Trauma in journalism and beyond

Insights from a plenary session at the National Association of Science Writers Meeting, 2023.

Today’s newsletter is a bit different! No usual sections of where have you been and where have I been. Instead, I’m posting a summary of a recent plenary I helped to present at the National Association of Science Writers Meeting, 2023. Why? Because it’s a peek behind the journalism curtain, and has takeaways we can all learn from.

In this year of our Lord 2023, sources of potential trauma are, honestly, everywhere. Of course there’s the global pandemic we all lived through, which is still ongoing, and most of us have never paused to process that so many people did not make it through that pandemic intact, or at all. There’s unrest at home. There is violence abroad.

And while the revolution might be televised, the grinding dread and terror has been livestreamed. Many of us have witnessed people, real human beings, dying in videos over and over on devices that live in our hands. We might be sickened, we might have nightmares, we might want to turn away, and at the same time, we might also feel intense pressure. Pressure to witness, pressure to opine. Pressure to do anything, even though so often, we can do almost nothing. Pressure to participate in collective expressions of pain, anger, sadness, or rage.

If you’re a journalist in the midst of this, what do you do? As part of their job, journalists bear witness, sharing information and emotion with people, giving them what they need to know and understand to process the moments we are living in.

For a long time, journalists who covered science might have felt a bit insulated from it all. We don’t write about wars or shootings. We write about stars and sharks, string theory and staph infections. Our beat often feels like one of hope in the midst of chaos—hope for cures and action, conservation and beauty. But with COVID-19, climate change, and more, we have been thrown into the thick of horrors, too. We speak with people on the worst days of their lives. We record the voices and faces of people who have endured things beyond human imagination. We see it, and we have to translate it, to make sense of it ourselves, so our readers can do it too.

You know and I know that some of these people are probably reading some very upsetting things. Photo by ROBIN WORRALL on Unsplash

How do we do this responsibly? How do we protect ourselves and the people we speak to? One of the ways is using trauma-informed journalism. My colleague Emily Sohn and I, both members of the journalism committee of the National Association of Science Writers, worked together to present a plenary of true superstars in trauma-informed journalism at this year’s meeting in Boulder, Colorado. Our wonderful speakers gave our audience an unforgettable experience.

We wanted to share this summary of the results of the plenary both for journalists, but also for others, because so many of these insights are vital to everyone, everyone who is now watching terrible things unfold in real time. It’s important for us to know when to engage, how to engage, and when, for the sake of our own health, we need to turn away for a moment.

Note: It should go without saying that because this summary is about trauma-informed journalism, there is, er, trauma involved. If you need to tap out of this newsletter, do so without guilt. None of us will ever know. Put on your own mask first.

Our Superstars

We were lucky enough to work with some truly amazing scientists and practitioners of trauma-informed journalism for this panel:

1. Elana Newman, McFarlin Professor of Psychology at the University of Tulsa, is the Research Director for the Dart Center for Journalism and Trauma. 

2. Naseem Miller, senior editor for health at The Journalist’s Resource. She co-started and administers the Journalists Covering Trauma Facebook group as a gathering place and an information resource for journalists.

3. Rhitu Chatterjee, ahealth correspondent with NPR, with a focus on mental health. She has covered the lingering impacts of the pandemic on healthcare workers, family caregivers and kids, and profiled innovative grass roots solutions to address the mental health care needs of children and adolescents.

Also a special shoutout to Emily Sohn, without whom this panel would not have happened. She wasn’t directly on the stage, but she was in every step of the planning, and the genesis of this whole idea! TY Emily you are a peach.

The Session

We started with Newman, who defined trauma-informed journalism, and gave insights into why exactly it is necessary. Many people might think the job of journalists is shoving microphones in the faces of politicians and screaming questions. It is that. But it is also speaking to parents who have lost their children, children who have lost their parents, families who have lost their homes. People who are ill, or even dying. Shoving microphones in their faces and screaming questions can actively harm those people, people who have been generous with their time and their emotions and experiences. Doing trauma-informed journalism, Newman says, helps journalists to make better news choices, tell better stories, and to be more sensitive and ethical.

It also can help journalists themselves. Our jobs are stressful, with deadlines and editors and angry reader comments. That stress in short doses, Newman notes, is helpful, it makes us hyper aware, can help us perform at our best, and of course, helps us hit deadlines. But prolonged, high levels of stress can be harmful, leading to burnout.

In addition to stress, journalists are experts at distress. We see it all the time. Witnessing moral outrage, she notes, can also be important and helpful. It tells us what is important and can give us focus. Newman also noted that distressing experiences are not always traumatizing. In fact, “traumatizing” is a word she hates. Because not every horrible experience will be a trauma to everyone. No one experience is inherently traumatizing—the capacity for human resilience is an amazing thing. Instead, trauma is something that is an individual response to an individual event.

What is trauma? Newman defines it as

• an event that involves actual or threatened death, injury, or sexual assault.

That event can be experienced

• by someone directly

• by someone who witnesses it happening to someone else,

• by someone learning about it afterward

• by reading, experiencing, or watching the terrible details unfold—as when a journalist interviews someone, or when someone watches a horrible event unfold on their phone or TV.

This means that journalists, the ones standing with the camera, the microphone or the notepad in the face of those events, are in a trauma-facing profession. Newman notes that between 85 and 100 percent of journalists have covered significant trauma (I know I have), and 71% do it at least once a month.

Not only that, the nature of our jobs as public facing individuals means that we also receive harassment and threats directly, from events while we are out reporting, as well as from angry readers bent on harm. 50% of environmental journalists, for example, have experienced online harassment trying to silence them or discredit their work.

We’re a resilient bunch, journalists. Only a minority of us will develop clinical PTSD symptoms. But we can have traumatic reactions to the things we witness, such as intrusive memories, flashbacks, physical reactions, and more.

Doing it Right

Trauma-informed journalism isn’t a cure. But it can help us reduce the harm to ourselves, as well as reducing the harm to our sources, as we ask them to relive the things that we’ve come to report about.

Keep in mind, Newman says, that many of our sources were made to feel very powerless when they went through the events we came to speak with them about. Trauma-informed reporting works to return their power to them by offering them time and space during the interview to process, take a breath, and give their consent to speak.

Tips for doing trauma informed interviews, then, include:

• Making sure the source you’re speaking to knows exactly what your story is, and their place in it. They understand how reporting works and where and when the piece will appear.

• Approach people respectfully and gently. You may have a deadline, but your deadline is not their responsibility. Treat people as you would be treated.

• Realize that people have a right to say no. Respect their no, and remember the principle of doing no further harm.

• Don’t feign compassion. You probably don’t actually understand or know how someone feels, so don’t say that.

• Interviews, Newman says, are a “dance of approach and avoidance." Constantly be willing to calibrate what you need as a journalist. How much detail do you really need? Does getting those extra details risk re-traumatizing someone? If it does, do you need that detail? Or do you just want it?

• Avoid devil’s advocate questions or questions that might sound like blame. In the aftermath of a terrible event, no one needs to be reminded of what they “should” have done.

• Include sources when you can in decision making. You may be able to read back quotes, let someone take a break, or otherwise give them agency.

• If someone breaks down, give them time and space. You do not need to photograph or video people in their moments of distress.

• Be accurate. Errors can hurt even more when you’ve misspelled the name of a recently deceased relative.

• Stick to the facts. Sensationalism helps no one.

• Ask the source what message they would like to send, what do they want the audience to know? This gives them an extra sense of agency and helps understand what motivated them to speak with you.

What about the witness?

Of course, Elana focused on the reporting, doing the job. What about the journalist themselves, those who bear witness? That’s where we turned to Miller.

Miller noted that journalists exposed to too much stress can become hardened, emotionally detached, and might begin to rely on alcohol or drugs. The hard-boiled, heavy drinking street reporter, she noted, isn’t actually a positive stereotype.

While journalists and writers might not directly experience trauma themselves, they can end up experiencing a lot of vicarious trauma, the kind that results from hearing the stories of people who have experienced terrible things. We can suffer negative effects like feeling on edge, and losing compassion for our sources.

What to do? Well, we can practice self-care, in the form of eating well, moving our bodies in ways that feel good to us, and doing activities that make us happy. These aren’t simply sheet masks or bubble baths, she notes. Self-care needs to be purposeful, and intended to help you care for yourself.

Puppies are not specifically self-care. But this one does look like a very good listener. Photo by Jordan Bigelow on Unsplash

Good self-care, Miller says, means setting boundaries, between work and home. Signing off, turning off the computer, and turning off social media can be truly essential. Many of us might feel pressure to doomscroll, pressure to bear witness, even when we aren’t working. But we cannot do our own jobs if we are too worn down. Sometimes, to do the work that makes a difference, we need to know when to look away.

Miller also noted that many newsrooms don’t have cultures where journalists feel they can take a break after a difficult story, or where they feel they can talk about tough times. Check in on each other, she said, and don’t be afraid to seek support or therapy.

Finally, make a plan, she says. Newsrooms and journalists should have plans for covering mass tragedies, plans for who will cover what, and what their approach will be. Journalists should go into interviews with a plan (and that plan should be known to the editors), not only for the interview, but for its aftermath. Anticipate when an interview might involve trauma for the source. Some are obvious, but others aren’t. And plan for the aftermath, for the source, and for yourself. How will you take care of yourself? Who will you talk to for a debrief? 

Putting it into practice

Finally, we heard from Chatterjee, who shared an experience that changed her own reporting. She was reporting on an outbreak of severe kidney disease in Sri Lanka. Pesticides and fertilizers were causing kidney failure in men in the region, who sometimes ended up on dialysis, which took money and days of travel to obtain.

Chatterjee was speaking with the wife of one of the men on dialysis. The woman was being a kind, smiling host, answering questions with every appearance of calm. Chatterjee was concerned. She knew her editors would be asking for more emotion, and the woman was eerily calm, even clinical.

Finally, she said, “this must be so hard for you.” The woman she was interviewing seemed to snap. She burst into angry tears, and said “What else do you think it would be? Did you think it would be easy?  I have an 8 year old, a house to keep up and a husband who’s dying. And you journalists keep coming into my house, asking questions over and over again while my husband is on dialysis. Do you think it would be easy?”

Chatterjee was taken aback, and realized how much she was asking of this woman. She turned off her microphone, and waited for her to collect herself. Since then, she says, she’s worked to practice trauma-informed journalism, letting her sources know what she needs and why she needs it, giving them time and space to process their emotions, and checking in with them after stories come out. Above all, she recognizes that her sources are people, and that it’s her responsibility to try to do no further harm.

Practicing the trauma-informed life

As I moderated this plenary session, listening to these incredible experts, I realized that it’s not just journalists who can benefit from this:

• We could all use a plan for how we’re going to deal with the next crisis to come across our screens.

• Make sure we have the facts. Not the opinions or the rage. The facts.

• Maybe we limit our screen time. Maybe we seek out good news to help balance the bad. Maybe we put down the phone, or mute certain keywords. We don’t need to witness every horror, this is not a FOMO situation.

• We could all make sure we have someone to talk to when things get tough, a trusted friend, family member, or professional, someone who we have talked to beforehand and who can listen when we need.

• We could all figure out what self-care suits us best, and plan for ways to make it happen.

• When in doubt, remember that you, and the people you interact with and behold, are people. Do no more harm. Be kind. Treat people as you would be treated.

Resources

• The Dart Center: https://dartcenter.org/

• Dart Center Study on Moral Injury in journalism: https://utulsa.az1.qualtrics.com/jfe/form/SV_6EwkVXjSd4q8fAO 

• The Journalist’s Resource: https://journalistsresource.org/

• Ongoing Journalism and Trauma Studies from the Dart Center: bit.ly/DartResearchList

Final Notes

Thanks so much to Emily Sohn, Elana Newman, Naseem Miller, and Rhitu Chatterjee, who not only presented at this plenary, but all also collaborated on this summary!