JUST SAY NO

Uncle Sam Shouldn't Be A Tv Script Doctor

Earlier this month it was reported that the government of a prominent
nation on the world stage has been reviewing scripts of television shows
before they air. Reviewers in a general's office accord the shows merit
points, depending on how closely they adhere to the government's message.

Where has this been taking place for the past two years? Cuba? China?
Syria? Not exactly. The answer, shockingly enough, is Washington, D.C.,
under the auspices of Gen. Barry R. McCaffrey's White House Office of
National Drug Control Policy.

The office's increasingly edgy commercials of the "this-is-
your-brain-on-drugs" variety have become a familiar, and mostly
well-received, part of the TV landscape. What viewers never imagined until
the Internet magazine Salon broke the story was that in a cozy arrangement
with the networks, Uncle Sam has not only been paying for these
advertisements, but also for anti-drug subplots in a number of shows
ranging from "ER" to "Beverly Hills 90210."

In 1997, Congress approved a massive $1 billion ad buy for anti-drug
advertising over five years, but stipulated that broadcasters would have to
match the purchased time. Though NBC balked at first, the major networks
all agreed to the terms of the two-for-one deal.

They soon regretted it. The emergence of dozens of Internet companies
desperate to build their brands created a bidding frenzy for advertising
slots, but broadcasters had to turn many of them down to provide Uncle Sam
its free time for previous buys.

That's when the ingenuity of the marketplace took over. The word went out
from the drug czar's office that it would relinquish some of the precious
ad slots it was owed in exchange for anti-drug messages woven into
prime-time shows.

So, for instance, Gen. McCaffrey's censors determined that several "ER"
episodes containing anti-drug subplots were worth the equivalent of $1.4
million of owed ad time, which the network was then free to sell to other
parties. Call it anti-product placement. Salon reported that at least two
dozen shows were so rewarded.

Americans rightly trust the marketplace to address a number of societal
ills, but certain immutable principles do not carry a price tag. Among
them, the First Amendment notion that the people do not want the government
involved in vetting and manipulating speech. Particularly worrisome in this
case was the fact that all this was done covertly - viewers had no idea
that Uncle Sam was paying the network to run "a very special" episode of
their favorite shows.

Fighting drugs is a worthy cause, to be sure, but this approach entailed
too slippery a slope. What next? Why not reward an anti-tobacco message?
How about a pro-seat-belt one? A pro-choice subplot? You get the point.

The government has gotten it, apparently. The outcry following the
disclosure led the Office of National Drug Control Policy to announce that
it would no longer screen scripts in advance, though it will continue to
reward networks for their shows' anti-drug messages. This remains a
troubling intrusion into programming in our view but is a step in the right
direction.

As for the TV networks, they should not be so willing to erode the First
Amendment's vitality for a quick buck. Next time Uncle Sam comes calling,
they should just say
no.