One thing an American journalist, in theory, can be without fear is an American; a civic-minded, well-informed citizen. Again in theory, journalists need not fear having patriotic tendencies, or overall pride in one’s community. That pride or patriotism doesn’t prevent cynicism, skepticism, or displeasure with that same community, of course. In my opinion that mixture of pride and skepticism is what helps fill a journalist-sized hole in society—we are the ones who see the darkest souls and brightest angels our communities nurture or neglect, and we are the ones who can shine a brighter light on the virtue and vice.
Young journalists are warned to be careful of their associations before they’ve sharpened their first pencils for their first scoops. “Be careful of clubs you join” or “If you are covering a political rally, don’t leave pamphlets on your dashboard” are not uncommon pearls thrown to the rookie reporter. The reason is straight-forward enough: a journalist shouldn’t associate in a way which might question the integrity of his or her journalism. Even the perception of bias could corrupt the public view of all subsequent coverage by that reporter, with justification or without. Being an American, though, well that’s just okay.
So what happens when an American reporter can’t be “American” without hesitation? What happens when a journalist has to tread lightly with one’s patriotism?
I don’t mean this as an examination of undercover work, or being embedded in a war zone. In certain circumstances personal safety might trump complete honesty.
I am an honest man, however. I like to stand by and for what I say, and let others know I am an honorable person. In most circumstances I wouldn’t hesitate to say who I am, what I do, and where I come from. Transparency is most often the best remedy for society, I once wrote on this very website. But if a journalist’s work is to tell stories, or investigate slivers of our society, is it okay to evade or fib so that the journalism is not detoured or corrupted?
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“Where do you come from?” A Libyan asked me, his face still skeptical of me and my recorder.
“Me? Where do I come from?” I asked, hoping the question would be dropped. My business with this man, and another fellow, was to deal with uncomfortable topics–asylum and racism. The men had traveled north from Italy, and entered the Swiss asylum process by way of the Dublin accord–Italy granted them temporary permits, so they could travel anywhere in Western Europe, even to apply for asylum.
“Yeah.” The man said. It took me a few minutes of showing my business card, letting them see in my bag to be sure I wasn’t filming them, and telling them what the local government thought about refugees, before they spoke with me.
“Canada.” I said. I am not normally a liar, but in that moment I wasn’t sure what honesty would garner. If I were to tell a Libyan that I was American, in the midst of a NATO mission to ensure a “no-fly zone” while trying to overthrow the country’s long-time leader, what would happen? I was alone, far from my safety net.
“I could tell, you are not from here–Europe.” He said. He didn’t care where I was from, just that I wasn’t Swiss, or Italian, or any other nationality with which he has grievances.
The interview was quickly finished, and no more of my story was told aside the white lie. But I felt guilty, and would apologize, and do, if ever I could. It wasn’t fair that my own concerns over national baggage would not give someone a chance to hear the truth.
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Just after college I was very fortunate to take up a short-term reporting gig in Olympia, WA. For two weeks, I would be a fill-in freelancer, cutting my teeth on issues medium and small. I walked with a colleague I greatly admire on the lawn of the Washington state capitol, and I saw police.
“Will they care that we’re here?” I asked.
“This is public property, and we’re citizens. We can be here.” Journalists are still citizens. I can’t explain exactly why but that brief walk empowered me. I was not just a student or graduate or worker bee–I am a citizen, and can walk in the midst of leaders and dreamers alike.
Melodramatic it may be, but I believe there is such a thing as healthy civic-pride. My time in the Boy Scouts of America; years of involvement in civic programs, groups; interviewing civic leaders; I certainly feel invested in America. Patriotism is often hijacked for political gain, to the detriment of genuine civic engagement, in my opinion. Also many journalists develop more of that cynicism I mentioned before, and disregard or ignore the responsibility of a free press to safeguard and make better the democratic process through information.
Suffice it to say, I am proud to be an American, and I am not a fanatic. Some expat Americans develop an animosity toward the United States and lawmakers, because they feel under-represented and over-taxed. They don’t get much for their tax money, they say, and they have to report their bank accounts (FBAR forms for foreign accounts with more than $10,000), and they say lawmakers aren’t listening to the concerns of those abroad–lack of representation in tax issues, mail-in balloting, shrinking consular services. These are all valid concerns, but in my view are not grounds to disengage from being an American. Rather it would be a perfect time to become more involved, so generations beyond our own may benefit from our passion.
I speak not from ideology, but from an experience of involvement. I have tried, and will try, to be a good American there or abroad.
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I have to think that a risk to one’s self is grounds for keeping personal details concealed, but I can’t say for sure this was my motivation with the Libyan fellow. Perhaps another reason was my worry a tentative, fragile, anonymous interview would implode with mention of the United States. As I hope I have proven, I am proud of my roots, and my country. But that country evokes passionate reaction, positive and negative. The story I was working on was not about me, nor about the USA.
Still, I felt bad for selling out Uncle Sam. Even if my family did come down from Canada just a few generations ago, and even if I lived not so far from the Canadian border, there was only one answer to where I come from–the United States of America.
But my being abroad is making it very difficult to feel confident to explain what the USA is moving towards, and where its priorities lie. While I am patriotic, that national baggage is getting heavier, and it shouldn’t be an impediment to telling stories needing to be told.