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The
author lives and breathes Fault Lines, a concept
developed by her late father to explain the differences
that divide us as a people. Why then was she unable to
speak her mind when confronted with a room full of mostly
white folks?
BY
DORI J. MAYNARD
For
five years I've been looking at the world through the
lens of Fault Lines -- exploring how they work, injecting
them into almost every topic of conversation. For five
years I've been preaching the benefits of the Fault Lines
concept for journalism. And yet, as I learned several
months ago at a conference sponsored by the American
Journalism Review, Fault Lines continue to blindside
me.
The
Fault Lines concept was conceived by my late father,
Robert C. Maynard. It is based on the notion that we as a
nation are split along the five Fault Lines of race,
class, gender, geography and generation. My father
believed that in order to bridge these Fault Lines
journalists must not only admit they exist but also learn
to talk, report and write across them. Acknowledging
Fault Lines compels us as journalists to seek out those
who present a range of views on an issue.
Watching
the coverage of the presidential sex scandal was like
witnessing a textbook lesson on Fault Lines. I was in a
colleague's San Francisco office when the story broke.
She was mystified. "Who cares?" she asked,
revealing her geographic fault line. I, on the other
hand, grew up in Washington, D.C., and I was certain
those inside the Beltway cared deeply about what was
going on in the White House.
I
spent the next weekend holed up in my loft and glued to
the television. It became clear that, by and large, the
story was being told by middle-aged white men from the
Northeast corridor. One by one they expressed outrage at
Clinton's behavior and predicted that this was the end of
his presidency.
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I felt
like I was in that "Saturday Night
Live" sketch in which Eddie Murphy dresses
up in whiteface in order to see what white people
do when they are alone. | Where
were the women, the people of color, the young and those
who live outside the Beltway, I wondered? Acutely aware
of the role of Fault Lines in shaping our perceptions, it
seemed clear to me that inclusion would have filled out
the picture.
When
these viewpoints were added during the next several
months of coverage, the picture did in fact change.
People of color continued to support the president. Women
were split along the fault line of generation, with
younger women having more sympathy for Monica Lewinsky.
People outside of the Beltway tended to be more in tune
with my indifferent colleague from California. Oddly, we
have yet to see a story explaining why many middle-aged,
middle-class white men from the East Coast responded so
strongly to the scandal.
Seen
through the lens of Fault Lines, the November election
results, following on the heels of the sex scandal, might
not have come as such a surprise to so many pundits and
journalists. But they were shocked precisely because they
failed to really understand the serious Fault Lines that
divide us as a nation.
I
planned to discuss my observations with the 20
participants who gathered at the University of Maryland
on Nov. 5 to attend an AJR conference entitled,
"Journalism and the Public Trust, Listening to the
People." What a perfect time, I thought, to share my
father's insights about Fault Lines, to spark an honest
dialogue about media credibility.
But
instead I just sat there, silent. I felt like I was in
that "Saturday Night Live" sketch in which
Eddie Murphy dresses up in whiteface in order to see what
white people do when they are alone. In his case, they
drank champagne on the bus and received briefcases of
money at the bank. In my case, I discovered what they
don't do: discuss diversity.
Of
course, I could have brought it up. But I had that
incredibly uncomfortable out-of-body, out-of-mind feeling
of being in a place where I did not belong. Here I was in
a group that included University of Maryland professor
Gene Roberts, USA TODAY publisher Tom Curley,
television correspondent Marvin Kalb and actor Tom
Selleck all well known for their communication
skills and I didn't have a clue what they were
talking about.
I
went into the meeting convinced that the election was
proof that we needed diversity in our coverage if we were
ever going to regain our credibility with the public.
What everyone discussed instead was the need for better
writing, improved state coverage and taking more time to
get the reader involved in the complex story. In the
final hours of the conference someone else did bring up
diversity and was told that was a subject for a
different conversation.
By
that time I had the growing realization that instead of
talking about Fault Lines, I was living Fault Lines. This
realization caught me off guard. After five years of
thinking about how Fault Lines shape our perspectives, I
could still walk into a room of mostly upper-class white
people from the East Coast and be surprised that they
didn't see what I see; that they didn't value what I
value.
Maybe
next time I'll break through those invisible barriers
that divide and often conquer us. Next time
I'll be ready, with my eyes wide open.
Dori
J. Maynard is the President of the Maynard
Institute. She also oversees the Fault Lines
project and the organization of her late father's papers.
She is the co-author of "Letters to My
Children," a compilation of nationally syndicated
columns by Robert C. Maynard, with introductory essays by
Dori Maynard.
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