I’m in steamy Bangkok this week, working with the Dart Center for Journalism and Trauma. I’m here primarily to talk about resilience with the 14 journalists gathered from Bangladesh, Indonesia, Kashmir, Korea, Pakistan, the Philippines, Samoa, Sri Lanka, and Thailand for the 2011 Dart Asia Fellowship.
They’re an inspiring bunch, and as psychology is my training and writing is my passion this is a neat opportunity to learn from people who write for a living. I’m having a great time hearing about their stories and how telling these stories have impacted them over time.
In addition to resilience we’ve being talking about topics such as:
- Mechanisms and signs of trauma and vicarious trauma
- The role of the media in kidnapping situations and other unfolding crises situations – how they can help and when they can make things worse
- How to stay safe as journalists when in high threat environments
- Tensions between local and “parachute” journalists (international journalists who fly in for stories)
- Skills for interviewing traumatized sources
One story I’ve heard so far, in particular, has made me both laugh and cringe.
A couple of months after a tsunami hit Samoa in 2009, a New Zealand journalist flew in to report on the recovery efforts. This journalist put together a story alleging that aid destined for recovery efforts was being mismanaged and misappropriated. As part of his story he placed himself in front of a well-constructed middle-class traditional Samoan house, pointed to it on camera and said with every appearance of outrage, “Look at this house, recently built with recovery money. It doesn’t even have any walls!!!”
I laughed at this because traditional houses in Samoa never have walls – something that this journalist should have either already have known (presuming he had working eyes) or asked about.
I cringed when the Samoan journalist presenting described the impact of this story on the local tsunami recovery effort.
“This article demoralized people,” she said. “The vast majority of aid money was not being mismanaged, and it struck a sour note in a context where people were just starting to refocus on stories of hope and rebuilding after all the stories of tragedy. It also reduced the amount of aid coming in to help the Samoan’s get back on their feet.”
I feel I should have something more to say about this right now – something deep and meaningful, or even just coherent. But I’m very tired tonight after two and a half long days of new people and new stories and images from some of the most incendiary frontlines on earth (and I’m sure the fact that it’s 9:15pm and I’ve just now finished consuming a large plate of stir fried noodles and duck – yum – isn’t helping funnel more blood towards my brain). All I’m good for at this point apart from brushing my teeth and taking my kindle to bed is sharing the simple thought that stories matter. They’re powerful. And whether we’re telling them through the vehicle of fiction or otherwise, it is both a privilege and a responsibility to be a storyteller.
More from Bangkok later this week.