Media Silence Shattered: Biden’s Border Warnings Exposed, Trust Unravels

Paul Riverbank, 12/16/2025Media's delayed scrutiny of Biden's border policy and age shakes public trust in journalism.

That Times investigation ran close to four thousand words, and bore the hallmarks of diligent reporting—layers of anonymous sources, internal memos, an air of regretful hindsight. The story outlined how, even before Biden took the presidential oath, some advisers flagged the risks: If campaign promises on immigration weren’t made with care, they predicted, the border would see a surge not seen for years. In mid-2020, a tightly written memo from several close aides warned the top brass. Looking back, it almost reads like a weather forecast pinned to a window, the storm clouds largely ignored.

So, many are asking, why now? Why not lay bare these warnings in real time? In McCarthy’s words, Democrats seemed to know what was coming, “but their voters didn’t—because the press failed to push, to prod, to dig.” Not “until just now,” he concluded, half in resignation.

And this issue isn’t confined to immigration alone. A second fault line emerged around the question of presidential fitness—both Biden’s and Donald Trump’s age and acuity. Jake Tapper, the unflappable CNN anchor, faced the chorus on Pod Save America, where he was pressed about Trump’s own moments of confusion and signs of aging. Tapper acknowledged the shift in newsroom priorities: “We cover it constantly now,” he said, and admitted that, in Biden’s case, his team “maybe didn’t ask as many questions as we should have.”

His candor marks a twist worth noting. Not long ago, any mention of Biden’s age or apparent frailty would be quietly spiked in some quarters. McCarthy recalls one lonely columnist at a major daily who was told flatly not to bring up the subject at all. “A code of silence,” McCarthy called it—an unspoken understanding, tolerated by more than a few editors.

That bubble, predictably, burst. Following Biden’s cataclysmic 2024 debate performance, and his withdrawal from the race soon after, the old taboos dissolved. Suddenly, coverage about age and capacity was everywhere. Tapper offered a rationalization: after the debate, Biden “wasn’t able to get out there, wasn’t able to reassure Democrats in any significant numbers that he could handle the job.”

With Trump, Tapper believes, that lesson has finally stuck. “We cover it all the time,” he said. He referred—almost ruefully—to a blustery Trump post lashing out at the Times for highlighting his own aging, labeling their reporting ‘treasonous’ in a typical burst of hyperbole.

But for many observers, it’s the timing that rankles, not just the depth of scrutiny. Conservative outlets had been raising flags about both immigration and presidential fitness long before these stories landed in legacy publications. The frustration, according to McCarthy: “Journalism is supposed to play offense, not just analyze the playbook after the whistle’s blown.” If bold reporting only materializes once issues hit a point of crisis, what does that say about journalism’s sense of accountability?

The turning point in the immigration debate, surprisingly, didn’t emanate from D.C. but from southern Texas. Governor Greg Abbott’s decision to load buses with migrants and send them north—to cities unaccustomed to the chaos of the border—gave the crisis sudden new urgency. One former Biden staffer, Deborah Fleischaker, confided to the Times, “Abbott’s busing was the moment we lost control of the narrative. I don’t think we ever got it back.”

All this suggests more than a slow-motion news cycle; it signals a disconnect between the media’s watchful role and the needs of the public. When tough stories only see daylight after years of tiptoeing, trust begins to unravel. Readers are left pondering—if these revelations were so long in the making, what else sits buried in a reporter’s notebook, waiting for political winds to shift?

McCarthy was characteristically blunt in his closing. Imagine, he said, if mainstream outlets examined climate change warnings or other “authoritative” narratives with equal rigor—might we find urgent headlines were, in places, at odds with the slow-changing backdrop of reality?

Jake Tapper and his cohort now insist they’re making up for lost time with more rigorous attention toward Trump’s conduct and well-being. But, at base, the most important lesson is one the industry has learned before and may soon forget again: Journalism that sidesteps sensitive truths in real-time—regardless of whose interests are at stake—saps faith in the entire enterprise.

In the end, this isn’t about who wins or loses on Election Day. It’s about whether American journalism can reclaim its duty to report exhaustively and without fear, long before the story becomes impossible to ignore. Otherwise, as history shows, the nation risks making choices in the dark.

When the saga of President Biden’s immigration policies finally took center stage on The New York Times’ front page, the reaction wasn’t quite what media strategists might have dreamt up. Daniel McCarthy, who steers the ship at Modern Age magazine, was unsparing in his assessment: “The New York Times has essentially pioneered a new kind of journalism,” he wrote, “breaking open major stories that paint Democrats in a less-than-pleasant light—but only years after the moment mattered.”That Times investigation ran close to four thousand words, and bore the hallmarks of diligent reporting—layers of anonymous sources, internal memos, an air of regretful hindsight. The story outlined how, even before Biden took the presidential oath, some advisers flagged the risks: If campaign promises on immigration weren’t made with care, they predicted, the border would see a surge not seen for years. In mid-2020, a tightly written memo from several close aides warned the top brass. Looking back, it almost reads like a weather forecast pinned to a window, the storm clouds largely ignored.So, many are asking, why now? Why not lay bare these warnings in real time? In McCarthy’s words, Democrats seemed to know what was coming, “but their voters didn’t—because the press failed to push, to prod, to dig.” Not “until just now,” he concluded, half in resignation.And this issue isn’t confined to immigration alone. A second fault line emerged around the question of presidential fitness—both Biden’s and Donald Trump’s age and acuity. Jake Tapper, the unflappable CNN anchor, faced the chorus on Pod Save America, where he was pressed about Trump’s own moments of confusion and signs of aging. Tapper acknowledged the shift in newsroom priorities: “We cover it constantly now,” he said, and admitted that, in Biden’s case, his team “maybe didn’t ask as many questions as we should have.”His candor marks a twist worth noting. Not long ago, any mention of Biden’s age or apparent frailty would be quietly spiked in some quarters. McCarthy recalls one lonely columnist at a major daily who was told flatly not to bring up the subject at all. “A code of silence,” McCarthy called it—an unspoken understanding, tolerated by more than a few editors.That bubble, predictably, burst. Following Biden’s cataclysmic 2024 debate performance, and his withdrawal from the race soon after, the old taboos dissolved. Suddenly, coverage about age and capacity was everywhere. Tapper offered a rationalization: after the debate, Biden “wasn’t able to get out there, wasn’t able to reassure Democrats in any significant numbers that he could handle the job.”With Trump, Tapper believes, that lesson has finally stuck. “We cover it all the time,” he said. He referred—almost ruefully—to a blustery Trump post lashing out at the Times for highlighting his own aging, labeling their reporting ‘treasonous’ in a typical burst of hyperbole.But for many observers, it’s the timing that rankles, not just the depth of scrutiny. Conservative outlets had been raising flags about both immigration and presidential fitness long before these stories landed in legacy publications. The frustration, according to McCarthy: “Journalism is supposed to play offense, not just analyze the playbook after the whistle’s blown.” If bold reporting only materializes once issues hit a point of crisis, what does that say about journalism’s sense of accountability?The turning point in the immigration debate, surprisingly, didn’t emanate from D.C. but from southern Texas. Governor Greg Abbott’s decision to load buses with migrants and send them north—to cities unaccustomed to the chaos of the border—gave the crisis sudden new urgency. One former Biden staffer, Deborah Fleischaker, confided to the Times, “Abbott’s busing was the moment we lost control of the narrative. I don’t think we ever got it back.”All this suggests more than a slow-motion news cycle; it signals a disconnect between the media’s watchful role and the needs of the public. When tough stories only see daylight after years of tiptoeing, trust begins to unravel. Readers are left pondering—if these revelations were so long in the making, what else sits buried in a reporter’s notebook, waiting for political winds to shift?McCarthy was characteristically blunt in his closing. Imagine, he said, if mainstream outlets examined climate change warnings or other “authoritative” narratives with equal rigor—might we find urgent headlines were, in places, at odds with the slow-changing backdrop of reality?Jake Tapper and his cohort now insist they’re making up for lost time with more rigorous attention toward Trump’s conduct and well-being. But, at base, the most important lesson is one the industry has learned before and may soon forget again: Journalism that sidesteps sensitive truths in real-time—regardless of whose interests are at stake—saps faith in the entire enterprise.In the end, this isn’t about who wins or loses on Election Day. It’s about whether American journalism can reclaim its duty to report exhaustively and without fear, long before the story becomes impossible to ignore. Otherwise, as history shows, the nation risks making choices in the dark.