The issue at hand is platforming dangerous people, a la Joe Rogan having Alex Jones on his show, which nearly got him removed from Spotify. But there’s a line Callaghan didn’t cross that Rogan repeatedly crosses; he doesn’t act like the interviewees’ friend or supporter, and he doesn’t give credence to their beliefs. Rogan has a massive platform and a cult-like following but doesn’t understand that encouraging and agreeing with unhinged people’s beliefs will mobilize listeners to feel the same. Callaghan is stoic and unflinching, asking questions and letting people answer without getting too close. If you watch any of Callaghan’s content on YouTube, or his new documentary, you can see it. Just because he’s drinking and lifting weights with Alex Jones doesn’t mean he’s being friendly; the entire scene is uncomfortable, distant and straight-up dystopian. Rogan tries to bring fringe views to the mainstream, while Callaghan simply illustrates the absurdity of it all.
The fact that a lot of self-described radical liberals and leftists are uncomfortable with Callaghan’s work is because it doesn’t fit into their beliefs about what a good journalist looks like. They want someone like Jake Tapper or Jon Stewart to desecrate the right, which comes from a place of good faith, but illustrating the humanity and confusion behind some of these unsavory individuals crosses a line that neolibs cannot handle.
This is why I say journalism, in a sense, is art, and must be appreciated for its quality and importance. Misunderstanding innovators is a time-honored human tradition. Marcel Proust famously wrote over 100 years ago, “We are very slow to recognize in the particular features of a new writer the model that is labeled ‘great talent’ in our museum of general ideas. Precisely because these features are new, we do not think they fully resemble what we call talent. Instead, we talk about originality, charm, delicacy, strength; and then one day we realize that all of this, is in fact, talent.”
Vincent van Gogh sold one painting over the course of his entire life. Bob Dylan was blackballed by the folk music industry for bringing an electric guitar to the Newport Folk Festival. And now Andrew Callaghan is getting yelled at by old, traditional journalists because he let the world’s most dangerous conspiracy theorist pour budget whiskey in his mouth while hitting the bench press. For as much as things change, they also stay the same.