In this, the 10th anniversary issue of British Journalism Review, we make no apologies for returning to an old familiar theme of this journal – the future of the written word, or to be more specific, the future of the printed word. From which ever angle you care to approach the subject – whether concerning the journalism of newspapers, magazines and journals; the writing of fiction and non-fiction; the authorship of great books on history, the arts, poetry; or, come to that, the romantic attachment all of us have to the ethos of the written word – from whichever point of the compass you approach the issue there is the sign of danger ahead. It is impossible to avoid.
In an earlier issue of BJR [10/1] this editorial discussed the changes in the standard and quality of journalism since our launch in 1989. It concluded that though standards had fallen there was, today, in some sectors of our trade quality journalism of an even higher standard than what we enjoyed 10 years ago. We suggested that: "Not everything is worse. But almost everything has changed, for good and ill". And now as we look into the crystal ball and try to predict the likely course of the decade ahead one thing is incontrovertible: the next cycle of the technological revolution will be far more dramatic, far swifter and more wide ranging than anything we have experienced so far. We are still only on the foothillls of change.
Those who saw the BBC television interview on October 17 between Jeremy Paxman and Bill Gates – however inadequate the interrogation – would have been struck by the sheer casual certainty of Gates's vision of the future. He was in no doubt about the nature of the revolution ahead. He and his contemporaries are not concerned with the social, cultural, even political impact of their innovative dream – their concern is that someone, somehow is destined to unleash the next cycle of the revolution in communication technology and it might as well be them... or in the case of Bill Gates, him and his Microsoft group. In effect he asked: "Who can stop this happening?" and answered "No one". Mr Gates has had enough experience in the business of changing all our lives to know when he is backing a certainty.
So it is not surprising to find that a batch of writers and journalists have picked up that message and are once more repeating the long-predicted demise of the written word, the printed word and, of course, of the newspaper as we know it today. It is now prophesied that an "electronic paper" will be manufactured on an industrial scale within the next few years and that this will provide a flexibility and mobility equal to any newspaper – except that it will be a print-off from the Internet system and updated for spot news by the minute. Perpetual news-motion. Book publishers are tuning into something similar. It is reckoned that the electronic book market will grow from its current five per cent to at least 30 per cent of the world book market in the next three years.
Of course journalists – certainly the younger generation of the trade – are already accustomed to the Internet and the electronic communication revolution as if they had lived with it for ever, as indeed some of them have. To the younger journalist the very phrase "hot metal" means no more than the marketing logo of a new music group or maybe a raucus night spot. At the BJR we oft times feel that we have already lived through a century of change rather than 10 years of written word production. Much of this is put in sharp and practical perspective by Peter Hill on page 26 ["Newsmen on the net"].
So what is there to say?
No, of course, it cannot be the absurd Luddite reaction – tempting though it is – to cry: "Stop it all, we want to get off...". It's no use reaching back for the old Underwood or Olivetti portable [would that we could!]. This, of course, merely displays that you are a voice in the wilderness prescribing the re-opening of old tin mines. Nostalgia has no place in this cruel, relentless cycle of what they all call "progress". So, journalist stop crying. Although... it is greatly tempting to agree with Andrew Marr's lament [Observer, 17 October 1999] when he concluded his piece on all this futurism with a distintly non-electronic sentence: "There comes a time when the most valuable commodity of all, one you can't market, brand or advertise on, is simply some space for a wandering mind".
As a matter of fact this column DOES agree with Andrew Marr. Indeed we are convinced that this sentiment will eventually become the real challenge to the Bill Gates's and all the other geniuses who are preparing our future, to their personal vast profit. It may well sound corny, romantic, inexcusable, ostrich-like rubbish but in this little corner of the National Society for the Preservation of the Written Word we will hold onto the view that there is something imperishable about having some writing on paper. Maybe newspapers, even books, will change form into God-knows-what; maybe we will end up by having a mobile phone system built into our genes at birth; maybe old style wordsmiths will have to set up a pioneering colony on the surface of the moon – if only to get some of the peace of mind Andrew Marr refers to. Who can tell?.
The punch line has to be; we retain faith in that silly, old, but rather civilised, form of communication known as the written word; and if we have to re-invent the newspaper to keep it alive, well, so be it.... onto the next Millennium.