🗝️ Sanity Classics: I loved being a journalist. Here's why I moved on.

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Couple of years ago, Inbox Collective, a publication I am a fan of, interviewed me on my journey with Sanity. When Claire Zulkey, the platform's managing editor, asked me how I define my identity in the context of my work here, I immediately said 'not as a journalist'. I mouthed something snarky about the journalism industry's ongoing decay and the public's declining trust in the media. Claire heard me out, smiled kindly, and said something like: "Well, you research topics, analyse data, speak to people, and synthesise your findings for lay readers. [She could have added that I even attended a fellowship at one of the high temples of journalism.] That sounds a lot like a journalist to me."

Her assessment stumped me. But I think I am now ready to explain why I increasingly see myself as a non-journalist:

A journalist's first loyalty is to the story they want to write. My first loyalty is to the humans who trust me with their story.

Full disclosure: I likely started forming this position due as much to my own limitations as to any altruistic impulse. Over my dozen years in journalism before starting Sanity, I got to work with colleagues who had ambitions of, and were capable of, writing to save the world. They used their words as scythes against injustice and unfairness wherever they saw it. I didn't have their strength and so chose a different mission: If I couldn't save the world, I would at least try to make sure that the stories I was trusted with were safe with me.

Why journalists stop being journalists

It can be gut-wrenching for a journalist to let go of that designation. We become so wedded to the unique privileges of our job that to pivot to a 'lesser' pursuit can feel like an assault against our very core. For all its troubles, that vocation can still be incredibly rewarding (and I do embrace it when I freelance for other platforms). You get to feel purpose and meaning in a world where work is often devoid of it. You get access to important places and people. You could become a superstar whom peers look at with awe. It can be very intoxicating.

When I started Sanity, I too had a taste for this heady feeling. But over the past four years of writing this newsletter, I have come to realise that what matters the most to me – perhaps what always mattered the most to me – is the peaceful feeling when a person whose voice I get the opportunity to amplify tells me that I have treated their story with care and dignity.

As a person with lived experience of mental illness and suicidality, I've often experienced firsthand the pain of seeing one's story treated callously. Far too often, journalism – and I talk here about the system and structure of the industry, not individual journalists who continue to do their work with outstanding ethics – is hostile to such 'soft' goals.

Sure, journalists are trained, and expected to, ensure that their 'sources' are safe. But what they are primarily expected to do is write the best story possible. What I expect myself to do in my new life is to be the best listener I can be, even if it means not writing that story I really want to. In all my years in newsrooms, the only times I saw stories being abandoned were when the reporters couldn't muster enough supporting data or talking heads. Or when their stories were not considered legally safe. Rarely does the media stop chasing a piece because there are feelings involved. While the media must not care about the feelings of the powerful it is supposed to hold to account, far too often this lack of care spills over in its dealings with the less powerful too.

Writing to me now is a byproduct of listening – I write because I want to listen, not the other way round. What does it mean to be a good listener? Among other things, being patient. Not prying for more information. Respecting boundaries. I am learning every day to get better at all this. Ideally, all practicing journalists should, too. But the vast majority of them, battling eroding freedoms and burnout, do not have the time, energy, or resources needed to follow ideals. Ideals aren't good for survival.

I also don't see myself fitting into the two defining dogmas-cum-pillars of the journalism business: (the pretence of) 'objectivity' and the obsession with 'breaking news'. My work is unabashedly first person-oriented, and while I do cover topical issues from time to time, I want to stay as far as possible from the breaking news disease.

Of course, I am lucky that I get to dip into the rolodex I built as a journalist. And I do still use tools and techniques that I learnt in journalism – research, analysis, interviewing, writing good headlines. But that's because, as Jorge Luis Borges said, all storytelling (the word he used was 'art') is 'fire plus algebra'. My subjectivity is my fire. My journalism background supplies the algebra. That's why Sanity's motto is: the rigour of research and the soul of lived experience.

If I am not a journalist, what am I then? On odd days, I call myself a creator. On even days, a storyteller. Journalism doesn't like the word 'creator' or 'influencer'. It is considered infra dig, a Lucifer-like fall from grace. I say we have no business judging honest work – honest being the keyword – that pays the bills.

Journalism also has a peculiar, tortured relationship with the word 'story'. Story is the basic currency of journalism, but research says that when journalists identify as storytellers, the public doesn't like it, conflating it with 'lies' and 'fake news'. Thank god I opted out of this game.

How to keep others' stories safe

Telling stories, as journalism defines it, often involves a power play. Unless you are interviewing someone more powerful than you, you, the journalist, get to ask the questions, and judge the person on the other side for their in/ability to give you the answers that will deliver the highest open rates. You coax someone to share their intimate truths for an hour, and maybe you end up using two minutes' worth of material. This power imbalance breeds the kind of aggression and entitlement rife in the media today (ironically, these are the very traits that the powerful are using to undermine the media).

In my work, I try to remember that a story well told is first about respect and healing. Human beings aren't merely sources, and their experiences are not commodities. What is just another byline for me is someone's actual life. This is the principle I try to be guided by every time someone allows me to hold their most vulnerable truths in my hands.

In practice, this could mean something as simple as playing back quotes from an interview to my sources before publishing. It's a taboo in some cultures, where the unspoken contract between the interviewer and interviewee is that once the latter agrees to speak, they lose the right to even see what their words arranged on a page looks and feels like. But in all my years telling stories, not once have I regretted having my sources approve or tweak their own words. Including the times when someone has read their quotes and decided that they no longer want to tell their story.

Keeping others' stories safe also sometimes means letting them rest after they have served their original purpose. Say I am writing my Nth story about the mental health challenges of modern parents. I feel tempted to invoke the example of the grieving father who... or the distraught mother whose child.... – people that I spoke to for a previous piece. But I cannot, because when I spoke to that father and that mother about their suffering, I only took permission to share their story with the world just that once. They have the absolute, unquestionable right not to be reminded of their suffering at a different time and in a different space in their lives. Speaking your truth in a specific context, and seeing it plastered on the internet forever for everyone to see and analyse and pass judgment on, can trigger very different emotions. I speak to people to make their experiences intelligible, not to exploit them to fatten my body of work.

Admittedly, I have reused stories when I have felt that it has less potential to do harm (which, to be honest, doesn't sit well with me as I type these words because I can see that it was just me being lazy). But increasingly, I tell myself that I do not own unlimited privileged access to someone's story, and I cannot recycle or repurpose it again and again to burnish my showreel, unless I take their permission for each retelling.

Often, I have stopped short of seeking that permission, because even in that act lies the potential of retraumatising my source. I have killed valuable stories because the people behind them are immeasurably more valuable.

I asked others how to keep stories safe

The more sleep I lose over the deepening polarisation all around us and its terrifying fallout, a dumpster fire on which insensitive media daily pours gasoline, the more I feel that the only way to heal our fucked-up civilisation is by learning to treat each others' stories with safety, dignity, and care. I am talking about ways of life, systems of belief, cultural memories – the grand narrative of what it means to be human.

I recently asked on social media what those of us who are privy to others' stories can do to keep them safe. Here are some responses I received. Do add yours to the list.

Snigdha Mishra, psychotherapist

I don’t share [my clients'] stories. Ever. In today’s time, when cases are discussed over social media for more clicks each day, I'm not comfortable sharing [them] for the sake of mental health awareness or publicity or marketing. Some may have a different opinion, and that’s okay. I’m uncomfortable doing it.

Aesha Datta, journalist

Playing back quotes is one principle I've also stood by. I have come to regret it a couple of times, but only from people in positions of power. Never from the disenfranchised. I do my best to play back the quotes even when I change their names and identities for anonymity.

Carolyn Kiel, learning and development expert

As a podcast host, I am truly honoured when people choose to share their personal stories on my show. When I interview people, I spend most of my time listening and gently guiding the conversation. I allow my guests the space to share as much or as little as they are comfortable doing – and if they say something that they want to rephrase or remove from the recording, then I respect their request and make the appropriate edits. I also provide my questions to my guest in advance, and ask if there are any questions they want me to add/adjust/remove, so that they can prepare and feel comfortable before we even get to our recording session together.

Amrita Tripathi, founder, The Health Collective

I will sometimes post-edit, pre-publishing (gently, I think) check if someone is sure about sharing X/Y under their own name without being condescending, but I'd much prefer being a bit extra careful than have someone get blowback or be hurt in the process of us sharing their story.

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