America 1929: John F. Kennedy, the Great Writer

Hemingway handed the magazine to Arthur: "Then you'll have to see this. Lippmann wrote a whole scathing critique of you. He not only supports you, but he also gives a good dressing down to those who criticize you."

Arthur took the magazine and saw the title: "Inverted Journalism." The article opened with a fiery tone:

The controversy surrounding Mr. Arthur Kennedy has recently intensified. I have been observing this debate, and what I have observed deeply disturbs me. What I see is an inverted form of journalism.

Inverted journalism? Lippmann certainly didn't come up with this concept without reason. Isabella leaned over and read it with Arthur.

Let's begin with John F. Kennedy's "theory of the weapon of news." He points out that news is essentially a weapon; the key lies in for whom it is fought and how it is forged. Some critics argue that news should be objective and neutral and should not become anyone's weapon.

But this criticism precisely proves Kennedy's point. Because "objectivity and neutrality" is itself a weapon, a weapon favored by power. When wolves and sheep clash, demanding "balanced reporting" of both sides' viewpoints is itself helping the wolves.

Arthur stopped and looked up at Hemingway.

Hemingway said, "Keep reading, it gets even better."

When a journalist faces obvious injustice, if he chooses to be "objective and neutral," refrains from making value judgments, and simply "balances the reporting" of both sides' viewpoints, then he is actually helping the powerful.

Because in unequal power relations, "balance" itself is unbalanced.

The city hall has a spokesperson, a public relations team, and countless channels to voice its opinions. But what about ordinary citizens? They only have the opportunity to speak when a reporter is willing to listen.

If journalists, when reporting on the plight of dockworkers, are required to "balance" their citation of the city hall's official statements, then this "balance" is actually diluting the truth and defending power.

This is like reporting on a fire where a journalist not only has to interview the victims but also, in a "balanced" manner, interview the arsonist to hear why he set the fire. This isn't objectivity; it's absurd.

Next, Lippmann began to refute those critical articles one by one.

In an article in the New York Daily News, Robert Benchley said that Kennedy did not understand dramatic structure and that his works "lacked human warmth and a glimmer of hope."

This criticism sounds very professional. But let's think about it carefully: why is it necessary to have a "glimmer of hope"?

Isn't the truth itself enough? Must we expose the darkness while pretending to see the light for it to be considered "good art"?

This request is like asking a surgeon to sprinkle sugar on the wound while removing a tumor, just to make the patient feel sweeter.

Arthur was somewhat excited, not expecting Lippmann to understand him so deeply.

Mr. George Jane Nathan's article is even more cunning. He does not deny the value of art, but he says, "Theatre can wait, but unemployed workers cannot."

This sounds very moral and shows concern for workers. But it's a false dichotomy.

Who says theater and relief workers are at odds? Who says focusing on art means ignoring people's livelihoods?

This is like saying that doctors should stop researching treatments for diseases because "research can wait, but patients cannot."

Following this logic, all research should cease, all thought should give way, and everyone should shut up and wait for the government to solve the problem.

Isabella couldn't help but say, "Mr. Lippmann's words are truly incisive."

As for the "five real difficulties" listed by Mr. John Anderson, they are a sophisticated form of intimidation.

The existence of difficulties is never a reason to give up. If you can only do things when conditions are perfect, then you will accomplish nothing.

Beethoven was still composing when he was deaf, and Van Gogh couldn't sell a single painting during his lifetime. Great works are never born under perfect conditions, but rather in the process of overcoming difficulties.

Mr. Anderson's article, ostensibly a "well-intentioned reminder," is actually a plea for people to give up.

It's like someone standing on the edge of a cliff, ready to jump. Instead of stopping them, you analyze the situation in detail: how wide the cliff is, how strong the wind is, what injuries they might suffer upon landing, and how low the success rate is.

Everything you said is true, but your aim is to undermine his character.

Lippmann then concluded:

These critical articles share a common characteristic: they appear objective, rational, and professional, but in reality, they all serve the interests of those in power.

They used various "well-intentioned reminders," "professional advice," and "realistic considerations" to deflate Kennedy's arrogance and weaken his influence.

This is what I call "inverted journalism".

It has turned the essence of journalism upside down. Journalism is supposed to question power, but it is instead upholding power.

News is supposed to speak for the weak, but it's defending the strong. News is supposed to reveal the truth, but it's covering it up.

In this inverted journalism, favoring the powerful is called "objectivity," speaking out for the weak is called "bias," and revealing the truth is called "incitement." Black is white, and white is black.

As Arthur read this, a profound sense of understanding washed over him. Lippmann wasn't just defending him; he was giving a deeper meaning to everything he had done.

What Mr. Kennedy is doing is a fundamental reform of journalism. His "weapon of journalism" reveals the essence of news. His satirical columns demonstrate another possibility for news. His theatrical experiments expand the boundaries of news.

These attempts may be imperfect, flawed, or even fail. But they are necessary.

Only through such attempts can we break the inverted nature of journalism and allow news to return to its rightful place, standing on the side of the people, not on the side of power.

The press needs a revolution. Not to overthrow anything, but to restore something. To restore the true nature of journalism, the professional conscience of journalists, and the social responsibility of the media.

Mr. Kennedy's attempt is part of this revolution. Let's support him, not because he's a hero, but because we should all strive to be like him.

Truth does not become untrue because the person who speaks it is young, and justice does not become unjust because the person who defends it is an amateur.

Between truth and power, between the people and bureaucrats, between courage and cowardice, someone always has to make a choice.

Mr. Kennedy made his choice. Now, it's our turn to make our choice.

After reading it, Arthur took a deep breath, feeling it wasn't enough. He picked up the Atlantic Monthly again and read Lippmann's article once more, his heart pounding with fighting spirit.