I agree. It's the problem when the other side asks the questions and edits the responses down.

Hersh was clearly annoyed that the interviewer wanted to talk about why the article did not appear in the New Yorker. The interviewer's agenda seemed clear: if the New Yorker did not see fit to print it, then I can safely ignore it. (People really do think like this, of course.)

Why would a writer respect such an agenda? So Hersh lets him have it.

Then, the interviewer appears to back off that angle ("Can I tell you why?"), and gave a different reason: He said he's interested in the publication venue because that would indicate a bias in the American press. Hersh says that's interesting.

At the very end, the interviewer seems like he's trying to catch Hersh up in some kind of logical error regarding the venue question ("I feel like you are telling me two different things.") And then it's over.

There's just nothing there. The interviewer asks questions, with a transparent agenda, that a grouchy reporter has heard before. They are kind of second-order to the actual story (i.e., venue). Hersh gets annoyed and hangs up.

Hersh is a tired 78-year-old sitting on an exploding story. Someone is trying to talk about the context, from an org that is already figured to be coming from a bad angle. He's got 100 other things to do that will stick to the core of his publicity run on the story. If the content of the story can have land with the impact it could/should then it serves to entwine Hersh's legacy for getting the story other don't and getting the stories that matter. He goes into the pantheon for finding truth. As that type of journalist, it's the grail.

Who cares what the color of the journalistic bike shed is?