Reporting for the International Press While Armenian, Part I

Listen to the article.

September 2023, Goris. 

Amid the arrival of tens of thousands of forcibly displaced Armenians from Artsakh, I decide to read the comments under the video of my 30th live report on the situation. Comments include: “She’s Armenian; how can we trust what she says?” and “We need to hear from Azerbaijani journalists too.” Sure, I thought. I’ll notify the extensive network of independent Azerbaijani journalists.

The masochistic practice of reading these comments reminds me of a time when a colleague said, before my second assignment covering the war in Ukraine, “Good for you that you’re going, it will ‘de-Armenize’ you a bit.” That day, I realized that no matter how professional I am, my ethnicity will always loom over me like the sword of Damoclès. 

Speaking of Mythology 

I’ve been a journalist for six years. For over two of those years, I have covered events in Armenia for international media as a freelance correspondent. I have never faced insinuations from editors-in-chief that my coverage is unprofessional because of my Armenian heritage. Yet I constantly feel pressured to choose my words carefully for fear of being labeled as biased. This notion that ethnic ties can compromise one’s professionalism is not only incorrect, it’s rooted in a covertly racist perspective. I do not recall anyone questioning my Parisian colleagues about their ability to objectively cover the numerous riots in the French capital and its suburbs. Yet, the concept of objectivity remains so glorified and desired in this profession it has nearly become synonymous with journalism itself. But it is also a myth. 

Every topic we report on requires us to make choices. These include decisions on which parts of the interview to retain, the angle to adopt before recording, the questions we pose, and the details we decide to include for adding “color” to our article.  Our personal perception of the world influences these choices, leading us to question the essence of objectivity itself. Christopher Meyers, a professor at California State University,  delves into this in his paper Partisan News, the Myth of Objectivity: 

“The notion of value-free, objective information gathering and dissemination is a myth; normativity pervades all phases of reporting, from the judgment that something is a story, to evidence acquisition, to how the story is constructed, to how it is interpreted by the end-user. Acknowledging that normativity pervades reporting, however, says nothing about a news organization’s quality.” 

If objectivity doesn’t exist, then at least there are facts. That’s the primary duty of a journalist: to stick to the facts. As Meyers further states: 

“The standard is, or should be, a fundamental commitment to fulfill the public’s right to know through honest and comprehensive reporting and through aggressively adopting the watchdog role by which they successfully hold powerful persons and institutions accountable.” 

Why should personal connections to an event prevent us from providing “honest and comprehensive reporting”? Armenian journalists find themselves stuck in this paradox. We are constantly defined by our ethnicity while our analyses are discredited. One French-Armenian journalist from France Télevisions, who prefers to remain anonymous tells me, “I choose not to cover any topic related to Armenia and never post anything about Armenia on social media.” When asked if this is a form of self-censorship, they admit it is, stemming from fear of being labeled uncredible or accused of activism. “However, when someone needs a contact for Manouchian’s pantheonization or the email of a member of the Aznavour family, then being Armenian suddenly becomes convenient.”

The more I report on this region, the clearer it becomes that covering something so close to me is a precious asset for producing accurate information to an audience typically disconnected from the South Caucasus. My firsthand experience strengthens my credibility. Then again, all I have to do is stick to the facts. I inherently understand the situation here better than any outsider journalist. My deep comprehension of the threats faced by Armenians improves my reporting. Here, ethics and survival are intertwined.

During a conversation with Anna Weekes, a journalist, media activist, and coordinator of  the Postgraduate Diploma in Media Management at Rhodes University, she identifies a colonial bias inside the newsroom that prevents the recognition of local journalists’ value:

“The point of view of the colonized people is not reflected enough in daily media. They are the ones under threat, trying to fight for survival. We need the voices of those being ethnically cleansed to report on the situation. They are experiencing it, they know exactly how it is happening and who is doing what. Let’s take the example of Israel’s statements amid the current genocide in Gaza. Their statements are being sanitized by military spokesmen, statesmen, and government. You can’t expect to hear what’s exactly happening from these sources. The only real information that you get is from the point of view of the Palestinian journalists.”

The issue of “ethnic bias” affects not only Armenians but all indigenous peoples and people of color. Do we ever question the subjectivity of editors-in-chief and the topics they choose to focus on? Many mainstream media outlets run programs on the state of the market economy, conservative laws, the migrant crisis, and more. Do those editorial choices not imply a political stance? If they scrutinize our biases, shouldn’t we question theirs? The general policy of striving for neutrality is, in itself, a political position; neutrality maintains the status quo. As a consequence, topics on self-determination are often dismissed as emotional or irrational, and our heritage becomes a professional liability. 

Self-censorship as Self-harm

Self-censorship is a double-edged sword. During the 2020 Artsakh War, freelance reporter Karlos Zurutuza observed local Armenian journalists grappling with their professional ethics and patriotism. He heard comments like, “I can’t photograph this; it would harm us.” In Stepanakert, journalists quickly realized when Shushi was lost. However, in Yerevan, there was a veil of silence, and many people were not aware of the unfolding events.

Our reporting must never be compromised by state or military propaganda. This issue goes beyond being Armenian; it is about  professionalism. For Zurutuza, “Armenian stories written by Armenians are the real way. Not by me or any other outsider who doesn’t understand the language and has little insight into the region.” For him, the problem arises from a lack of understanding of the journalistic role: “When I hear local journalists or students say they want to be journalists to help their country… This is not what journalism is about.” 

When young journalists ask him, “As an Armenian, can I cover stories objectively?” he responds, “Just tell the story.” This reinforces our duty to stick to the facts. If the story is emotional, that is not our fault. Although what we witness can be tragic, our personal feelings must remain separate. But we are not robots. The balance in journalism lies in allowing emotions to accompany, but not dominate, our reporting. 

As Zurutuza describes, when quality reporting is compromised, it leaves more room for propaganda and false narratives to be disseminated on social media and news outlets. 

Every major crisis worldwide invites a media frenzy, with ethical issues emerging from every corner. The massive influx of forcibly displaced people in Goris last September was no exception. 

Covering the ethnic cleansing of my own people has by far been one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. I’ve found myself in tears minutes before going on live television or during interviews while shooting my reports. I am not pretending to be unaffected by what’s happening. I have also felt deep sorrow in Donbas, where elderly Ukrainians were trapped in their apartments as bombs rained down, and in the refugee camps around Paris filled with migrants in extreme precarity. Feeling pain is ethical. And so, when kind, compassionate non-Armenian colleagues told me, “It must be so hard for you,” I appreciate the sentiment. But what I really wanted to say was: Yes. But shouldn’t it be hard for you too? 

From the glaring errors we find  in hastily written articles to hearing “wow, great shot” while filming a caravan of refugees escaping hell, there’s ample evidence to make you lose hope in humanity. A striking example was shared with me by an All for Armenia volunteer: a Quebecois camera crew was filming local teenagers as they prepared sandwiches for the refugees in tents. Many of them had started the previous evening and worked throughout the night. When they politely asked the cameraman to stop, he responded, irritated: “Well, we’re also tired!” 

I’m sure he was. However, this sort of behavior during crises reveals the shortcomings of parachute journalism, a topic I will discuss in the second part of this series.

Perhaps Nobody Cares?

While the South Caucasus is often perceived as a “complex” region, mainstream media newsrooms rarely offer a thorough, clear explanation of its geopolitical, historical, and cultural processes. This lack of understanding can lead editors to think we might be exaggerating when we talk about ethnic cleansing and potential war crimes. 

The same anonymous France Télevisions journalist tells me, “One day, I was alerting an editor-in-chief about border clashes. After I insisted a second time, he replied: ‘Ok, just to please you, we’ll do a thirty second segment.'” 

This dismissive response to the journalist’s professionalism shows the lack of interest editorial offices show towards the region. When they shared the Lemkin Institute’s genocide warning for Karabakh, they were simply told, “Here comes the Armenian lobby again.” 

“Why are we subjected to this attitude when other communities are taken seriously? I haven’t heard any of my coworkers make jokes to journalists linked to the Israel-Palestine conflict, nor does anyone comment if a coworker displays a Ukrainian flag on their social media as a sign of support.”

How can we effectively convey the global significance of what is happening here? Only when the situation drastically deteriorates and becomes newsworthy does the world suddenly (briefly) care. It’s very tempting to say, “I told you so.”

This prevailing belief in newsrooms about maintaining utmost neutrality, while the foundational structure of media now depends on sensationalism, poses a dangerous contradiction. If we point fingers at journalists’ practices, we should also examine the structure of news outlets. Every question I raised in this piece revolves around a larger one: How does the media world operate and what is its impact? What are the links between media and policy making? What challenges do traditional news outlets face? 

More on this in Part II.  

Also see

Photostory

Podcast

This year’s EVN Media Festival program features exciting new events and activities, but first, let’s revisit the classics. “Up Close and Personal” is an exclusive series of intimate and engaging conversations with prominent figures from the world of media and beyond who will share insights into their careers and behind-the-scenes experiences. From war correspondents to investigative reporters, to thought leaders and scholars, each session sheds light on the challenges, triumphs, and ethical dilemmas faced in the pursuit of truth. Join us on May 30-June 2 for an illuminating exploration of the human stories behind the headlines.

Sincerely Yours,
EVN Report