Jonathan Margulies: Daniel Pearl and the promise of journalism

Thirty-seven journalists died last year in the pursuit of a story. Over the course of history -- recorded history, that is -- countless others have perished doing exactly the same.

Some fell on the battlefield, armed only with a notebook or a camera. Some fell at the hands of tyrannical dictators, or aggrieved political figures or shadowy opposition groups. Others met their ends under circumstances that remain unknown.

The death of a working journalist, no matter what the circumstance, always seems to elicit a pronounced element of tragedy. It challenges our notions of relative safety, as well as the value (if not existence) of neutrality in the context of societal conflict. Predictably, not a single one of these unfortunate deaths, over hundreds of years, has ever truly served to fulfill the needs of the greater good; not one has ever commanded enough attention to promote positive and lasting change as a legacy of the deceased.

Until now.

Last week, we learned that the ranks of the departed recently swelled by one. Daniel Pearl -- Wall Street Journal reporter, husband, soon-to-be father, American -- was murdered while on assignment in Pakistan, victimized by a group of radical Pakistani nationalists while investigating a story on alleged "shoe bomber" Richard Reid.

Pearl was first kidnapped, then held for political ransom while his wife and much of the civilized world begged for his release. When Western leaders refused to capitulate to his captors' outrageous demands, he was brutally stabbed. His throat was slashed. And a video of it all was sent back as proof positive of the crime and the horrific potential of human anger.

Pearl was not the first reporter to die in the midst of the new war in Afghanistan, nor was he even the year's first American journalist to perish while on the job. But the nature of his life, his death and the circumstances which surrounded it have raised an unprecedented level of sympathy and concern throughout the world.

Since his capture, we have seen Danny Pearl's face on television and in the papers. We have come to know and feel for his wife, his editors and his colleagues. We have learned more about the kind of man he was; about the kind of professional he was. And, most importantly, we have recognized Pearl as the epitome of excellence and dignity in a field which has had a hard time associating itself with such in recent years.

For that reason, more than any other, Pearl's death may ultimately serve to resurrect the profession to which he dedicated his talents and his life. That would be an appropriate and fitting tribute to a man whose dedication and idealism seemingly knew no bounds.

Before the world learned of Daniel Pearl, after all, public sentiment about the craft of journalism was almost universally negative. Opinion studies over the last few decades have consistently rated journalists at the very bottom when compared to other professionals in terms of credibility, respectability and overall esteem. New technologies have ushered in forms of media which have been slow to embrace the traditional standards of content and accuracy of their older peers. And public debacles -- like the 2000 presidential election fiasco, which was sparked in part by the hasty work of a prognosticating news computer -- don't do much to further the public's respect for its chosen storytellers.

Need more evidence? Consider the debates that have raged in this very newspaper in recent months. First, we hashed out the intellectual crimes of Stephen Ambrose. Then we turned our attention to the errors of Doris Kearns Goodwin.

And just this weekend, after word of Pearl's death broke, more news surfaced about a Penn-connected reporter and his ethical violations. Michael Finkel, a 1990 Wharton graduate, was effectively fired by The New York Times on Thursday after his editors learned he had fabricated substantive parts of a piece that was recently published in its Sunday magazine.

Those are the kinds of stories we have become accustomed to hearing about reporters.

But they certainly don't reflect the kind of reporter Danny Pearl was. He was obsessive, editors say, about verifying minute details and pursuing every possible angle to a story. He was well-respected by colleagues and readers alike as a fair-minded professional, characterized by his own newspaper as "the perfect reporter: highly individual, a skeptic, but one with an engaged eye and an open mind for stories big and small."

If journalism is to have any chance of regaining the trust and unflinching support of its public, then its practitioners should look to Pearl's model for guidance. They should behold him as a symbol for what a reporter can truly be, and laud the many in the field who are making real and lasting contributions along the same lines.

Whether the public opinion numbers go up right away is meaningless. It would provide future journalists with a symbol for success. It would allow the public a continuing glimpse of what real journalism can be.

And it would give Danny Pearl's life the kind of meaning and significance that, for once, could only really be achieved through his death.

Jonathan Margulies is a senior Management concentrator from North Bellmore, N.Y.

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