The questions haven't changed — but answers are harder to get

In 1994, if a reporter had questions for then premier John Savage, they walked across Granville Street from Province House in downtown Halifax, entered One Government Place, rode the elevator to the seventh floor and asked the receptionist if Savage had a few minutes to spare.

More often than not, the premier would come out, answer questions and them both he and the reporter would carry on with their day.

That's also the way journalism professor Stephen Kimber remembers his time covering the House as a young reporter in the early 1970s.

"If I wanted to talk to Garnie Brown, who was the minister of tourism, I would pick up the phone and I would call," Kimber recalled.

"He talked to anybody who called him and it was always off-the-cuff."

'An essential part of democracy'

It is simple, basic journalism but vitally important work on behalf of Nova Scotians, according to Kimber. He said that work has also become increasingly difficult to do.

Over the decades, the number of people developing and disseminating the government's message has grown and that's changed the access reporters have to officials. Meanwhile, fewer journalists are covering Nova Scotia politics.

"It is important. It's not sexy. It's not fun in many ways. But this holding politicians to account on behalf of the public is an essential part of democracy," said Kimber.

Essential, he said, but not as easy as it was decades ago.

Stephen Kimber is a professor of journalism at the University of King’s College. (Submitted by Stephen Kimber)

Back in the 1990s, the provincial government also published a list of phone numbers for senior government officials that it freely shared with news organizations. If a reporter needed someone to explain a government policy or decision, they simply called the person handling that particular file.

Times have changed.

Kimber, who was recently awarded the province's highest recognition, the Order of Nova Scotia, for his "contributions to the life and people of the Province through literature, journalism and academia," said it's now rare to get a answer directly from a minister.

"What you get is a canned statement that almost certainly was prepared by people who are more anxious to shade and nuance to prevent anybody from knowing anything."

Legislative reporters are shown through the years on the steps outside Province House. (Jean Laroche/CBC)

Kimber has also noticed a pattern: new governments promise they will open up the process. Then they get into office.

"Immediately ... they recognize that that's not in their best interests," said Kimber. "Then they not only go along with what the previous government has done, they upped the ante a little further and make it that much harder to get information out of them."

This happened when the McNeil government vowed to overhaul the freedom of information system, as did Tim Houston before he was premier.

Premier Tim Houston is shown in a scrum with reporters at Province House on March 19, 2024, while Nova Scotia wine industry workers flooded the area. (Michael Gorman/CBC)

Another change is that bureaucrats are now instructed not to deal with reporters directly. They are trained instead to send them to the appropriate media relations officer at the government's communications agency — Communications Nova Scotia.

Deputy ministers and senior officials still routinely make themselves available to reporters after they testify before a legislature committee, but that's the exception to the rule.

The availability of cabinet ministers has also changed.

During legislative sittings, reporters would simply stop ministers on their way in or out of the chamber for interviews. Stanchions then went up to keep reporters back from the entrance and now those exchanges are largely handled through communications staff, who schedule interviews at a fixed location in the hallway between the chamber and the ceremonial Red Room.

WATCH | How reporting on politics has changed:

Those conversations are closely monitored by government and caucus staff, who routinely outnumber reporters during sittings.

Access is even more restricted for the eight or more months the House isn't sitting. Cabinet meetings, when they happened weekly, gave reporters predictable access, but those meetings now happen biweekly or less.

It's a "bad situation" that is worsening, said Kimber. "Not only because of the way politicians operate, but because of the lack of journalism."

CBC reporter Jean Laroche has amassed an impressive political button collection over his 30 years in the business. (Jean Laroche/CBC)

The media landscape in Nova Scotia has changed dramatically since the 1990s and those dwindling resources have had an impact on political coverage. The now-defunct Daily News used to have two political reporters. Some private radio stations like News 95.7 had someone covering the legislature.

Now instead of more than a dozen reporters covering Province House, there's a handful. Networks like CTV or Global no longer cover the legislature every day.

As a result, the number and variety of stories generated by political reporters has diminished.

Back in 1994, the Nova Scotia Information Service had a staff of 24 and was spending $1.2 million on government communications.

This year, Communications Nova Scotia has a staff of 87, with a budget of $7 million. The increase in staff and size of its budget reflects the changing role of the agency and the increasing demands placed on it by the government.

CNS staff not only respond to media requests, they draft and issue news releases, plan and host news conferences, create promotional content and marketing material, and stage an increasing number of live social media events.

The lieutenant-governor arrives for the end of the fall session at Province House. (Michael Gorman/CBC)

Unlike decades ago, the provincial government is no longer relying primarily on news outlets and newspaper ads to disseminate information or sell its agenda.

Direct mail-outs, social media posts, video messages, and live online events have become routine, and not just for the party in power.

The opposition parties also now record, edit and post video messages and snippets of media interviews for partisan purposes.

"It's not about providing information, it's about controlling it and ... getting it out there on their own terms," said Kimber.

Tighter control, time limits

Because a poorly worded response to a question is now fodder for opposition attacks, scrums have become more tightly controlled and subject to time limits.

Although most of the changes have come gradually, Darrell Dexter's NDP government was the first to exert notable control over Communications Nova Scotia, expanding its workload to include marketing campaigns and defending government initiatives.

Barbara Emodi handled communications for the NDP caucus during those years and had regular contact with her counterparts in the premier's office.

Emodi said the good rapport the government initially had with journalists soured over time.

"Public relations people and spin doctors ruined that, because you stopped having conversations and started delivering messages and then that created suspicion," said Emodi. "And that's a bit of a spiral."

According to Emodi, "people got a little paranoid" in the premier's office and that led to a desire to control information, and the message, more tightly.

Kimber said all this control by governments makes it harder for members of the public to know what the party in power is really up to.

"If you don't have that, then it's very easy for governments, for individual politicians, to make decisions to do things that have consequences for all of us as individuals, with no accountability," he said.

All this leads to a scenario where it would be rare for a reporter to show up unannounced to speak to the premier, and get past the security desk six floors down from his office — no matter which party is in power.

MORE TOP STORIES