After the attack in Manchester, journalists must perform a balancing act between pursuing the story and behaving ethically. It's an act I know wellby James Rodgers / May 23, 2017 / Leave a comment
“Go on to the next crying woman,” the instruction, from correspondent to cameraman, came out of the open door of a hotel room. Deadline approached. The team, who had been out all day in the bone-chilling damp of early winter in the North Caucasus, were checking that day’s footage—up against time, unreliable technology, and, perhaps most pressingly, the competition.
It was 1999, and war in Chechnya, the second conflict in three years, was daily driving thousands of refugees into the neighbouring regions. It was there that the international press, impeded by Russian army restrictions and the threat of kidnapping (or worse), had gathered to try to tell this most brutal and bloody story of war on Russia’s southern edge.
Far from the audience’s own experience, and across a language barrier, the bereaved and dispossessed were seen only for their gestures. They wept. It made for greater drama on TV: having an impact which might otherwise have been lost in translation.
Prevented as they were from getting closer to the action—although some brave souls did evade the Russian army, and make it to the real danger zone—some reporters were reduced to putting questions which might provoke tears among the traumatised, and hopefully, help to tell the story.