The Press, the Presidency and the Politics of Exclusion

When we talk about the First Amendment and the freedom of the press, African Americans know what it means to be shut out.

Long before President Donald Trump decided to bar CNN, MS NOW and Politico from the White House, Black journalists were being denied access to the nation's most important institutions. They were excluded from newsrooms, press galleries and presidential press conferences. And rather than accept silence, Black journalists and Black communities built their own newspapers, wire services and news organizations because we understood that information is power. Three journalists, in particular, exemplify the politics of exclusion, and one has a connection to Wisconsin.

Harry Sylvester McAlpin Jr. was the first Black reporter to attend a presidential press conference in 1944. He wanted to study journalism at the University of Missouri, but because the school was segregated, he enrolled in the University of Wisconsin. After earning a degree in journalism and advertising in 1926, McAlpin became a Washington correspondent for the Washington Tribune, a Black weekly. He was also a member of Kappa Alpha Psi Fraternity, Inc.

Then there was Alice Allison Dunnigan, the first Black woman to receive White House press credentials. A member of Sigma Gamma Rho Sorority, Inc., Dunnigan covered President Harry Truman's 1948 campaign and became the first Black journalist to travel with a president. Yet, she was barred from covering a speech due to whites-only theater policies. At Senator Robert Taft's funeral, she was not permitted to sit with the press and instead covered the event from a seat in the servants' section.

And there was Louis R. Lautier, a member of Alpha Phi Alpha Fraternity, Inc., who became the first Black journalist admitted to the White House Correspondents' Association in 1951. Lautier was initially denied a congressional press pass. He challenged that decision and ultimately secured access. Three journalists. Three pioneers. Three reminders that being allowed into the room should never be taken for granted.

It is through that lens that I view what is happening today. Yet, my observations are a little jaded. While it is heartening to see competing news organizations stand together during attacks on their competitors, I still want to ask: where was that same solidarity when individual reporters were targeted?

Where was the collective outrage when Trump called Bloomberg reporter Catherine Lucey “Piggy”? Where was it when he demeaned Black women journalists, calling April Ryan a “loser,” dismissing Abby Phillip’s question as “stupid,” and accusing Yamiche Alcindor of asking a “racist” question? These were not isolated incidents. If exclusion is wrong when an entire news organization is targeted, shouldn't we also recognize it when an individual reporter is singled out because of her gender, her race, or the questions she asks?

Understand that marginalization does not always begin with a locked door. Sometimes it begins more quietly, with telling reporters that their questions are illegitimate, their reporting is biased, their perspective is unwelcome, or their presence is unnecessary. It begins by discrediting the messenger before the public ever hears the message, or convincing us that certain voices were never meant to be in the room in the first place. The First Amendment belongs to all of us. We should never be comfortable watching the door close on someone else's voice, because tomorrow, it could be ours.