Journalists are often faced with difficult challenges. I recently confronted a particularly distressing one in Afghanistan—one that involves life or death. Let me begin by saying that most reporters question at some point in their careers whether it is morally right to get involved in the situation they’re covering versus following professional journalism guidelines that recommend remaining impartial observers. One may make the argument that a journalist is human and that no story is ever worth a life. I truly believed the man at our military checkpoint was innocent, but was it my call to get involved and tamper with the scene?
Ethically, a journalist should report the story, and not become part of the story, but this rule isn’t necessarily applicable in all cases. As Martin Luther King states in Letter From a Birmingham Jail, “How can you advocate breaking some laws and obeying others? The answer lies in the fact that there are two types of laws: just and unjust. I would be the first to advocate obeying just laws. One has not only a legal but a moral responsibility to obey just laws. Conversely, one has a moral responsibility to disobey unjust laws.” (4). The difference between just and unjust laws, as Dr. King points out, is the said application of the law. The unjust application he references goes back to the Civil Rights Movement. The reason certain laws are unjust is that the white majority was not held to the same standards as the non-white minority. Let’s examine whether the guidelines journalists are expected to follow should be obeyed in every situation, or if they similarly are not “just”. Hypothetically, if a reporter were on the grounds of a famine-struck area and saw a starving child sitting alone, would following the journalism guidelines of staying on the sidelines truly be more important than doing what most of us would believe is morally right: giving the child some food? Being reporters does not stop us from being human beings with a conscience. Perhaps journalists should get involved in stories that involve life-threatening situations, rather than observing another human’s suffering.
Many of you may be wondering why I did not act on my own humanity and morality, and why I made the conscious choice to get out of the way of fire. The simplest explanation would be that I did not want to forsake my role as a neutral source. The reality is more complex. For instance, I also reminded myself that the soldiers on duty are disciplined to lead with their minds when dealing with abrupt and perhaps dangerous situations. They are trained to spot irregular and potentially harmful sights, and if this man presented a threat, it would be much more logical to trust their judgment. Acting on my own sudden judgment that leads from my heart, which would have been a hasty decision based on emotion, may have put everyone else in danger. Mutiny could have caused the death of multiple soldiers, which is not worth the small chance that this man was innocent.
I made an agreement, as my duty as a journalist to report on situations and refrain from getting involved. Defying these duties, even if the situation may seem unjust, would not be the logical or ethical thing to do. Similarly, Captain Vere from Billy Budd is stuck between a question of morality and ethics: “Our vowed responsibility is this: That however pitilessly that law may operate in many instances, we nevertheless adhere to and administer it' (111). Captain Vere is stuck between deciding whether to intervene with Billy’s execution, which feels unjust to him, or whether to stand by military law. Vere chooses to ignore his moral sensibility and stick with the basics of what he already knows: his obligation of duty. Vere’s decision, according to the Wartime Acts he was under, was lawfully justified. To do anything else would be a violation of the law and his position. Vere also states, 'But do these buttons that we wear attest that our allegiance is to Nature? No, to the King” (361). He and the judges were forced to follow their duty, which in this circumstance was to carry out the law. As officers of this law, the morality of the decision was not their choice, because that same law dictated what they were to choose. Vere suggests that the law is already embedded into our minds and that he cannot help but think in terms of it. His situation largely resembles my own. I hope I have successfully illustrated that in his case, as well as in mine, right and wrong are not necessarily aligned with good and evil. Imagine yourself in my place. It may seem evil to let a potentially innocent man be shot, but that doesn’t make it the wrong decision. In certain situations like my own, the law must be obeyed to ensure that we follow our vowed responsibility: however mercilessly our journalist guidelines may apply to a situation, we nevertheless respect it and administer it.
Conclusively, this situation was not a clear and evident one. I didn’t have enough time or information to make a well-informed decision on my own judgment. The best way I could have contributed to this situation was to remain impartial, watch what the experts chose to do in this situation and report on it. By following my duty as a journalist, and if the soldiers were correct, the report could show that the soldiers are in fact well trained and innocent lives were likely saved. If the soldiers happened to be incorrect and killed an innocent man, the story could still be reported in the truest form. As mentioned, right and wrong don’t correspond with good and evil, because the end result of the wrong choice could provide good results, such that my reported story could result in procedures and policy changes that could prevent a mistake like this from happening again.