Throughout his newspaper career, Will Lewis (now Sir William, courtesy of Boris Johnson) has displayed an extraordinary knack of getting on with bosses.

It served him well as a business reporter, when he broke a succession of stories, having received several of them first-hand. Then as the Financial Times global news editor and when hired by Rupert Murdoch to run the Sunday Times’ Business News and subsequently as the youngest ever editor of The Daily Telegraph in 2006 at the age of 37.

There, the pinstripes supported him as they withstood enormous pressure from politicians and others to fire him, following his purchasing of the stolen computer disk detailing MPs’ expenses claims in 2009. And, back with Murdoch, as the executive charged with clearing up the mess caused by the hacking scandal. Lewis, it was, who led the Managements and Standards committee which handed millions of internal emails to the police which saw 16 journalistic sources jailed and 34 journalists arrested. While that hardly endeared him to fellow hacks, the move helped stave off a corporate prosecution and an impressed and grateful Murdoch made him CEO of Dow Jones, publisher of the Wall Street Journal in 2014.

Now Lewis can be accused of doing his master’s bidding again, this time at the Washington Post. Jeff Bezos, the Amazon founder and the title’s owner, is fearful, probably rightly, of what a victorious Donald Trump would do to his business empire should the Post endorse Kamala Harris. So Lewis, the CEO, has announced the paper will be staying neutral.

Given the Post’s Democrat historic leanings, not to mention its vocal criticisms of Trump, that is being hailed by Republicans as a victory for their man and a blow to Harris. Predictably, the Post’s newsroom, already opposed to the choice of Lewis, has taken the news badly. According to NPR, the Post has been hit by a tidal wave of cancelled subscriptions (some 200,000).

Deciding who to back in an election is one of those moments in charge of a newspaper that feels imbued with power and influence. Often the leader is penned by the editor themselves, such is the regard in which it is held.

In reality, of course, they are usually following the same political line as the paper has always followed and the same as that of the owner. In truth, as well, just how impactful the decision is open to doubt.

During the last UK election, the Telegraph and Mail, unsurprisingly swung behind the Tories and devoted acres of space, not to mention their leaders, to promoting Rishi Sunak, only for Sir Keir Starmer to enjoy a landslide.

Back in 1992, The Sun may have claimed “It’s The Sun Won Won It” across its front page, the morning after the Conservative victory, but that was typical, cheeky hyperbole. Doubtless The Sun’s opposition, represented by a pre-election banner picture of Neil Kinnock, the Labour leader as a light bulb and inviting the last person leaving the UK, should he win, to turn off the lights, helped, but that is all.

Readers are perfectly capable of making up their own minds, they do not need to be told how to vote. Indeed, to say otherwise is to insult their intelligence. Listing the strengths and weaknesses of the main candidates and inviting them to form their own opinion is surely a better, more grown-up approach.

Unfortunately, proprietors tend not to see it like that. For them, selecting who to support is a moment in the spotlight when they can appear omnipotent. In today’s frequently loss-making world where newspapers are concerned, it is one of the reasons they own a newspaper at all.

They enjoy the wooing by the main parties, sometimes made more out of hope than expectation. Even a less-than-full-hearted endorsement of the candidate they were always going to support can be claimed as a victory by the other side. Therefore, remaining impartial when they were definitely only going one way will be seen as a triumph by Trump supporters.

It leaves Lewis in a deep hole. It’s not true to say it will have lost him the newsroom – he never had it in the first place.

The Post’s reporters did not take kindly to a Brit being imposed upon them. Lewis had paid for a story, something forbidden under US journalistic ethics – the fact the British public had a right to know what their MPs were claiming and how much they were paying did not wash. His role in the post-hacking clear-up was also held against him. Then, came his appointment of Rob Winnett, a former Telegraph mucker, as editor of the Post. Winnett’s subsequent decision not to take up the new job, weakened Lewis still further. Whether Lewis survives remains to be seen.

There is another loser in this and that is the Post. The brand, built on the back of Watergate and the Pentagon Papers and the fierce courage it took to get them into print, has sustained a heavy blow.

Once the proud possession of a newspaper-owning family, it’s clearly reduced to playing a bit part role in its current proprietor’s universe. Bezos has got much bigger interests to concern him more than the venerable Post. It might give him kudos but not if it imperils his other investments.

Of course, Bezos will claim different. He will try to cling to the belief that the Post’s slogan, ‘Democracy Dies in Darkness’ is still intact.

To an extent he is right. All the Post did was not endorse, everyone knows how they feel, really. It’s not as if they’ve never done it before. What’s the big deal?

First, it could have been handled better, trailing in advance its likely impartiality. Second, this is the one election above all elections that the Post had to come out for the Democrats. Bezos has handed a PR gift to a man the paper’s staff and readers could never countenance.

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Could the coronavirus pandemic prove to be the salvation of regional and local newspapers?

That may seem mad, given everything that has occurred previously. Long established titles have simply been shut. For those that remain, at times, it’s felt like we’ve been witnessing a property play masquerading as newspaper publishing. Every newspaper occupied plum, town central premises. One by one, they’ve been boarded up and redeveloped. Often, their staff have been made redundant or relocated to the distant news “hub”.

This hollowing out can lead to papers put together by reporters unfamiliar with the geographical patch they purport to serve, mistakes and an absence of exclusive journalism. The overall picture is profoundly depressing.

Only 18 months ago, Rcapital took over Archant, owner of the Eastern Daily Press, the East Anglia Daily Times, Norwich Evening News, Ipswich Star and other news titles, as well as an array of county “Life” magazines.

Archant was on its last legs when Rcapital swept in. The Norwich-based publisher was facing insolvency. That did not sway the new private equity owners who remained optimistic. Chris Campbell, partner at Rcapital, said: “We are incredibly pleased to have worked alongside Archant’s management team and KPMG to put forward a plan that will restructure finances and inject fresh capital into one of Britain’s oldest local newspaper brands. We are hopeful, that with the support of its creditors, Archant will emerge from this challenging period as a stronger business that continues to provide a vital service to its clients and readership.”

At the end of last year, Rcapital announced it was shutting two-thirds of Archant’s offices. Last month, it sold several Archant specialist titles to Kelsey. Three of its titles in south-west England have also been offloaded to former Archant executive Simon Bax’s new company.

Rcapital disposed of Archant’s only national newspaper, The New European, to a group including its former editor Matt Kelly and ex-BBC boss Mark Thompson. And earlier this month, Archant asked subscribers to its print Life magazines to stop receiving the physical product and try out a “greener” digital subscription.

Now comes Rcapital’s complete departure, having sold Archant to Newsquest. It looks bad. After all, if private equity can’t make it work, who can?

Inevitably, speculation is rife that the Newsquest takeover heralds another round of job losses, more salami-slicing, among Archant’s remaining 760-strong workforce. There will be some cuts, there’s bound to be – in any such union there is duplication, particularly on the administration, management side. But there is ground for hope.

When Rcapital closed those Archant’s offices, it cited the low level of attendance by staff during the pandemic and a resulting, declared preference for work from home. There’s the clue: can WFH be the saviour of our beleaguered regional and local press?

Here’s the editorial strategy: scrap those loathed editorial hubs and encourage reporters, if they need encouragement at all, to WFH, and “get local”. Where the national news media is concerned, I’m of the view that WFH is a bad idea, that nothing beats the energy, dynamism and yes, the smell, of the busy newsroom. Reporters feed off each other, they can share ideas and leads, they love that buzz of working together.

The same is true of regional and local newspapers. They’re no different – the process of gathering and producing news stories is just the same. But I also must face reality, which is that the days of large newsrooms for that section of the media have surely gone – such has been the level of decline. They’re no longer financially justifiable.

The hub offered a solution but all it did was add to the loss of editorial quality. WFH, and its wide acceptance post-Covid-19, is a more attractive proposition, a godsend for the sector. Journalists can be based in the area they’re meant to be covering, they will develop contacts and networks, they can gain intimate knowledge. They will know what they’re writing about and it will show in their reports. Their copy can be subbed by colleagues, also WFH. Readers will see and appreciate the difference and carry on reading and recommending (the best advocate is the reader telling someone what they’ve read and how good it was).

Meanwhile, those remaining offices can be sold and the fixed overheads stripped right down. The newspaper should take smaller space and maintain a physical presence for symbolism, to be used mostly by members of the public dropping by and for meetings, but that is all.

It’s an editorial model that works. It’s not perfect, there are niggles – it can be lonely and demotivating WFH. Editors need to get around their reporters; they must meet them regularly; they should talk to them constantly. But, given the alternative, of total disappearance or the use of news hubs that only delayed the inevitable, this is a lot more preferable.

On the commercial side, the advertising sales hub makes sense, perhaps with a local ad booker. Centralisation and scale matter on the advertising side, where they can make a positive difference; not in editorial, where they’re counterproductive.

Two is buying four, in the hierarchy of regional press publishers. Reach is number one, followed by Newsquest, then JPI and Archant.  I could see how ending print offered a saving, but I could not see my way through editorial. The pandemic has supplied the answer.

Far from decrying Newsquest acquiring Archant as borne out of desperation, nothing to get excited about, it’s a smart deal. Archant was already moving ahead in digital. That should now accelerate.

This is an excellent moment to be buying regional and local newspapers. That’s a phrase two years ago I could never envisage writing. But then we didn’t have WFH either.

Photo by Six_Characters/iStock

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Former Evening Standard business editor and Independent editor Chris Blackhurst explains why Daily Mail and General Trust owner Lord Rothermere is taking the business private and shares his take on why Geordie Greig has left his job as Daily Mail editor.

If you had to ask someone to name a typical newspaper baron the likelihood is that they would settle on one name: Rupert Murdoch.

They might say the late Robert Maxwell. Someone unlikely to feature, certainly not immediately, would be Jonathan Harmsworth (AKA Lord Rothermere).

He’s not as publicly familiar, is not so obviously power-seeking, does not court political leaders like some. I was at the opera when Rothermere and his wife, Claudia, came in. They slipped quietly, without fuss, into their seats in front of us, just like any other couple. Other corporate chieftains would look around, and did that night, to see who was in and who they knew and to nod in their direction. Not Rothermere. He could walk into a pub and the chances are no one would know him as the proprietor of the Daily Mail, Mail on Sunday and Mail Online.

The parties held by Jonathan and Claudia at Claridge’s are spectacular affairs, but they’re notable too for just how many employees and family relations are present. Other newspaper tycoon bashes will see a far larger proportion of senior politicians and powerbrokers in attendance.

One abiding source of annoyance for the rich and famous, upset at something his newspapers or website have published, is Rothermere’s regular refusal to take up their complaint. He backs his journalists.

Contrary to speculation, the departure this week of Geordie Greig as editor of the Daily Mail is not the result of complaints from Downing Street at the paper’s recent opposition to Boris Johnson – Rothermere could not care about that, although Johnson may be delighted – but more to do with the ascendancy of digital, of Mail Online, and a desire to pare costs.

Rothermere has drafted in Richard Caccappolo, a US media executive from New York to head the company’s papers and Mail Online (replacing Kevin Beatty). Caccappolo has worked in the past with the redoubtable Mail Online editor, Martin Clarke, to drive the website.

With the previous Daily Mail editor and editor-in-chief, Paul Dacre, having gone, Greig seemed to be assured of becoming the group’s media kingpin but that hasn’t happened – suddenly, Greig found himself having to answer to Caccappolo and he has left. If anyone dominates on the editorial content side, it is Clarke.

Greig’s going, and the appointment of Mail on Sunday editor Ted Verity as editor of the Daily Mail with oversight of both titles, almost certainly paves the way for the two newspapers to merge or at least combine more closely – something Greig has always resisted.

Regarding the bigger picture, it should come as no surprise that Rothermere is choosing to take DMGT, which also publishes Metro and i, private. In truth, he has never been comfortable with the public, stock market-listed, company arena.

For decades now, newspapers have sat awkwardly with the City slickers. They like to be ahead of events and they’ve long since marked newspapers down as declining assets. When Lord Hollick ran the Express group and I was deputy editor, his frustration at the constant badgering from share analysts and fund managers was visible. No matter what Hollick did, regardless of how the rest of his empire was faring, constantly he was dogged by questions about the Daily Express and Sunday Express.

Down the years I’ve talked to many corporate bosses and among those who floated their businesses on the stock market there is one abiding theme: regret. Sure, they got their money, but it’s not the same. Running a publicly quoted company is very different from managing a private one.

They complain of having to spend an inordinate amount of time answering to number-crunchers. Everything is pretty much on show for everybody to see and pore over, and question. The business is no longer theirs, even though they may still possess a substantial stake. They’re constantly being compared to others in their sector. They may be in charge but they’re not in control. They don’t possess the same flexibility and speed, they can’t take decisions and act upon them, every move must be explained and justified. And for this, they pay a small fortune in fees to maintain the listing.

So, yes, it makes perfect sense that Rothermere wishes to remove DMGT. In order to do so and it must also say something about his burning desire to go private, he’s had to construct a complex deal. The Rothermere family’s RCL company is to pay 255p a share for DMGT plus debts, which today values the company at £850m (up from the £810m he first proposed back in July). Shareholders are also to receive a special dividend of 991p for each DMGT share they own, following the recent listing of Cazoo, the used car trader in which DMGT had a 20 per cent stake and the sale of RMS, a company specialising in providing models and software for the management of risk.

They will get as well a 17.3p final dividend from DMGT. Put all that lot together and the entire package is worth £12.63 a share or a little over £3bn.

Rothermere is buying the 64% of DMGT he and his family do not own. It does, though, seem incredibly convoluted, involving the handing over of a large amount of cash.

But the reason it is happening at all and at this precise time is because of that cash. The bid from Moody’s of £1.4bn for RMS in the summer was unexpected and it left DMGT sitting on a pile of money. That, plus the offloading of Cazoo, created a choice: either stay on the stock market as a slimmed-down, mostly newspapers, group and invest, assuming there was something they wished to buy; or return the funds to shareholders.

By choosing to pay back, Rothermere is able to link it with going private. There is a case for saying he could have broken up the group still further. Other DMGT holdings include two property data businesses, Landmark in the UK and Trepp in the US; dmg events, a business-to-business conferences and exhibitions organiser, which has been hit hard by the pandemic; and New Scientist magazine.

He could have waited and possibly realised more value. But if he’d delayed, then Mail Online would be worth even more – the price of online news businesses keeps on climbing.

He’s taking it private now, because he wants to, because he can and because he feels this is the right moment to do so.

Rothermere may prefer the quieter, more discreet, path, but in his own way he is every bit as determined, and just as ruthless, as the better-known moguls.

The post Rothermere makes his move: Why DMGT is going private with Geordie Greig out appeared first on Press Gazette.

Former Independent editor Chris Blackhurst has dealt with corporate disaster both as a journalist, covering it, and has given crisis PR advice. Here he shares his insight into how companies should deal with the media when things go wrong.

It’s a question I’m sometimes asked, as someone who has worked in journalism as editor, reporter, columnist and in PR as a consultant dispensing crisis and reputational advice. Why do some companies and their bosses emerge relatively unscathed from a drama, while others see their reputations damaged, possibly beyond repair?

First, the firms and their chiefs that do better are invariably those who have gone out of their way to court journalists in the past. They made friends in the media on the way up and those friends will view them more favourably now they’ve hit trouble. Those without pals in the media will suffer.

A classic example here is Sir Fred Goodwin and Royal Bank of Scotland. The bank’s woes in 2008 became an excuse for reporters, who had experienced Goodwin’s disregard for the press, to turn on its chief executive, to kick him, to push him and the company further under. Read the coverage and you will find scarcely a good word about him.

Those that enjoy an easy rapport with the media, who are as open as they’re able, will always fare more easily. The stark contrast with someone like Goodwin is Sir Richard Branson. The Virgin king has suffered fatal accidents involving his trains and space project, but there was no lasting harm to him or his empire.

Branson does what comes naturally to him. This means being seen to lead the response, going straight to the incident and fronting the media himself. He does not hide behind barriers of PR advisers; he displays personal empathy. If there’s any one ingredient crucial to surviving a crisis as unscathed as possible it is the latter.

Look at BP chief Tony Hayward. He was charged with handling the aftermath of the Deepwater Horizon catastrophe of 20 April 2010, when a rig leased to BP exploded in the Gulf of Mexico, killing 11 workers and causing the worst oil spill in US history. Initially, Hayward did the right things. He travelled to the area; he stayed there and led from the front, fielding the calls and press conferences. It was exhausting work and intense – the level of US media interest in the disaster, because of the deaths and the environmental fallout, not to mention the prospect of huge litigation, was unrelenting. Matters were not helped by the fact that BP was a Brit company, seen in many American eyes as aloof and distant.

Then Hayward slipped. He was a geologist and technically minded. On 18 May, he told Sky News: “I think the environmental impact of this disaster is likely to have been very, very modest.” This was before the oil reached the Gulf shore. Thereafter, he and his colleagues were challenged repeatedly on the “very, very modest” claim, as fisheries, wildlife and beaches were destroyed.

In an interview with the Guardian  Hayward said: “The Gulf of Mexico is a very big ocean. The amount of volume of oil and dispersant we are putting into it is tiny in relation to the total water volume.”

It was an accurate statement, but the ruptured pipe was spewing up to 19,000 barrels of oil a day until it was plugged. Small, relative to the size of the ocean, but with a colossal bearing on the region’s ecology and economy. To make it worse, the Guardian quote was shortened when it was repeated in the press, so that Hayward referred only to the spill as “tiny”.

Shortly after making the comment to the Guardian, a frustrated Hayward told a reporter, “we’re sorry for the massive disruption it’s caused to their lives. There is no one who wants this thing over more than I do, I’d like my life back.”

Unfortunately, as was immediately pointed out, the 11 dead workers, their families and friends, could not get theirs back. He apologised. “I made a hurtful and thoughtless comment,” Hayward said. “I apologise, especially to the families of the 11 men who lost their lives in this tragic accident. Those words don’t represent how I feel about this tragedy.”

Added Hayward: “My first priority is doing all we can to restore the lives of the people of the Gulf region and their families – to restore their lives, not mine.”

No amount of excusing and handwringing could undo the damage: the following month BP announced Hayward was leaving the company and he would be replaced by an American, Bob Dudley.

I was brought in to assist a travel company over a tragedy at a hotel on one of their package holidays. It had happened years before, but the fallout rumbled on. The firm believed it wasn’t liable and accused the hotel management of negligence.

This blame game, I concluded, was for the lawyers. In the meantime, had the operator ever met the families of the bereaved? No, they had not. Meet them, I said, show you understand, share their grief and anger. The lawyers were appalled, worried in case there was an acceptance of fault. You don’t need to say “sorry”, I insisted, but state how upset everyone is at the company, how you will help in any way, and how you’re determined to get to the bottom of what went wrong.

The travel CEO did see them, and immediately, a cloud was lifted. And from then on, the press could never state, and the families could not complain to the press, that the company had not contacted them.

Crisis PR advice: Don’t jump to conclusions

On the morning of the Paddington train crash in 1999, which left 31 people dead and 417 injured, I took a call as a journalist from a PR. He was with a large corporate agency advising the railway operator.

Two trains had collided only a few hours previously. It looks like human error, said the PR. It appears as if the driver of the local train ignored the red signal and went headfirst into the express service. Surely, I said, it’s too early to know that? He replied that they were “fairly certain” human error was the cause.

I ignored his information, which was just as well. The official inquiry later found that because of the bad siting of the signal the driver’s vision was obscured by bright, low sunlight. He had no chance and perished.

On another occasion, in PR, I was working with an aviation manufacturing boss. There’d been an accident involving one of his aircraft. It was “pilot error”, he said, in an uncanny repetition of what I’d heard regarding Paddington. He was keen to tell the world so. Don’t say that I said. Not unless you absolutely know – and you can’t possibly – not yet. “But all the indicators suggest the pilot made a mistake,” he spluttered. No, I said, express condolence, say the company will help fully with the investigation, but do not even so much as hint at a possible cause.

In the end, it turned out that poor maintenance leading to a rusting part that snapped was to blame. Not the pilot, in other words.

I was advising a major restaurant owner. Sadly, someone had died, caused it was alleged by a bad reaction to one of their meals. The CEO wanted to say that thousands of its meals were sold every week without incident. No. Something might have gone wrong on this occasion – and it was this occasion that was occupying minds.

To point to anything else smacked of an attempt to divert, to absolve culpability. Worse, a crisis, particularly one involving death and injury, should not risk being viewed as an advert for a business to say how successful it is.

It’s a mystery to me why, even now, after all their trials and tribulations, leaders of the likes of the Metropolitan Police still read from scripts. It’s a terrible look: their eyes are down, not facing the cameras; their delivery is stilting; the words come across as written by uncaring automatons. Why Cressida Dick, why does someone as intelligent and presumably as sensitive and caring as you, allow this to happen?

People make mistakes. Often, we’re prepared to forgive a lapse, provided those in charge are seen to be doing the decent thing, by behaving thoughtfully and responsibly. We’re all human beings, even journalists, even those in PR. Be human, put yourself in the place of those affected, think how you’re being seen, how you’re being judged, how what you’re saying will be received. Be human, it’s the best piece of advice I can give.

Read more of Chris Blackhurst’s columns for Press Gazette here.

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With many publishers looking to close their offices forever and move to permanent home or hybrid working – Chris Blackhurst looks at the future of the newsroom and the all-important editorial conference.

Every morning in every news organisation in the world, pretty much, a time-honoured ritual unfolds.

It’s the editorial conference. Exact times as to when it is held may differ but the format is more or less the same. The editorial department heads or their representatives troop into the editor’s office or a meeting room. The editor arrives. There’s some chit chat, then one by one they go through their lists of stories.

Some editors prefer paper schedules, some like to see them posted electronically. They read down the list, and now and again, someone, usually the editor, will comment. It may be  something disdainful and dismissive or it can be a declaration of interest. Occasionally, it will lead to a wider discussion about doing it up as “a package”, involving several journalists, graphics, pictures, possibly entailing more than one day’s worth of coverage. It may evolve into something else, leftfield, zany and brilliant. It might be destined for that day’s lead.

Then they file out and a few, senior folk stay behind and plan further.

It all sounds automatic. Except it isn’t. Just as the newsroom is a place of chemistry so is the editorial conference. It’s where editors and their senior colleagues can see into whites of eyes, where it’s possible to work out who is in favour and who is not, who may be destined for elevation or equally, who may soon be heading off completely.

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It’s where some editors throw their weight around and deploy what they consider to be their best motivational technique: instilling fear by publicly humiliating and calling out. Often, as one poor sap gets the sarcasm treatment or worse (and everyone else gives silent thanks to God they’ve escaped, for today anyway) it does not go unnoticed that another is selected for bigging up.

It can be horrible, depending on the person in charge, but the editorial conference done well can be energising and collectively creative. It’s the coming together, the point where ideas harden, where subjects get projected – where the character of the edition is shaped.

They rely, though, on human interaction, of people being in one confined space. It’s not a process that can be translated as well to Zoom or Teams.

That, however, is how editorial conferences have had to be this past year, as editors and their teams WFH. Now, with the easing of lockdown more people are attending in person but there are still those on screens, not physically present. That is how it is going to be for some time yet, as editors grapple with the future of working.

Difficult to discern emotion

One editor I spoke to predicted that the “hybrid” version, part-physical, part-virtual, with some in the office in person and others at home, could become permanent.

Another said they were ordering everyone back to the office and it was vital the editorial conference was restored as soon as possible to how it used to be.

It may be more efficient using Zoom or Teams – no one can blame their lateness on a commute and without the travel time there are more hours to devote to the job. But it’s much more difficult to discern emotion. Face to face, you can observe body language, the twitch, sense the hesitation. In seconds you’re able to tell that they may be promoting this tale but they don’t have a clue what they’re talking about, it’s nowhere near ready, they’re flying a kite, they know it might not stand up.

[Read more:‘Swings and roundabouts’: What Covid-19 remote working has done to newsroom productivity]

Harder to do this on a screen, with a frequently poor signal (amazing, how the wi-fi can cut out at potentially the most awkward of moments).

In some respects, it’s better. There’s less talking across, fewer interruptions, the alpha males do not dominate the same. Neither, though, is there the spontaneity – often is the time I’ve been in an editorial conference when someone has been dispatched to find the reporter, to bring the journalist into the meeting.

What does not happen either is the person next to you writing a note on their pad for you to see. Of course, they can send a WhatsApp or text, but again it’s not the same.

What is missing as well is the comfort of familiarity. It always fascinated me, having been to countless editorial conferences, many of them as editor, how each day everyone sat in the identical seat. Their neighbours were the ones they had yesterday and the day before that. Usually too, those who preferred standing were stood in that spot yesterday and the day before. Nobody told them where to sit or stand, it occurred that way and it stuck.

That’s impossible to replicate on a screen. It means when it’s your time to perform, you really are on your own, with no regular supporters either side.

You are able to hide to an extent, though. It’s trickier facing a bank of faces to tell if that person top left is looking at their mobile or in the case of second along on the right, another screen. If they’re allowed to turn the camera off they’re lost completely, there is no means of telling what they’re doing.

There’s no murmur on Zoom or Teams, little off-the-cuff, more difficult to pick up excitement and energy. You’re not aware of people suddenly sitting forward, displaying a marked interest.

In a room, you can assess the mood straight away, your eyes can dart around in seconds, your peripheral vision can take in any movement – you just know if a topic is going down well, whether it’s got them hooked and will therefore grab readers and viewers.

There’s also that moment, which is lost remotely, which is when the door flings open and they all walk back to their desks or come out and break into huddles. The newsroom is aware the meeting has ended and the veterans are watching for signs of the overall tenor – these are the leaders after all, are they uplifted and cheery or are they dismal. Is today going to be an okay day or a bad day? Are they looking across at me and smiling? If they are, the editor must like my story. If they’re not and are actively avoiding my gaze, it’s rubbish.

Newspapers, news programmes, news websites – whatever the medium they’re all fuelled by the intangible, by fire and passion. The editorial conference is where the alchemy begins. It’s mysterious and magical. We’re adapting but we miss it desperately.

Read more incisive comment from Press Gazette contributors including Alan Rusbridger, Lionel Barber and Eleanor Mills.

Main image Fizkes/Shutterstock

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This article first appeared in Reaction.

This may come across as a cliché but it’s true: I became a journalist because I watched a film about a couple of journalists bringing down the most powerful man in the world without firing a gun.

I refer of course to All the President’s Men, the movie and the book had me hooked. It wasn’t, though, just the sight of Dustin Hoffman and Robert Redford working in tandem or seeing how the real-life Carl Bernstein and Bob Woodward pieced together the jigsaw that would topple President Richard Nixon. It was their interaction and the way they would discuss, plan, collaborate, with their colleagues, young and old.

Their working environment seemed to be imbued with a team spirit, a chemistry, a bonding that was magnetic. Years later, I was not disappointed: the newsrooms of the Sunday Times, Daily Express, Sunday Express, Independent, Independent on Sunday, Observer, Evening Standard – all places where I hung my metaphorical trilby and grubby raincoat, leaned back in the chair, put worn soles up on the table and lobbed paper balls into a wastebasket – were the same as theirs. And they were brilliant.

So to read that Reach, owners of the Mirror, Express, Star and more than 100 regional titles, is planning on closing most of its newsrooms so that staff will in future work remotely from home or over a laptop in a coffee bar, and venture into the office only for occasional meetings, is genuinely upsetting news.

I’m all for technological progress, but this really is a case where something profound is being lost. It says that those at the top of the organisation – even the very name Reach conveys a message, no longer implying the transmission of news but just as easily applying to the selling of advertising – don’t get it. They don’t understand. They don’t know what it’s like to be on the floor when a major story breaks, when everyone literally stops what they’re doing and gathers round the TV screens and within seconds orders are being barked, stories spiked, running orders changed, reporters and photographers dispatched, and sheer adrenaline takes hold.

They will say that I betray my age, that not so much appears in print these days so you can forget a front page having to be redrawn. That’s as may be, but news websites still have priorities and headlines – everything needs to be urgently rejigged.

The newsroom is much more than covering the occurrence of a terrorist outrage or disaster or some political storm. It’s about a buzz, an intangible chemistry, an intoxicating smell, of people, young and old, sparking off each other, sharing ideas and leads, bits of information and yes, having a gossip and a laugh. It’s the media equivalent of the City trading floor and the football changing room. It’s where “it” happens.

Reach says management has surveyed the workforce and they’ve said they’re perfectly happy being at home. To which my response is that they would of course say that.

Let’s face it, in the last year, hands up who has missed the daily commute? This isn’t about the daily grind, as bad as that is. Neither does it concern digital platforms that have never had a collective hub, which is how we’re meant to refer to large, open offices. They’re set up differently and to their credit the more enlightened are doing their best to try and inculcate tomorrow’s journalists with student and trainee programmes.

No, I am talking about newspapers. This announcement from Reach marks another dip in the downward path of the newspaper.

Call me old-fashioned, and Reach and others certainly will, but I refuse to budge. I can think of countless occasions when a news editor came over to my desk and murmured something or scribbled a message or asked me to look at something on the screen; when we’ve met quickly in a huddle and agreed a route forward; when someone has overheard a colleague and suggested they look at this or that. Many is the time I’ve pulled up a chair with a fellow reporter and joined forces, pooling notes, writing a piece, together. Don’t tell me any of that can be replicated via WhatsApp or Zoom.

At the centre of this wonderful, vital space is the news editor and their assistants – controlling, driving, monitoring. Everything revolves around “the desk”. It’s in everybody’s sight, constantly. By looking across you can sense the mood, know if there’s a big story breaking, pick up the vibe, feed off the energy. There is, too, the black humour, the sharp wit, the jibe that leavens even the bleakest moments.

It’s possible to be critical and say there’s no place for such behaviour, not in this age of woke. To which I would rejoinder and say it’s all too easy when you’re alone, in your spare room, to get lost in your thoughts, to let the misery pile up. Journalists deal with bad stuff, with graphic descriptions and horrible pictures. That’s not to say it’s not taken seriously, but sharing pain is better than having to cope on your own. We’re human beings, we belong together.

Having run newspapers and dealt with the other side – the non-editorial hierarchy – I know how they think. I’ve had to impart tough news to newsrooms, to relay details of cuts, of redundancies and lack of pay rises. It’s not easy, as addressing any shop floor with information it doesn’t want to hear is not easy.

But journalists are also not afraid to challenge, to ask awkward questions – that’s what they do for a living. Managements dread it, they hate having to stand there and deal with people who are articulate and quick thinkers and no respecters of status. It’s uncomfortable – which is why they make the editor do their dirty work. Reach’s leaders will be all too aware that pressing “send” to distant, invisible, scattered workers is a much more amenable experience.

Make no mistake. Something profound is being lost and we will be the poorer for it.

Chris Blackhurst is a writer, commentator and strategic communications adviser. He served as editor of the Independent from 2011 to 2013.

Picture: Telegraph/Eddie Mulholland

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Former Independent editor Chris Blackhurst has held senior jobs in a variety of newsrooms. Here he shares his tips on managing newsrooms.

Hardly a day goes by without the announcement of a corporate move somewhere affecting the press, of a merger, consolidation, reorganisation, restructuring.

Little thought is ever given to its actual implementation. The news of the change is delivered in a bland, legally pored-over notice, and that’s that. Yes, but how do you put it into practice, how do you translate the business school-speak into reality?

I’d like to say I’ve been blessed, although that is not always how it felt, having worked for several news organisations in a senior editorial capacity – at the Daily and Sunday Express, Independent and Independent on Sunday, Evening Standard. I’ve also experienced newsroom overhauls on The Sunday Times and Observer and magazines. I love the whole creative process of journalism, still do. Often, though, I was tasked with managing change, with putting an idea from on high into practice.

It’s the price I paid, the Faustian pact, and I get that. But it’s hell, basically. The textbooks will tell you there are “five steps to successful change” – acknowledge and understand the need for change, communicate the need and involve the people in developing the change, develop a change plan, implement the change plan, evaluate and celebrate success.

Put like that, it seems easy and straightforward. That, indeed, is how management usually approaches the problem – the non-editorial management that is. They apply the same thought process as if they were tackling swapping a production line in a factory or introducing a new piece of equipment.

What they don’t realise is that journalists are different. Journalism is a people business, journalists are not machines, they’re not compliant automatons. By and large, journalists, me included, do what we do to see our names in lights, to get our stories told, our pictures published. We believe we’re on the side of good, of informing, improving, entertaining. We really do feel we’re on a mission.

[See more: Trust, truth and making news pay: Editors outline the biggest challenges for journalism in 2021]

The best journalists are natural communicators and they’re not afraid of speaking their minds and questioning – after all, many of them do that for a living. They’re nosy parkers, used to looking for ulterior motives, for reading between the lines, for finding out. They’re no respecters of authority, they choose to disbelieve.

I well remember one company boss saying to me: “What is it with journalists, God they’re a pain.” What prompted this outburst was that I’d gone to him to explain that his best-laid plans were going down like the proverbial bag of sick, that the newsroom did not buy what they were being told and a rethink was required, that they were maintaining the new approach was really an excuse for further jobs losses and cost-cutting, which it was.

Journalists work together but they’re also individuals. A newsroom is a collection of individuals. They’re all different; no two are identical. They need to be treated accordingly.

A mass communication, of the sort that management would regard as appropriate for a shopfloor, might be a start, but that’s all it is, a start. Unlike the usual workers’ address, this really is one where every word has to be carefully selected and meant – these are employees who dissect the words of others in their jobs.

Journalists don’t understand business, they don’t want to

They can spot a fool, a dissembler, a mile off. They want facts, with hard evidence. They will want to ask questions and you’d better have proper answers. Someone will be taking a note, someone will have their phone on and be recording. The chances are that it will appear in a media news website within minutes. They’re journalists. Don’t kid yourself otherwise.

Don’t assume because they work together they can actually work together. There may be a product, a title, a bulletin, a website, that has one name at the top but below that banner there’s tribalism. Home news, foreign, comment, business, production, sport, features, arts, graphics, books, pictures  – they’re all separate desks, and even though they can occupy the same floor, they all like to look down on each other.

Some journalists carry a lot more weight than others. I don’t mean around their waists. Some hold the respect of their peers both inside and outside. One disdainful remark, one sneer, or woe betide a full-on confrontation, and they’re off to a rival and your scheming is toast. Management has to understand that.

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What may have to happen is that the proprietor, the non-editorial chiefs, sit down with those journalists individually, to explain and to persuade. That could well involve a long lunch or dinner, and some ego massaging. Don’t be surprised either if the cannier ones listen and ask for a pay rise or grander title or improved terms.

Don’t assume, though, that those who shout the loudest are necessarily those who are the most listened to. Every newsroom has its quieter personalities who command admiration for their characters, and the reliable quality of their work – everyone knows who they are, everyone likes them. They, too, must be brought onside. Numerous have been the occasions when I’ve had to encourage a CEO or an owner, even, to spend some time with “so and so” and they’ve objected because they’ve never heard of “so and so” who isn’t a big name, isn’t someone they’ve heard of.

Realise that journalists are not businesspeople. They may be employed by a business but they’re not interested in business. They don’t understand business, they don’t want to. For many, theirs is a calling, not a route to making lots of money.

Similarly, frequent again have been the times when I’ve had to explain that just because the proprietor is wealthy, be they a person or a company, does not mean that the editorial operation can simply request greater resources and expect that wish to be met – how much the owner chooses to spend is entirely up to them.

Most important: don’t forget that the journalism is what matters, above all else. It’s the company’s USP. Sometimes, it’s too convenient to slip into abstract, MBA-thinking and agree that what’s under discussion is AN Other product, AN Other business. It’s not. You’re talking about doing something that will impact upon supremely talented people, many of whom work extremely hard, some of whom take great personal risk. The corporation lives and dies by their commitment. Remember that. Oh, and good luck.

The post Media leadership lessons: Journalists are not business people, they are on a mission appeared first on Press Gazette.