British journalism, we are told, is in a terrible state so it seems odd that so many people want to join in

About 1,000 people will apply to study for BA degrees in journalism at Kingston University over the current year, and we will probably accept a hundred or so of them. That means perhaps 90 new journalism graduates in 2011, roughly the same number we expect to produce in 2010, 2009 and 2008.

And we are just one of more than 80 universities offering degrees of one sort or another in the subject. I read a couple of years ago that 7,500 people were taking higher education journalism courses in this country. That is a lot.

I mention this because it appears curious at a time when the trade has such a bad name. Not only are we often reminded that journalists are held in the same sort of contempt by the public as estate agents, but distinguished people have also been queuing up to tell us that the very currency of journalism is debased.

Alastair Campbell, in his recent Cudlipp Lecture, spoke of the prevalence of shallowness, negativity and low standards, of their corrosive effect on public life and of the scepticism they have bred in the public mind. And Nick Davies, author of the new book Flat Earth News, asserts that reporters no longer check facts or even find their own stories, mainly because they don't have time, and consequently much of what we read is recycled or wrong.

This follows similarly damning criticism from Jeremy Paxman and before him Tony Blair - and before them, over the months, from bishops, captains of industry, judges, foreign observers and a legion of others. I have contributed the odd tuppenceworth myself.

And yet thousands upon thousands of young people are still ready to expend time, effort and, yes, money to get a degree in the subject. In their eyes it is still plainly something worth doing, something worth aspiring to.

I can imagine a number of responses to this paradox. One (likely to come from a stubborn rump in the business) is that journalism isn't something you can learn at university so these people are all misguided anyway. It is an argument for another day, though I suggest that if we train surveyors and lawyers at universities, we can train journalists there, too.

Another response might be that this is a symptom of celebrity culture, and that many of these students are acting on a delusion that they are on a path to fame. That underestimates them. Yes, they often look forward to bylines, to meeting famous people and seeing big events live - young journalists have always done that - but few that I meet demonstrate that yearning to be written about that would-be celebrities have.

What is true is that, at least when they arrive, relatively few students want to be general or political reporters - the sort at the heart of the problems that exercise Campbell and Davies. Far more will mention an enthusiasm such as music, fashion or travel, and say they want to write about that.

What puts them off modern news journalism is not usually its ugly reputation, but a perception of public affairs in general as squalid and dull. The encouraging thing is that this can wear off, and engagement with hard news tends to increase as the terms go by.

Another response is that it's mad, because they can't possibly all find work. This may be true, though entry-level jobs at low pay are surprisingly abundant in a business which, as Davies points out, puts the emphasis on youth and cheapness. It might be better to ask, will they find careers?

The most interesting question, though, is whether they will be more scrupulous than their predecessors. I would like to think so. Certainly they learn to think about the background and ethics of the business in a way I never did during my on-the-job training.

But it will not be up to them alone; the attitudes of employers and readers are just as important. Journalism may still be an alluring occupation, but if the market demands cooked-up sensation before all else, there will be little room in it for talent or scruple.

Try telling students that if their editor says they must make up a quote they should refuse, even if it costs them their job. It is a hard sell.

There's loyal and loyal

Iain Dale, the Tory blogger and bookseller, has me confused. In the Telegraph he delivers a sermon on loyalty, apropos his friend Derek Conway, and complains that "it says a lot about modern politics and the febrile atmosphere in Westminster that people who have scant knowledge of the detail of the case rush to judgement and turn on one of their own".

The very next thing, though, he writes: "In contrast to Gordon Brown's dithering over whether to sack Peter Hain, David Cameron has emerged from this sorry saga looking like a man of decision." It seems Cameron (who "turned on" Conway) didn't have to be loyal because Conway's friends told him Conway was done for. And is that how Conway's friends show their loyalty to Conway? I'm lost.

Brian Cathcart is professor of journalism at Kingston University

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