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When
a situation is extremely difficult, often one keeps filming. It’s
not possible to take on board entirely what’s going on.
When it comes back to you — when it really sinks in —
is when you have quiet time afterwards. Then you can reflect on
what’s happened. That may be a ten-minute break in a firefight,
or it may be on the long walk home.
Living in a prosperous western European country, it is hard to
test the limits of your endurance. To really see how far you can
go. Although driving around London can be taxing, it doesn’t
really take you to the edge of your ability.
Working in an environment like Liberia, Afghanistan or Kosovo
takes you to the edge of your experience. It tests you. And you
can come out of it having a much clearer understanding of what
your abilities are as a journalist, and as a human being.
While I was working in Liberia there were days when I filmed
some very unpalatable things. I would lie in my bed at night and
replay what had happened, and evaluate how it affected me. Whether
it was going to be something I would be able to come through emotionally,
or if the impact would prevent me from continuing to tell the
story. I don’t want this to sound self-indulgent —
but the nature of working in Liberia was so extreme that it raised
questions about my capacity to keep working.
But situations that are the most dangerous are probably the most
personally revealing. Part of telling the story is finding out
what your limitations and abilities are to be able to tell that
story. Everyone has their own breaking point.
Although there was a period when I finally reached mine physically,
I did not feel that it was undermining my ability as a journalist.
In fact, it was augmenting it. I was a witness to extremely brutal
acts. But those acts were a fundamental and integral part of the
story. It would not be possible to tell the real story of what
was going on in Liberia without having witnessed and recorded
what happened on the ground. So, my determination to carry on
with the story was a determination to tell the story.
There is a certain amount of desensitisation
that takes place. The first time you witness horrific things,
they are difficult to digest, but, the more you are exposed to
it, the easier it becomes.
This is only theoretically, because although your impulses and
reactions may change fractionally, in fact it gets harder. You
become very good at putting filters and screens in front of how
you react personally.
Am I a war junkie? I am hesitant to accept other people’s
labels for what I do — and what other people in the profession
do. Some people would describe themselves as war junkies or adrenaline
addicts. There are reasons for that and I agree with that up to
a certain point, but we do have choices.
Professionally speaking, I think journalists should do what they
are good at and what they feel comfortable doing. I don’t
choose to work in these areas because they are areas of conflict.
I choose them because of the stories that these situations tell
about the people involved. And, there are a limited number of
journalists who are prepared to tell such stories — for
good reasons.
I think there have been periods in my life where I suffered from
post traumatic stress reaction, but I see it as a normal human
response to witnessing suffering or being in a hostile environment.
Not everyone suffers from stress reaction and that’s fine.
It doesn’t mean you are abnormal if you don’t suffer
from the effects, but it also means you are not abnormal if you
do.
When I came back from Liberia, I went through the antithesis
of the Liberian environment. A couple of days after my return
from working in jungle conditions, I went to a wedding of a friend
who works in the fashion industry. I found being surrounded by
models, in a glitter ‘party’ atmosphere, very strange.
Although it was lovely, I found it hard to settle back into that.
It’s difficult to congratulate the bride when shortly before
you were watching someone have their heart cut out.
It is also very difficult to maintain
relationships and friendships. It can make you rather autonomous,
or cut off from a steady social base. So often you end up spending
periods of time alone, or in the company of people you do not
really know that well.
Personally, my work has compromised relationships. It is difficult
for people who don’t work in the industry to really grasp
what happens to me. For instance, when I came back from a long
trip covering a conflict in Eritrea, my partner at the time was
concerned that the washing machine had broken down. Yes, of course,
it had to be fixed, but at the time, what I really wanted to do
was to get drunk — or be by myself.
It is difficult for people who don’t work in these environments
to understand that one has a life there. There are people who
you know; and whole communities of journalists. You strike up
very strong, immediate and intense friendships with people in
the area, and there can be a strong sense of camaraderie between
the journalists. It is a sense of a network you belong to. When
you come back to London, that evaporates almost overnight, and
it can leave you feeling bereaved.
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