Authenticity for Sale

During the 1960s and 1970s Katharine Graham, the intrepid publisher of the Washington Post, held dinners in her Georgetown home for the liberal and intellectual elite of Washington. In those days, that meant a gathering of the post-war masters of statecraft, leading newspaper columnists, select politicians, and key policymakers. In many cases, the ideas that congealed around the Graham table found their way into the public dialogue the following week. Richard Nixon, in his lonely White House, fumed at what he imagined his anointed enemies were plotting against him around the Georgetown dinner tables of Graham and others. The Post’s publication of the Pentagon Papers, which revealed the nature of government deceptions over Viet Nam, and its Watergate coverage proved he had excellent reason.

Fast-forward to 2009. Graham’s granddaughter, Katharine Weymouth, is publisher of the Post. Like nearly everyone in the newspaper business, she faces an Armageddon as mostly-free digital media soaks up the news audience at rates that, for traditional newspapers, are unsustainable. And like any smart business person, Weymouth has been looking around for innovative ways to build revenue.

One strategy seemed to appear when a staff member hired to build the Post’s events business suggested that Weymouth host dinners at her Georgetown home, leveraging the legendary panache of her grandmother. The difference this time was that the salon evenings would have corporate sponsors, who would pay $25,000 for access to certain of the Post’s editors and reporters along with invited guests from government and the media.

A newspaper getting paid to offer a corporation access to its editors and reporters? That’s what it seemed. So, instead of reviving the singular legend of Woodward, Bernstein, Bradlee and Graham—who brought you Deep Throat and Nixon’s helicopter ride out of town—it undermined it, causing deep lacerations in the Post’s reputation.

This happened because it’s hard to keep a good idea down. The idea, in this case, is selling one’s good name, and the history that money can buy seems proportional to the money available to buy it. The principal building of the New York Public Library—whose main reading room resonates with the learning that’s been going on in it for a hundred years—has been renamed for a hedge fund manager turned philanthropist.

Well, ok—why not market the distinction of the Washington Post to improve its chances of making it through these tough times? The answer, of course, is that to do so makes the Post an ordinary player in the influence-peddling game it has gained such stature over the years in exposing. Weymouth has since apologized, taken responsibility, and published the scathing report of an ombudsman who investigated and described how it all happened.

What’s interesting, though, is how the plan got so far along as to become public, which it did through the issuance of invitations to the planned first event.

It turns out, in fact, that the idea had been giving many at the Washington Post a queasy feeling, but those with doubts were waiting for someone else to pull the plug. To quote the ombudsman: “Several [staffers] say they didn’t speak up because they assumed top managers would eventually ensure that traditional ethics boundaries would not be breached. Neither Weymouth nor [her managing editor] can recall anyone raising concerns, although both say they wish someone had.” It sounds a little like the whistling-in-the-dark that preceded the subprime derivatives crash, as those with questions about credit quality all looked for someone else—the ratings agencies, for example—to speak out if things weren’t right.

They say money talks. One of the things it can say is hush.