1. Wow, Universal Studios burned down yesterday.
2. Hold on, it says “ADVERTISEMENT” above the photo.
3. Oh, this whole thing is just an ad for Universal Studio’s new King Kong attraction.
4. Unseemly expletive.

As explained in detail on Charles Apple’s blog, what I mistook for a real newspaper was in fact a four-page advertising wrap. In other words, an advertorial.

When I was in traditional publishing, I fought to set limits to advertorials, but ultimately had to tolerate them. In my liberated state, though, I can finally say it: Advertorials are evil.

When I say advertorial, I’m not talking about all sponsored content that appears in a publication. Rather, I’m referring to any sponsored content that attempts to deceive the reader, even briefly, into mistaking it for something it’s not.

I’ve talked here before about how publishing and content marketing exist on a continuum, not distinctly separate, but more like siblings. Well, advertorial is like an evil twin, lurking in a vague netherworld between or above or below journalism and content marketing.

Its modus operandi is deception, not transparency. Both publishers and content marketers should disavow it, now and forever.

In this view, transparency is not in itself a guarantee of ethical content.  Rather, by disclosing the potential for conflict, it raises the bar for content creators. And by giving readers a reason to distrust them, it requires them to work that much harder to produce ethical content that will earn back that trust. As Miles puts it, “the art to great content marketing must then be, through the very act of providing neutral, targeted content . . . to position the company as a trusted information source for the future, to earn the respect of the audience through truthful content.”

What interests me in this comment is the way transparency, volitional or not, is viewed as the starting point of ethical content, not the end point. That distinction isn’t always clear.

Not much has been written yet on ethics in content marketing, but what has focuses largely on transparency. For Rex Hammock, for instance, transparency is the only constant of ethics:

“Transparency—a clear explanation of the sponsorships and relationships involved in the development and presentation of any media—is the foundation (or high ground) that must be adhered to whenever determining whether or not something is ethical. Frankly, beyond that, ethical standards are a negotiation between media creator and media receiver.”

To old-media minds, the idea that ethical standards are negotiable is offensive. Content creators, they would say, should not shirk their ethical responsibility by transferring it to the reader.

From the new-media perspective, however, that is a paternalistic argument aimed at maintaining control of the medium. The interactivity inherent in conversational media means the reader is not simply a passive recipient of information, but shares ethical responsibility.

While I agree with the new-media perspective as Hammock expresses it, there’s a danger to it. It’s too easy to leap to the conclusion that you don’t need anything more than transparency to guarantee ethical content.

As Mitch Joel says, and as I think Hammock would agree, it’s not true that you can do whatever it takes to get your point across as long as you are transparent about your intent:

“That is, simply, not the case. All cannot be forgiven by just waving your hand over a piece of advertising posed as real content and saying, “paid,” “sponsored” or “advertising” on it.”

Without specifying what it takes to get there, Joel says that credibility is the ultimate goal, and that’s much harder to achieve than transparency. As he puts it, “if you can build your brand by starting off with a foundation of transparency and then think about what you can do to create those real interactions between real human beings—understanding that this is a long road—you are well on your way.”

We might say then that transparency is the foundation of ethical content, but there must be a superstructure of walls and roof beams as well. Building that superstructure involves a lot of work and interaction with the audience.

Whether the architecture is always negotiable or involves some other constant principles is up for debate.  But this much is clear: Transparency is not all.

It may be true that it’s pointless to fight this trend, but the debate, to my mind, should be over whether it really works. It’s probably too early to say, but I’m inclined to bet that in the huge majority of cases, ghost writing and social media are fundamentally incompatible.

A lot depends, of course, on the extent and nature of the ghost writing. If it consists mostly of brainstorming, outlining, or light editing services, that’s helping the writer find his or her voice, not faking it. But let’s assume we’re talking about something closer to the extreme of a CEO who says “Here’s my idea. Write something.”

As Schaeffer notes, that’s not so different from the way many CEOs produce their speeches, annual-report letters, and autobiographies. So why, he asks, “do so many people seem to want to put blogs in a different class of writing?”

Curiously, though, his following sentence seems to do just that:  “In the world of corporate communications it could be argued that blogs are even less important and critical than a major speech or a document being submitted to the SEC.”

Well, yes, precisely. Blogs are less critical, because they constitute a different class of discourse. Most people do not expect blogs to be carefully articulated legal documents or corporate position statements. Rather, they expect some personal reflection, an unvarnished and informal expression of an idea. A blog should be driven by passion and conviction, not precise phrasing or good grammar.

If a CEO doesn’t care enough to write his or her own blog, why pretend to? Maybe, just maybe, a blog isn’t a good idea for most CEOs.  There’s a reason that the Fake Steve Jobs has a blog and the real one doesn’t.

So for me, it’s not a question of whether CEOs have the right to use ghost writers. Nor do I think writers should feel tainted by ghosting. In the end, what matters is whether ghost blogging is effective. Without the commitment to blogging that writing it yourself represents, the answer will almost always be no.

What adds heft to this view is its basis in experience. The commenter, Marylyn Donahue, is a former journalist who now makes a living writing for businesses. As Donahue sees it, there is a clear dichotomy between journalism and sponsored content. In journalism at its best, she asserts, the deliverable is truth. In sponsored content, the deliverable is the promotion of the sponsor’s point of view. Anything that might throw that point of view in doubt has to be left out, “even if it is true and even if it might help the reader understand something better.”

Though content marketing may try to mimic the balance of journalism, it’s an appearance, she says, not a reality:

“The real (ethical, if you will) problem with content-solution, custom publishing writing is that it is deeply dishonest to the reader. The reader is left not knowing what they don’t know. And the writer is complicit in making that happen. Why then does the writer do it? Because he or she is quite simply getting paid to tell it the way the client wants it to be told—no matter how “unbiased” it may come off sounding. (Good content solution writers are adept at balanced-sounding, but in fact one-sided pieces).”

It’s hard to argue against a position based on experience. But even if Donahue’s experience represents that of most or all crossover journalists, I wonder if it has to be that way. Does content marketing inherently compromise journalistic ideals ? Or does the problem lie with clients like Donahue’s, who don’t understand the point of brand journalism?

It’s clear, I think, that content marketing proponents would argue that this is a problem of implementation.  Take, for instance, Ike Pigott’s open letter to journalists on his blog earlier this month. He argues that journalists can in fact find “comfort in the belly of the beast” as what he calls “embedded” corporate journalists. Their purpose is emphatically not PR, he says: “People can smell marketing and propaganda coming around the corner, and they know when the pitches and puff pieces are missing that edge of neutrality.”

Helping to keep content marketing honest, says Pigott, will be the remaining independent journalists serving as editors and curators. “They will be the line of defense that says ‘This story from ACME stinks to high heaven, and I will blast them for their inaccuracy.’”

One embedded journalist, ex-IDG writer David Churbuck, agrees that corporate journalism is both possible and desirable. In a blog post several years ago, he described a corporate imperative to honor journalism’s passion for truth: “Organizations need to report upon themselves with the objective eye of a journalist, holding any statement or action up to the same skeptical, unconflicted scrutiny that an outsider would hold.”

This makes sense. But in practice, are businesses ready to adopt the practice of journalism so rigorously?

Rob Leavitt’s answer is a firm “maybe.” Reflecting on Pigott’s blog post, he thinks some companies will make the effort. But he’s not sure they’ll succeed:

“For now, B2B companies are mostly still struggling with how much to allow their own employees to go beyond strictures of message control and engage freely in social media and networks. If they can’t even do this, it’s hard to believe they’ll turn trained professional journalists loose in an even more ambitious effort to provide “accurate and fair” reporting with all the risks this may entail to their own reputation.”

Leavitt’s analysis speaks directly to Donahue’s objection that she must tell her story “the way the client wants it to be told.” The reality is, companies that want to control the message simply cannot produce authentic journalism.

I would like to think that as more companies get on the Cluetrain and realize that the new-media world is no longer about control, they’ll have a genuine interest in sponsoring legitimate journalism. But my optimism is theoretical. For now, at least, I will defer to Donahue’s dolorous voice of experience.

Since it appears that the editorial wall concept can be subject to multiple interpretations, a brief summary of what makes for good, bad, and—in the case of content marketing—virtual editorial walls might be useful.

The Good: Few if any would argue against the idea that there should be clearly delineated separation between editorial content and advertising content. The editorial wall is simply the rule that promises the reader that, to change the metaphor, there will be a bright line between the two.

The Bad: What the editorial wall should not do is imply that editors must never talk with advertisers or must limit their collaboration with marketing or sales staff. Unfortunately, the true function of the wall is often confused with this false one, by those on both sides of it.

The Virtual: In content marketing, you could argue, the editorial wall cannot exist. By definition, such content is, however indirectly, a form of advertising. But, also by definition, content marketers need to recreate some kind of distinction between their straightforward advertising and promotions and their journalistic content. A real editorial wall may not be possible, but perhaps a virtual one is.

In the end, the term editorial wall is just a catchphrase that does not do justice to the subject it denotes. As conveyors of information, we have an obligation to do so ethically—whichever side of the wall we stand on. If the metaphor does not help us meet this obligation, then by all means let’s find another.

William Lobdell: Transparency Is All

In it, Rainey covers iBusiness Reporting, a new venture from William Lobdell, Rainey’s former colleague at the Times. Lobdell’s business partner in the venture is Barry Minkow.

If your jaw just dropped, that’s probably because you remember Minkow as the cocky young founder of ZZZZ Best carpet cleaners who was convicted of investment fraud in the late 1980s.  Today, though, Minkow actually works to uncover similar frauds through his organization, the Fraud Discovery Institute, which funds Lobdell’s project.

Rainey expresses some understandable skepticism about Lobdell’s approach. The business model for iBusiness Reporting is more than unconventional. It flies in the face of every journalistic code of ethics I’ve ever seen. Revenue will come not from advertising or subscriptions, but from shorting the stocks of companies the site writes about.

The traditional view is that you don’t write about companies in which you have a financial interest. If you do, and you don’t disclose it, you’re at least unethical, and possibly a crook. But with disclosure, Lobdell suggests in an FAQ page, the effect is just the opposite:

“In the end, iBusiness Reporting has much more at stake to get the story right than old media. We do not have the option of hiding a retraction in an unread print edition if we get the story wrong. Our business and our livelihoods depend on getting the facts right the first time.”

In essence Lobdell is saying, “I’m so sure that my story is correct that I’m placing this bet on it.” It’s no guarantee that he’s right, but it tells his readers that he is very serious indeed about his investigative footwork.

The iBusiness Reporting site is too new for me to judge how well its approach to journalistic ethics is working. To my eye, the site does not do quite enough to make its shorting practices clear.  I’d prefer to see a specific disclosure at the beginning of every story to ensure that even the most casual browser sees it. The site should also make clear when (if ever) it is not shorting companies it writes about.  With a revenue model like this, you probably can’t be too transparent.

Anyone interested in how journalistic ethics are evolving in the new-media era should read Lobdell’s FAQ page.  It’s a fascinating look at editorial ethics through a new-media lens.

David Meerman Scott

Scott’s “dark side” reference rightly implies that journalists won’t take this step without trepidation. The rules for writers and editors in traditional journalism are clear; not so in content marketing. Journalists entering this uncharted territory must improvise their own code of ethics. But can writers alone ensure an ethical product without a similar commitment from their sponsors?

The recent experience of BusinessWeek writers laid off last month illustrates the kind of soul-searching that working directly for sponsors can provoke. Former BW tech columnist Steve Wildstrom wrote on January 4 that he had accepted a gig writing for chip manufacturer Nvidia. While such “direct sponsorship” went against his instincts as a longtime journalist, he recognized that “we are going to have to find new models to survive.” Prominent among those new models is content marketing (though neither he nor his colleagues discussed here use that term).

Refreshingly, Wildstrom doesn’t romanticize old media. It was, he says, an “elaborate infrastructure” that “separated the sponsors—advertisers—from the sponsored—journalists.” That arrangement, he admits, “was never as pure as we liked to believe.” Although he sees the “potential for pitfalls” in “sponsored journalism,” he thinks it can be made to work.

Writing to his former BW colleague, Joe Weber, now a journalism professor, Wildstrom argued that “the old rules of journalism have to change”:

“What are the ethical rules for this new world? No one seems to know. They sure can’t be the old world, where we lived off advertising support and pretended that it had no relationship to what we did. Now we have to get up close and personal with the people who pay the bills. The old rules don’t work and it’s everyone for [himself] figuring out the new ones.”

Joe Weber

Weber observes that it would be naive to assume that sponsored editorial doesn’t curb the independence of the writer. But, he goes on, “the new one-on-one sponsorship arrangements need not be corrupting or unethical.” Much as Virginia Postrel recently suggested regarding the New York Times, he argues for judging by the output rather than the input. “So long as the work that does appear is untainted by the sponsor and reflects a writer’s best reporting and judgment, how is that any different from work we would have done for the old pubs?”

Another of Wildstrom’s ex-BW colleagues, Stephen Baker, has also taken up content marketing. Baker sees it as both a necessity and an attractive opportunity, given the changed landscape for business writers:

“More and more journalists are on our own now, either by choice or necessity. And when we look around for revenue opportunities, fewer come from the advertising-based models we’re accustomed to. The way things are going, loads of retail, service and manufacturing companies are producing their own stuff. They’re becoming media companies, and many of them need help.”

In a subsequent post, Baker announced that he will be blogging for Teradata’s Smart Data Collective.

Stephen Baker

In the new media world, he explained, “we journalists and writers (‘content creators,’ in the new jargon) increasingly must fend for ourselves. This means cutting our own deals and figuring out how to do the reporting, get paid, and deal responsibly with ethical issues.”

As Baker and Wildstrom both realize, there are no established ethical guidelines for them to rely on in writing for sponsors. What this means, says Weber, is that readers and writers alike must tread carefully: “Readers, for instance, need to be aware of who is paying the freight and stay alert for bias. And writers, of course, need to be cautious about muzzling themselves to the readers’ detriment.”

What Weber doesn’t mention here is a critical third party—the sponsors. Except in self-published venues, a writer’s resolve alone is not enough to ensure ethical journalism. The publisher must have a similar commitment. So as advertisers become publishers, they will need to define new ethical responsibilities for themselves.

How rigorous those responsibilities should be will depend on the sponsors’ goals for their content. But for content marketing to succeed as a true alternative to independent publishing, sponsors will need to join their contributors in adopting and disclosing ethical standards.

Several months ago I wrote about how a strict code of editorial ethics like that of the Times might have a dark side as a competitive weapon. The idea, suggested by tech journalist John Dvorak, involved the paper’s editorial policy forbidding reporters from accepting any reimbursement for travel expenses from outside sources. To Dvorak, who doesn’t believe paid press junkets are necessarily evil, the Times’ motivation is not strictly ethical.

The darker motive, he argued, was to set a standard that disadvantaged smaller competitors. While the Times could afford to pay the travel costs of its writers, smaller papers could not. Feeling obliged to match the high ethical standard set by the Times, those papers would simply relinquish coverage of costly events to the Times.

This week, a new twist on this theme emerged from a recent uproar over how the Times applies its code to freelancers. Now, it seems, even the Times can’t afford its ethics policy. Its solution? Freelancers.

Like many publishers, the Times is not very generous regarding travel and research expenses, and yet it expects freelancers to observe exactly the same standards as full-time staff.

The issue first came to light last October, after the Times responded to criticism of its continued use of a freelancer, Mike Albo, who went on a press junket unrelated to work for the Times. For an employee, that would be unacceptable. But for a freelancer, the Times at first reasonably suggested, it was not relevant. But when shown that its own policy made freelancers subject to same rules as staffers, the Times fired him. Earlier this week, Times public editor Clark Hoyt reiterated the policy: “The paper’s rules apply even for work done for others.”

Then late last month, the NYTPicker observed that a Harvard business school professor writing for the Times had more clearly violated the newspaper’s guidelines. In her column, Mary Tripsas had written about 3M’s innovation center, which she had visited earlier in the year as part of a trip paid for by 3M. The genesis of the trip was not her newspaper connection but her academic one; 3M invited her as an expert speaker and accordingly reimbursed her expenses. Once the Times learned this, they dropped her as a writer.

Did either of these freelancers behave unethically? Not in my view. Even Hoyt seems to have mixed feelings, like a reluctant executioner telling his victim that he doesn’t want to do it, but policy is policy.

Is it reasonable to expect outside contributors to hew to the same standards as staff? Virginia Postrel, a Times freelancer herself, doesn’t think so. The paper, she asserts, expects expertise and careful research from its contributors, but isn’t willing to pay for it:

“This overly broad policy presents the Times with a major problem that is only going to get worse. The paper wants writers who take no money, including expense reimbursement, from anyone who might conceivably be a “current or potential news source,” even on beats unrelated to their NYT writing. The traditional way to achieve this goal was to pay staffers full-time salaries and cover their expenses. But the Times is no longer willing to foot that bill. To save money, it wants to use freelancers with independent expertise, gained through research the Times didn’t fund. Yet for well-understood reasons of supply and demand, writers who have independent expertise nowadays rely on in-person engagements (speaking and perhaps consulting) for most of their income.”

The Times’ policies, according to the Dvorak view, arose out of robust budgets. But now, it appears, the paper is feeling the economic pinch of those policies. Postrel suggests it’s time to rethink that code:

“Instead of focusing on inputs, the Times should focus its quality control on outputs: what actually appears in the paper. Drop the absurd ethics guidelines, hire freelancers who know their subjects and how to write about them, and disclose any potential conflicts so readers can make up their own minds. Think about delivering value to the reader rather than ritualistically adhering to journalistic guild customs. Alternatively, the Times could shrink the paper to include only that reporting whose costs it can cover out of its own budget and stop trying to free ride.”

My interest in this is not to criticize the newspaper, which I admire. Rather, it’s to reflect on the impracticality, even perhaps for the rarefied Times, of a rigid code of ethics amid today’s new-media realities.

For mere journalistic mortals, like most of us in B2B, editorial ethics need to be both situational and flexible. (And we’re fortunate to have just such a model of flexibility in the recommended code of the American Society of Business Press Editors.)

In an age of tight budgets, when the survival of both publishers and independent writers is at stake, guidelines need to adapt. There’s no value to a code of ethics if the only option it leaves you is silence.