By Daniel Gaudet

The theory of a free press is that the truth will emerge from free reporting and free discussion, not that it will be presented perfectly and instantly in any one account. --Walter Lippmann, U.S. journalist, editor and author.

A recent Angus Reid poll found that the career most respected by Canadians was that of a small business owner, replacing the long-time previous winner, that of doctor.

Last on the list were politicians and labor leaders. Not surprising, perhaps, considering the intense public scrutiny such positions endure. If the entire country debated every decision a plumber or waiter makes in a day's work, those positions would also be less respected.

Very close to the end of that list, somewhere near lawyers, were journalists. Reviled, hated, a journalist's word is as good as an infomercial host's -- this is what a majority of the nation seems to think.

Interestingly, most people seem to believe broadcast news is more accurate than newspaper copy. Well, possibly. Television or radio news stories are shorter. They often have less content. It might seem logical to be more apt to believe a story you see with your eyes on a screen rather than read, but it's also a lot easier to edit and shape broadcast stories to what the reporter deems to be "fair and accurate."

The truth is most journalists don't have hidden agendas. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, if you see an error in the newspaper, it's there because of carelessness. Usually, the reporter forgot to ask a key question. Perhaps they weren't even aware of what the key question was.

It's very difficult to get an accurate story when the interviewee doesn't volunteer any information. Unfortunately for most of us in the Journalism department, we've all been in the situation at one time or another of trying to get interesting blood from a reticent turnip.

When we try to get the information we need to write a story, we aren't trying to make people look like fools. We aren't trained investigators asking coy questions although we really know the truth. We aren't hip to the lingo of architectural planners, professional florists and technical engineers, although we're expected to write accurate stories about any and every field of human endeavour without a great deal of time to prepare interviews.

Talking with people at UPEI and outside the college, our staff often hears The Surveyor being mocked for its supposed history of inaccurate reporting and careless checking of facts. While it shouldn't have to be pointed out that we are students and not professionals, there is something very irritating about this.

Since this year began, our staff hasn't received any letters to the editor, not even one. We'd probably print a diatribe on the pros and cons of using middle initials in our bylines if someone out there would submit it.

We, the staff, can assume any one of three reasons for this.

The first would be that no one reads The Surveyor. When someone has their nose buried in our college paper, they're most likely hiding a pimple. You are holding fancifully decorated bird-cage lining. Few of us journalism students would bother submitting anything if we thought this were true. Secondly, no one cares about what we write. I've overheard that our stories are rinky-dinky because Compass and The Guardian pass them over. In fact, putting together unique stories, even if they are admittedly less weighty, is what we are most proud of.

If you're P.E.I.'s biggest Neil Diamond fan, and we write an article about the legendary crooner that's full of inaccuracies, you need to let us know.

Unfortunately there are few Neil Diamond fans on The Surveyor staff. Perhaps they are a rare breed across the province. It may not seem like a very important story, but without the public's help, we could unknowingly besmirch the reputation of the man who gave us Cracklin' Rosie.

The third reason none of you have sent us any letters is this: We are always right about everything. Our columns are as trenchant as the Old Testament, our stories as accurate as laser micro-surgery. Like a computer with a hard drive and CD-ROM, we are able to store data as well as cross-reference with an encyclopedic warehouse of facts in order to eliminate any measurable discrepancies between what we write in The Surveyor and, as philosophers call it, The Truth.

Well, unless we start getting some actual feedback, we're content to go on believing the third possibility.