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How do journalists get at the truth? And how should they handle untruths?

As chatter about a peace agreement between Donald Trump and Iran continues, media critic Dan Froomkin would like a word with, well, the media. He wrote last week:

Trump posted a typically undependable statement on Saturday afternoon, full of weasel words. “An Agreement has been largely negotiated, subject to finalization,” he wrote. “Final aspects and details of the Deal are currently being discussed, and will be announced shortly,” he wrote, adding: “the Strait of Hormuz will be opened.”

What did our top journalist do? Did they respond with skepticism? Did they push back? Did they demand evidence? Did they warn their readers that Trump has zero credibility on this issue? (To be clear: The man has been saying the war would be over “very soon” for going on two months now.

No. This is what they did:

• NYT: “Trump Says Peace Deal Is Near”
• WaPo: “Trump says Iran ceasefire deal in final stages, to be ‘announced shortly’”
• CNN: “Trump says agreement with Iran has ‘been largely negotiated’ and Strait of Hormuz will be opened”
• AP: “Trump says a deal with Iran and opening of Strait of Hormuz are ‘largely negotiated’”

Where was anything remotely like a warning to readers that he might be full of it? I found them in places like the 14th paragraph, the 18th paragraph, and the fifth paragraph. It was entirely missing from the Post story.

This week, Trump told CNBC he thought the negotiations “started to get very boring.”

Froomkin proposed coverage that focuses on the fragility and unreliability of Trump’s claims. I sympathize with his view, but I wonder, rather, why focus at all on oft-repeated, oft-contradictory statements? Trump has been issuing regular peace-is-at-hand declarations since nearly the start of the war.

The glib answer from journalists is that Trump is president; what he says is news. But I’d say when you are regurgitating unreliable information it is very much a you problem.

I started my journalism career in the suburbs of Boston, first in radio, then in weekly newspapers. It was invaluable training. The papers were read in 80 to 90 percent of the towns’ households. The public officials I met with and wrote about lived in town, sent their kids to the town’s schools. They — and their neighbors — read what we wrote.

That experience taught me to take care with a community in which my writing had immediate and real impact. To take care with people’s lives. It was an exercise in learning to write news truthfully, and fairly.

It also was an experience in community feedback — sometimes as a letter to the editor, but more often a phone call or, yes, a visit to the newsroom.

I got yelled at more than once, sometimes fairly.

What I did not learn — what I did not have to learn — was how to deal with routine lying. I covered towns with a lot of high-quality local officials. Fabrication is not a plausible strategy when reality looms in every conversation on the street, every committee session, every Town Meeting.

After that experience, I spent the bulk of my newsroom years covering federal legislation and policy — news aimed at an audience with a professional need for that information. Our sources didn’t lie, that I recall. They could be withholding or one-sided — they could be factually wrong —but that didn’t spill over into actual lies. After all, they were also readers, and dependent on accurate information.

So, no, I’ve don’t have experience covering officials who make it all up. But public trust in the media — in almost all public institutions — has been sliding for years. Whatever else, serving as a conduit for a daily stream of nonsense is not likely to change that.