Simpson wouldn’t give Ken the document, and neither would Steele. Ken told Simpson’s story to our investigations editor, Mark Schoofs, who told me about it. Simpson then told Ken something he didn’t know: Steele had been working the case of the president-elect, Donald Trump, and he’d assembled evidence that Trump had close ties to the Kremlin-including claims that Michael Cohen, one of his lawyers, had held secret meetings with Russian officials in Prague, and that the Kremlin had a lurid video of Trump cavorting with prostitutes in the Ritz-Carlton Moscow that would come to be known as the “pee tape.” Simpson drew him into a conversation about a mutual acquaintance, a former British spy named Christopher Steele. Ken got lost and showed up late, finding a boisterous, all‑male affair: plenty of booze, hunks of meat on the grill, some weed being smoked outside. He’d been invited by an acquaintance, Glenn Simpson, a onetime journalist who had become a kind of private investigator and co-founded the opposition research firm Fusion GPS. One of our reporters, Ken Bensinger, received an unusual invitation to a small gathering at a hilltop mansion in Sonoma County, north of San Francisco. I first got wind of the dossier in December 2016, when I was the editor in chief of BuzzFeed News. But the trajectory of the document known as “the dossier” has disabused me of my Panglossian assumption that the new transparency is a simple blessing. I found, and still find, that concern ludicrous in this digital age. At its worst, it encouraged journalists to publish things that their predecessors had good reason to pass over, such as leaked sex tapes.Īnd then there were the hard cases, the explosive facts and documents that journalists had long worried citizens would take out of context if they were revealed in full.

We immediately hooked political junkies on a steady stream of scoops that assumed readers were on a first-name basis with Hillary and Barack, and that they didn’t need us to provide much context or analysis.Īt its best, this ethos bypassed the patronizing, gatekeeping practices that often led great American institutions to mislead the country on vital public subjects. At Politico in 2007, we adopted Gawker’s ethos that many of old-school journalists’ most interesting stories were the ones they told one another in bars, rather than the ones they printed, and applied it to American politics. I found that I could drive the political conversation simply by telling my readers what I knew in plain English, when I knew it. I’d watched Gawker X-ray New York’s media scene, and seen bloggers tear apart mainstream reporting on the 2004 presidential campaign. W hen I realized the power of online journalism in the early aughts, I saw transparency as key to its promise.

Trump dossier hotel