In 2012, NPR correspondent Kelly McEvers turned the microphone on herself and asked some good questions of her profession. Why do people go into war zones? It turns out, reporting from a conflict zone is not just about shining a light into a dark place. Reporting is also about the challenge, the thrill, the escape and the story.
I thought the honesty in McEvers' piece was both intense and refreshing. Journalists do what they do because they have a calling. But answering the call comes with costs. Leaving behind a family is selfish. Watching people die is traumatic. Grieving fellow journalists means holding a mirror up to your own life and the risks you are taking. Dying with children exacts an emotional cost on that child's life. They may never forgive you for choosing to tell that story over being with them.
I like to think that journalism as a profession is held in high regard in our country. It is a service profession like teaching and medicine. Sadly, I'm not sure the average American thinks about journalism that way anymore even though they ought to. War correspondents, in my mind, are public servants in extreme situations. I believe they are taking chances to bear witness and potentially alter the outcome of a grisly situation. This is what I have always thought.
But there's more to the situation than just what meets the eye. It's like the aid world. It's not just about bringing hope to people who have been through famine or drought or disease. After five years in the aid world, I saw that there is an inherently selfish element in the act of this international service. It turns out, this same element of selfishness also exists for war correspondents. I believe that service is usually the original motivator, but soon other secondary elements emerge. Higher levels of dopamine, thrills, clarity of thought in chaos and awards for brave work all keep a war journalist coming back. But does that discount the work? Absolutely not. It is just as valuable. To say that we make decisions for completely unselfish reasons runs counter to human evolution and thinking. I joined the Peace Corps as much to serve my country as to challenge myself and to say that I have done something that matters. The decision was also about me. Any choice, however service-oriented, possesses some level of selfish motivation.
It's why people always write on their college applications: I went to change the world and when I came back, I realized it was me who was changed. It almost sounds cliche at this point. It's as if we are self-conscious about our own internal motivations. We shouldn't be. The complexity certainly grows when children or spouses are involved.
To me, the most interesting question in all of this analysis of motivation is: What if all the witness bearing in the world does nothing to stop the evil? What does the work mean? Whom did it help? Where does all that haunting trauma go to live?
Does the story matter?
I think that it does. Maybe I'm a die hard journalist and will go to my grave protecting the sanctity of the story, despite the risks involved in getting it. Maybe there are stories that are not worth dying for. I think it is up to the individual person to decide the risk. What McEvers concludes is not that people should stop going, but rather that they should stop deluding themselves that they are somehow protected. Having a press pass does not offer an invisible cloak of protection. The press are just as vulnerable as the rest of us, and at this point in our history, perhaps even more so. Why?
Because the story does matter.
It may not move mountains or stop the shelling. But I believe that being heard is what validates our existence. That's why we tell each other stories. That's why we love good storytelling. When I lived in Turkmenistan with a family who only spoke Turkmen, what I missed most at night was sitting around the family room telling stories. God knows I tried to share them with my intermediate-level Turkmen. I muddled through without much satisfaction. The weekends were the time when I would get together with five or six other Americans in my region to drink beers and tell stories. That's the time I loved most. The rest of the week was really just about working, communicating basic needs and self-reflection.
I thought the honesty in McEvers' piece was both intense and refreshing. Journalists do what they do because they have a calling. But answering the call comes with costs. Leaving behind a family is selfish. Watching people die is traumatic. Grieving fellow journalists means holding a mirror up to your own life and the risks you are taking. Dying with children exacts an emotional cost on that child's life. They may never forgive you for choosing to tell that story over being with them.
I like to think that journalism as a profession is held in high regard in our country. It is a service profession like teaching and medicine. Sadly, I'm not sure the average American thinks about journalism that way anymore even though they ought to. War correspondents, in my mind, are public servants in extreme situations. I believe they are taking chances to bear witness and potentially alter the outcome of a grisly situation. This is what I have always thought.
But there's more to the situation than just what meets the eye. It's like the aid world. It's not just about bringing hope to people who have been through famine or drought or disease. After five years in the aid world, I saw that there is an inherently selfish element in the act of this international service. It turns out, this same element of selfishness also exists for war correspondents. I believe that service is usually the original motivator, but soon other secondary elements emerge. Higher levels of dopamine, thrills, clarity of thought in chaos and awards for brave work all keep a war journalist coming back. But does that discount the work? Absolutely not. It is just as valuable. To say that we make decisions for completely unselfish reasons runs counter to human evolution and thinking. I joined the Peace Corps as much to serve my country as to challenge myself and to say that I have done something that matters. The decision was also about me. Any choice, however service-oriented, possesses some level of selfish motivation.
It's why people always write on their college applications: I went to change the world and when I came back, I realized it was me who was changed. It almost sounds cliche at this point. It's as if we are self-conscious about our own internal motivations. We shouldn't be. The complexity certainly grows when children or spouses are involved.
To me, the most interesting question in all of this analysis of motivation is: What if all the witness bearing in the world does nothing to stop the evil? What does the work mean? Whom did it help? Where does all that haunting trauma go to live?
Does the story matter?
I think that it does. Maybe I'm a die hard journalist and will go to my grave protecting the sanctity of the story, despite the risks involved in getting it. Maybe there are stories that are not worth dying for. I think it is up to the individual person to decide the risk. What McEvers concludes is not that people should stop going, but rather that they should stop deluding themselves that they are somehow protected. Having a press pass does not offer an invisible cloak of protection. The press are just as vulnerable as the rest of us, and at this point in our history, perhaps even more so. Why?
Because the story does matter.
It may not move mountains or stop the shelling. But I believe that being heard is what validates our existence. That's why we tell each other stories. That's why we love good storytelling. When I lived in Turkmenistan with a family who only spoke Turkmen, what I missed most at night was sitting around the family room telling stories. God knows I tried to share them with my intermediate-level Turkmen. I muddled through without much satisfaction. The weekends were the time when I would get together with five or six other Americans in my region to drink beers and tell stories. That's the time I loved most. The rest of the week was really just about working, communicating basic needs and self-reflection.
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