Newspapers, as we know, love truth. They castigate evasive politicians and track down dodgy businessmen. They deliver ringing lectures in their editorial columns when ministers do not come clean. And yet this love of truth has one blind spot. When newspapers – and I would say in particular broadsheet newspapers – come to present their own circulation figures, they become considerably more economical with the truth than the slippery politicians whom they are wont to criticise.
In the hands of a skilled propagandist, a small decline in a paper’s monthly sales can be made to look like an impressive increase. The same propagandist can represent a rival title’s modest gains as a catastrophic setback. Whenever I read these short puffs, which are usually displayed on the front page, I marvel at their ingenuity. But I also wonder at whom they are aimed. For the average reader, if there is such a person, surely does not care very much whether his paper sells more or fewer copies than its rival which he has chosen not to buy.
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