Chapter 18: Steps to Nurture & Protect My Intellectual Property

While Chapter Seventeen: Honing My Method (Part I and Part II) showed how exactly I applied my skills and strategies to prepare international participants to parachute into Prague – for a Foreign Reporting adventure with Transitions Media – this chapter explains why exactly that skillset worked well.

So well, in fact, that I eventually realized I’d discovered an innovative teaching methodology. While my initial objective was to teach a combination of International Journalism, Foreign Correspondence, and how to freelance abroad – for newspapers, magazines and other media – I now saw how to adapt my approach to all forms of International Storytelling.

Indeed, once we moved to Africa, then to China, I’d adapt this approach to my Global Communications storytelling, too. Only in China did I start calling it my MJ Method. Yet today, back in New York and building my boutique Consultancy, my method is a bedrock principle of the evidence-driven, humanized Strategic Storytelling I offer clients: companies, non-profit organizations, and even to individuals, through Executive Coaching and personal Brand-Building.

That’s another reason why this Chapter Eighteen is significant: it shows the steps I took to “protect” this exciting discovery – which I soon began to view as my own Intellectual Property (IP). How to protect your IP? Back then, I asked around and learned that it’s impossible to trademark “an idea.” My solution, then: write essays that illuminate my method in action.

By sharing my own example in this chapter, I’m also making an argument for why you, too, should document any innovative, impactful approach you’ve developed – by occasionally writing about it. Not just to build your brand and enhance your reputation – which are necessary, and I generate evidence-driven content to achieve both – but to protect your own IP.

That helps to explain my broader strategy of creating all this content – even publishing these chapters, within this Global Communications Toolkit: it plants a flag into what I genuinely believe to be my IP. In a very public way, for all my peers, colleagues and potential clients to see.

My rationale for doing this – according to my non-lawyerly view of the legal system – was that once I began to publish this opus of material in the public domain (via my handful of platforms), should anyone ever challenge the provenance of my MJ Method, then the challenger would have the onus to both prove that this method is not mine and that theirs preceded mine.

With that in mind, this chapter’s highlights are my published documentation. Specifically, I re-publish what I wrote about my unique formula to “parachute” into any alien environment, then produce serious and responsible storytelling for an international audience.

The first serious documentation was a trio of 2009 essays I wrote from Prague, for Harvard University’s renowned media magazine, Nieman Reports. Next, the two long chapters I contributed in 2015 to a European Union-funded publication, produced by the Deutsche Welle journalism academy – Beyond Your World – which served as a training-the-trainers handbook.

How to Measure Impact?

Before I get to my IP-protecting measures, a bit more about the evidence that convinced me my approach wasn’t just unique, but actually effective. As Chapter Seventeen shows, my method worked well during the decade that I led the Prague reporting project of the Transitions (also known as TOL) Foreign Correspondent Training Course. Especially, because it overcame the trickier part of how exactly to coach our international participants through such a foreign-reporting adventure: the advanced preparation was essential, to demystify and ready them for the entire process.

In theory, anyone can travel to a foreign country, interview random locals, then tell their story. (Superficially, probably.) Yet in Prague, I showed trainees how to parachute into a faraway land, then explore serious societal issues: deeply, meaningfully and professionally enough that quite a few sold their story back home – as foreign coverage to a domestic publication.

Again, I had them follow my own formulas, as a freelance Foreign Correspondent.

The method’s effectiveness wasn’t just my perception. The most compelling evidence was that, without fail, each participant produced their own story. Typically, it was their first-ever piece, produced overseas. Moreover, the TOL chief, Jeremy Druker, invited me back every Winter and Summer to lead the biannual course. With a few extra trainings mixed in, I led some 25 different groups through my reporting project, over those 10 years.

In fact, the reporting project soon became a crucial component of the entire TOL course curriculum: Beyond the lectures from fellow professionals, or visits to media-houses, the story that trainees wrote was a tangible takeaway – and concrete deliverable. It not only convinced me of the reporting project’s value, but served as credible proof of the course’s overall value.

Moreover, TOL participant feedback told us that both the reporting project and method of story-creation were impactful. Of course, those written or articulated words could be empty platitudes. I looked for evidence of action. Many trainees returned home, then broadened and deepened their story – according to my feedback – and enhanced their portfolio of writing.

More ambition trainees went one step further, getting their piece published, in anything from their university newspaper to a professional publication. For example, a Canadian named Sophie traveled into the Czech countryside to write about Romani women who’d been sterilized. She took her reporting home – with my guidance – polished it, then got it published on TOL.

As impressive, a Brazilian participant named Fernando set about exploring the plight of illegal Brazilian immigrants in Prague. By week’s end, after editing his piece, I’d given him a clear “roadmap” for how to expand and deepen his piece, upon returning home. Not only did Fernando produce a piece for Brazil’s largest newspaper, but his editor submitted it to a national competition for the year’s best foreign correspondence. It was selected as one of three finalists. Soon after, Fernando emailed me the good news: He’d won! I felt like a proud father.

This proved to me that professional editors recognized the potential to create quality reportage, following my format. Again, trainees didn’t have unlimited time in Prague, but enough to build the foundation of a serious story – then could fill in the gaps later, from home.

More broadly, the overall curriculum I developed for the 10-day course made sense. Since time was limited, with plenty of other activities squeezed in, I gained a clear sense of exactly how many days each participant needed, on the ground, to produce a story of some professional quality. Again, only if they followed my instructions in how to lay the groundwork, in advance. As I myself would do. Only then could they enjoy a true taste of real reporting.

Just as important for me, while training them face to face, I could see how these wide-eyed participants responded to my skills and strategies. There was genuine buy-in, as heads nodded and they mustered the courage to try my techniques for themselves, out in the streets.

From the weeks of advanced preparation, then my opening lecture to reinforce those lessons, I’d effectively demystify how exactly the process unfolds, illustrated by my real-life adventures and published stories. Next, I’d arm trainees with my MJ Method toolkit – and enough confidence – to venture into serious Foreign Reporting.

Moreover, all this was in English. Though plenty of Anglophone Americans, Canadians, Brits and Australians ran through the course, roughly half our trainees were non-native English-speakers. (That doesn’t include the Chinese who later arrived in Prague, in large groups, from several Chinese universities. More on them in Chapter Twenty-Three: Meeting the Chinese.)

In fact, over the years, we attracted scores of participants from across Western Europe, for whom English was their second or third language: Italians, Germans, Danes, Dutch, Belgians, French, Swedes, Spaniards, Bulgarians, Romanians, Hungarians, Slovenians. Even a few from farther afield: Brazil, Saudi Arabia, South Africa, the Philippines, Malaysia, Mongolia, Kyrgyzstan.

The fact is, my method worked. It transcended borders, cultural differences and whatever imperfections they had with their English. My skills and strategies (perhaps my teaching style, too?) were evidently clear and logical enough, to resonate cross-culturally.

Over time, I recognized that it also didn’t matter if a participant had worked before in Journalism, or had studied Journalism, or done any serious writing at all. Nor did it matter how good their English was. (Some participants even helped translate trickier portions for others.)

A more critical ingredient was to supply these trainees with sufficient context. In Chapter Five: What Audiences Need, I explained why it’s so important in storytelling to provide our audience with some relevant context, especially if they’re a non-expert on our topic.

Contextualizing a story – particularly when it centers on a faraway land or an unfamiliar issue – makes it more accessible, enabling readers to consume it more clearly and comfortably. Without context, if they can’t access it as easily, they may feel confused or lost, or not grasp the content’s true significance. Regardless, they may give up and jump to another story.

Yet in Prague, with these TOL trainings, context took on another significance. It now mattered just as much with who I was training, and how I taught them. After all, I was now training fellow foreigners – who’d mostly never been to Prague before – in how to produce serious, responsible stories from this exotic locale. Moreover, how to present their reportage to an audience of smart, curious foreigners who’d likely never been to Prague, either.

While grasping my trainees’ own context – where they’re from; their work and educational background; their inspirations and objectives for taking this course; etc. – I’d simultaneously teach how to collect and generate contextualized content about the Czechs, specifically, and Central Europeans, generally. Then, how exactly to present it to that international audience.

Not to rehash Chapter Five, but by context I mean how to identify the symbolism of any person or situation we explore, then state what exactly that reflects about their homeland. Next, the context that broadens and deepens a story: connect dots to a broader political, economic, societal or other trend in that society; and insert enough historical background to underscore for our audience how dramatic any before-and-after transformation has been.

To teach all this, TOL and Prague proved that all I needed was a receptive participant: smart, curious, open-minded, eager to learn, willing to follow instructions – and courageous enough to try. My TOL colleagues recognized this cross-cultural appeal and effectiveness, too.

That’s when it dawned on me: I’m teaching more than International Journalism and Foreign Correspondence. It’s a storytelling approach applicable to Global Communications, too.

Not to be too immodest, but I concluded: if my method worked in Prague, with these clever, diverse and ambitious participants, then it could work anywhere. Which meant I could also take my “show” on the road, teaching this method in any country. To any audience.

In retrospect, a revelation of such magnitude also requires sufficient self-confidence, where one day you tell yourself: I’ve got a unique method. Then, the courage to tell – even to broadcast – to family, friends and colleagues: I’ve got a unique method.

Why does all this matter? What’s a method, after all? Again, it’s a form of Intellectual Property. So, as I realized next, I’d have to fight to protect my IP.

Agree to Disagree

Before I explain how this epiphany created tension, I should credit TOL for what that non-profit media organization did for me and my career. I’d returned to Central Europe in mid-2006, and by 2007, this new relationship helped solidify my emerging status in International Education, in general, and particularly in my niche of teaching International Journalism.

Moreover, TOL paved the way for new teaching opportunities that broadened my horizons, both geographically and culturally. Beyond the international participants, it was TOL that first introduced me to Chinese students and Chinese universities, as Chapter Twenty-Three will show.

Yet Chapter Twenty-Four: Meeting the Roma then spotlights how TOL hooked me up with another of my career’s most meaningful trainings: I coached a handful of young minority journalists who were members of Europe’s largest, yet most marginalized ethnic community.

Nevertheless, just as TOL was good for me, I was good for TOL: my reporting project became a crucial component of the Foreign Correspondent Training Course – touted in its marketing material – and even TOL’s comparative-advantage over other journalism trainings.

Yet I recall how during one of our trainings, perhaps in early 2009, I casually mentioned to TOL Executive Director Jeremy Druker how pleased I was to have developed my own “method,” which now benefitted TOL’s course, overall. Druker, who had become a good friend, then looked at me, quizzically – as if I’d hit my head and suddenly suffered from amnesia.

He responded by saying something like: But you know we already had a reporting project, when you first joined us. My jaw dropped. At least, that’s how I imagine my reaction. I was certainly stunned. My response was “Yes, but …” as I recounted my version of early events.

I also captured those early events in Chapter Eleven: Scattering Seeds around Slovakia. As I wrote there, when I first learned about this exciting TOL course, back in late 2006: “I detected something was amiss: TOL’s Reporting Project didn’t ring true as realistic.”

As I learned more about it, Druker and his team “couldn’t overcome a fundamental challenge: The course lasted 10 days, yet time was limited; the schedule was packed with valuable, stimulating activities. The organizers knew they wanted to offer participants some practical experience, too, yet couldn’t figure out how to allot enough time for trainees to also roam the city, interview ordinary Czechs, then produce a serious, in-depth story of their own.”

Instead, “TOL provided participants a classroom-like session, where instructors handed out certain facts and invented ‘quotes’ from relevant experts. The trainees then wrote up their best effort. Ah-ha, I thought: ‘This is justsimulated storytelling, not the real thing?’ Yes, Druker confirmed … This was far from an authentic reporting experience, as any professional would tell you.”

My solution – the necessity for advance preparation, where I’d invest so much time to guide participants, five-six weeks before they arrived in Prague, in a way that mirrored my own parachuting into foreign countries – revolutionized the course. They now produced real stories.

So, at this moment, with Druker now suggesting that what I added wasn’t so significant, I immediately pushed back, instinctively realizing what was at stake. My retort was something like: “But you know it wasn’t a real reporting project. It was simulated. My ideas, and willingness to prepare them beforehand, transformed it to reflect the reality of a Foreign Correspondent.”

Druker didn’t agree. Or maybe he did, but was refusing to admit it. Either way, we agreed to disagree. Nevertheless, that was a turning-point for me. From that point on, there was sensitivity about who’d been responsible for what, from the beginning.

Moreover, I needed to act. We were both about the same age, approaching 40 years old. Yet, while he was the head of an organization, I was a freelancer, flying solo. Beyond my unique journalistic journey, I now carved a new path in pedagogy. I’d created and was honing something that was not only unique and exciting, but held value. Therefore, I felt it important to identify and distinguish: Yes, the course was TOL’s – but the teaching method was mine.

By now, I also appreciated the value of Curriculum Development as a professional field. Some institutions specifically pay a pro to develop curriculum – who hands it over as that organization’s Intellectual Property. I hadn’t requested that, nor was it offered. After all, we’d begun this process as a grand experiment. Moving forward, though, I wanted the ability to claim and re-use my method – wherever and whenever. Instinctively, then, I knew I had to defend it.

That’s when I began to research: was it possible to trademark this idea? No, but I did the next best thing: I found ways to stake a claim to my unique collection of skills and strategies. I began referring to my Jordan Formula, drew up diagrams, bestowed names onto my techniques: The Four-Step Formula for pitching ideas. The Circle-In Reporting Strategy. My Darwinian Storyteller strategy to unearth relevant context. My Diamond Story Structure. (You’ll find all these in Chapters Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen and Seventeen.)

With my TOL colleagues enthusiastic about how well my skills and strategies, tips and techniques resonated with our participants – coupled with my desire to plant my flag in them, however possible – I became emboldened to share my method more widely. By writing about it.

Prestige Over Payment

After the July 2009 TOL course, I approached a renowned journalism-trend magazine, published by Harvard University: Nieman Reports . I pitched them my idea: an essay that not only explained my Prague reporting project, but why I thought our course, in the purportedly “dying” field of Foreign Correspondence, could bring value to a fee-paying participant.

Nieman’s Editor liked the idea so much that we chatted by phone, brainstormed, and agreed that I’d write a three-story package for the magazine. By then, I’d made it a rule to never bring up money too early with a client, because I didn’t want to give the impression that pay was my primary motivation – even if a payday was certainly oneof my motivations.

As this conversation wound down, I asked the Editor: How much will I be paid for the stories? I’ll never forget how she responded. Something like: We don’t pay, since we believe the prestige of being published in The Nieman Reports is its own form of compensation.

I was a bit stunned by that reply. Then I realized: virtually all the magazine’s contributors were either full-time, fully-paid media professionals or university academics. Not freelancers, like me. For them, being published by a Harvard magazine was a bonus. An esteemed platform.

But guess what? I agreed to Nieman’s terms. Fortunately, as a trailing spouse – whose wife had a full-time job and anchor-income (more on that in Chapter Twenty-One: Building My Brand) – I wasn’t desperate for cash. Nor was I driven by revenue-generating opportunities.

In this case, I had other motives: to publicly, yet implicitly, proclaim my unique Prague IP. Moreover, I figured that if a prestigious platform like Nieman published my trio of stories, its de facto imprimatur would be the greatest possible affirmation of my training approach. The alternative: insist on being paid, but lose the opportunity to be published by Nieman.

I later incorporated this Nieman experience as another lesson to share with trainees – especially aspiring freelancers: While some journalists insist they’d never “write for free,” I’d tout the benefit of occasionally working or writing for free … only if it provides us the prestige or platform we couldn’t otherwise attain. (More in Chapter Twenty-Six: Keys to Freelancing.)

Here are the three stories for Nieman – the first of a handful I’d write for them:

Story #1. Foreign Reporting: Lessons Taught, Lessons Learned

Story #2. Guidance in Foreign Correspondence

Story #3. Keys to Success in Freelance Foreign Reporting

Taking It With Me

With that trio of stories published, I suddenly felt more confident – that I’d generated tangible proof of my Intellectual Property. Now one last point about the origins and evolution of my MJ Method. If we discover we have our own tangible style, we should do more than take steps to protect it. We can also use it as a marketing angle – to further build our brand.

As I’ll show in Chapter Twenty-Two: Meeting the Chinese, I took my method to Hong Kong, later in 2009 – once I began to visit for annual teaching stints. I applied it to create new innovations, such as a short-course in Minority Reporting from multicultural Hong Kong.

In late 2011, I innovated once again when we moved to Southern Africa. On the one hand, I adapted it to train students and professionals in HIV Journalism. On the other, I applied it to Communications for not-for-profit organizations: I trained folks (like the 联合国儿童基金会 staffer described in Chapter One: Birth of a Method) to produce “strategic storytelling,” in order to achieve objectives like advocacy, awareness-raising and fundraising.

Meanwhile, in 2014, while living in Lesotho, I still traveled to Prague twice a year, to lead our TOL training. I was then contacted out of the blue by a small team of German journalists, affiliated with the training academy of top German broadcaster, Deutsche Welle.

I forget now how they found me – whether they’d first contacted Druker and TOL, who pointed them my way, or if they found my writings online. Regardless, these German journalists told me they were creating a training-the-trainers guide, with a wide range of contributors, and invited me to explain my entire method: as a Do-It-Yourself Guide to International Reporting.

I excitedly jumped at the chance, dividing my guidance into two chapters: The Idea and The Journey. First, how to prepare in advance for a trip, then how to parachute in and execute your plan. This handbook, funded by the European Union, would be entitled Beyond Your World: Challenging Established Media Perspectives. It was eventually published online in March 2015.

Here are the two chapters, spread across 25 pages, but as screenshots:

Beyond Your World: Reporting the World (2015)

Unlike Nieman Reports, I was paid for this Beyond Your World assignment – albeit a modest sum. Still, to have a client recognize and pay me for two substantial chapters about my methodology, further boosted my confidence that it wasn’t just my perception; I had something real on my hands.

On the heels of that publication, an American teacher-friend in Lesotho even inspired me to view all this as my own “school of thought.” So when I moved to China in August 2015, then created a website for myself, I decided to call it, loftily, but only half-seriously: The Michael Jordan Center for Effective Communications. Or the MJ-CEC, for short.

That title was too wordy; ironically, it was ineffective communications. Eventually, I shortened it to The MJ Method. So, it was only once I settled into China, several years after I first hatched my methodology, that I actually named my IP. From there, I’d regularly refer to it in my writings.

If you'd like me to lecture to your Journalism students - or coach you privately - contact me at [email protected].