On stepping back as a journalist: loss and truth

Journalists take a lot of flack, not without good reason. But it’s also true that their – our – job isn’t easy.

You want to do justice to the things that matter – if only there’s enough time, money, interest, support from editors etc. You know, you’ve heard it all before.

I feel compelled to write about another tough part of the job: stepping back. Impartiality. Balance. Each word speaks to something different but all are connected to the core value of representing the truth and serving the reader.

I found myself tested on this with two stories recently. Very different issues – I won’t go into the detail of it – but both controversial, and both touching on evidence with impact on people’s lives, in different parts of the world.

In both cases, I had a point of view. If that surprises you, it shouldn’t. None of us is without one of those. The trick is what we do with it.

In one case I knew from the outset that I had my point of view, and would need to find a way to do the job without that getting in the way. It was clear I had to go beyond it, for balance.

But that balance is not as straightforward as putting equal weight on both sides – though many journalists and editors often see it as such.

The media treatment of climate change over the years, for example, has taught us that when the consensus expert opinion weighs more heavily on one side, so should your story.

But, deftly – so that the other side isn’t so overpowered that it’s invisible. Maintain a route to checks and balances, always. Because, like with most things in life, what we know is subject to change, flaw, evolution.

I tried to do this by taking an angle that wouldn’t be about weighing up the two sides; also by being explicit about where the weight of evidence lies; and by making a conscious effort to listen differently to the view I disagree with – to search for its validity in the minds of those who hold it.

In doing this I had the support of a solid editor who got our personal views out in the open from the get-go. The final piece didn’t reflect exactly the balance I would have chosen, and it doesn’t reflect my view. It does reflect impartiality.

The challenge of the second story revealed itself in a different way, more quietly. Slowly but surely I became attuned to the fact that I was exposed to a point of view on a contested issue. A view I agreed with; but still, when it comes down to it, one side of the story.

To do my job with integrity, here too there was no other way – but to stop, and step back. Take a look at the other side. Suspend belief. Go against my grain. Risk friendships.

My actions weren’t extraordinary – simply what needs to be done for any story. I made sure to open myself up to other interpretations, probe what I’d heard, reach out to a third source unconnected to the two sides.

It meant enduring discomfort as trust and relationships appeared to get wobbly. I did not know how much of my process others understood, how exactly cultural expectations factored in, if good faith would recover.

When these things matter, you come face to face with what your process as a professional can sometimes cost you as a person.

So yes, it’s not an easy thing to do. But we journalists do it – I think we should do it – to maintain our integrity and that of the profession.

And here’s the thing: it goes beyond simply adhering to a professional code. I’ve re-discovered that it matters to what ends up on the page.

Because in both stories (and in others before them), keeping my mind open to listening to the other side added tiny touches of insight that would otherwise be missing. In the end, this serves everyone better.

It meant I could get into the awkward, messy space between opposite points of view and extract a bit of that gold: a nuance that edges us closer to the truth of a matter.

Or at least, as close as one can get with an imperfect and time-limited chunk of words, readings, conversations.

Still – what a privilege to come with the responsibility.

You’re reading this because I wanted to stop and pay tribute to that part of the process. To unhide it, this time. Maybe you deal with it too; maybe you will deal with me too.

I also wanted to mourn the losses – they weigh heavily at times – that follow from letting go of my point of view at those times when duty calls to something other than my own personal truth.