Countless comments fill my feed about the “the media” lately. The role of “the media” in the toilet paper panic; the responsibility of “the media” in the crash of the markets; the fault of “the media” at large in this crisis. In fact, if someone starts a sentence with “the media,” I know what’s coming ain’t good.
“Media” is the plural form of “medium” and shorthand for “mass media.” We start seeing the term used as a metaphor for journalists as a group as early as 1923. According to John Ayto, author of Movers and Shakers: A Chronology of Words that Shaped Our Age, the term was merely “advertising-industry jargon” until the 1950s.
Before that, it was “the Press” — shorthand for the printing press. And though we credit Guttenberg as the first inventor in 1440, we know woodblock printing started with the Tang Dynasty in China in the 8th century. Materials shifted to clay, and then we start to see the first metal movable type used in Korea in a set of ritual books in 1234.
Did you know that upper case and lower case refer to the physical cases where print shops kept their letters?
Factoids about the invention are fascinating; so is the history of the metaphorical “Press” in America. Using the Congress Creates app or PDF created by the National Archives, you can actually flip through the editing process our founders experienced.
Our First Amendment is the combination of the original third and fourth of 17 suggested amendments to the Constitution. The New York State Convention in 1788 drafted that “Freedom of the Press ought not to be violated or restrained.”
In 1789, James Madison suggested inserting that “the people shall not be deprived or abridged of their right to speak, or to write, or to publish their sentiments; and the freedom of the press, as one of the great bulwarks of liberty, shall be inviolable” directly into Article I, Section 9 between Clauses 3 and 4.
And though there was some back and forth about whether or not to capitalize “press,” there was agreement that its value is essential.
When we say “the Press” instead of “the media,” the connotation changes because it reminds us of the origins of that institution. We understand the importance of a body of professionals dedicated to informing a democratic public.
American suffragette and journalist Ida B. Wells defines the value of the Press with perfect precision. Her motto was that “the way to right wrongs is to turn the light of truth upon them.”
Southern Horrors: Lynching Law in All Its Phases is one of many pamphlets she published to expose and account for murders all over the American South.
My great-grandmother was also a suffragette and journalist — maybe that’s why I love Wells’s quote so much. Lucila Luciani de Pérez Día started as a devout student of the piano and violin, but her passion shifted to history and journalism.
As founder of the suffrage and “feminista” movement in Venezuela, she created two magazines (Iris: revista de acción social and Unión de Damas de la Acción Católica), published her first book in 1919, and in 1928 established the Inter-American Commission of Women alongside seven peer leaders, including Doris Stevens.
Like her fellow suffragettes, my great-grandmother depended on the power of the Press to advance her cause and lived to see the fruition of her work in 1947 when women gained the right to vote in Venezuela. She did this all as a widowed mother of seven. She must’ve been so proud to send her youngest son, my grandfather, to study music in Rome. There, he met my nonna, Gilda de Benedetto of Bari.
Nonna taught me a different appreciation for the Press. Growing up in Mussolini’s Italy, it is no wonder that she had no patience for Hugo Chavez.
Her family moved from Rome to Caracas years before, but in 1999 we witnessed Hugo Chavez take over the waves to broadcast his unscripted show, Aló Presidente. Venezuelans were forced to listen to improvised rants like when Chavez called Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice a “little girl” when she criticized his administration as a “menace to regional democracy.” He later joked with his crew about whether or not he should sleep with “Condolence.”
Chavez called journalists the “enemy of the homeland” and enacted special laws against media offenses for “false information” that was “prejudicial to the interests of the state.”
Nonna demanded her son install Direct TV in her apartment. She would not be forced to listen to propaganda or attacks on the Press again.
After Nonna passed away, Chavez went on to close over 34 radio and television stations critical of his administration or character.
When my mother and I watch the news together, we hear the warnings of our matriarchs. Whether Hitler or Chavez, right or left, fascist or communist — attacks on the Press are inherently anti-democratic and a betrayal of the work of our founders.
When Trump tweets “With all of the Fake News coming out of NBC and the Networks, at what point is it appropriate to challenge their License? Bad for country!” — we hear Lucila and Gilda.
When he calls the Press the “enemy of the people,” threatens reporters with prison, and cuts off microphones at press conferences — we hear Lucila and Gilda.
When Trump dismisses PBS reporter Yamiche Alcindor’s question about the lag in replacing the Pandemic Response Team as “nasty” — we hear them.
And when he calls Peter Alexander from NBC a “terrible reporter;” when he accuses the professional of sensationalism and being, again, “nasty” for asking him to address frightened Americans; when you call the network provider Concast instead of Comcast — we hear their warnings again.
The media — the Press — is us. Alcindor’s question was our question. Alexander’s question was our question: what do you tell Americans who are feeling anxious, who can’t sleep, who are scared of what happens next?
My goal is to teach my daughters what I was taught: check sources, identify bias — read journalists with a critical eye. But, I’ll also pass along the warnings: generalizing and demonizing the Press is dangerous and antithetical to freedoms our founders fought to protect.