Self-exploration as ‘Journalism’
“We, as journalists, are living our own stories in our own unique ways, and some of them may well be worth reporting.”
One may always suspect narcissism when a writer chooses to write about writing – especially his own. But charity begins at home, and the writer is himself a component of the world that he’s attempting to explore.
Editors and eminent publishers often advise their contributors to keep an eye on something bigger than their own lives. This is how journalism primarily works. An interviewee does not pause a session to ask for the interviewer’s opinion on a certain subject. The interviewer only speaks through subtle expressions of agreement, disagreement, or confusion; his own opinion is irrelevant. A reporter does not tell a victim of robbery what he thinks about the situation; the only narrative of importance is the victim’s.
But journalism cannot afford to skip itself as a subject matter, and neither can the journalist. Our personal experiences are never just ‘personal’; they are part of a picture that we’re attempting to paint. The journalist does not operate outside the influences of patriarchy and heteronormativity, finance and economics, culture and religion, and so on.
Journalists are frequently accused of airing opinions that are being unethically monetized by one political power or another. You don’t need an envelope full of money before you develop an opinion on something; everybody has one (an opinion, I mean; not an envelope full of hard cash, sadly).
Consider art for a moment, which many would find far more interesting. There just might be a special place in hell for those who dismiss Frida Kahlo being ‘self-obsessed’. Kahlo was an acclaimed artist whose work consists primarily of self-portraits. Kahlo was ostensibly her own favourite subject matter, and why wouldn’t she be? Surely her own kaleidoscopic existence – her childhood, womanhood, accidents, marriage, identity struggles – have a far more interesting story to tell than a painter’s fruit bowl. Certainly her Mexican heritage, her communist leanings, and battles with her own declining health, have proven to be a greater asset to culture and politics than a pretty photo of Nanga Parbat.
It is easy to observe what’s on the outside, and even easier to report those observations. If arguments on social media are any indication, it is never hard to judge and offer analyses of matters that don’t affect you personally. These may include scandals unfolding high up in the political stratosphere that may not be of great importance to your everyday life. These may include events that occur far away from home – in Syria, Yemen, or Iraq – that may serve to inspire or horrify, but do nothing to affect your routine behaviour. There may also be coverage of events taking place in a socioeconomic universe that’s physically next-door, but still feels light-years away from your position on the capitalist ladder.
In all of these cases, we have the privilege of observing, evaluating, and remarking upon matters simply as cerebral exercise. Professional journalists – bloggers, columnists, anchors, and analysts of all kinds – just happen to be better at this task, and more methodical than an average Facebook user. Although there are obvious hazards to journalists’ physical safety depending on whom they ‘evaluate’, there is also the comfort of dissecting someone else’s life rather than your own.
For a journalist to choose to be his own subject matter is a daunting and daring task. It is not about being self-involved. It is about offering yourself to the world to discuss and debate, admire or mock. It means recognizing yourself as a slice of reality that needs to be reported, talked about, and understood.
For Roxane Gay to write about her sexual assault and her experience with obesity, is ‘journalism’ as far as I am concerned. This is news to those who, fortunately, have never experienced rape. And it is news to those who have not lived in bodies that weigh 120 kilograms or more. In fact, you are more likely to encounter a fat person or a victim of sexual assault in your life, than you are to meet a Syrian refugee. I do not mean to imply that this subject is more important than a Syrian refugee, but it is certainly more pertinent to the everyday life of an average Pakistani news consumer.
This is not the same as when reputable journalists report others’ rape stories, or other tragedies. When a journalist talks about Mukhtar Mai, he has the privilege of reporting from the side, knowing that whatever opinion – supportive or hurtful – will be aimed at Mukhtar Mai, and not the journalist. The latter serves simply as a conduit of opinion from the subject to the reader, or vice versa.
One cannot always separate personal from political. It is often necessary for journalists to examine themselves, and find the story within. We, as journalists, are living our own stories in our own unique ways, and some of them may well be worth reporting.
