Alice, throughthelookingglass, Guildford

Bloggers have more fun because they can have opinions and facts, but don’t get paid for it. At least, not yet. Oh, and they’re still shrill, especially when they’re right. That’s the shorthand version of Michael Massing’s article in the latest New York Review of Books. Glenn Greenwald critiques Massing’s Janus-headed view of blogs here and links to analyses of it here and here.

Glenn’s punch line is that the journalistic convention of balance, treating both sides as if they are legitimate and espousing correct facts, is false when it ignores that one side’s facts are false and their arguments are inconsistent, hypocritical and self-serving. That convention, which draws Greenwald’s primary ire, is like a criminal cover-up. (In come cases, presidential torture and illegal domestic spying, it’s exactly that.) It results in concealing the harmful or making it legitimate, and makes the reasonable seem radical.

I call that a victory for Karl Rove’s immunizing premise that,

"There are no "facts" [binding my clients], only opinions – and yours are wrong."

A true Through the Looking Glass experience, like living on the other side of the mirror looking out, not in. It’s disorienting in literature, and destructive when applied to public debate or public policy.

A feature of blogs like FDL and Digby that Massing and others continue to deride is that they are derivative of "original" reporting by MSM stars. By that standard, Massing’s piece was derivative in that he’s critiquing other people’s work. Naturally, he would claim he’s analyzed an existing database and made original commentary about its contents and organization. Thankfully he admits that reporters like Marcy Wheeler do the same. (Though he characterizes FDL as a "leftist blog collective". Pass the borscht, please.)

"The idea that our work is parasitical is farcical," Wheeler told me by phone. "There’s a lot of good, original work in the blogosphere. Half of all journalists look at the blogosphere when working on a story." At the same time, she said, "I’m happy to admit I’m still utterly reliant on journalists. You can’t have a conversation [about torture] without talking about Jane Mayer [of The New Yorker]," she said. Wheeler also praised Dana Priest and Joby Warrick of The Washington Post and James Risen and Douglas Jehl of The New York Times. "We ought to be talking about a symbiotic rather than a parasitical relationship," she told me. What disturbs bloggers, she added, are those journalists who reside in "the Village"—shorthand, she said,

for the compliant, unquestioning, conventional wisdom that comes out of Washington. It’s the world of the Peggy Noonans and David Broders, who are interested only in the horserace or in maintaining the status quo they’re part of.

Massing makes the tired comment that some blog reporters are highly skilled, but that their commentators are often wild and irresponsible. Ignore for a moment that the latter description applies to most of what Rush Limbaugh, Bill O’Really? and Glenn Beck do, or for that matter, Ann Althouse and Michelle Malkin. Blog readers, more often trolls at highly read sites like Dan Froomkin’s or Glenn Greenwald’s, are not the worst offenders.

What Massing is missing, though, what he seems unknowingly to describe, is that blogs allow someone simultaneously, in effect, to read the New York Times Op-Ed page and to listen to subscribers comments about it. Imagine what you’d hear said at breakfast tables in Brooklyn Heights about Bill Kristol’s latest; or what train commuters from Connecticut think but don’t say as they rumble toward Manhattan, reading Paul Krugman’s comments about their banks and bonuses.

Unlike newspapers, Jim Lehrer or Brian Williams, blogs enable the sharing of comments about public events as well as news about the events themselves. And they allow us to critique those who used to control what was said, but not thought, about them. I think that’s a good thing and it’s why the MSM hates it. No one gives up a monopoly or any other power without a fight. Welcome, Mr. Massing, to this side of the Looking Glass.