Title: “Absolutely Terrified: Sullivan Halts Media Briefings After Press Won’t Back Him”
In a bold and unexpected pivot, veteran public figure Eric Sullivan announced that he will no longer make himself available for media interviews until the press begins offering “supportive and constructive” coverage of his work. Sullivan says he feels “abandoned” by the friendly press corps—reporters who were once considered allies—and now views their questions as undermining rather than elevating his mission.
Sullivan remarks that after years of engaging openly with journalists who covered his initiatives favourably, he has grown frustrated with what he perceives as a shift in tone. “I used to speak freely,” he told close associates. “Now I’m constantly defending myself. They don’t seem interested in the story I came to tell—they want drama.” The turning point, he says, emerged when his team felt that even generally sympathetic outlets began pursuing angles that focused on controversy rather than impact.
Driven by his sense of betrayal, Sullivan likened the situation to being on stage while the supporting cast turns into critics. “It’s one thing if the media interrogates you fairly,” he said. “But to do so after we’ve given them access and transparency feels like a trap. I feel absolutely terrified that any one comment—out of context—will get spun, and that stops me in my tracks.” His word “terrified” is not hyperbole; he concedes that the fear of misrepresentation has become a blocker to his usual candour.
In announcing the media blackout, he explained his demands: coverage that emphasises why he is doing the work, not just what he did; an acknowledgment of the progress achieved as well as the problems; and advance coordination of interview formats rather than surprise ambushes. If those conditions are not met by a slate of outlets within the next quarter, Sullivan says he will expand the freeze to all public-relations engagements—including friendly podcasts and his own social-media channels.
Reactions from the press community have been mixed. Some veteran journalists express disappointment: “We thought we were on the same team,” one remarked. Others, however, warn that Sullivan’s stance risks eroding public trust: when a public figure declares a need for media “support” rather than independent scrutiny, the line between advocacy and transparency blurs. Media critics suggest that Sullivan’s decision may be less about fair treatment and more about controlling the narrative—and that the “fear” he cites is potentially a fear of scrutiny.
Analysts point out possible consequences. Without regular press access, Sullivan’s initiatives may receive less coverage overall; conversation may shift toward the how of his silence rather than the why of his work. Additionally, older supporters who valued his openness might interpret the step as polarising. For his part, Sullivan insists that the risk is worth taking: “If the message isn’t being delivered as intended, perhaps I should stop delivering it until the stage is set properly.”
In short, Sullivan is pausing his dialogue with the media in order to recalibrate the terms of engagement. Whether this will yield deeper, more supportive coverage—or lead to greater isolation—remains to be seen. What is clear is that the dynamic between Sullivan and the friendly press has fundamentally changed: what once felt like partnership now feels like tension. And in that shift he says, he finds himself “absolutely terrified” of speaking out.
