Many of the people who start their careers wanting to be journalists find out pretty quickly that the job is not what they thought. They dream of truth-seeking heroics, but it often doesn't work out that way. They recoil from the media's cynicism. They don't want to become hacks ruled by tabloid values, and fear they will be condemned never to write about the things that really matter. So, they become charity press officers instead. At least, I did. No dumbing down or marching to the editor's tune for me. I chose the path to true virtue: the freedom to work only on the stories I really cared about ...
Yet here I am, years later, working at the mental health charity Rethink and spending my time chasing celebrity quotes and case studies that fit the "under 30, photogenic female" demographic demanded by the press. Instead of explaining to millions why mental health discrimination is the next big civil rights issue, I'm often to be found reminding journalists that our beloved Stephen Fry has bipolar disorder.
This has been especially true while I've been working on Time to Change, the national campaign to end the stigma on people who experience mental health problems. If you read the papers or travel on the London Underground, you'll probably have seen photos of Stephen, as well as Ruby Wax and Alastair Campbell, peering at you from the page or following you up the escalator. They've been fronting the campaign, designed to break down one of our last great taboos, by sharing their own experience of mental illness. Nothing wrong with that per se--in fact, it has probably doubled the coverage the campaign would otherwise have received.
But there's the rub. Shouldn't we want to hear about these issues anyway? Do we really need to look to the stars? I started "selling" this campaign to journalists armed with a raft of compelling stories of real-life discrimination--the experienced business analyst who, after six months off with depression, made 150 job applications before an employer would give him a chance; the singer barred from joining a choir because she had had schizophrenia; the Cambridge graduate refused a chance to train as a teacher because of a history of mental health problems. They're interesting stories, emblematic of a stigma that still surrounds mental illness, and they matter to a great many people: one in four of us will have a mental health problem at some stage. And journalists know it. "Wow, yes, that is very interesting," they say. "It's dreadful, isn't it? I know someone that happened to, actually, but ... I was wondering if you could get me Mel C, y'know, Sporty Spice? Or Ruby Wax? Or, even better, do you have any new celebs who've had problems in the past?"
Not only glossy women's magazines or the red-top papers gave this response. Those on the guilty list include the Daily Telegraph and the BBC (evidence, perhaps, of an increasing tabloidisation of the British media). I wasn't even especially surprised when, after I had lined up a series of "real people" with fascinating stories for Newsnight, the producer scrapped it and said the programme wouldn't cover the campaign at all unless they had a film on Alastair Campbell talking about his breakdown in the 1980s and recurrent depression. I've lost count of the number of times a section editor has come back to me saying that "we'd love to do something on Time to Change--if you can get me a famous face."
Celebrity sells. We know that. It is a tried and trusted method of polishing up a brand and increasing product sales. so it might make a lot of sense for charities to adopt proven marketing methods if they are fundraising. At a push, you might compare the decision to buy a product with the decision to "buy in" to a charity. But that's not …