Trauma, Time, and Trusting the Media: How Should Journalists Report Traumatic Events in a Social Media Dependent Society?
Last month the Time Magazine announced the loss of the last surviving northern white rhino, Sudan, to age-related complications and a persistent leg infection. Weeks later, and emotional wounds are still fresh. Conservationists fear that his death locked in the extinction of the subspecies, unless in-vitro fertilization efforts are successful with either of the two remaining females, both of which share Sudan’s bloodline.
Meanwhile, off the coast of Borneo, Indonesia, an oil spill covering an area larger than Paris has lead to the deaths of five fishermen. Clean-up workers set fire to the water, hoping to burn the oil off its surface, which ultimately surrounded the fishermen, trapping them in a smoke-filled sea. Pertamina, the firm that operates the pipeline, denied responsibility for the leak for days, until they received confirmation. According to EcoWatch, 84 acres of mangrove forests are cloaked in oil, and the death of an endangered Irrawaddy dolphin is likely the result of the contaminated waters. Balikpapan, a city of more than 700,000 people, is in a state of emergency. Citizens are discouraged from lighting cigarettes and are told to wear face masks to prevent the inhalation of potentially toxic fumes. The report states 18,300 gallons of oil was collected as of April 3rd.
In the early hours of Sunday, April 8th, an NBC News report of a chemical attack in Syria was posted, which detailed suspected death tolls greater than 40, many of which were women and children. After the collapse of a 10-day truce between Syrian government forces and the Army of Islam rebel group, Douma, the last rebel stronghold in eastern Ghouta, was consumed by poisonous gases. The Syrian government and President Bashar al-Assad’s forces, which are backed by Russia, have denied responsibility for the attacks. One activist was quoted, stating, “[The victims] tried to escape death, but here in Douma, there is death is everywhere.”
Trauma and tragedy exists in every crevice of journalism. The journalists who actively seek out the chaos of violence, the dangers of natural disasters, or the emotional tolls of tragic loss are responsible for deciding how the public hears, understands, and reacts to these events. Social media, more now than ever, makes these stories highly accessible. But with an increasing volume of content, these stories also become more disposable. The relationship of media and tragedy is like walking on a frozen lake — one misstep and one will succumb to the black waters that linger beneath.
Michelle Nijhuis writes in The Atlantic about how she communicates climate change, an abstract and often disturbing concept, to her ten-year-old daughter. Largely, she doesn’t. Nijhuis criticizes education materials that deprive children of the choice to learn about climate change. She wonders if when we tell them stories of melting glaciers or the death of the last male northern white rhino, “are we truly satisfying their curiosity — or are we just sharing our own burdens of worry and responsibility?” Her parenting has taught her that children show us when they are ready to explore certain topics, like climate change. “As a parent, I approach the subject of climate change much like I approach the subject of sex,” she writes, “While I answer all questions, without hesitation and in full, I make sure not to answer more questions than I’m asked.”
When journalists write about trauma and tragedy, they should approach the details of the story much like how Michelle Nijhuis approaches climate change with her daughter. Mark Brayne and the Dart Center compiled a guide to trauma journalism, which outlines the many sensitivities and vital considerations involved in the practice. The guide warns about unreliable eyewitness accounts, stating that, “even seasoned journalists at moments of high emotion can sometimes get it wrong.” This is important to consider, especially in a world where short, emotional stories receive the most attention from readers.
There is a cycle, the guide suggests, of public engagement to traumatic events. When they happen, emotions are high, reactive, and chaotic. This is when statistics are often inflated, and there are more questions than answers. As the dust begins to settle (sometimes literally), witnesses and those connected to the events are dealing with fresh wounds — both mentally and physically — and more details become available. Then, in as little as four to six weeks, both the public and those involved begin to move on. Some even forget about it entirely. This is when engagement is lost, and it is the worst time for relief services who desperately need volunteers to help. It is at this point that trauma journalism becomes as much of an art as it is a duty, as writers attempt to keep the public engaged, especially since the consequences of the events are often unresolved.
The guide goes on to discuss strategies for writers. Journalists should rely of facts and a “healthy dosage of sensitivity.” The acronym, FINE, can outline a story’s approach. Start with the Facts to establish the story. Then consider the Impact of the event on the individual and the community. Next, understand the status of the situation Now — are they healing? was there a ripple effect? Finally, Educate and reassure the community; explain that most recover from trauma in a relatively short time, but it is normal to battle with internal obstacles, and there are resources available to help.
Most importantly, trauma journalism defines how the world reacts to and understands difficult and tumultuous situations. It is crucial that stories are always executed with caution and validity. Even the smallest errors could leave lasting damage on individuals, communities, or even the world. Inaccuracies pour salt into wounds.
In a world where trauma is embedded in human nature, it is essential that we continue to evolve as a species and as a society. Whenever he saw traumatic events in the news, TV personality, Fred Rogers, often recalled his mother’s sage advice: “’Always look for the helpers,’ she’d tell me, ‘There’s always someone who is trying to help.’”
