Speech by ASNE President Susan Goldberg, executive editor, Bloomberg News, at the annual meeting of the American Society of News Editors, April 4, 2012, Marriott Wardman Park Hotel, Washington, D.C.:

The Nieman Foundation recently asked a provocative question of a talented group of people who used to run newspapers:

If you were starting over, what would you do? Given some distance from the joy and turmoil that comes with running a modern newsroom, how would you organize it to produce great journalism for 2012 news consumers?

In answering, some of the editors talk about strategy; others about tactics. They don't always agree. But no matter what size operation they had run, no matter where they had run it, there are two ways in which their answers are strikingly similar.

The first is their passion for our business — a shared depth of feeling about a proud profession in a time of unprecedented change and challenge. This comes through in heartfelt ways.

Amanda Bennett, my colleague at Bloomberg News, was the editor of Lexington Herald-Leader and The Philadelphia Inquirer. She says of that time, "We kept looking for big solutions: Zoning. Community news. Citizen journalists. The Web. Each was The One." But, she adds, "We misread how radical the shift in technology would be and how broad our response would have to be. At the same time, we missed how myriad would be the opportunities this shift would create."

Skip Perez, who retired last year as executive editor of The Ledger in Lakeland, Fla., says the first thing he'd undertake is "sustained and systematic assault" against "creeping despair." Newsrooms "have never been wellsprings of optimism," Skip notes, with some understatement. "But this is different," he says. "Eroding faith in a noble calling is a plague on the craft with far-reaching implications."

The other thematic idea the editors talk about is the urgent need for bold action:

Here's Jim O'Shea, former editor of The Los Angeles Times: "I would become radical in my approach. The Times newsroom — and, for that matter, the entire news business — needs to be totally reorganized."

Mike Pride, former editor of The Concord Monitor in New Hampshire: "The major shift I'd make would be to abandon extensive wire coverage of world and national news ... The Monitor's overriding purpose is to provide state and local news ... only a local newspaper can serve democracy this way."

Tim Franklin, former editor of The Baltimore Sun: "The time for tinkering is past ... Redesigns and repackaging of print editions may temporarily stem declines. They will not save the franchise. ... If I were starting over ... my new mantra for the newsroom would be: We are a digital news operation with a print component. We are not a print newsroom with a digital component."

Well said — and my thanks to all of you for writing this speech for me!

But reading these essays begs the question for all of us: What would we do differently if given a Mulligan? What would I change about my time in San Jose or Cleveland? What would you change about your last job — or, more important, in the one you have now?

As I look back on my time as editor of the Mercury News and The Plain Dealer, I wish I could go back and fight even harder for the value of our professional journalism.

Our society, our democracy, long has relied on independent and knowledgeable news professionals to monitor the government, hold the powerful to account, shine a light on wrongdoing. To report, inform, entertain.

And our nation still needs those professional watchdogs. Yet everything about the media landscape most of us grew up in has fractured, from how we gather and disseminate information to the advertising-based business model that supported it.

Today, much of this splintered media world bears more than a passing resemblance to that of the earliest days of our Republic, when newspapers were mouthpieces for political parties — sort of the or MSNBC of their day. At the same time, we face unprecedented competition — from citizens with iPhone cameras and accounts to entertainers like Jon Stewart and radio talkers like Rush Limbaugh.

All of us are confronting the fire sale of this social and economic upheaval — the retrenchment, reduction and so-called right-sizing that has beset our industry. And that's just what's going inside our organizations.

Outside, we are contending with a creeping distrust that has left far too many people too willing to believe conspiracy or politics or ill-will drives our coverage on every platform.

That's why, as we undertake the enormous and exciting transition from the ink-on-paper news culture in which we were raised, we cannot lose sight of the values that transcend the medium and define the best of what we do: accuracy, honesty, fairness, transparency.

At a time of ad hominen attacks against us for carrying out the most basic functions of reportage, keeping a stiff upper lip and letting the work speak for itself no longer is an option. We must engage this debate.

It's time to mount a spirited OFFENSE on behalf of what Skip so rightly terms our "noble calling."

There is much we do to bear witness:

The Seattle Times revealed the state was pushing methadone as a painkiller for people receiving aid, ignoring the drug's dangers to save money. Times reporters found 2,100 people died from accidental overdoses and that officials has ignored repeated warnings. Days after the stories ran, the state issued an emergency warning about its use.

In Raleigh, The News & Observer showed that the district attorney in Durham prosecuted cases improperly, failed to tell the truth in court and withheld evidence from defendants. The DA went on the attack against the paper, but the N&O held its ground. Last month, the prosecutor was removed from office for engaging in conduct that was prejudicial to justice — the second time that has happened in state history.

The Miami Herald created a database on every assisted living facility in the state and showed that one person a month in these facilities died at the hands of their caretakers. These frail old people were starved or burned or overdosed or worse. As a result of their stories, the state closed a dozen of the most dangerous homes. And Floridians have been left with a lasting resource: They can now search the Herald's database to find out which homes are safe places for their relatives and which they should avoid.

At Bloomberg News, transparency is a core journalistic belief. The company's tenacious lawsuits against the Federal Reserve — without which Americans still would not know the true size of the Fed's unprecedented bailout of the banks — are among the reasons I'm proud to work for the company.

But these days, transparency is increasingly hard to come by. How bad has it gotten? The Obama White House held a meeting last year to accept an award from the open government community — and held the gathering in secret. The president met in the Oval Office with representatives of OMB Watch, the National Security Archive, the Project on Government Oversight, the Reporters Committee for Freedom of the Press and OpenTheGovernment.org — without listing the meeting on his public schedule or allowing a pool reporter into the room.

This kind of absurdity plays out at every level of government — something we must fiercely resist every day.

But transparency is about more than access to other peoples' meetings. As I look back on my career, I wish I consistently had been more open to letting readers behind our walls, so they could better understand why we did, what we did.

The echo-chamber that today shapes public opinion means we can no longer afford to just sit back and take it, with our voices drowned out by those who — for reasons cynical or sincere — take exception to our actions. We need an industry-wide battle cry to promote the meaning and value of the journalism we provide.

Look no further than the tremendous work we have honored at this convention by the Patriot-News in Harrisburg. Sara Ganim broke the Jerry Sandusky case, toppled Joe Paterno and the president of Penn State University, and stunned the nation. This is not citizen journalism. This is not commodity news. This is work that takes training, commitment, courage, institutional backbone, and time. This is professional journalism.

But sometimes we undercut ourselves through our silence.

Why was it that The Plain Dealer was quiet for so long about the corruption-in-plain sight of the county's most prominent elected officials — crooks who built a political machine for their own purposes while Cleveland bled its population and prosperity? How did the paper miss the un-subtle bribes paid to the head of the local Democratic Party — the cash-stuffed envelopes, the steak dinners, the Las Vegas weekends?

Once the paper found its voice, we pursued the story with a ferocity that helped overturn a 200-year-old government structure — and made the previous lack of coverage all the more obvious. But we didn't sufficiently explore that gap for our readers, and many wondered why.

In trying not to look defensive, I didn't mount a defense. I let the voices of doubt about the paper's motives, about its commitment to the truth, fill too much of the public void. I should have forcefully entered the discussion — in person to anyone who would listen; in print to anyone who would read. I couldn't change the past, but I needed to drive home the difference we were making in the present.

I was struck anew by this need to seize our own agenda while watching one of the Republican debates.

You probably remember this scene: CNN's John King asked about a report that he had asked his ex-wife for an open marriage.

Here's how Gingrich responded:

"The destructive, vicious, negative nature of much of the news media makes it harder to govern this country, harder to attract decent people to run for public office. And I am appalled that you would begin a presidential debate on a topic like that."

He wasn't done: To ask such a question in a presidential campaign, he said, "is as close to despicable as anything I can imagine." And then he said: "I am tired of the elite media protecting Barack Obama by attacking Republicans."

The crowd went wild. John King just took it.

I repeat this anecdote not to call out John King, for whom I have great respect and who was in a tough spot. And I repeat it understanding the political calculation made by Gingrich, who clearly reveled in offering up "elite media" red meat to a hungry crowd.

But it's a good example of how we might react, and why it's important that we do so:

We might have said, "Speaker Gingrich, it's hard to imagine a greater honor or responsibility for any American than being president of the United States. So asking a question about your character — on an issue raised by a named person in a position to know, on a subject in the public domain, about which you have a documented history — is not destructive or vicious. It is not despicable. It has nothing to do with elitism or protecting any other politician. It is a fair question that allows you to respond and allows voters to see how you do that."

Heaven knows, it is far easier to declare this here than it would have been there. But it is what we need to do — and the more public the forum, the more outrageous the charge, the more hostile the audience, the more important it becomes that we make our case. If nothing else, it would have changed the conversation and the coverage.

In a roundabout way, this brings us to the founding of the American Society of News Editors, 90 years ago. Among the reasons this organization came into existence was the belief by a group of the day's prominent editors that they needed to band together to combat attacks on the press. Maybe there really are no new stories!

At a time when our business can sometimes feel unrecognizable from the one we entered a generation or two ago, many things do, in fact, remain the same. ASNE's first constitution, from 1922, feels fresh today: The organization's purpose was, and I quote, "To promote acquaintance among members, develop a stronger and professional espirit de corps, maintain the dignity and rights of the profession ... (and) work collectively for the solution of common problems."

Those are the reasons that we still come together. Today, ASNE is a group that, for the first time in a long time, is beginning to grow again, representing the broadest array of journalism leaders in our long history — a richer opportunity than ever for us to learn from each other, to grow our skills, expand our horizons.

ASNE's other values endure as well: Like all of you, I have a deep and abiding love for what we do, and vast respect for our role in informing and shaping the public debate. And today — whether it's on newsprint or on a tablet, on video or in tweet — that role is crucial.

There is no doubt that this is a challenging time. We are buffeted by the economic and social forces we write about every day, and clearly, we are not immune. But in our print and electronic newsrooms and in journalism classrooms, I see people with the kind of passion that can change the world now and into the digital future — people who are devoted to their craft, who are committed to being their community’s watchdog.

This is why I'm excited about the future. And about ASNE.

You know, a famous editor gave a speech to ASNE about five years back; it has become known as the "lions" speech.

"A generation ago," this editor said, "we at the ASNE convention might have encountered such formidable editors as Gene Roberts, Ben Bradlee, Abe Rosenthal and Gene Patterson. With all due respect, there is no such pride of lions roaming among us today."

I can't tell you how much I disagree. Walk around this convention. We've got lions — and lionesses — brilliant journalists fighting to do good work under circumstances far more difficult than those faced by our predecessors.

And at a time of disruptive change, a time as scintillating as it can be sobering, we are succeeding. With diverse audiences. Inventing new ways to tell stories. On every platform. Hear us roar.

Thank you.