History and the News

The New York Times is on the cusp of something that could be much bigger

Some years ago, I was on a panel about media reporting on Latin America. I argued that its central failing is the same as for other regions and beats: It focuses almost entirely on what’s new.

An election in Mexico. An earthquake in Haiti. Murders in Brazil. For most readers, events like these come and go and dissolve into a collective blur of meaninglessness because reporting offers very little context that would allow readers to make sense of what’s happening and draw meaning from it. To deepen context, journalists would have to venture into the past that shaped the present. And journalists seldom do that because we think our job is to tell readers about what’s new.

This prompted a top editor of another newspaper to wearily roll his eyes and recount the advice given him as a young lad by a venerable elder. “Three-quarters of news,” said the wise man, “is ‘new.’”

Clever quips are the strongest evidence in this editor’s world, so the argument was over. History has no place in the news.

Fortunately, some editors of The New York Times — which is fast becoming the world’s newspaper of record — disagree. The Times poured enormous resources into its 1619 Project, which re-examined American history to argue that the experience of black Americans should be central to the American narrative and identity. And then this weekend, The Times published a whole insert dedicated to its investigation of how, in the 19th century, France pressured Haiti into paying an enormous, long-term debt to France for the loss of French property when Haitian slaves broke their chains and overthrew their masters in 1791.

The 1619 Project caused controversy almost immediately after it was published, as some historians took issues with a few of its claims. The result was the sort of healthy, substantive debate that historians engage in constantly, but this time the public was also involved, too, or at least reading.

The Times’ Haiti package also provoked quick reaction, but of a different sort, as angry historians denounced The Times for not giving proper credit to the many who work in this field. Some also accused The Times of exaggerating how new its supposed revelations were. (These criticisms included use of the verb “columbus,” which means — I had to look it up — claiming credit for discovering something that was already very much known to many. I’m filing that one away for future reference.)

As much as I want the media to draw on history more, I must admit I shared these reactions. I know precious little Caribbean history but even I knew the long, sad story of how the first state to break the chains of slavery was rewarded by repeated invasions and extortion that lasted into the 20th century. On reflection, I realize that was dumb. In fact, I was making the very mistake I had so often criticized.

Let’s start with the most basic fact: The world’s most important newspaper set aside the media’s obsession with “new” — or rather, it mostly did, as I’ll discuss later — and took a deep, serious look into history. And it was bloody expensive. I’ve written many long newspaper investigations and I can assure you that series cost what any other newspaper in the world would consider a small fortune. Whatever it’s other flaws and failings, The Times should be praised to the skies for that.

Yes, bien sûr, a newspaper should give full credit to the historians whose work and assistance helps them produce a story. But as many journalists have noted for the benefit of academics, citation of the sort they are familiar with isn’t possible in the context of a newspaper. The narrative must grab and hold the reader. That’s mandatory. So digressions of the “as Professor Jones argued in her earlier works, and a later monograph….” must be limited. There are no footnotes or endnotes. There isn’t even an “acknowledgements” page. So what’s left? The Times took the highly unusual step of including a lengthy boxed explanation of sources, which seems the only appropriate solution. Some historians have suggested it is inadequate and self-serving. Perhaps. But let’s give The Times credit for at least making the attempt — and encourage them to do it better next time.

I also agree that The Times exaggerated what it discovered, which historians who work in this field may, not unreasonably, take as a shot at them. (For a good breakdown of what does deserve to be called “new” in The Times’ analysis — at least it appears so to my untutored eye — see this analysis.) But let’s ask why they did that.

Marketing is one explanation. “New” is the standard frame in trade publishing — “the new science of….” being an old cliche — for the simple reason that “new” attracts attention. It’s a pervasive psychological bias. It can even skew how people respond to medical treatments.

But exaggerating what The Times uncovered is also self-justification.

Despite The Times having twice bucked the media’s obsession with the new, it still operates in an environment in which “new” is the air journalists and editors breath. And this feature was the antithesis of new. Worse, there was no news peg. If Haiti had been hit by an earthquake, and politicians were considering an aid package, and commentators were debating why Haiti is so poor and what it would take for it to get ahead, it could be tied to that — and have the necessary “newness” to justify itself. But nothing like that was happening. So there was nothing in the present to hook the story to. There was nothing new … unless The Times discovered new information. Then, as much as it was writing about history, it would be “breaking news.”

Once again, the root problem is the media’s obsession with “new.”

To be clear, I’m not suggesting newspapers become history journals. Their remit is the present. Good. Stay focused on the present. Tell readers what happened today.

And explain why.

Properly understood, that last bit would change everything: How does the present become what it is? Everywhere and always, it is shaped by the past. So we can’t understand the present without examining history.

Haiti is the perfect illustration. Haiti is desperately poor and every decade or so something goes terribly wrong, it returns to the headlines, and politicians wring their hands and debate what should be done. But why is Haiti the way it is? Why does this depressing cycle go round and round? It is impossible — even absurd — to answer those questions without delving deep into history.

If the focus is on the present, what matters isn’t new-ness. It is relevance.

Is the story relevant to something important in the present? Does it help us better understand the present, why it is the way it is, and what it may become?

If the answer is yes, the story has all the justification it needs.

Let’s think about The Times’ Haiti package in that light: Imagine the newspaper sent out its reporters and researchers, collected the works of historians, and came up with … nothing new. Literally nothing. Imagine (for the sake of illustration) that The Times feature merely collected and summarized historians’ work for the newspaper’s massive audience. (And further imagine that this was fully and frankly explained and all historians properly credited.)

Would that be a worthy use of The Times’ resources? Would the result be a legitimate and important contribution to the public forum?

People who say things like “three-quarters of news is ‘new’” would say no. I would say they are dead wrong — because that would be highly relevant to a matter of considerable importance in the present.

If a newspaper or magazine really championed this perspective, it would not only do a great public service, it would have a competitive advantage. Relevant history isn’t merely important. It’s fascinating. Even in the hands of a hack writer, the story of Haiti would be stunning. Put writers with at least a touch of talent on the explanatory history beat and you have a bottomless well of fantastic stories that your competitors ignore.

And it doesn’t have to be expensive. In fact, if the beat is defined as working with historians to synthesize their work for a broad audience — without the need to claim you have discovered anything “new” — it could actually be relatively inexpensive.

War in Ukraine? The last 30 years is barely scratching the surface. Russia and Ukraine are, in part, fighting over interpretations of the history of the past thousand years. What is that history? How do the two sides interpret it? Why are they fighting over it? These stories involve everything from Vikings to Cossacks and Czars. There’s a dozen amazing features waiting to be written.

Korea? Sarah Palin, then the nominee for VP of the United States, was reported to have asked advisors why there are two Koreas. It’s easy to laugh. But how many educated, news-reading Americans could fully answer that question?

The relationship between China and Taiwan constantly resurfaces in the news, for the very good reason China’s choices in regard to Taiwan may shape the fate of the world. So what’s the history that shapes that relationship? China knows it. If we want to understand the present, and how it may evolve, we must, too.

Or consider that in 2006, five years after 9/11 made Islamist terrorism the top concern, and three years after the United States invaded Iraq, journalists discovered that even top US government officials often didn’t know the difference between Sunni and Shia Muslims, much less the history behind the divide. Journalists tut-tutted. But how many reflected that the media’s blindspot for history contributed to that dangerous ignorance?

As happy as I am that The Times has twice delivered big historical extravaganzas, I really think the model should expand to something more sustainable — and scalable. History should not be a rare, lavish, expensive exception. It should be routine.

Go to historians. Ask them, “how did we get here?” Report what you learn, with credit to the historians. And don’t apologize if there’s nothing “new” in it.

If your job is to help readers understand the present, novelty is trivia.