Eric Beecher on media, moguls and what it's like to be sued by a Murdoch

Published Sep 20, 2024, 7:01 PM

The youngest ever editor of The Sydney Morning Herald, now owner of Private Media, publisher of Crikey, Eric Beecher has spent decades in and observing the media.

In today's episode he discusses his conclusions on when it works best, and when it fails democracy, with his longtime friend, journalist David Leser. Beecher also discusses what it was like to work for Rupert Murdoch during his two year stint as editor-in-chief of The Herald and Weekly Times Group, and whether he was scared when, decades later, Lachlan Murdoch sued him.

Hi, I'm Conrad Marshall and from the Sydney Morning Herald and The Age. Welcome to Good Weekend Talks, a magazine for your ears, featuring in-depth conversations with fascinating people from sport and politics, science and culture, business and beyond. Every week, you can download new episodes in which top journalists from across our newsrooms talk to compelling people about the definitive stories of the day. In this episode, we talk to Eric Beecher, one of the great Australian newspapermen. Beecher started in journalism at the age and in 1984 became the youngest editor of the Sydney Morning Herald when he was just 33. He went on to become the editor in chief of the Herald and Weekly Times Group, but resigned after two years over ethical differences with the owner, one Rupert Murdoch. Over the past two decades, Beecher has owned the subversive online news outlet Crikey and was sued by another Murdoch son, Lachlan, over an opinion piece printed on that website. He's with us today to discuss media moguls like the Murdochs of the world, a topic of interest within his new book, The Men Who Killed the News. And hosting this conversation is a man who engaged Beecher in a fascinating Q&A, which is reprinted in Good Weekend this Saturday under the headline media matters. And that's award winning freelance writer David Lazer.

Thanks, Conrad, and welcome to you, Eric.

Hello, David.

Your book is called The Men Who Killed the News. Who's the biggest killer amongst these men?

Yes, the title is The Men who Killed the News. The news is still alive. It's nowhere near as vibrant or as alive as it has been over the last hundred years. And there are three or 4 or 5 outstanding media moguls who I think have contributed to the decline and to some extent demise in news journalism. But ultimately the responsibility lies with the business model. The business model has collapsed.

So before we get to the collapse of the business model, who are those 4 or 5 media moguls and just name them? And just if you could summarize what they did, what was their method of killing, if you like.

So the first major media mogul globally was William Randolph Hearst, and he inherited his family newspaper at a young age. And he learned the art of manipulating journalism to make money. And that's at the heart of what this is all about. Um, Joseph Pulitzer did the same, but then kind of restored his reputation and created the Pulitzer Prizes and and went the other way. The Murdoch dynasty. So people know obviously about Rupert Murdoch, but his father, Keith Murdoch, really launched the hundred year Murdoch dynasty, which has covered Australia, Britain and the United States. And that's certainly the longest serving the Daily Mail in London and now online globally owned by the Rothermere family, are also on the list. And then there are sort of mid-sized but quite notorious media moguls like Conrad Black, who ended up in jail for deceiving his shareholders. Robert Maxwell, who died under suspicious circumstances as his empire sunk. They're the main ones, but there's a lot of other bit players.

You mentioned the business model. Would it be fair to say that even if these media moguls, including the ones you've named and ones you haven't named yet. Even if they'd behaved in an exemplary fashion, the business model would have still been wrecked because of technology that there was nothing they could have done about that. Surely?

Uh, that's true in a sort of technical sense. But if they'd behaved far more ethically and morally, they would have built different kinds of media empires. They wouldn't have made as much money. They might have only been worth a couple of billion now rather than tens of billions. Um, but they would have ended up, I think, more like the New York Times or the New York Times is a family controlled media organisation built entirely or almost entirely on an ethical foundation stone. And so it has survived because it's focused on quality journalism and also commercial quality journalism. And they've been able to combine the two things.

Was that your main motivation for writing this book? To essentially expose the way in which media power has been abused?

Yes. I mean, I've been in the media for many decades, starting as a reporter and then becoming a newspaper editor at a young age and then becoming a small time media proprietor. And I'm still a publisher and a media owner. And the thing that struck me very early on, very early on, even before I went to work for Rupert Murdoch, which I did for two years, was the power that lies in owning and controlling journalism in a democratic society, and how that power is or isn't wielded in the interests of that society. It struck me very early on, and it stayed with me. And it's something that I just it's like a kind of pair of glasses. I see the media world in part through that lens.

How covert is that power? I mean, how dangerous and how dangerous is it?

It's largely covert until it overreaches and then it becomes extremely overt. And there are examples of that, like phone hacking in London at the news of the world, and like the role of Fox News in US politics, particularly in the Trump era, but before that as well. So then it becomes highly visible. But most of the time it's covert. And that's one of the things that has always struck me a that it is covert. But if you're inside the ecosystem of journalism, news journalism, it's still a bit covert, but it's not hard to see. And then it's covert because all nearly all the practitioners, including the journalists and the editors and the others who work in news organizations never want to and almost never do talk about their power, let alone analyze it.

You say that we don't want to talk about our power and we don't discuss it, so let's discuss it now. Where would you start with that kind of discussion? Where would you start with what is it about? Is it influence? I mean, do you have power, for example, or do you have influence and do? Are we all in the manipulation business because you write that journalism is the manipulation business, you also write. You quote Janet Malcolm from her own book, The Journalist and the murderer, where she says, every journalist who's not too stupid or too full of himself to notice what's going on knows that what he does is morally indefensible. He's a kind of confidence man, preying on people's vanity, ignorance, or loneliness, gaining their trust and betraying them without remorse. You and I have known each other, Eric, nearly 40 years, and I've never heard you. We both know that quote exists, but I've never heard you refer to journalists en masse as engaging in that kind of practice. Is that is that what you think we do?

I do, I mean, I think Janet Malcolm put it, um, viscerally and in a very raw way. Um, and we are in the business of manipulation, but I don't think that that's necessarily always negative. In fact, it can be very positive where the conduits between the news that happens, the people who make the news commentary and opinion and analysis of that news and the public, and it's up to us and particularly the owners of the media, because they ultimately determine the direction of any media organization. And it's journalism. It's up to us to decide how we deploy, if you like that manipulation. And there are lots of examples, including lots in my book of, um, owners and publishers and editors and journalists who are manipulators, but in a positive way.

So what? In what way do you manipulate?

Look, I became I became the editor of the Sydney Morning Herald in my very early 30s, and I became aware of that power at a young age, at an age when most of my contemporaries were reporters and were focused on their narrow role. Whereas as an editor, you run across the whole news spectrum and organization. And I remember the year before I became editor of the Sydney Morning Herald, I was given the role of editing the paper, the Herald on a Sunday for Monday, because the senior people didn't want to particularly come into the office on the weekend. And also normally nothing ever happens on Sundays except sport and crime, and so they thought they could put it in the hands of a kid. And they did. But one Sunday, a huge, uh, Australian political scandal broke. Malcolm Fraser was the prime minister, and two of his cabinet ministers had arrived back from an overseas trip that day, and they'd brought in color TV sets that they bought on their trip without paying duty. And so it was, by Australian standards, a political scandal. In most other countries, it probably wouldn't be. And I was running the paper. So the news part of the paper. But I was also responsible for the directing, the editorial and editorials in the paper that day. And so I was talking to our politics editor in Canberra through the day, and I said to him, what's the Prime Minister going to do? Is he going to sack these two? Because there were a lot of calls, particularly from the other side of politics, for them to be sacked and it was very embarrassing. And he said to me, he's going to wait until around 7:00 tomorrow morning. He's going to read the editorials in the Sydney Morning Herald and The Age, and then he's going to decide what to do. So I found myself the afternoon before directing the editorial writer, the leader writer, as to what we would say as a as a paper, as a corporate entity, you know, wielding our power, if you want to call it that. And we called for the two ministers to be sacked. And by 8:00, when the Am program influential Am program came on ABC radio, they were gone.

Okay, so that's a good example of manipulation, I'll grant you that. I just want to go back to the Janet Malcolm quote, because it is a very visceral quote about journalists that we know what we do is morally indefensible in terms of preying on people's trust and betraying them. And there's a lot of journalists who don't do that. Surely there's a lot of journalists who have gone to enormous efforts to expose corruption and to confront power, and to reveal what those in power seek to hide. You don't talk about that in your book.

I do talk about it. I talk about it through the lens of who owns that journalism, the media organizations, the news brands and newspapers that do that kind of journalism. It's not a book about individual journalists and and their journalism, good or bad, because there are hundreds if not thousands of books like that. What? There aren't many books about, in fact, almost none is about abuse of media power. But I agree with you. Most journalists do not act in the way that she described, even though they are, in my view, manipulators. Often they manipulate either for good or in a benign way. But I guess the question I keep asking myself, and I've asked in the book is how much of this bad behavior, how much bad behavior can be exonerated by good behavior? And my view is when the bad behavior is so bad and so antisocial and so challenging for society and and polluting for society, I don't think you need much of it for journalism to be held accountable in the highest way.

So I think to that point, there's a fabulous quote in your book from Tom Watson, the former British Labour MP, now member of the House of Lords, where he says, and I quote, the barons of the media with their red topped assassins, are the biggest beasts in the modern jungle.

They have no predators. They are untouchable. They laugh at the law. They sneer at Parliament. They have the power to hurt us. And they do with gusto and precision, with joy and criminality.

Now, Tom Watson was speaking in 2010 at the inquiry into the illegal hacking by Murdoch journalists at the London Sun and News of the world newspapers, which he referred to before. Was Tom Watson right?

I don't think there's any doubt he was right in the context of the phone hacking, and I don't think there's any doubt he was right in a broader sense. On other occasions. But look at the phone hacking as an example. Thousands of people, ordinary people, cabinet ministers, celebrities, public figures had their voicemails hacked by the news of the World and The Sun newspaper over a decade. It was institutionalised into the way that those newspapers did their journalism and found things out that were entirely private, and it all exploded. And Rupert Murdoch apologized, but took no responsibility for the culture or the actions that led to phone hacking. None whatsoever. He blamed his underlings for it.

If I can just say something and this is not as an excuse, maybe it's an explanation of my laxity. The news of the world is less than 1% of our company. I employ 53,000 people around the world. We who are proud and great and ethical and distinguished people, professionals in their life. And perhaps I'm and I'm spread watching and appointing people whom I trust to run those divisions. Thank you. Chair.

But since then, in the last 12 years or so, 14 years, News Corporation has paid out almost $1.5 billion to several thousand victims of phone hacking in legal settlements to ensure that they don't talk about it publicly. So how much of something like that is enough to say that a news organization, even if it spends all of the rest of its time, which it doesn't, doing great journalism and investigations and fantastic commentary. How much of something like that outweighs the good journalism or doesn't outweigh the good journalism?

Does it neutralize it? Does it actually render it null and void? Or does the good journalism still stand as good journalism?

The good journalism stands as good journalism in its own right. But if this was any other business, if they were manufacturing pharmaceuticals or food or almost anything else, and they had a case of, let's call it poisoning, and I think phone hacking was a form of editorial poisoning that company. If it was a public company, which News Corporation is that company's board? CEO senior executives would all have been removed almost instantly. The company's reputation would be shredded, and that single bad event would have led to the company's, you know, reputation being completely destroyed. And yet, if it's a news organization, if they go around saying, oh, we do all this great journalism, but we can also do this poisonous journalism, we should be able to get away with it. How does that work?

You use the term moral fading in your book. Describe what you mean by moral fading and where it applies.

So moral fading to me is when you are practicing journalism or owning media or owning editorial outlets. And you believe that what you're doing is in the public interest, and often most of the time it is in the public interest. And you don't take moral responsibility for the kinds of things we've just been talking about, like phone hacking or like Fox News interfering in the US political scene and defending election denial and that kind of thing. And so it's a kind of duplicity. And I talk in the book, I kind of raise the question in the book about people who work in news organizations are where these kinds of either illegal or unethical or immoral things go on. How do they actually feel? How do they deal with their own consciences? And I'm not criticizing them individually because people have mortgages and they have to pay the bills. And I understand that. But there is there must be some kind of conscience conflict for them.

So we know how few employers there are in this business here in Australia. Are you actually saying that anyone who works for NewsCorp, for example, has had to engage in an act of moral failing?

No, I'm not saying that. I'm just in a sense, asking the question. And you're absolutely right. In a country like Australia and increasingly in every democracy now, as the as the business model for news unravels, there are fewer and fewer jobs. And I can absolutely understand. I'm not criticising those people, and I'm not suggesting that they live their lives thinking about their moral position every minute of their lives. But I think that this goes back to the owners of the journalism, and that's why this is a book about abuse of media power. And I think if the owners of the journalism acted like the owners of Le Monde in Paris or The New York Times, or the Graham family at the Washington Post, or indeed the Fairfax family for more than a century here in Australia. Then the issue of moral failing would just never be on the radar screen.

As you know, I started journalism at the Daily Telegraph. I don't think you know that when I was in my cadet class, I was asked why I wanted to be a journalist, and I said something sort of completely naive and quixotic about wanting to rotate the world in a better way or improve the world. And I was told, no, mate, you know, you're here to entertain. That's what we do. We're entertainers. And of course, you started off at the age where there was a different impulse, if you like. And I'm just wondering whether that tension, the tension between the drive for profits, i.e. the entertainment model, versus the operating principle of holding power to account. Whether that tension has always been there and that is at the root, that's the root cause of of the abuse that we're talking about here, that the drive for profits has overwhelmed any consideration of, of ethics and moral probity.

Yes it is. I mean, I describe it as what I call a loophole in democracy. And what's happened is that public interest news journalism is a pivotal part of the fabric of, of democratic countries because it holds power to account. It's really the only external scrutineer in an institutional sense of what goes on in power, what goes on in politics, all the things that democracies stand for. And yet there is almost no regulatory or legal requirements on the owners of that journalism, and the practitioners who work for them are at an ethical level or at a professional level, unlike almost any other profession where there are codes, enforceable codes of conduct, uh, with penalties and scrutiny. In journalism, it is entirely up to the conscience of the owner.

Let's just take a step or two back for a second and put this conversation in a in a more personal context. Why did you become a journalist? What did you think journalism was about? What was it for?

Uh, it was for what I just described. To hold power, to account, to report what was going on to the public accurately. And that includes contextually as well as just the facts to analyze and comment on it, and really to be that part of the that pillar of democracy without which, in my view, no democracy can either healthily survive and maybe survive at all. Because once people in power aren't held to account and aren't scrutinized, they can and often do do whatever they like in their own personal and political interest.

So as we heard at the beginning, you in 1984 became the youngest ever editor in chief of the Sydney Morning Herald. And you worked there? I think I'm right in saying for three years, until you accepted a job offer from Rupert Murdoch to run the Herald and Weekly Times, and you knew enough about Rupert Murdoch at that time to know that, for example, your first editor, Graham Perkin, had said some pretty derogatory things about Murdoch and where his editors ended up. You knew from Harold Evans, arguably the greatest newspaperman in England during the 60s, 70s and 80s. He had had a spectacular falling out with Murdoch. You knew enough about what it was like for others to be an editor of Rupert Murdoch. And yet you accepted that job. Why did you do that?

Um, I still reflect on that a little bit, and I certainly do in the book. And I talk about it as, um, openly as as as I can. I was young, I was ambitious. Um. I spent a few weeks thinking about it before I accepted his offer. Rupert Murdoch wasn't quite the same mogul that he is now. It was before phone hacking. It was before Fox News, but he'd already had many runs on the board. I read all of the half dozen or so books, biographies of Murdoch that had been written then. There are now many, many, many dozens. Um, and I felt that there was I had probably a 50, 50 chance of, of getting through that, but I felt that I would I would learn a lot on the way, which I did. Um, in many ways, not necessarily just in positive ways. And it was an exhilarating challenge. And also, he can be quite seductive. And he was.

You say that your moral compass became dysfunctional working for him. And so you resigned? What does it look like inside Eric Beech's head when it becomes morally dysfunctional?

Oh, there are wires going everywhere, and they're sticking out of my ears. And, um. Look, I had two years as a as an editor for Rupert Murdoch. I spent quite a bit of time with him. It was the biggest acquisition he had made at the time. And and it was an emotional one in many ways, because it was his father's own old company, and his mother and his sisters all lived in Melbourne, which is where it was based. And for the first year it was it was really good and he was supportive. We added lots of resources to the Melbourne Herald and we focused on quality journalism. Um, but in the second year and, and indeed through the entire period, but particularly into the second year, I started to see what I would describe as hurdles, not just see them, but they were coming up quite often, and I could tell that what was required of a murdoch editor was to jump those hurdles almost unthinkingly. I was very unusual in the sense that I'd come from another organisation and a different kind of journalistic organisation, whereas most of the other editors and executives at News Corp are people that have been there for a long, long time and grow up through the ranks. And so they were part of the culture. Whereas to me, I was an outsider coming into a culture that in the end I started to realise was was like a cult where it had a messianic leader. It had single views on most issues, and all the editors and senior executives intuited and still intuit the wishes of their proprietor without him having to issue direct instructions. And that became incredibly disconcerting. And eventually those wires in my head started going haywire.

The wires were haywire.

The wires started tripping across each other and my moral compass became dysfunctional.

So you. You lasted two years. He tried to entice you to stay. It was an interesting offer, wasn't it?

Yes. When I decided to resign, he invited me into his office in Melbourne, which was his father's old office in the old building, the Herald and Weekly Times building that his father had commissioned in the 1920s, I think, or 30s. Um, and we sat down on a couch together and closed the door, and he was very emotional, and he asked me to stay. And he said to me that he thought we'd be working together for all of our lives. And I agreed to stay. But a month or six weeks later, I realised that my inner voice was so loud and clear in my head that I couldn't stay, and so I resigned.

What had happened in those For weeks.

Nothing specific had happened. What had happened? It happened in the year before that. You know, he tried to get me to sack our Washington correspondent because he felt his coverage of the Reagan presidency wasn't Republican enough. I was told at one stage when my paper ran a prominent story on the front page about a 747 jet crashing in in Asia, killing 200 people. And at that stage, News Corp was the half owner of Ansett Airlines. I was told by the CEO of News Corp in Australia, he shouted at me, he screamed at me and he said, don't you know we don't run plane crashes on the front page. We own half an airline. And so it was things like that that made me realise I was in the wrong place.

So that was 35, 37 years ago, or if my maths is right. But um.

And.

There there would be those and they would be at News Corp who would say, you have had an idée fixe about Murdoch ever since. What do you say to that?

I would say that it's not personally about him or his family or anything like that. In fact, I've usually found him quite charming, and he's intelligent and a good conversationalist. It's not a personal thing. It's really at the heart of why I wrote this book. I think that people, particularly media owners, particularly very large media owners, particularly if they operate in three of the main English speaking democracies in the world, if they use their media power and abuse it and use it in malign ways and meddle with democracy, I think that is one of the most dangerous things that can happen to a democracy. And so the fact is, the Murdochs are the biggest at doing that.

Well, I mean, I was going to ask another question, but let me just jump straight to that point and let's talk about Dominion. The Dominion case, because I think that goes to the heart of what you're you're talking about. But actually, before we discuss Dominion, I would like to, um, just backtrack a second. One of the chapters in your book is called The Madness of Great Men, and it's a great summation of some of the media moguls in your book Hearst, Maxwell, Beaverbrook, Conrad Black, Silvio Berlusconi, Murdoch, Musk. And you write, they inhabit a world of favors, deals and iou's. They accumulate platoons of enemies as well as sycophants. They are feared. Everyone knows who they are. No one wants to cross them. Two years ago you crossed the Murdochs, Lachlan in particular, and he sued. How did you cross them and why?

So one day, two years ago, one of the publications in which I'm the owner, Crikey, published an opinion piece by its political editor, Bernard Keane, which was looking at the state of US politics and Trump in particular, and focused on election denial and the attack on the capital. It was one of hundreds of thousands, if not millions of stories on the same topic, and that's what the story was about. But in the last paragraph of that story, there was a reference to Fox News and its role in election denial and in almost condoning the attack on the capital. And it referred to the Murdochs and their underlings as being co-conspirators with Trump in these events. It was just a normal piece of commentary. It was so normal that the editors didn't refer it to our lawyers, which is something we do on an almost daily basis when we think a story needs legal scrutiny. And later that day or the next day, we got a long letter from Lachlan Murdoch's lawyer demanding that we pull the story off the website, that we apologise to Lachlan Murdoch and threatening us basically with litigation. Our lawyers replied equally forcefully with another long letter. His lawyers came back with another letter, we replied, and it got to the stage where we had to make a decision here, because we had absolutely no doubt that this was a totally legitimate piece of commentary, the likes of which the Murdoch publications and almost all other news publications around the world were doing all the time. There was nothing exceptional about it. It didn't even mention Lachlan Murdoch's name. It just referred to the Murdochs. And so we decided that we were going to stand up for our values. And we did two things that were unusual in the combative world of news publishing. The first thing we did was we published all of the legal correspondence that we received and that we replied to, which is not illegal or anything like that, because we wanted to show people how this intimidation was happening. And the second thing we did, which was even more unusual, was we took an ad in the print edition of the New York Times, a Dear Lachlan letter, in the form of an ad inviting him to sue us because we said we believe this is outrageous and it should be tested in the courtroom. And the next day he sued.

Were you deliberately trying to provoke?

We wanted to stand up for what we thought was the right thing to do As one of the a very small owner of the free press.

Looking back on that case, is there anything you would have done differently? Anything you regret?

No, nothing. Nothing at all. Uh, as it turned out, the the case dragged on for about nine months. There were several, many court hearings. Uh, lots of legal interaction. It was very expensive on both sides. But we we knew we could fund our costs, and we could even fund a loss if we were if we were unfortunate enough to lose. And eventually he withdrew the action and he paid all of our costs.

Malcolm Turnbull said at the time that Lachlan Murdoch owned boats worth more than crikey. Did you fear losing your business? Did you fear losing your home?

Well, I don't own a boat, David. Um, no, not at all. Um, as I say, we're responsible, um, business owners as well as as, um, uh, owners of journalism. And we just we wouldn't have done any of taken any of those actions if we didn't know that we could pay for them and we could. So no, we weren't fearful about that. And I should say that it was really the trigger for me to write this book. I'd been researching this book for, um, 8 or 9 years in between everything else I was doing. But when I became involved personally involved in abuse of media power in this way, it was the motivation for me to write the book.

Would it be fair to say that you were effectively saved by the Dominion Court case in the United States?

So the Dominion Court case in the United States was a case where a small manufacturer of electronic voting machines, Dominion, were suing Fox News over allegations on Fox News. The Dominion were complicit in rigging the 2020 election, which, of course, they weren't.

We have a machine, the Dominion machine, that is filled with holes as Swiss cheese and was developed to steal elections.

We don't know how many votes were stolen on Tuesday night. We don't know anything about the software that many say was rigged. We don't know.

We talked about the Dominion software. I know that there were voting irregularities.

And that dragged through their courts for several years. And at the very end, News Corp's or Fox News rather settled with Dominion and paid them more than $1 billion Australian in damages.

The truth matters. Today's settlement of $787,500,000 represents vindication and accountability. Lies have consequences.

So that's almost the exemplar for the argument of how the profit motive has subverted the higher principles, if you like, of of journalism and fair reporting.

It is. It's one of the, if not the great exemplars, and it's there in black and white. To me, what it highlights is the urgency, which has always been there, but is even even more critical now because the funding for journalism, the advertising revenues that used to fund it, have moved to social media and elsewhere on the internet. The urgency for reputable, responsible, ethical media organizations, even even if they're smaller ones like the one that I'm involved with, or even if they're the New York Times, which is much larger but is still quite small on the scale of something like Fox News, the urgency for those kinds of organizations to both exist and flourish and to be institutionalized in some way. And that means we need to find another funding source.

I don't think until the advent of the internet, in my years as a journalist, I ever really gave much thought to how journalism got funded, and I suspect I'm not alone in that. As amongst my cohort of journalists, I don't think we ever thought about, well, where's the money coming from to pay for what we do? And then suddenly the money wasn't there. Those so-called rivers of gold just dried up. Remind us, actually, of what happened. Because you tried to warn Fairfax, then owners of the Herald and the Fin Review and The Age. You tried to warn them in 1990 that there was a catastrophic scenario that was coming down the line. If the company didn't adjust to the new technology, so could this have been averted? Could we have done anything about it if we'd acted earlier? And just just remind us what happened in terms of how the how the world was turned upside down in terms of how it funded and then stopped funding journalism.

So I first learned my lesson in the business model of journalism. And unlike you, David, I did think about it early, early in my career because of this one night. So I was a young reporter on The Age. I'd had my first story across the top of the front page of the Saturday edition of The Age, which was a 200 plus broadsheet huge lump of a newspaper that came out every, every Saturday. And so I waited outside the office at midnight when the papers started rolling off the presses, and the presses lined the entire bottom floor of our building. Dozens and dozens of lines of presses printing hundreds and hundreds of thousands of copies. And the whole building would shake every Friday night. And I waited there to get the first copy of the paper myself in my hands, because it had my byline and my story on the front page. And in those days, the age office used to be on Friday night, used to be surrounded by hundreds of people lining up to get the the Saturday, the big Saturday edition. There were traffic jams, there were garbage bins out the front, and I was one of them. And I was so proud because I thought all of these hundreds of hundreds of people are going to read my story on the front page. And I watched every one of them pick up the paper. It was a four section paper, a news section which had my story on the front, and three classified advertising sections which were just ad after ad after ad, and all of them pulled out. One of those classified sections for cars, jobs or real estate, whichever they were looking for. And through all the rest of the paper, including the news section into the garbage bin. And I learned the lesson of how journalism was funded then.

Which was classified ads, which.

Was classified ads. Both the Sydney Morning Herald and The Age, um, made a couple of million dollars profit every Saturday. It was a licence to print money. They called it the Rivers of gold. And then winding the clock forward by a couple of decades. Um, we sold our publishing company, Text Media. Uh, it was a public company, then, a small public company, and it was bought by the Fairfax organisation, the owners of the of The Age and the Sydney Morning Herald. And one of the board members, after we'd sold it, asked me if I would spend a month or two independently looking at the business model at Fairfax and reporting to him and the board, or giving him and the board a report on on my assessment of that business model and its future. And I did that because I was very interested in the topic, and particularly in how journalism was going to survive. The internet was in its early years then, but the classified advertising internet sites like Realestate.com, Car Sales and Seek were already starting to make small inroads, and it was clear they were growing really quickly. And so I presented this report to the Fairfax board, in which I outlined what I described as a catastrophe scenario, that if the classified ads would move from the print format into online, and if Fairfax didn't control the online, then that would completely destroy the business. And the board at the time completely dismissed that. I had no special insights. I mean, I was watching what was happening, just like lots of other people, but inside the Fairfax board at the time, there was no one on the board that had ever worked in the media industry. They couldn't see that there was hubris and there was an insularity because they were making so much money, and they couldn't believe that, um, classified advertising could ever move from from newsprint.

Somehow, The New York Times has managed to recast itself as a global case study in quality journalism in this digital age. How did it do it, and could it have been replicated here?

It did it because, uh, the family that owns or controls the company realized early on, unlike the Fairfax board at the time, that, uh, the threats to the operating model of, of journalism and media and advertising in a digital age were seminal. And so they changed their model and I changed their model in a way, which was people have to pay for the journalism, and there is far less dependency on advertising revenue to fund the journalism. And that has worked for the New York Times. It can't really work for almost anyone else, certainly not on that scale, because The New York Times a comes with its marquee brand. B it's actually an international publication now, as well as an American and a New York publication. And people are prepared to pay for quality journalism. And the times has continued to invest in its journalism, to the point where now it has a newsroom of something like 1700 journalists, which is an extraordinary number compared to any other publication in the world.

Could it be done here?

Uh, not on that scale. Um, the problem is that once people get out of the habit of consuming news. And this is particularly true for young people. And in in markets like ours, our capital cities, where the populations just aren't that big, it's hard to see how a niche could be big enough to sustain that kind of quality journalism through people paying for it.

The Australian Financial Review and The Melbourne Age, and the Sydney Morning Herald read in Jakarta and Manila and Kuala Lumpur.

So you have put your finger on one business model that is actually has actually defied, and I think most of us feel will continue to defy the gloom in journalism and media. And that is business publishing. So the Financial Review here in Australia, the Wall Street Journal and the Financial Times in London and others like that around the world are doing really, really well. And that's because they provide journalism that is essential and mandatory for an audience of people who are in business and politics and surrounding disciplines, and they're prepared to pay quite a lot of money for that journalism because it actually affects financial outcomes and it's worth paying for. And so those publications primarily now digital but they also print are probably the the solid gold business model of journalism publishing in this part of the 21st century.

Last question. What's going to happen in that Nevada courtroom with Rupert Murdoch pitted against three of his four elder children?

Well, I'm not a lawyer, so all I can do is just simply be one of the many, many millions of observers around the world are watching this family fight unfold in all its gory detail. But the interesting thing here is that Rupert Murdoch has gone to court against three of his four eldest children to try and ensure that the other eldest son, Lachlan Murdoch, remains in charge of of his businesses. News Corp and Fox after his death because he argues that if he's not put in charge and remains in charge, then one of the other children may well take over and they may well move the editorial centre of gravity of those news organisations closer to the centre. No one is suggesting they would move them to the left or anything like that, and if they did that, the money that they make is likely to decline, diminish because there'd be fewer people who would consume more accurate centrist journalism. And so he's making, again, a case to protect the money.

Eric Beecher. We're out of time. But thank you very much. And congratulations on your new book, The Men Who Killed the News.

Thank you. David.

Good weekend. Talks is brought to you by the Sydney Morning Herald and The Age. Subscriptions power our newsrooms to support independent journalism. Search, subscribe Sydney Morning Herald or The Age? And if you enjoyed this episode, please remember to subscribe, rate and comment wherever you get your podcasts. This episode of Good Weekend Talks is produced by Kai Wong. Technical assistance from Tammy Mills. Editing from Conrad Marshall. Tom McKendrick is head of audio and Katrina Strickland is the editor of Good Weekend.