Opinion | Reporting on trauma: a journalist’s emotional burden
Katie Reul, News Editor
I used to think journalism was synonymous with an objective worldview. Or at least, that’s what I was told was required of me.
To an extent this is true: it is a journalist’s job to parlay the information they receive in an unbiased manner. The misconception, however, is that personal emotions and moral values have no place in the reporting process, and that journalists must harbor this mindset in the broader facets of their lives.
I rebuked this ideology after an interview with Chapman professor Rona Edwards, who was a close friend of Anne Beatts, a screenwriting professor in the Dodge College of Film and Media Arts who passed away April 7. As I listened to Edwards’ voice break, choking up in tears over the loss of her friend, I felt an unavoidable stabbing sensation in my gut. Though it was over the phone, I longed to reach out through the virtual airwaves and provide a hug or comforting touch — anything to make the interaction feel more personable, rather than me probing for information that was clearly painful to give during a time of grief.
After hanging up the phone, I reclined in my desk chair and closed my eyes. Murky black lines streaked down my cheeks — a mixture of tears, nervous perspiration and drugstore eyeliner — as I internalized our conversation. I sat there in silence, grateful for the responsibility placed on me to properly honor Beatts, but shaken by the emotional toll of the exchange nonetheless.
The article was the latest in a series of unfortunate occurrences I’ve covered in the last few weeks, from white supremacy efforts in Orange County to the increased marginalization of Black and Latinx communities during the pandemic.
Scrolling through headlines on The Panther newspaper’s website, it’s clear that this inundation of distressing news is not just isolated to the articles I write, but a larger reflection of mass trauma on a global scale. And regardless, it’s breaking news that needs to be covered.
To write is to feel. In reflecting on the tragedies I report, there is a certain level of immersion required to accurately portray the lived experiences of the sources I converse with, as well as to create a link of empathy between the reader and the subject. For me, this is achieved by putting on a pair of headphones and tuning out the world outside of the audio playback of my interviews.
Though admittedly more taxing than having software auto-transcribe for me, the objective is simple: to fully comprehend the anecdotal experiences of these individuals and the weighted emotions their tones convey. I’m a firm believer that the best way to encompass hardship is through the profound testaments of the people affected, rather than my own narrative voice speaking for them.
While this immersion drives me to produce work that harnesses the emotion of the moment, it becomes detrimental when these anecdotes seep into my personal life outside of a professional context — when the stories I’m working on plague my mind even when I’m not typing at a computer. This is a recurring trend, and has led to many instances of forced self-introspection.
I’ve started trying to get into a routine: lighting some incense, preparing some coffee or tea and making my workspace feel clean and free of negative energy prior to sitting down and writing. While this does not necessarily remove the level of stress or discomfort uniquely accompanying each piece, the practice has helped me realize there are times I’m glad those feelings exist.
I’m proud of my role as a journalist, specifically because of my ability to take objective fact and infuse it with personalized emotions from underheard voices. And though I pride my work in being factually accurate and void of my own convictions, my emotions are a vehicle for me to better connect and empathize with the individuals I’m able to spotlight.